“Hope, are you up to driving home? I’ll follow you.” Ethan entered the room, interrupting Hope’s conversation with Drew.
Hope looked over to the doorway and nodded. She could drive. Slowly, but she could drive. “Yes, let’s go.” It took all of the energy she could muster to stand. And that must have shown because Drew reached out to her and grabbed hold of her arm to assist her. She flashed an appreciative smile, then walked toward Ethan.
All three headed to the front door. They were almost in the clear.
“It’s about time. But I have no idea how I’ll be able to go back to sleep,” Maretta said from down the hall.
Hope should have just continued out of the house, gotten in the car, and driven home, but she stopped and turned around. She’d had enough of Maretta’s selfish behavior. “Do you ever think of anybody but yourself? Ever?”
Maretta lifted her chin and glared at Hope but said nothing. A hand wrapped around Hope’s arm and gently tugged her to the door. She glanced over her shoulder. Ethan was shuffling her out of the house. She threw one more look back at Maretta before walking out of the house. The woman had no shame. Maybe Drew’s theory that the cranky old woman was the murderer wasn’t completely off-base.
Chapter Thirteen
Hope descended the staircase, her eyes blurry and puffy from too much crying last night, and padded through the hallway to the family room. She surveyed the space. Her knitting was left out on the chair and a cup of half-finished tea remained on the end table. She picked up the cup and headed to the kitchen. What was she thinking the night before to rush out with no one knowing where she was going? She hadn’t thought logically—instead, she’d acted impulsively and could have been murdered as a result.
But the thought of leaving Vanessa’s body to lay there all night, alone and with no one knowing she’d been killed, stabbed at Hope’s heart. She closed her eyes tightly. No, even with all that could have gone wrong, she had done the right thing.
She turned on the faucet and rinsed the cup. The day-old tea swirled down the drain. Gone. If she could only wash the past few days down the drain.
She pushed herself away from the sink and moved toward the fireplace. Her stomach constricted as she stopped midstride. She barely knew Peaches, and her friendship with Vanessa was new, yet she felt intimately connected to them.
Of course she would. She found their bodies.
The mudroom door opened. “Morning.”
She swung around. Ethan entered the kitchen in his uniform, gun holstered at his side, carrying a basket of eggs.
Who’d have thought a guy could look sexy holding a basket of eggs? She gave herself a mental shake. She was exhausted and not thinking clearly. And given that two women were dead, this wasn’t the time to indulge in silly schoolgirl behavior.
“You collected the eggs for me.” Every morning she trekked out to the barn where the chicken coop was located and filled up the basket. Otherwise there was a risk the chickens would eat the eggs and once that started, she could kiss the eggs good-bye because the habit was nearly impossible to break.
“I did. But I didn’t clean them.” Ethan grinned. He set the basket on the island and then washed his hands. “I also fed them.”
“I can’t believe you did this for me. Especially since some of the girls can be difficult. Helga is very high-strung.” Hope did a quick inspection of the eggs. Yeah, some needed a little bit more cleaning than others. She’d take care of that later.
“So that’s her name. I could collar her for assaulting a police officer.” Ethan turned around, drying his hand with a paper towel.
Hope laughed. “She’d resist arrest.”
“Are you going for a run this morning?” He eyed her pajamas.
She shrugged. “Maybe later.” She needed coffee first. She turned to the counter and found the coffeepot filled. He’d made coffee, too. She took out a mug from an upper cabinet and poured a full cup.
“You’re taking such good care of me.”
“That’s what friends do.” He grabbed a mug and filled it.
Friends. They’d been friends since high school, and, for the past few weeks, she hadn’t been sure if they were still just friends. She’d sensed a change. A change in herself and a change in Ethan, but she wasn’t certain, so saying something seemed risky. What happened if she was wrong? If nothing had changed for him, would their friendship be ruined? Just the thought of losing Ethan as a friend made her sad. So, whatever was causing her stomach to flutter when she thought of him or her pulse to pick up its pace when he said her name would have to stop. True friendship was far too valuable to risk for something as uncertain as love. She’d already tried that once and ended up divorced.
