Bigelow woofed again.
“Be patient. You’ll get some.” Doubt flashed in his brown eyes, and he inched closer to Hope. “I promise.” After setting down the lid, Hope used a tong and a spatula to maneuver the roast from the pot and set it onto a waiting platter. She covered it with a sheet of aluminum foil while she prepared the gravy.
After she gave the gravy a final whisk, there was a knock at the back door. She hurried through the mudroom and let her guests in.
Drew removed his coat and shook off the cold. He muttered something about freezing to death as he hung up his jacket and then reached for Jane’s red wool coat after she slipped out of it.
He had swung by the Merrifield Inn to pick up Jane on his way to Hope’s house. The seventysomething retired mystery author had given up her driver’s license years ago, after she had an accident. Rattled by the experience, she chose to stop driving. Though the decision left her dependent upon others for transportation, mostly it was her sister-in-law, Sally, who chauffeured her around. Hope wasn’t sure how’d she feel relying on friends and family for lifts to run errands or a night out for dinner. When the day came, she hoped she’d handle it as well as Jane seemed to be. Hope dashed back into the kitchen to check on the gravy.
“It smells heavenly in here.” Jane followed Hope into the kitchen and stopped to greet Bigelow, who’d been waiting impatiently at the door. Jane’s ivory sweater was a nice change from all the drabness of midwinter fashions. Hope glanced at her top. Dark gray. Could she get any duller? Jane cooed a few endearments to Bigelow, and he ate up the attention. Her white hair was cut short and wispy bangs grazed her brows. She had on her classic pearl earrings and her trademark pink lipstick.
“Pot roast? Good thing I went to the gym after work.” Drew continued to the island and helped himself to the bottle of wine set out. A nice red to go along with their meal.
“You can’t spend your life worrying about calories.” Jane gave a final pat on Bigelow’s head and then joined Drew. She slid one of the three glasses on the counter in front of him and waited. She wasn’t driving, so she wasn’t shy about enjoying wine. When Drew stopped pouring, she cleared her throat, prompting him to continue filling the glass.
Drew handed his travel companion the amply filled glass and slid Hope a can-you-believe-that? look. Hope gave a small shrug. She knew Jane enjoyed wine, especially red.
“I wish I didn’t have to worry about calories.” Drew sipped his wine. As the designated driver and conscientious about his caloric intake, Hope knew he would savor his drink. “I barely got into these jeans tonight.” He glanced at the slim-fit, dark-washed jeans he wore with a navy crew-neck sweater.
“Dinner is almost ready.” Hope rattled off the menu as she transferred the strained, thickened gravy into a glass gravy boat and set it on the table. Back at the roast, she began slicing. “Too bad Sally couldn’t make it tonight.”
“You know she won’t miss a garden club meeting.” Drew took his glass and the bottle of wine to the table. “Tonight they’re making their plans for spring projects around town.”
“It’s her passion.” Jane joined Drew at the table. She lived with her sister-in-law, and together they managed the town’s only inn. It’d been passed down from generation to generation. These days, they had help for all the day-to-day tasks.
“Hope, we need to set up a time for me to interview you about the blogging class at the library. My editor assigned the story to me.” Drew plucked a roll out of the bread basket before handing it to Jane.
Hope made a batch of garlic and herb dinner rolls a week earlier and froze them, so for dinner tonight she only needed to thaw and heat. Halfway through their baking, she brushed them with melted butter, so they’d get a nice, golden color.
She paused in slicing the meat, which was falling apart because it was so tender. Messy? Yes. But it was going to taste delicious. Drew didn’t appear unhappy about being assigned to cover a run-of-the-mill, adult education class. Though she was certain he’d prefer something juicier that could garner him a front-page byline.
“Anytime you want.”
“Sally said she saw a moving truck out in front of Claire’s shop earlier today.” Jane buttered her roll. “It’s nice to see the apartment has been rented. It’s been empty for months.” She took a bite of the roll, and her eyes fluttered.
