“When one sister is in trouble, the other will do whatever is needed to help.”
“Are you saying Claire is in trouble?”
“Your sister is in a lot of trouble, Ms. Early.”
Hope’s heart nearly plummeted to the ground. Official confirmation. “You’ve arrested her?” She bounded from her chair and headed for the door. She had to see Claire.
“We haven’t arrested her. Please . . .” Detective Reid gestured to the chair.
Hope inhaled several relieved breaths as she returned to her chair. “Then what are you talking about? Tell me what is going on here.” She returned to her seat.
“What do you know about your sister’s financial situation?”
Alarm bells went off, and she heard the warning shouts of “danger!” from far off in the distance. Well, okay, nobody was actually yelling “danger,” but she still heard it from every fiber of her body. She chewed on her lower lip. No doubt he’d twist whatever she said about Claire. But if she said nothing, how would that reflect on Claire?
“I really don’t think I should answer that question. Not without a lawyer.”
“You’re not under arrest, Ms. Early.”
“I understand. Which means I don’t have to answer your question.” She’d read enough mystery novels and watched more than her share of crime dramas to know she wasn’t obligated to answer any questions.
Detective Reid eased back into his chair. If he was angry at her refusal to answer his question, he didn’t show it. Then again, being a police officer, he knew how to control his facial expressions so they remained neutral, never giving away what he was thinking. But Hope guessed he wasn’t very pleased with her at the moment.
“She’s in serious financial debt.”
Hope remained silent.
“She needed to get the exclusive listing for Lionel Whitcomb’s subdivision. She needed to get rid of the competition.”
“That’s crazy. My sister didn’t kill her. There are plenty of other people who didn’t like Peaches.”
“Is that so?” Detective Reid shifted in his seat as he jotted down a note on a legal pad.
“Elaine Whitcomb was jealous of Peaches.”
“Was she?”
Hope nodded. “There are others. Meg Griffin had some beef with her. She left abruptly just before the book signing. I’m sure there were others at the garden tour yesterday who disliked Peaches.”
Detective Reid leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Are you adding sleuthing to your blogging career?”
“I’m keeping an open mind.”
“Ms. Early, I have an open mind. I want to arrest the killer of Peaches McCoy. And if that person happens to be your sister, I won’t be stopped in making my collar regardless of your relationship with Chief Cahill.”
“This is the second time you’ve brought up my friendship with Eth . . . ah . . . Chief Cahill. Do you have a problem with it?”
“Only if it interferes with me doing my job. Just like I’d have a problem with an amateur sleuth inserting herself into my murder investigation.”
“I’m doing no such thing. I can’t help it if I know things. Things that could help you solve your case.”
His brows arched, giving her a questioning look. Before he could say something, his cell phone buzzed and he glanced at his belt, where the phone was holstered. “We’re done for now.”
“Really?”
“I have work to do, and I’m sure you have something to blog about. Just one more thing, Ms. Early.”
“And what would that be?”
“If you come across any information, I expect you’ll bring it directly to me and you won’t withhold anything that could lead to you facing an obstruction-of-justice charge.”
With that warning, Hope stood, then positioned herself behind the chair. “I’d like to see Claire now.”
“She left already after refusing to answer any questions.”
Inwardly, Hope seethed. Why didn’t he tell her that when he found her out in the reception area? She slung her purse over her shoulder and walked to the door.
“Have a nice day,” Reid said as she exited the interview room.
Have a nice day.
Like that was possible after dealing with Detective Reid. Up until finding Peaches dead, Hope hadn’t had the opportunity to meet the man. And now she wished she’d never met him.
As the main door of the police department closed behind her, she checked her phone for messages.
The first message was from Jane. She would pack up all of Hope’s supplies from the bake sale and return them later. The second message was from Claire. She’d arrived home and was going to soak in her tub to relax. Hope shook her head. Leave it to her sister to be able to close the door and sink down into a bath while her whole world was about to crash down around her.
After leaving a message for Claire to come over for dinner, she shoved her phone back into her purse and zipped up her jacket. The day had turned chilly, and the wind had picked up. The meteorologist on the morning news said a line of severe thunderstorms would be making their way through the state later in the day. Glancing up to the graying sky, Hope thought it looked like he was right.
She crossed the street and passed a row of antique shops. Jefferson was known for its abundance of antique shops that lined Main Street and dotted the side streets. Those shops were often destinations for new and seasoned antique collectors. A display of Wedgwood china, the delicate floral pattern Hope loved, drew her closer to the front window of the Red House Antiques shop. Set atop a nineteenth-century mahogany breakfast table, the scene was warm, welcoming, and inviting. There was no hint of the ugliness that had swept down on Jefferson the day before. Murder. The word was ugly. She shook her head in disbelief. She took in a sweeping view of her town and wondered if she’d ever see it in the same way she had just twenty-four hours ago.
“Hope!”
She glanced over her shoulder. Ethan was approaching. Good. They needed to talk.
“I just heard you stopped by to see me. Is everything okay?”