And given the events of the past few days, she would be smart not to make any assumptions or make any moves that could be embarrassing.
Gosh, she was feeling like an adolescent girl. She shook off her romantic thoughts and saw the worry in Ethan’s dark eyes.
“How long did you stay at the Kingstons’ house? You didn’t get much sleep last night, did you?”
He stifled a yawn. His expression became more serious. “I’m fine. I’m concerned about you.”
She shook her head. “Don’t be. I’m okay. I just don’t know why Vanessa didn’t call me earlier. She obviously knew something about Peaches’ murder. Why didn’t she just tell me when she called?” She took another drink of coffee as she headed to the table.
“I thought I told you to stay out of the investigation.” The seriousness on his face turned a shade darker. Bye-bye worry, now anger flickered in his eyes.
Hope squared her shoulders. She didn’t appreciate the deepening tone of Ethan’s voice or the fact he believed he could tell her what to do.
She set her mug down on the table with a thump and squared her shoulders. “The last time I checked, I was an adult who didn’t need to be told what to do.” She headed toward the hall. Whether she liked it or not, she had a full day. She planned on visiting Audrey, and she had the cooking lesson with Elaine and was already way behind.
“Where are you going?”
She stopped midstride and looked over her shoulder. “To take a shower. If that’s okay with you.”
“Don’t be like that. You’re exhausted, upset.”
“Then maybe you should leave.” She turned and continued out of the kitchen. By the time she’d reached the staircase, the back door closed. She inhaled a jagged breath. Had Ethan crossed the line by telling her what to do, again? Or had she overreacted to his obvious concern? Given she was exhausted and still in shock from finding two women murdered, she probably overreacted. She grabbed hold of the banister and made the climb up to the second floor. An apology was definitely in order, and she’d be giving it soon. Right after she gave Elaine her cooking lesson.
Showered and ready to begin her day, she opened her closet, flicked on the light switch, and winced as the soft light flooded the space. The previous owners had carved out a space for a walk-in closet but only inserted basic rods with one lone shelf up high for storage. Since there were bigger projects to tackle, the closet would have to wait.
She stepped over last season’s suede boots—three pairs and all in black. To think, she accused her sister of being the fashionista. Bending over, she pushed three shopping bags full of clothes out of her path. What wasn’t in bags was hung tightly on the rods while shoeboxes were piled and sweaters were crammed on the shelf, with scarves and belts draped over everything and anything. She really needed to raise the priority on the closet organization.
With temperatures predicted to be in the high fifties, she grabbed a V-neck sweater and a pair of twill pants. She slipped on a pair of ankle boots and headed back downstairs. She’d finally gotten a message from Audrey and planned on stopping by before going to Elaine’s cooking lesson. She also decided to visit Gilbert Madison and ask him some questions about his meeting with Peaches a few days ago. She couldn’t very well show up empty-handed at either hous
e, so she had some baking to do before she left. The morning hours flew by as she baked, and as both treats cooled on a rack, she was confident the coffee cake would be a gift of comfort to Audrey and the loaf of apple bread would be a tasty little bribe to get Gilbert to open up about his conversation with Peaches. At her first stop of the day, Hope made her way up the flagstone path to Gilbert’s tidy gray colonial house with white trim with the warm loaf of apple bread. His wife, Mitzi, was an avid gardener and Gilbert did his best to keep the landscaping and gardens up to her high standards while she recovered from a hip fracture. Early spring flowers dotted the front yard in the curved garden beds, while large branches were scattered throughout, reminders of the storm last night.
“Good morning, Hope.” Gilbert came around from the side of the house with an armful of branches. “Nasty storm last night.”
“Yes, it was. Did you have any damage?”
