“I’m not sure she did. I want to try to make things right.” Felice squeezed Hope’s hands.
“What do you mean?”
“I want to continue with what Devon was doing. I want to find out what happened to our mother. There’s a part of me that believes Devon’s accident wasn’t an accident.”
Hope was speechless. Felice was also suspicious of the circumstances around Devon’s death.
“Patrick thinks it’s the shock of the news. But I think if the detective who handled my mother’s case all those years ago had done a better job, we’d know whether my mother walked out of our lives or she was abducted and murdered.”
“I hate to play devil’s advocate.” Hope surprised herself. Just yesterday she was all-in to investigate what happened to Joyce and Devon. Now, she was about to try to talk Felice out of doing the same thing. “The roads are slick and snowy, especially the section of Hargate Hill where the accident happened. Devon wasn’t used to driving in those types of conditions any longer.”
It’d taken Hope a whole season to get back into the skill of winter driving, even though she’d come back to the northwestern Connecticut town regularly for visits. Even with the all-wheel vehicle she owned, there was a learning curve to driving in her section of the state. Devon had been driving a rental car. Who knew how reliable it was?
“Patrick said the same thing last night. It’s a valid point. As is the fact that Devon was digging into a missing persons case. My hunch is the person responsible for my mother’s vanishing is still here in Jefferson and wants the past to stay right where it is.”
“Patrick is a smart man.”
Hope and Felice’s gazes shifted to the direction of Shirley’s voice. She stood in the doorway with her hands clasped and a stern look on her face. She advanced into the room and gave Hope a curt nod in passing. Her destination was to Felice’s side.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” Felice’s voice was shaky.
“I made a lasagna. I thought it would be easier to go to the kitchen door. Patrick let me in. He’d just gotten off the phone with your aunt. She’s on her way down from Vermont. Would you like some more coffee?” Before Felice could answer, Shirley swiped up the mug.
“You don’t have to wait on me,” Felice said.
“It’s no bother. I’m here to help you. At least until your aunt arrives. Patrick said she’ll be here by this evening,” Shirley said.
“Many people care about you. We’re going to help you get through this.” Hope patted Felice’s knee before she drew back her hands to her lap.
“Those who truly care want to keep you from any more pain that the past presents.” Shirley shot Hope a take-that look.
“I’ve been kidding myself all these years. The not knowing is what’s painful. The difference between Devon and me was that she did something about her pain. And I think it got her killed.”
Shirley gasped. “You can’t believe she was killed because of what happened to your mother? From what I heard, it sounds like it was a tragic accident.”
“The police haven’t completed their investigation,” Hope said.
Shirley gave Hope a quick, sharp glance. What was going on with Shirley? Hope’s curiosity grew. She had to find out, but it wasn’t the time or place to pry.
“When they do, I’m confident it’ll be ruled an accident. Felice, I strongly urge you to be careful and not make any rash decisions or spout unfounded accusations. Let the police do their job.” Shirley’s face softened. “I’ll get you more coffee,” she said before turning and walking out of the room.
Hope glanced at her mug. Shirley hadn’t offered her a refill. She took that as a cue to leave.
“I should be going.” Hope stood.
“I appreciate your visit and the food. Patrick loves when I make one of your recipes from the blog.” Felice stood and hugged Hope.
Amid the sadness and grief, a zing of happiness shot through Hope. She loved feeding people. It was impossible to feed everyone, so sharing her recipes on her blog was the next best thing.
“Take care and call me if you need anything. I mean anything.”
“I will,” Felice whispered.
Hope showed herself to the front door, buttoning her coat quickly to ward off the cold air. However, the chill outside was no match for the icy reception she’d gotten from Shirley. Her thoughts drifted to the coming days. She’d been looking forward to her weekend getaway with Ethan. Now, she would be attending Devon’s funeral. It was a reminder how life could turn on a dime.
She started to walk past a hybrid car parked in the driveway when the driver’s door flew open, revealing Norrie.