Hope turned around and squared her shoulders. “No, everything isn’t okay. Claire was dragged out of her home in front of her children by your ace detective, Reid. Then I was interviewed by him. He shared with me Claire has a motive and she had an opportunity to murder Peaches.”
Ethan’s forehead crinkled. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Not as sorry as me.”
“He’s just rattling a few cages to see what shakes out. That’s the way he works.”
“By accusing innocent people?”
Ethan reached out and touched Hope’s arm. “Please, don’t be upset. He’s just doing his job. And, trust me, it’s not a pretty one.”
“I’m not going to let Claire be arrested. Just because she’s having some financial difficulty doesn’t make her guilty of murder.”
Ethan’s eyes shifted. “There’s more.”
“What?”
“We found text messages between her and Peaches.”
“That’s not unusual. They were professional colleagues.”
“It appears the day before the murder there was an exchange between them over Gilbert Madison’s house. Claire accused Peaches of stealing the listing and texted her she was a dead woman.”
“What? No, I don’t believe it.”
“I saw Peaches’ cell phone. Look, I don’t want you involved in this.”
“That’s what Reid said just before he told me I must have a blog post to write.” The man’s dismissive attitude irritated her. Like most people, Reid had a dim view of blogging. While she couldn’t blame him, she worked hard at establishing herself in the blogosphere and getting the attention of brands. She started her blog two years before appearing on The Sweet Taste of Success as a way to share her love for housekeeping, DIY, and cooking. She slowly built a readership, and her reality show stint helped boost her blog. Now she was able to earn a decent income from a career she loved. And it was a car
eer, even if the likes of Detective Sam Reid didn’t see it that way.
Ethan nodded to a couple of residents as they passed by. “Reid doesn’t have good people skills. But he is a good detective. I’ll handle him. Please, stay out of this.”
Hope wanted to consider his request, but knew she was all in now and there wasn’t anything he or Reid could say to change her mind. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight?” A vegetable lasagna could lead to a little pumping of information. She wanted to know everything the police knew since her sister was now a “person of interest.”
“Thanks, but it’s going to be a long night.”
She shrugged. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me and the lasagna.” She knew dangling a thick, cheesy dish in front of him would catch his attention. He loved anything combined with pasta, cheese, and sauce. Confident her last-minute plan was in full gear, she crossed the street and headed to the general store. One of the perks of living near Main Street, just north of the historic district, was all the shops were in walking distance. She needed a few items for a recipe she wanted to test for her blog. As she grabbed hold of the paper bag of groceries, she was surprised to find Maretta stalking her with a deep scowl.
“I cannot believe that man,” she huffed. “The nerve of Chief Cahill. He didn’t have the time to see me? Who does he think he is? Where does he think his salary comes from? I will not be treated like that by anybody.”
“But you were.” Hope knew she shouldn’t poke a bear, but she couldn’t resist. She was tired, frustrated, and scared, so the last thing she wanted to do was to coddle Maretta Kingston.
Maretta straightened and let out a huff.
“I noticed you left the bake sale early.” Maretta changed the subject.
“Family emergency.”
Maretta’s brows arched. “Yes, having a relative arrested for murder is a family emergency.”
Hope exhaled an exasperated sigh. The last thing she wanted was for Maretta to go around town repeating that statement. “Claire was not arrested. Just interviewed.”
“Oh, the catfights she and Peaches had in the office were horrible.”
“Claire is not a murderer.”
Maretta harrumphed.
“I have to go.” Hope stepped around Maretta. The bag was getting heavier in her arms, and her patience was getting shorter.
“Well, whoever did it did us all a favor.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say.”
“The woman was shameless. Whenever she got the chance, she flirted with Alfred.”
“You saw her do that?”
Maretta’s nostrils flared, and her dark eyes widened with irritation. “I caught her several times in the office trying to entice my husband. I’d gotten to the end of my rope with that hussy.”
Hope didn’t miss the anger in Maretta’s voice. She also detected bitterness with a hint of impatience, which was what the uptight, self-righteous woman usually spewed out. But anger? Rarely. So Hope couldn’t help but wonder if Drew had been right.
Could Maretta have murdered Peaches?
“Your cookies sold out at the bake sale,” Maretta said as if she just hadn’t accused Hope’s sister of murder or declared Peaches McCoy’s murder a public service.
Hope smiled weakly and took the olive branch. “I’m glad to have helped.”
“Well, we did have to scramble to find someone to take your table, after all. Jane wasn’t able to manage on her own.”
So much for an olive branch.
Hope exited the general store with her groceries and the intention of heading home but as she walked along Main Street, she passed the Jefferson Town Realty office, where Peaches had been employed and where other possible suspects could be found. Claire couldn’t have been the only agent who had a motive. Right? She stopped and looked at the front door of the brick building. If she went in, she would officially be ignoring Ethan’s warning about staying out of the murder investigation. She weighed the consequences and decided it would be better to apologize to him than to let her sister be arrested. She turned the doorknob and pushed open the door.
The open first-floor office was full of dark wood furniture and tasteful artwork hung on the walls. A staircase led to the private offices of Alfred and the top agents upstairs. Claire’s office was located up there, right across from Peaches’ office. Hope imagined that made for some awkward moments in the hallway.