Hope transferred the slices of the roast to a platter and then spooned the potatoes into a large bowl. The specks of red from the potato skins were a little pop of color. She carried the serving dishes to the table. With the bowl of carrots placed last, she pulled her cell phone out of her jeans’ back pocket.
“This looks delish.” Drew reached for the roast’s serving fork.
“No!” Hope had her phone poised for a photo.
Visibly startled by Hope’s directive, Drew almost dropped the fork. “What?”
“Can’t you see she’s trying to take a photograph?” Jane asked.
“Can’t you see I’m trying to eat dinner?” Drew leaned back into his chair and pouted.
“Give me a minute. I need to take a photo before we eat.” Hope angled the phone to get a shot of the entire table without the faces of her guests. When she posted “real-life” photographs of her meals, they garnered thousands of likes, so she shared more of those.
“Be sure to tag me.” Jane reached for her wineglass.
Hope laughed and then promised she would. Much to her surprise, over Christmas, Jane joined the millions of users on Facebook. One of the employees at the inn, who handled the website and social media accounts, helped Jane set up a profile, and now she was addicted to checking her news feed and being tagged by her friends. Most days being on social media felt like a chore for Hope, so it was nice to see someone enjoy it for a change.
“Can we eat now?” Drew still held on to the serving fork. When Hope nodded the okay, he placed three slices of roast on his plate and then two slices on Jane’s before passing the platter in Hope’s direction.
Seated, Hope spooned out a mound of potatoes and then added a few slices of the meat on top. She drizzled a little gravy and then broke off a piece of roast with a scoop of potato and chewed. It was better than she’d anticipated. The flavors of the potatoes mingled on her tongue. The spicy, pungent flavor of the garlic was mellowed by the silkiness of the cream cheese and the tang of the buttermilk, while the roast melted in her mouth and the gravy popped with the infusion of rosemary and thyme.
Bigelow came sniffing around the table and she quickly dispatched him to his bed in the corner of the family room. She’d never fed him at the table, but her niece and nephew had, so it made sense he’d try tonight. She craned her neck looking for Princess. Her fluffy white cat usually made an appearance when meat was involved. The little carnivore enjoyed a piece of beef or chicken but, like Bigelow, she’d seemed sleepy earlier. Hope guessed it was Princess’s shredding of a roll of toilet paper that wore her out. Now Hope had to make sure the bathroom doors were closed when she left the house.
“You’ve outdone yourself, dear.” Jane pierced a carrot. “The gravy is so smooth and flavorful. I hope this recipe is on the blog.”
“It is. Getting back to the apartment over Claire’s shop.” Hope gestured for Drew to pass the bread basket. She broke apart a roll and buttered it. “I’m sure you’ll hear soon enough that Devon Markham moved into the apartment.”
“No!” Drew leaned into his chair. The look of shock on his face mimicked the surprise in his voice. “She’s back? Why? Did you talk to her?”
“I did. Briefly. She came into the shop while I was there.” Hope popped a piece of roll into her mouth and chewed.
“I can’t believe she’s come back. I thought for sure when she left after graduation she’d never return. After what she and her family went through, who could blame her?” Jane asked.
“Me too. Back then, Devon seemed to take what happened and process it internally. She didn’t talk about it with anyone. Unlike Felice. She
told me she saw a therapist when her mother disappeared.” Drew sopped up the gravy on his plate with half of his roll.
“We all handle tragedies differently.” Hope topped off her wineglass. “But it seems now she’s ready to talk about what happened to her mother.”
“What do you mean, dear?” Jane tilted forward, and her eyes widened with interest.
Hope took a drink of her wine and then set down the glass. “She’s started a podcast about unsolved cases of missing women. The current case she’s covering is her mother’s.”
Drew’s fork dropped onto his plate with a clank. “A true crime podcast? I love them. What’s the name of it?” He pulled his phone out of his back pocket and then looked up expectantly at Hope.
