The little guy didn’t have a care in the world. Well, except maybe for Princess. Hope had caught her taking a swipe with claws extended at Bigelow’s nose the other night. It seemed they were still working out their boundaries.
Which reminded Hope that she had something to work out with Iva.
She groaned. If it weren’t for Bigelow, Hope would have stopped in her tracks. The weight of having to talk to Iva about her missing charm bracelet came crashing down on her shoulders, making each step forward feel more like slogging through quicksand than walking along the snowy road.
She realized she’d been using the blogging class and what was going on with Devon to avoid sitting down with Iva and having an honest conversation. During her time as a magazine editor, she’d mentored editorial assistants, helped them find their voices so as not to be overlooked for assignments and promotions. Speaking to Iva about the missing bracelet should have been easy for her to do. Sure, she expected it would be awkward, but she’d had the unpleasant task of firing employees before. And she wasn’t even going to fire Iva. Well, if Iva stole the bracelet, she’d have to be fired. If she didn’t, then Iva would think Hope didn’t trust her. And it would wreck the friendly relationship they were developing after all this time. And Iva wouldn’t like her.
There it was.
The one thing Hope wished she could change about herself: her need to be liked. She was sure it was the reason she’d learned to cook at a young age. You made people food, and they loved you.
Claire, on the other hand, hadn’t cared if people liked her. She had no interest in feeding people. She had no deep-seated need to see their faces light up when they were presented the most perfect cookie. Nope. Not her.
Bigelow jerked on the leash and yowled. It was a unique sound, between a bark and a howl, and it had a lyrical ring to it. Albeit, a very loud lyrical ring. Hope happily pushed aside her thoughts about talking to Iva and about her own flaws to see what was causing her pup’s excitement.
She should have known. Gilbert was approaching with Buddy tugging on a leash, his tail wagging.
“Good afternoon, Hope.” Gilbert reached out to Bigelow, but he was too busy greeting Buddy to pay the older man any attention. “Brisk day for a walk.”
“It certainly is.” A chill wiggled through Hope. It was time to head inside and give the soup a taste test.
“I heard about Devon. It’s such a shame. I remember her as a little girl.” He stared down at Buddy and stroked the dog’s head. He lifted his gaze back up to Hope. “She and her sister would come to the house every year selling cookies. Mitzi always chastised me for ordering too many boxes of Thin Mints.” Gilbert chuckled.
“I saw Felice this morning. The whole situation breaks my heart.”
Gilbert nodded in agreement. “I worked with Greg for years before he moved on to a new company. You know, he was a born salesman. He had the gift of gab, but he also had what my mother called a restless soul.”
Hope’s interest was piqued. She hadn’t known Gilbert and Greg worked together.
“How so?”
Buddy sat while his owner pushed back his wool cap and then shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Hope sensed it would be a long story. Gilbert could chat for hours on end.
“He never seemed to fit into the family-man role. He’d prefer to travel than attend his kids’ sports games or go cut down a Christmas tree with his family. He loved traveling so much, he turned down a promotion that came with regular hours and no travel. That’s when he left for the other company.”
It sounded like Greg had a bit of wanderlust. Hope couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted his freedom so much that he killed his wife and disposed of her body, never to be found.
“Everything okay, Hope? You have a funny look on your face.”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I remembered I needed to add something to my to-do list,” she lied. She couldn’t very well tell him what she was really thinking about.
Gilbert chuckled again. “You never slow down, do you? Well, I’d better give Buddy his walk.” He looked down at Bigelow, who looked expectantly up at him. “Why don’t I take Bigelow with us?”
“Thanks, but we’re just coming back.”
Bigelow looked up at Hope. Calling her out on what she deemed a decent walk. Up and down their street? Sure, it wasn’t their longest walk ever, but it was all she had time for.
“He looks like he’s up for a little more, aren’t you, boy?” Gilbert’s question had Bigelow’s head tilting and his eyes widening. He was practically nodding.
“I’m sure he’d love to go, but I’m heading out.” Hope had it all planned. The soup would continue to cook in the slow cooker, giving her time to visit Donna before supper. See, that was why she loved multifunctional appliances.
“No problem. I’ll keep Bigelow with us until you get back. Come over when you get home.” Gilbert reached out and took Bigelow’s leash.
“Thanks.” Hope gave Bigelow a kiss on the head and hurried back to her house.
Inside, she checked the soup. She spooned out some broth and a sliver of onion and gave it a taste. It needed a little more pepper. She added a pinch of black pepper before she returned the lid to the pot. Up next was the crust for her rustic apple pie.
She gathered a stainless-steel bowl, the dry ingredients, and measuring spoons. She’d been making the same pie crust recipe since she was a little girl, so she had it memorized.
Within minutes, she had the dough formed into a flattened disc and wrapped in plastic wrap to set in the refrigerator.