“No. Just a bunch of branches down. I guess it’s good exercise picking them up, right?” His dog, Buddy, trotted over to his owner with a stick in his mouth. The golden retriever looked so proud.
“My little helper,” Gilbert juggled the branches in one arm so he could pat Buddy on the head.
“It’s always good to have help.”
“Terrible thing that happened last night.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Do the police have any idea of who murdered Ms. Jordan?”
“No.”
Gilbert shook his head. “I’ve lived here my whole life. Nothing like this has ever happened. But you, living down in New York City for a few years, must be used to all this crime.”
“Actually, I’m not. And it’s different here. We knew these women. They weren’t strangers.” Hope followed Gilbert as he walked to a pile of branches.
Gilbert dropped his armful of branches on top of the pile he’d already collected. It looked like he’d been working for a while. Buddy joined them and he shoved his nose up under Hope’s hands, sniffing the loaf pan she held.
Hope laughed. Buddy wasn’t shy. He was lovable and knew he could get away with such bold behavior.
“This isn’t for you.” Hope gently moved Buddy’s head from the bread. “I baked it this morning. It’s cinnamon apple bread.” She handed the wrapped loaf pan to Gilbert.
His blue eyes twinkled. “Thank you. I do enjoy your baking. Come on inside. I’ll put the kettle on for a cup of tea.”
Hope smiled and followed Gilbert and Buddy inside the house. Gilbert busied himself making tea and finally sat at the table and eagerly cut into the bread. He served up two slices.
Gilbert took a bite and savored the tart Granny Smith apples blended with spices and topped with a nutty streusel. “This is delicious. I have to admit I was worried you wouldn’t bring me any more treats after what happened with Claire.”
Hope waved away his concern. “You told the truth to the police. There are no hard feelings. But I do have a couple of questions.” She cut another slice of bread and plated it for Gilbert.
Gilbert broke off a piece of bread and popped it in his mouth. He smiled his appreciation and chewed. Hope never tired of seeing the joy her baking brought to people. That was why she signed on for The Sweet Taste of Success. She envisioned sharing her passion and enthusiasm for baking with America. Looking back, she realized how naïve she was for a thirtysomething. America didn’t want her enthusiasm or recipes, neither did the network. They wanted conflict and drama, which made for good television. But right there in Gilbert’s kitchen, he just wanted to enjoy her bread.
She wanted answers to her questions.
He swallowed his bite of bread. “What kind of questions?”
“When you last saw Peaches, did she seem out of sorts?”
Gilbert seemed to be deep in thought for a moment. “I really can’t say. I didn’t know her well. She was very direct and competent. She had the marketing plan for my house all in place, ready for me to read. She told me this kitchen and the bathrooms were the challenges. Guess everybody wants stainless and white cabinets.” He glanced around his traditional oak kitchen with black appliances.
“Yes, they do.” Cookie-cutter kitchens were all the rage and exactly what Hope decided would not be in her home. She enjoyed modern appliances for their efficiency and sleekness but character had charm. She’d chosen a white porcelain farm sink instead of a stainless sink and soapstone countertops rather than granite. They added charm to her twenty-first-century kitchen.
“I didn’t have the wherewithal to do any remodeling, so we agreed on a price and I signed the contract.”
“What happened after that?”
“We enjoyed a cup of coffee and chatted for a few minutes. That’s what I miss the most about not having Mitzi here. There’s no one to sit and chat with.”
Hope’s heart broke for the elderly man, and she mentally chided herself for not realizing he was lonely and for having an ulterior motive that prompted her visit.
“It must be very difficult for you, and I’m sorry for that.”
“There’s no reason to be sorry. Mitzi will be home soon from the rehab center. Life isn’t supposed to be easy. That’s what I told Peaches, too. And she agreed. She’d gone through loss in her life. She understood.”
“She did?”
“Yes. Her father died when she was a baby. Then her mother was hit by a car and killed. She started to tear up so she didn’t want to talk about the details. But she said she was finally going to have closure.”
“Closure? Did she say how?”