“Do you know everyone in town?” A dark hat was pulled down over her hair and a coordinating scarf was tied around her neck.
“When you’re born and raised in a small town, you pretty much do.”
“Huh. I’m still getting used to the small-town thing. Being from Chicago, I didn’t know everyone. I barely knew my neighbors.”
Hope wanted to ask how the Gazette, as small as a small-town newspaper could get, was able to lure a skilled reporter like Norrie, but she resisted. She didn’t want to know that much about Drew’s archrival.
“Would you like to share a quote about Devon for our readers? Perhaps a memory?” Norrie unzipped her crossbody bag.
“Thank you for the offer. But not at this time.” Hope walked past Norrie toward her car. She was being rude, and it went against everything her mother taught her. Neither she nor Claire was raised to be bad-mannered. Elizabeth Early had instilled in her daughters to be kind, polite, and extend grace whenever possible. But Norrie never made extending grace possible in her book.
Sorry, Mom.
Hope slipped in behind the steering wheel of her car and started the engine. She gave the car a moment to warm up. She watched Norrie approach the house as hot air blasted through the vent. She didn’t know how Norrie or Drew did their jobs. Knocking on the door of a grieving family looking to get a quote. When the door opened, Hope shifted her car into gear and drove out of the driveway.
* * *
Hope sipped her coffee and pushed her cart along the produce section of Donegal’s Supermarket. The grocery store had a café, which was her first stop when she entered. The mundane chore of grocery shopping soothed Hope. The typically mindless task of walking up and down the aisles was anything but boring. She always discovered a new product, and her mind would run wild with possibilities for new recipes.
Why on earth would anyone order their groceries online? A supermarket run was as cathartic as baking for her.
Donegal’s was her favorite place to shop for produce because they had the best quality. And it was only ten minutes from Felice’s house. So a quick dash inside to pick up a few things wouldn’t put her too far behind schedule.
She browsed the produce area for mushrooms to go with the steak she planned on making for family dinner. There were the all-purpose button mushrooms. They had a less intense flavor than the others. For her steak dinner, Hope wanted a little extra pop of flavor. She loved portobello mushrooms, but they were better for grilling or stuffing, sometimes both. Her eyes lit up when she saw the shiitake mushrooms. They’d be perfect. They had a light, woodsy flavor and aroma. She added them to her cart, along with the fresh basil, rosemary, and oregano she’d use for the compound butter. For most of the day, she hadn’t had an appetite, but thinking about the sizzling steak covered with the mushrooms and drenched with melted herb butter had her tummy grumbling.
A sale sign for onions caught her eye. A big pot of French onion soup sounded delicious. Well, at that moment everything seemed delicious. She added several onions to her cart and moved on along to the tomatoes, where she found Jane squeezing a Big Beef tomato.
“Looks like we both needed to do a little shopping.” Jane’s cheeks were flushed from the cold, and her wispy bangs peeked out beneath her black hat.
“I thought I’d stop in because I was close by. I was at
Felice’s.” Hope continued down the aisle and reached for a bag of the Yukon Gold potatoes she’d mash and serve with the steak. The little, yellow-fleshed potatoes were fluffy and slightly buttery in flavor, making them the perfect potato to mash.
“Poor thing. First her mother and now her sister.” Jane set the tomato along with two others in her cart and joined Hope, then reached for a bag of russet potatoes. Hope intercepted and placed the heavy bag into Jane’s cart. “Thank you, dear. How is Felice doing?”
“Not good. She told me she feels numb.” Hope returned to her cart and walked along with Jane as they perused the produce. “She also said she regrets opposing Devon’s decision to reopen their mother’s case. She’s changed her mind. She wants answers. Felice believes her sister’s death wasn’t an accident.”
“It would be far too coincidental if it were an accident. I believe Devon had been in contact with the person responsible for her mother’s disappearance before her own death.”
Now, if that wasn’t enough to send all sorts of chills and willies through her body, Hope didn’t know what was.