“Search for the Missing. This morning, Gilbert told me Mitzi listens to it. Oliver also listens to it. I guess it has a following.” Hope reached for the carrots and scooped out a spoonful onto her plate.
Drew was busy tapping away on his phone. “Got it!” He tapped on the phone a few more times to finally bring up the podcast.
“We’re going to listen to it now? I’ve never heard one before.” Jane smiled.
“This is the latest one. Shush.” Drew raised the volume on the phone.
Jane pursed her lips and gawked at Drew. Hope dipped her head to hide the smile that was curving her lips. Drew just shushed Jane. Oh. My. Goodness.
The dramatic music led into the introduction and Devon’s somber voice followed.
“When I tell people I have a podcast they ask me why I started it. I tell them I started this podcast to help find answers to the sudden, unexpected disappearances of women like me . . . like you . . . like your mom . . . your sister . . . your wife . . . your friend. I started this podcast to work through the feelings that haunt me about my mother, Joyce Markham. Twenty years ago, she was a beautiful, smart, active mother of two girls and wife of a very successful man.
“She’d entered her forties knowing it would only be a few years before her daughters would graduate high school and she’d have an empty nest. In preparation for this new phase of her life, she decided working as a secretary at a real estate agency wasn’t enough. She wanted more. Who could blame her? She’d given so much to me and to my sister. Why shouldn’t she have been able to follow her dreams? She wanted to be a real estate agent, so she started studying for the test. I remember her sitting at the kitchen table with a textbook. She was serious. She was going for it.
“I guess like any good student, she decided to push some boundaries. Do something a little daring. Something unexpected for a respectable wife and mother twenty years ago. My mom got a tattoo. That’s right, my mom got a tat. It was a rose. A black rose.”
Hope exchanged curious looks with Jane and Drew. They’d stopped eating.
“A black rose is mostly associated with death and mourning, but my mom told me they also have a more positive, inspiring meaning. Black roses can stand for the beginnings of new things and major changes. Little did my mother know, shortly after getting the tattoo she’d disappear.”
Hope’s jaw dropped open and a chill snaked down her spine. The feeling of foreboding she’d experienced earlier in Claire’s shop returned and intensified.
“She had a black rose tattoo?” Drew paused the podcast.
Hope shrugged. “I never heard about it.”
“It was probably a detail the police held back. You know, they always leave something out when they discuss a case with the public. Though I don’t see what role it played in her disappearance.” Jane forked a carrot and chewed. “I can understand the girl’s need for answers. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes on the case now will lead to the answers she desperately needs.”
“This is great!”
“What are you talking about?” Hope stared at Drew, bewildered by his statement.
“Don’t you see? I have a new story! The anniversary is coming up. Valentine’s Day is right around the corner.” Drew hastily wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I need to start right away.”
“Drew . . . wait—”
“No time to wait, Hope.” He sprang from his chair. “Do you mind giving Jane a ride home? I have to do research tonight so I can pitch this to my editor tomorrow.”
Hope jumped up from her chair, jarring Bigelow from his bed, and he trotted to the table while she crossed the room to stop Drew from leaving.
“Wait. I need to tell you something.”
“Later.” He was already on the other side of the mudroom door. “Thanks!” he said before pulling the door closed.
“He’s so excited when he gets a new story idea. I appreciate the ride home, dear,” Jane said.
Hope spun around and her shoulders slumped. “No problem.”
Jane set down her fork. “Oh, but there appears to be one. What’s wrong, dear?” She gestured for Hope to come back to the table.
Hope lumbered back to her chair and sat. Bigelow made his way to her side and reared up, resting his front paws on her lap. He was trying to figure out what was wrong. She stroked him, hoping to reassure him there was nothing to worry about.
“Norrie told me this morning she was going to write a story on Joyce’s case. I was going to tell Drew after dinner. I had no idea he’d play the podcast and then rush out of here.” She pointed to the mudroom door.
Jane’s worried look diminished. “You need to call him later. You know how he gets.”