She did a quick cleanup before calling Donna, who was pleased to hear from Hope and even more pleased by the offer of homemade broccoli and spinach soup. They agreed on a time, and Hope went upstairs to change clothes. She opted for a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. It took a few minutes to pack up the soup and a loaf of sourdough bread and then she was off to drive across town. Hopefully, Donna would be able to shed some light on why she believed Greg was responsible for his wife’s disappearance.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Donna Wilcox swept Hope into her downsized home. It was a far cry from the massive, two-story Colonial she once lived in with her family. Her shoulder-length gray hair was gathered in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of lounge pants and a coordinating top. Donna looked like she was enjoying a relaxing afternoon.
“I’m glad you thought of me. Now I don’t have to worry about what to make for dinner. Come on, let’s go into the kitchen.”
“I always end up with so much food after recipe testing and cooking for videos.” Hope followed Donna into the cheerful kitchen.
Decorated with splashes of yellow and warm reds, the room had a French country flair to it. Especially the two white counter-height stools at the peninsula. Their turned legs and weathered finish were a nice touch to the elegant yet comfortable room.
Hope set the basket on the peninsula and then removed her jacket. She set it along with her purse on a stool.
“Would you like coffee? I also have flavored waters.”
“Water, please.” Hope took the soup container and the loaf of bread out of the basket. Every time she carried the basket with food in it, she felt like Little Red Riding Hood minus the wolf. “I love your kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Donna set the glass of water in front of Hope. Pushed aside on the countertop were the newspaper’s crossword puzzle, a pen, and a pair of reading glasses.
“You do the crossword puzzle in pen? Impressive.” And so neat. Even in those small boxes, Donna’s handwriting was immaculate.
Donna shrugged. “Don’t be too impressed. I have my phone beside me when I do the puzzle. Google is a wonderful thing.”
Hope sipped her water. She wasn’t sure how she felt about robust search engines. It would have been nice if they forgot about her ill-fated attempt to win The Sweet Taste of Success, her messy divorce, and her recent encounters with a few murderers. Then again, those same search engines helped her
build her business.
“This soup looks so vibrant and healthy.” Donna took the container to the refrigerator. “Having extra food must be a yummy perk for you.”
“It is. And I love sharing it all.”
“I’m happy to receive anytime you want to share.” Donna rested her hands on the edge of the peninsula’s countertop. In her midsixties, she had the expected signs of aging around her full face: deep creases across her forehead and a web of tiny lines around her alert eyes. But what she had that wasn’t typical was a boundless amount of energy. She had an enormous amount of oomph that propelled her into a fulfilling second act as a patient advocate and an entrepreneur.
She’d turned her hobby of calligraphy into a small business and expanded to teaching others how to do it. Between juggling her job and side hustle, Donna was a member of Jefferson’s Planning and Zoning Committee. She was an inspiration to Hope that it was never too late to start over again.
“I ran into Jane earlier. She mentioned your plan to start a scholarship fund in Devon’s name.”
Donna swallowed her drink of water. “The response has been overwhelmingly positive, so I think it will happen. I’ve spoken to Felice about it, and she’s given her blessing. The high school is also on board with awarding the scholarship for writing.” She’d definitely been busy. Big or small, there wasn’t a fund-raiser she couldn’t make successful. “It seems like yesterday when I got the call about Joyce being gone. You never think it will happen to someone you know.”
“Who called to tell you about Joyce?”
“Shirley. I was back here in Jefferson, visiting my mother-in-law. In fact, Joyce and I were supposed to meet for brunch at the diner that morning.”
“What happened?”
“I got there first, like usual, and waited. She didn’t show up and I was a little irritated. My visit here was only for a few days and I really wanted to see her. Finally, I left and drove past her house, but I didn’t see her car parked in the driveway. I figured either she forgot, or she had to run a last-minute errand for one of the girls. Then, the next morning, I got the call from Shirley. As soon as I hung up with her, I called your mother. Back then, we didn’t have cell phones, and there were no texting groups. Oh, gosh, how I hate getting caught up in those.”
Hope nodded in agreement. There was nothing worse than getting trapped into a conversation you cared nothing about. She’d yet to find a way to exit gracefully without offending someone. It was like a modern-day hostage situation.
“Devon told me she’d found evidence her father was having an affair at the time Joyce vanished,” Hope said.
Donna pushed aside her glass and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the countertop.
“I’m not surprised one bit. After I moved, Joyce and I kept in contact. We talked at least once a week. Joyce wasn’t happy, so I doubt Greg was.”
“Unhappy in their marriage?”
“I can’t speak to Greg’s feelings because I didn’t know him well. Though if the wife’s not happy, how can the husband be? Anyway, Joyce wanted more out of life. I know it was only twenty years ago, but things were different for women like Joyce.”
“How so?”
“She was in her forties, married, with teenagers and no real career experience. She worked as a secretary, and most people would have thought it was enough. Joyce hadn’t thought so. She wanted to be a real estate agent, the person closing the deal and cashing the commission check.”
“Sounds like she was ambitious.”
Donna straightened and lifted her water glass. “Today she’d have more options. Look at you. You started a blog, and you’re earning a living from it. We couldn’t imagine such a thing back then. Today, women have so many options. We don’t have to settle.”
“Do you think Joyce was so unhappy she left on her own?”
“No. She wouldn’t have done such a thing. Joyce was looking forward to going back to school for a real estate license. She’d talked to Alfred about changing jobs at the agency. Plus, she had her daughters.” Donna gave a deep, weighted sigh.
