“Good to hear, because Josie brought this for me.” Hope sipped her coffee. She took her sister’s snapping in stride. Claire was juggling a lot with her new venture, so Hope gave her a pass. This time. Okay, they were the closest of close sisters, so Claire had a lifelong pass as far as Hope was concerned. A shadow of disappointment crossed Claire’s flawless face and her shoulders slumped, prompting Hope to hand over her cup. “Here. Finish it.”
Claire smiled as she took the cup. She spun around and walked back to the counter with a little shimmy in her shoulders. After she took a drink, she set the cup on the counter.
“I needed this. You have no idea how lucky you are to have an assistant to get you coffee. I can’t just dash out any time. . . .” She pressed her lips together, as if forcing herself to stop complaining. She lifted the cup and took another sip.
“Sure I do.” Hope was certain Claire was on the verge of reminiscing about the days not too long ago when she worked at the real estate office and could run out any time for coffee without worrying who would stay behind for customers. Now, as a sole proprietor, she had to concern herself with those pesky little things.
“It’s nice you’ve found someone who’s working out,” Claire said.
“You’ve had three employees since you opened. If you kept one of them, you could dash out when you needed a caffeine fix.” Hope pulled off her gloves and dropped them into her tote bag. She then unzipped her coat and untied her cashmere scarf.
“Gloating does not become you.”
“I’m not gloating, I’m simply stating a fact. You need help here.”
Claire’s head tilted and she gave a pointed stare. “As you are well aware, finding good employees is hard.” She sighed. “Though I do need to find someone ASAP. I’m about to be up to my eyeballs in work. You won’t believe the job I just landed!” Her manicured hands clasped together, and her scowl morphed into a full-on smile.
“What is it? Come on, spill it.” Hope joined her sister at the counter. She slipped her tote bag off her shoulder and set it down. She was eager to hear all the details.
“The Landon House,” Claire squealed. Hope couldn’t remember the last time she saw her sister so excited.
The Landon House was a Cotswold Tudor Revival situated on twenty acres of prime horse property. The current owner was a recluse with eccentric tendencies. When Hope and Claire were little girls, everyone trick-or-treated at the house. Back then, Gloria Marshall’s mother was alive and made sure the mood was festive and welcoming. Upon her mother’s death, Gloria shut out the world and let go of all the traditions the Marshall family was known for.
Hope’s eyes widened. “That old place is up for sale?”
“Can you believe it? Though according to Kent Wilder who has the listing, the house needs significant repairs. It’s also dark and dated. This will be more than just a simple staging job. Gloria is very particular, and from what Kent told me, selling the house isn’t her idea. She doesn’t have the money to pay the taxes or maintain the property.”
“Are you going to be able to handle the job along with running the shop?” Hope took a look around the shop, and her gaze landed back on her sister, whose brows furrowed, and the scowl returned.
Oh, boy.
“Of course I can handle it!” Claire squared her shoulders and marched over to the table where she had consultations with clients.
Stacked on the gleaming cherrywood were fabric swatch books. She grabbed the heftiest one and shoved it into the large canvas tote bag she took with her to job sites. She added two smaller swatch books and her portfolio.
“I know what I’m doing! I just need time to evaluate the space Kent wants staged and come up with a plan. Once I have the plan, everything will fall into place. You’ll see.”
Hope ignored her sister’s outburst. She knew firsthand starting a new business was stressful. She imagined having your sibling question your decisions added to the stress of the situation. The last thing she wanted was to pile onto the pressure Claire must have been feeling, so she promised herself she wouldn’t question her sister’s ability to run her business anymore. It was time to move on to another topic.
“There’s a moving van outside. Is it for the new tenant upstairs?” A safe topic, Hope thought.
Claire nodded, but didn’t look at Hope.
Hope huffed. Her sister would not make it easy.
“Do you know who the new tenant is?” Hope asked, joining Claire at the table. With her sister still refusing to look at her, she peeked into the bag.