Gilbert shook his head. “No, and I didn’t pry.” He took another bite of the bread. After swallowing, he said, “You know, I haven’t had the chance to tell you, but I really think you should have won the competition. You are the best baker, Hope Early.” Gilbert finished the rest of his bread.
A nudge at her arm brought Hope’s attention to Buddy. With his snout, he lifted her arm and slid his head onto her lap and his big brown eyes looked up to her. He knew how to work her. She broke off a piece of her bread and fed it to the dog.
“That’s all you get.” She patted his head.
“Buddy’s a bit spoiled,” Gilbert said.
“There’s nothing wrong with a little spoiling.” Hope would remember that, and the next time she visited Gilbert, there would be no secret agenda.
Chapter Fourteen
Hope drummed her fingertips on the steering wheel of her SUV as she waited for the traffic light to change. She left Gilbert’s house with more questions than she had when she arrived with the loaf of apple cinnamon bread. Gilbert didn’t know much more about Peaches than Hope did, but he did know she was looking for closure with her mother’s death. How so? Usually closure came when something had been resolved. Did this mean the person who was driving the car that killed Peaches’ mother was never arrested? Was Peaches doing a little sleuthing of her own?
An OPEN HOUSE sign caught Hope’s attention at the corner of Chestnut Road. The real estate agent hosting the open house was Kent Wilder. He’d lost a client to Peaches, and Amy had said he wasn’t happy about it.
Hope made a right turn onto Chestnut Road and drove down the dead-end street until she came to the blue Cape Cod house with a steep roof and attached garage. By the number of cars in the driveway, it looked like Kent had a full house. She parked on the street and walked up the driveway to the brick path to the front door.
She pulled open the screen door and entered the small entry hall. The home was modest in size but big on brightness, thanks to its soft white walls and bare windows that let light in.
Directly in front of her was the staircase to upstairs and to her right was the living room with a minimally decorated fireplace and cozy furnishings. To her left was the formal dining room set for an intimate dinner party and Kent Wilder talking square footage with a potential buyer.
“Hope.” Kent broke away from the potential buyer and made his way over to her. “I didn’t realize you were in the market. Tired of your new home already?
”
“No, nothing like that.” Hope walked toward Kent.
Kent laughed. He was the consummate salesman. Bright, white teeth, tanned skin, and an expensive suit with a logo watch and shiny black leather shoes. He knew how to make small talk turn into a binding agreement and he knew how to gloss over flaws in a home and focus attention on the positives, no matter how small they might be. Hope knew firsthand how good Kent could be. Just before she bought her farmhouse, he’d shown her another fixer-upper that would have landed her in the poorhouse with all of its problems.
He shoved his hands into his pants pockets. “Then what can I do for you today?”
“You’ve heard about Peaches McCoy, right?”
“Everybody has. Good news travels fast,” he said in a low voice, leaning forward.
“Good news? Is that how you see her murder?”
Kent shrugged. “Well, let’s just say I’m not mourning. I’m too busy to do that. Her clients need a new agent.”
“Like Annabel Layton? I heard you lost her listing to Peaches.”
The cocky look on Kent’s face morphed into confusion. “What exactly do you want?”
“Where were you when Peaches was killed?”
Kent pulled his hands out of his pockets and grinned. “I don’t believe this. You’re asking me for an alibi? Look, I didn’t kill Peaches. Sure, she came into town all full of herself, stealing clients and depositing big commission checks, but over the past few weeks, we’d all gotten to see the real Peaches. Sloppy.”
“How so?”
“Calls not returned, contracts not signed. It was only a matter of time before Alfred and Lionel Whitcomb kicked her to the curb.”
“Did she appear distracted?”
Kent shrugged again. “Don’t know, didn’t care. I was just going to let her crash and burn.” His attention was diverted to a young couple who entered the dining room. The woman pointed to a wall and whispered while the man took out a tape measure. “If there’s nothing else, I really need to sell this house.”
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