“He’ll be annoyed with me.” Hope reached for her glass and gulped her wine.
She and Drew had been best friends forever. They’d shared secrets, commiserated over breakups, and gone antiquing together. Besties for life, they’d promised each other decades ago. The only other person she was closer to was her sister. And because she and Drew were so close, when they argued, it was ugly. Uglier than the Christmas sweater he made for her three holiday seasons ago when he was drunk. But it had taught them both a lesson: Don’t ever operate a glue gun while under the influence. Because there really was such a thing as too many rhinestones. But she still had the sweater tucked away in a storage bin. She hadn’t the heart to toss it out.
“Imagine what he’ll be like if you don’t tell him and he finds out for himself.”
Hope sighed. “You’re right. I have to tell him before he goes to work tomorrow. It won’t be too bad. Right?”
Bigelow lowered his head to her lap and closed his eyes. Jane lifted her glass and took a long drink of her wine. There was no reassurance coming her way. It looked like she was on her own.
* * *
The next morning, Hope woke with a start. Her blogging class was happening. A mix of excitement, anxiety, and pride left her exhausted even after a good night’s sleep. One minute, she was looking forward to sharing everything she knew with the students. A minute later, she was terrified she’d bore them with her lengthy explanations. How else could she explain long-tail keywords? And a minute after that, a swell of pride calmed her racing thoughts. She’d finally arrived at a place where people wanted to learn from her.
What she needed to do was to figure out a way to keep that last thought front and center for the rest of the day.
With Bigelow and Princess fed and her own breakfast dishes cleared and in the dishwasher, she gave clear instructions to her pets on her way out of the house.
The instructions were simple. They were to behave while she was gone. Bigelow, being the lovable pup he was, sat and listened intently, while Princess, being the diva she was, licked her paw and showed not one ounce of interest in anything Hope had to say. Typical.
She stepped outside with trepidation. Would it feel as cold as yesterday morning had?
With the door closed behind her, she walked along the shoveled path to the garage. No, it wasn’t as cold as yesterday, but it was still plenty cold. If they got lucky, it would reach a high of twenty-five degrees. Woo-hoo! Time to strip off the long underwear.
A ruckus from the barn caught her attention. Hope didn’t need to be inside there to know Helga,
her four-pound Hamburg hen, was pitching a fit. The hen had a very distinctive sound, and she always seemed to be aggrieved by another chicken.
A rhythmic cackling announced that Beatrice was trying to oust an interloper from her nesting box. Hope grinned. Beatrice wouldn’t quiet down until her space was cleared. The standoff could go on for the rest of the morning depending upon which bird was occupying the space.
The hens got along most of the time but, like sisters, they had different personalities, and they had disagreements from time to time. Helga was the top chick. She took her role seriously and would fiercely protect any other hen if she felt there was a threat. Poppy, a Rhode Island Red, was a gentler soul and preferred to hang out close to Hope’s house, even letting herself inside occasionally.
The girls, as Hope called them, were a handful and a lot of work, just like the house and the blog. Over time, she realized she was taking on too much work for one person. After careful consideration, she’d hired Josie to help with the administrative work and Iva Johnson to help with the chickens, the new gardens, and work around the house.
Iva Johnson. Talk about a blast from her past.
They had gone to the same high school. That was all they’d had in common from those days. They’d traveled in very different social circles and had no shared interests. Throughout school, Hope was a perpetual volunteer. There wasn’t a committee she hadn’t wanted to organize. Iva, on the other hand, felt it was her duty to wreak havoc wherever she went. In that area, she excelled.
Looking back, Hope suspected Iva’s unsettled home life had a big influence on how she behaved at school. Iva cut classes, smoked and drank, and barely got passing grades. She made it no secret she had cared little for Hope, the bookworm who loved to study for tests and bake cookies.
Now, they were working together. Never in a million years would Hope have believed such a thing would happen. But it did. Yes, pigs must have been flying somewhere.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 4