There were all sorts of things in the bag. Like Hope, Claire was always prepared. Tucked inside were two measuring tapes—you know, in case you need more than one—a leveler, because you have to make sure things are straight, and a camera. Claire photographed the rooms she was hired to stage. In the small back office, she had a bulletin board where she tacked up the photos so she could study them and make design decisions.
Claire turned her head toward Hope, her chin jutted out. “No idea. I know it’s a woman, and she’s signed a short-term lease. My guess is she’s moved for work or family and will look for something more permanent.”
“Sounds like she might be interested in some of your merchandise.” Hope pulled out a chair and sat.
Claire shrugged. “Maybe.” She grabbed her canvas tote by the handles and carried it over to the counter. “What’s on your agenda today? Are you all ready for teaching your first blogging class?”
Hope leaned into the chair. “I’m all prepared for the class. I have two recipes to make and photograph this afternoon. I also have to see what I need to take to Vermont. I have a few things for skiing, but I haven’t looked at any of that stuff since I moved into the house. It’s all still packed away.”
“Don’t forget, I have ski clothes—” The front door opened, letting in a blast of cold air as a woman entered.
The woman, dressed in a green parka with a black knit hat pulled over her chin-length, blond hair, looked vaguely familiar to Hope, though she couldn’t place where she knew her from.
“I’m sorry to interrupt.” The door shut behind the woman and she stepped farther into the shop. “I saw Hope coming in, and I wanted to . . . well . . . say hi. It’s been ages.” She stood there in awkward silence. “It’s me. Devon.”
Hope and Claire looked at each other, both clearly surprised by their visitor.
“Devon Markham?” Hope stood, still staring in disbelief at her long-lost friend. “It has been ages.”
Devon nodded as she closed the small space between them and hugged Hope.
“It’s really you.” Hope couldn’t believe her arms were wrapped around Devon after all these years. The last time they’d hugged was on high school graduation day, right before the newest graduating class went off to start their journey into the real world.
Devon had chosen a college in Oregon. Hope guessed she had wanted to put as much distance between herself and the bad memories of her hometown as possible. In Oregon, she’d be Devon Markham, a biology student. Not Devon Markham, daughter of a missing woman.
“It’s so good to see both of you.” Devon let go of Hope.
Now, looking closely at her, Hope realized Devon hadn’t changed much. The same hair, the same freckled nose, and the same warm smile. Though she rarely flashed the smile after her mom vanished.
“Same here. I’m . . . we’re surprised to see you. It’s been too long.” Claire gave Devon a quick hug.
“I agree.” Devon waited a beat before continuing. “To tell you the truth, returning to Jefferson wasn’t planned.”
“Whatever has brought you back, I’m glad to see you after all these years.” Claire gestured to the chair at the table, but Devon waved off the offer to sit.
“I can’t stay. I have to finish settling in and return the van. Patrick just left. He helped me move in some of the stuff,” Devon said.
“He and Felice must be happy to have you back in town.” Hope returned to her seat. She wonder
ed if it was the revisiting of the worst day in her life that had Devon returning to Jefferson. Talking about Joyce’s disappearance on the podcast had to have stirred up difficult feelings. Had Devon decided to come back to find comfort from her sister?
Devon shrugged, and she pressed her lips together as if she was keeping herself from saying the first thing that came to mind.
“Like the two of you, they were surprised by my decision to come back after all these years. There’s been a lot of hurt between us.”
Hope nodded. She knew about the hurt. The most significant wound that divided the sisters was Devon’s decision not to come back for Felice’s wedding. Hope couldn’t imagine not being there for Claire’s wedding or vice versa, even though hers ended in a messy divorce.
“You’re here now, and seeing that Patrick is helping you, it looks like you are all on the road to mending your relationships.”