She sipped her coffee as she tried to picture whether there had been a planner among Devon’s research material. Who had Devon spoken to before the car accident? The police would have her cell phone and access to her records. If there were a planner, it was probably stolen, along with everything else.
Jane continued to the apples. “I’ve done some thinking about all those years ago. Joyce was close to Shirley and Donna Wilcox. I recall Donna was adamant that Joyce would never have left willingly.”
“My mom said the same thing.”
“Donna wasn’t shy about casting blame on Greg Markham, I think because one of Donna’s uncles killed his wife. She may have been projecting.” Jane inspected an apple. “Or she may have been right.”
“I really don’t remember Greg well.”
“He was always working. Most of the functions Joyce attended, she was alone because he was traveling. This morning, after church service, Donna mentioned she wants to do something in memory of Devon. She’s thinking about a scholarship fund to help students interested in journalism or writing.”
“Sounds like something Donna would do.”
“Perhaps you should visit her. You’re superb with fund-raising, and I’m sure she’d like to reminisce about Devon as a child and also about Joyce.”
“You’re not very subtle.”
Jane laughed. “I wasn’t trying to be. I’d better get a move on. Sally will be here in a few minutes to pick me up.” She patted Hope on the arm and headed toward the checkout.
Hope lingered in the produce section a little while longer and debated over whether to buy apples for a dessert. She could whip up a pie. She liked that idea. A rustic apple pie would be an excellent way to finish the day. With a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream. Her tummy rumbled again. Pie it was.
With her groceries paid for, Hope was back at her Explorer. She set the last grocery bag along with the two others already placed inside her cargo space. The canvas market totes were designed with her blog’s logo. She gave them away to promote the website. Giveaways were always happening, whether on social media or her newsletter or on the blog itself, and the totes were the most popular. Probably because everyone needed bags for their weekly shopping.
“Good afternoon, Hope.”
Hope looked over her shoulder and saw Maretta standing there with a shopping cart. Her gray coat was buttoned all the way up to its mandarin collar, and a plain black hat covered her drab brown hair. Just a few months ago, her hair had seemed to be a shinier shade of brunette. Now it appeared to have reverted to its lackluster old self.
“Hi, Maretta. How’s it going?” Instantly, Hope realized the question was a mistake. She stepped back and closed the cargo door.
“How’s it going?” Maretta repeated.
Hope was right. If only she could take the question back. Heck, if she could do that, she’d rewind enough so she could be inside her Explorer and backing out of the parking space before Maretta came out of the store.
“Since you ask, I’ll tell you.”
Lucky Hope.
“Chief Cahill notified me of a fatal car accident, and no doubt we’ll have press about it. Now, it seems we’re going to get hammered by another snowstorm. You have no idea how difficult it is governing a town. All the decisions I need to make daily, and making sure my subordinates follow through on what they’re supposed to be doing.”
Leave it to Maretta to turn a tragedy and weather event to be all about her.
Hope had no intention of giving Maretta what she wanted. She refused to feed her ever-inflating ego.
“I saw Felice a little while ago. She’s devastated about her sister.” Hope rested her gloved hands on the cart’s handlebar.
“The Markham family seems to have more than its share of sadness. Though I suspect now all the hoopla about Joyce’s disappearance will finally go away. The last thing Jefferson needs is for the past to be dragged back out. It’s not good for our image.”
Hope blinked. Had she heard correctly?
“Don’t look at me like that. My job is to look out for Jefferson. Tourism is vital to our town.”
“Devon was trying to find out what happened to her mother, which should trump how Jefferson looks to the rest of the world.”
Maretta’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re sticking your nose into that old case? What we need to focus on is spring tourism. It’s right around the corner. If there has to be a podcast about Jefferson, it should be about our wonderful shops. Who wants to vacation in a town where women vanish?”
“You’d rather have them stay in a town where justice isn’t served?”