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure if becoming an agent would have made Joyce happy. I think there was such a profound emptiness in her that a new job and money couldn’t fix it. Maybe that’s why she flirted so much.” Donna straightened up and topped off her glass with more water.
“Flirted?” Hope recalled Maretta saying the same thing and suggested Joyce had gotten into a compromising position. So maybe it wasn’t just Maretta’s imagination or idle gossip, as Hope had thought.
“Oh, yes. Joyce was a big-time flirt. My guess is the attention she got from flirting made her feel better; well, at least momentarily. Like a self-esteem boost.”
This was all news for Hope. She hadn’t heard about Joyce’s flirtatious nature before that day. If her mother knew, she’d kept it to herself.
“I don’t believe the girls were aware of their mom’s flirting. She saved it for grown-up parties. Let me tell you, Greg didn’t like it. One time he dragged Joyce out of the room, and we could hear his raised voice. They returned to the party, but the incident was a downer.”
“She was looking to make him jealous?”
Donna shrugged. “I knew Joyce very well. She never cheated on him. Never.”
“Devon mentioned her mom got a black rose tattoo. Do you know why she did it? Did she ever say anything about it?”
“All I know is, it was on a whim. She didn’t plan on getting one. It was so unlike her. But, hey, guys get close to their midlife, they do crazy things—buy useless sports cars, marry younger women. Women can have those impulses too. I guess getting a tattoo isn’t the worst thing she could have done.”
Hope glanced at the wall clock. If she wanted to bake the apple pie to have for dessert tonight, she needed to get home.
“I should get going. Let me know what you need for the scholarship.”
“I can always count on you. Thanks again for the food.”
Hope put on her jacket before grabbing her purse and basket. She followed Donna to the front door and said goodbye. The day was growing darker and colder. Inside her Explorer, she blasted the heat and then backed out of the driveway.
On the drive home, Hope couldn’t help but wonder how, with all the research Devon had done, she didn’t know about her mother’s flirtatious side. It had been evident to other people. Maybe people wanted to spare Devon’s feelings and withheld that from her. Or maybe Devon had known but chosen not to say anything about it to Hope.
Yet she had no problem in telling the whole podcasting world her father had cheated on Joyce.
Had Devon idealized her mother too much? Too much so it left her vulnerable and unprepared to recognize a threat when it was presented to her? Like the person responsible for her death. The more Hope was learning, the more convinced she was that Devon’s death wasn’t the result of an accident.
* * *
Hope drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to change. While she sat tight, her eyes narrowed on the street sign up ahead. Forest Trail.
Oliver Marchant’s street.
The light changed and she drove through the intersection. Careful not to accelerate too fast on the slippery road.
She was approaching the turn for Oliver’s street. Her checkbook was in her purse, and it would only take a few minutes to swing by to pay him for his recent plowing services.
Even though there was no one behind her, she flicked on the blinker and made the right turn. She traveled along the road past charming Cape Cods all nestled in for the winter surrounded by thick blankets of snow. Up ahead, there was the turnoff for Oliver’s driveway, and she eased her vehicle over the unpaved strip of earth toward his house.
A bump jostled her, and she tightened her already death grip on the steering wheel.
The one-story home set on a stone foundation came into view. And it wasn’t the prettiest view. The house’s cedar shakes were in disrepair, disc
olored and damaged. They looked like they’d seen one too many winters. Taking care of his house hadn’t seemed to be a priority for Oliver.
The plow truck wasn’t in sight. She guessed it must have been parked in the garage, which was in the same condition as the house.
She wondered if Joyce had felt uneasy around Oliver because she flirted and he misinterpreted the signals, leading to a “compromising position,” as Maretta put it.
Hope exited her vehicle with her purse and walked to the oversize deck attached to the front of the house. It was an unusual spot for the poorly built structure, but she figured he didn’t have much of a backyard on the sloping property.
She climbed the two rickety steps and carefully treaded across to the front door. A solid slab of wood, function clearly winning out over decoration, wasn’t exactly welcoming. Neither was the mat. Maybe Oliver thought the “Come Back with a Warrant” welcome mat was a cute decoration.
Ignoring the so-called greeting, she knocked on the door and waited. When there was no response, she shuffled over to the window and peered in, cupping her hands around her face.
With no drapes or blinds impeding her view, what she could see inside was a typical bachelor pad. A big screen television and a leather sectional with cup holders in the arms dominated the room. Smack in the middle was a square coffee table covered with sports magazines.
A tap on her shoulder sent her jumping. She spun around, expecting to see that Oliver had snuck up on her.
“Drew!” Her hand rested over her thumping heart. “You scared the daylights out of me. What are you doing here?”
“Why are you skulking around?” He stepped back and grinned.
“I’m not skulking. I came here to pay Oliver for his services. Now it’s your turn. Why are you here?”
“I’m here to interview him. You haven’t heard? He was out plowing and found a stray dog with a litter of puppies. He rescued them and took them to the shelter. Human-interest story. It’ll sell a bunch of newspapers.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 13