Devon shrugged again. “Felice has been pretty angry with me, but I’m hoping she’ll find a way to forgive me. Patrick seems to be open to starting over. He’s a good husband and a good brother-in-law. He offered to help with moving in, so I took him up on it.” She looked around the shop. “I thought you were a real estate agent, Claire. Are you working here now?”
“It’s my shop. I’m a home stager now.” Claire rested her hands on the back of the empty chair. “Felice was in here last week and she didn’t mention you coming back.”
“She didn’t know then. I only called her a couple of days ago. I don’t know how long I’m going to stay. Thank goodness the apartment was available on a short-term lease option,” Devon said.
“Does your podcast have anything to do with you coming back to Jefferson?” Hope asked.
Claire looked to Hope and then Devon. “What podcast?”
“A year ago, I started a podcast about unsolved cases of missing women. I’ve done three cases so far,” Devon said.
“I’ve heard of true crime podcasts. But I’ve never listened to one. They sound fascinating.” Claire grimaced. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean cases like your mother’s are fascinating. It’s not, it’s horrible.”
“I know what you meant. No worries.” However, Devon’s smile faded. “I figured it was time to cover the one unsolved case closest to me. My mom’s.”
“That’s very brave of you.” Claire’s gaze drifted downward, and Hope knew her sister was kicking herself for the comment. She also knew her sister didn’t mean to hurt Devon.
The awkwardness passed as quickly as it had descended upon them. Devon continued, not dwelling on a silly comment. She had bigger things to worry about. “There are all sorts of theories of what happened to my mother. I’m certain she didn’t walk out on us. Someone took her. I intend to find out what happened to her twenty years ago.”
“I don’t think anyone believed she left on her own.” Hope remembered her mother hadn’t believed Joyce walked out on her family. But there were rumors she’d fled with a boyfriend or was forced into the witness protection program. Both those scenarios seemed unlikely, given Joyce had been a well-respected member of the community. Then again, Hope was only a teenager at the time and wasn’t privy to information about Joyce’s personal life.
“How do you plan on finding out the truth?” Claire asked. “It was so long ago.”
Devon’s baby-blue eyes hardened. “I’m going to turn this whole town upside down and shake as hard as I can until I find the person responsible for my mother’s disappearance.” A chirping noise came from her wrist, and she lifted her arm, pushing up the sleeve of her parka. She tapped her smartwatch. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late returning the van. It’s so good to see you both.” She hurried out of the shop.
Claire followed, and when the door closed, she swung around to face her sister.
“Did you hear what she said? What she’s planning on doing?”
“I did.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about her podcast? How do you know about it?”
“I only found out about it this morning. I ran into Norrie Jennings, who also knows about the podcast.”
“Does she know Devon was planning on coming back to town?”
“I don’t think so. Norrie said she’s heard the podcast and wants to write a follow-up story about Joyce’s case in time for the anniversary. She didn’t mention anything about Devon being back in town.”
Claire walked back to the counter and lifted the tote bag. “I’m not going to lie; I have a bad feeling about all this.”
“Same here.” Hope stood and moved to the window. She looked out to Main Street.
In the early morning light and the fresh coating of snow, the street looked charming. A quick glance and no one would ever suspect any evil acts occurring in the postcard-perfect New England town. Hope swallowed. She knew otherwise.
She’d been caught up in a few murder investigations over the past year, which meant she’d been face-to-face with evil. Her guess was Joyce also faced such, but unlike Hope, she never got the chance to tell the story.
“Wait until Maretta finds out Devon is back to reopen her mother’s case. And of all things, with a podcast.” Claire tsk-tsked. “Plus having Norrie write an article about it for the Gazette? Maretta is going to blow a gasket. You know how she feels about portraying Jefferson’s image of the ideal destination for antiquing and leaf-peeping.”
Hope winced. Her sister was right. The new mayor had been on the job since last summer and blamed Hope for the unfortunate murders that occurred recently in town. Why blame the murderer when you have a perfectly innocent food blogger to accuse?