“Must you be so dramatic? I’m warning you, Hope. Leave this alone. Joyce was a flirt. She went looking for trouble, and my guess is, she found it and then ran off so she wouldn’t have to face her family and friends.”
“What? What kind of trouble?”
“There’s only so much innocent flirting a woman can do before she finds herself in a compromising position. Mark my words, she took off because she was ashamed of herself.” Maretta pushed her cart and continued down the row of parked vehicles.
Stunned by the comment, it took Hope a moment before she could make a move to go after Maretta. She wanted to know more about Joyce’s flirting. But thanks to Maretta’s sensible snow boots, she was already at her sedan. Maybe it was for the best. What she’d hear would probably just be gossip. Twenty-year-old gossip.
She navigated her cart to the corral as Maretta backed her vehicle out of the parking space. She couldn’t dismiss everything Maretta said as gossip. And she couldn’t help but wonder how Joyce had gotten herself into a compromising position. While Maretta made everything about herself, she sure seemed to take Joyce’s behavior personally, even after all these years. Could the missing woman have flirted with Maretta’s husband, Alfred? Or more?
Chapter Nine
Getting Bigelow’s harness on was no easy feat for Hope. Her energetic pup was doing his happy dance because he was going out for a walk.
“Come on, sweetie, stay still.” She almost had the leash attached, but whatever Bigelow heard her say had him licking her face, which made her giggle, thus making the whole process longer. But she didn’t care; the laugh was very much welcome. She returned the kiss on his forehead and, steadying him for that second, she managed to get on his harness. Phew!
She’d returned home thirty minutes earlier, put away her groceries, and then got the French onion soup started—peeling and slicing onions and then sautéing them in her multicooker.
Once they were a deep golden color, she added the rest of the ingredients and switched to the slow cooker setting. Hope loved when her appliances were versatile and efficient.
By the time she finished, the clouds had parted, allowing the sun to peek out and making for a more delightful afternoon. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Hope was grateful
for the small ray of sunshine. And for the chance to get Bigelow out for another walk. He had a lot of energy. Walks were a good way for him to expend as much of it as possible.
She zipped up her jacket, and Bigelow stood by the door, looking up at the knob with anticipation. Hope opened the door, and Bigelow hurried out, pulling on the leash. He knew better and she gave a tug, signaling to him to slow down. His head dropped a little, and so did his speed.
On the patio, they found Poppy perched on a patio chair. Hope had put away all the outdoor furniture except for this one chair because the Rhode Island Red hen liked to sit there to be close to the house.
“Hello, Poppy.” Hope walked to the bird with Bigelow by her side. He always behaved well around the chickens. She had expected him to chase them, but he never did. Rather, he slid into the role of protector. Having a dog around the chickens helped keep predators away.
Poppy tilted her head and looked at Hope with her beady little eyes. The bird’s rust-colored feathers and curious personality endeared her to Hope. However, her inquisitiveness had her entering the house on more than one occasion. Bigelow hadn’t minded, but Princess wasn’t pleased by the interloper. Hope was amazed by how daring the hen was, walking in like she owned the place.
“Don’t stay out too long. It’s cold.” Hope gave a stroke to the bird’s back and Poppy replied with a “buh-rup” vocalization as she stretched out her wings and settled back down.
Hope and Bigelow set off on their walk. She’d dressed him in a plaid wool coat. He wasn’t thrilled the first time she’d put the coat on him, but he got over it. Now he tolerated the coat, and she appreciated it.
She’d changed into her running clothes, though she wasn’t going to run. She wanted to be comfy, and the layers also kept her warm. Her gloved hand kept a tight hold on the leash, and she led Bigelow out onto the road.
The wind had picked up again. The bare tree branches swayed side to side. The spot of sun she saw before heading out was still up there, but it wasn’t doing much to warm the day. Bigelow didn’t seem to mind one bit. He was in his glory. His ears flapped as his body moved swiftly along the road. His head was high, and Hope could swear he was smiling. So what if she was a little cold? He was having fun.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 12