“Hi.” Hope approached the front desk.
“If you’re looking for Claire, she’s not here.” Amy Phelan, the agency’s secretary was walking back to her desk holding a stack of files.
“I’m not here to see her.”
Amy sat down. “Then you must be here to talk about Peaches. Everybody is today.” She gestured to the chair beside her desk.
Hope sat, setting her grocery bag on the carpeted floor. “That’s not surprising.”
“I can’t remember the last murder in Jefferson. Can you?”
Hope shook her head. She couldn’t. Too bad she’d never be able to say that again. “How well did Peaches get along with the other agents?”
Amy leaned forward and, even though it was just the two of them in the office, she spoke in a low voice. “Peaches didn’t play well with others.”
“How so?”
Amy reclined and tidied up the papers on her desk. “She poached some clients, like Gilbert Madison, for example.”
Hope cringed. “Who else did that happen to?” If Claire wasn’t the only agent who had a client stolen by Peaches, then Reid would have to investigate.
“Kent Wilder. He lost Annabel Layton’s listing to Peaches. Oh, what a beautiful Victorian. The gingerbread trim, the sweeping front porch. She’s closing in a week. I don’t know who will be handling it. Maybe Kent.”
Getting the listing back could have been a motive for murder. Hope wanted to talk to Kent and find out where he was yesterday afternoon.
“You’re asking the same questions as the police. What’s up, Hope? Doing a little sleuthing on your own?”
Hope chewed on her lower lip. “No, no. I’m just curious. How was the relationship between Lionel Whitcomb and Peaches?”
Amy gave Hope a suspicious look, then smiled. She seemed to believe Hope’s answer. “Peaches pursued Lionel Whitcomb relentlessly to get the listing to Hunting Hills. She began acting weird. She kind of lost interest. It was almost like she enjoyed the chase more than the actual victory.” Amy shrugged. “To be honest, I never understood her.”
“When did she begin to act weird?”
“I’m not sure. A couple of weeks ago.”
“Thanks for your time.”
Back outside, Hope headed to the Coffee Clique, her favorite coffee shop in all northwestern Connecticut. She loved the coffee and the fact the shop was opened by four girlfriends who ditched the rat race for coffee and scones. With the grocery bag in one hand and a mocha latte in the other, she headed home.
As she made her way along the brick sidewalk, her home came into view. The two-story white farmhouse, with its deep roots in Jefferson, was in disrepair when Hope put in her offer fifteen months ago. With a lot of hard work and long hours, the outside of the home was now classic and crisp, with a white picket fence and a front lawn coming to life after a harsh winter. Soon she should be setting out potted containers filled with bright annuals and planting perennials and shrubs that would bloom year after year. As she juggled her coffee and grocery bag to open the front gate, a list of things she needed to get done ran through her mind. Dinner. Painting. A blog post to write. She fumbled a little, but she maneuvered her hand to open the latch on the gate.
She let out a relieved sigh and preceded to step forward, but a hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her back. Surprised, Hope dropped her bag of groceries and her latte and screamed.
Chapter Ten
The groceries hit the walkway, followed in a split second by the nearly full cup of latte, and Hope’s legs were instantly soaked in coffee.
“Oh! My! Goodness!” a female voice squealed.
Hope swung around, her heart pounding. Elaine Whitcomb, of all people, was standing behind her.
“What are you thinking sneaking up on me like that?” Hope bent down to gather her groceries. “Just great,” she mumbled as she picked up her empty cup from the puddle of coffee. “My latte is gone.”
Elaine bent down to join Hope. “I guess we’re all a little jumpy these days. I still can’t believe there was a murder yesterday and I was right there. One minute we were having coffee and the next minute the police were carrying a body bag out of the house. Shivers.”
Hope remembered how Elaine stood on the outskirts of the conversations yesterday. She had successfully inserted herself into the garden club and other local organizations because of Lionel’s generous donations and connections. But she couldn’t buy friendships. Either the women distrusted her because of her constant flirting and her excessive cleavage or they opposed her husband’s developments in town.
“Leave it to Peaches to upstage the hostess. She was always so dramatic, right?” Elaine tilted her head sideways. Her forehead was line free, while her face was expressionless.
And there was the other reason Elaine didn’t have any friends. She had no filter.
“Why are you here?” Hope gathered her groceries back into the bag. Luckily the brown paper bag hadn’t ripped and she didn’t have anything breakable in the bag.
“Are you going to school?” Elaine stood, holding a composition notebook and two cans of whole tomatoes.
Hope snatched the notebook from Elaine’s hand. She wasn’t about to explain how she intended to use the notebook. When she was a member of the mystery book club, she used a notebook to jot down clues and her thoughts on a story. She was going to use the notebook she just purchased at the general store for the real-life murder mystery unfolding around her. “Thank you for your help.”
“No problem. You should be more careful. If you’d had eggs in the bag, you’d have a total mess.” Elaine smiled, yet her face still remained expressionless.
The Uninvited Corpse Page 8