Chapter Three
The timer dinged, signaling to Hope she was mere minutes away from enjoying one of her favorite meals, currently bubbling away in one of the double ovens.
When she renovated the kitchen, she and her contractor had gutted the entire space. She had compiled a lengthy wish list—or maybe it should have been called a dream list, because her budget wasn’t large enough for everything she wanted. But the top on the list was the double-oven unit.
She hauled the heavy, nine-quart Le Creuset Dutch oven to the island. The aroma of the red wine, rosemary, and thyme mingled together with a thick slab of chuck roast had her mouth watering. Then she checked the timer for the upper oven, where a tray of carrots tossed with olive oil and coarse salt roasted. Once those finished, she’d garnish them with chopped parsley.
One-pot meals were easy and popular, but Hope didn’t love the taste or texture of potatoes and vegetables cooked along with the pot roast. She preferred to serve the hearty slices of roast over a fluffy mound of mashed potatoes and a side of roasted carrots nestled on the plate. Hands down, that little change elevated the traditional pot roast.
Hope checked her watch as she finished setting the table. Her dinner guests would arrive shortly.
From an upper cabinet, she pulled out three mismatched plates—some of her favorite tag sale finds. She loved the treasure hunt of a good tag sale. Plus, there was no worry about breaking a dish and having to find a matching replacement. She also found props for her photography, DIY projects for her blog, and a few pieces to weave into her home. Like the plates.
She set the plates on the table, a not-so-vintage find at an estate sale right after her kitchen remodel was complete. While the table didn’t have a provenance, it had charm and seating for six. Its lightly scuffed, warm wood tone effortlessly merged the kitchen and the family room together.
She retrieved three napkins from the hutch. The antique pumpkin pine floorboards creaked with her steps. She smiled. Others would have thought the sound annoying, but she found it to be endearing. Salvaged from a barn up in Vermont, she had them trucked to Connecticut and stored until the remodel of the opened space was complete.
The kitchen had been closed off from the family room when she purchased the house. The first order of business was to tear down the dividing wall between the rooms because she wanted a large, open living space. Now, she had a direct view
to the fireplace that anchored the family room and to the wall of windows that looked out over her expansive backyard. For as far as the eye could see, the property was dotted with towering evergreens and oak trees coated with snow. In the early morning, she’d catch glimpses of the deer that settled down to sleep way back on the acreage. There was also a big, fat groundhog who ventured out, though she hadn’t seen him lately.
The tapping of toenails approaching prompted Hope to look up from folding the napkins. Bigelow had appeared at the doorway of the family room. The medium-size dog paused for a moment before trotting over to her.
“What took you so long? You’re starting to slack off.” She laughed. Bigelow usually hung out with her as she prepared food, always hopeful he’d get a taste. Though today he seemed tired, and after she scrubbed the potatoes, he disappeared. She figured he went upstairs to her bedroom to nap on her bed. The aroma of the pot roast must have awakened him and his taste buds.
Bigelow yawned and then set forward in a trot and joined Hope at the island. He was a handsome combination of brown, white, and black. While her rescue dog had good looks and a kind heart, his manners needed work. At first, he wasn’t a very good student, but in the past few months he’d greatly improved. Even so, Hope remained steadfast. He’d not get any food until after she and her guests finished their dinner. Then, and only then, she’d make him a bowl of shredded pot roast, carrots, and potatoes.
Rules were rules, after all.
“Drew and Jane are coming for dinner tonight. Are you going to be on your best behavior?”
Bigelow slanted his head and stared at her with his big eyes. He woofed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” She gave him a pat on the head as she passed by on her way to check the carrots. She turned on the oven’s interior light to look. So far, so good. Just a few more minutes.
Back at the island, she lifted the Dutch oven’s lid and inhaled the aromatic fragrance the slow cooking of the roast produced. Every time she made the recipe, she was transported back to her childhood. The anticipation of having to wait hours for the roast to be fork tender never failed to build, no matter how many times her mom made the dish.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 3