“Aww, that’s sweet.” Her racing heart calmed down and began to melt at the thought of a bunch of rescued puppies. Then another thought shoved the first one away. Would a man who rescued a mama dog and her pups have anything to do with a woman’s disappearance? “So, where’s Oliver?”
Drew shrugged. “Not sure. Guess he’s running late.”
“Where’s your car?” Hers was the only one parked on the gravel pad.
“Back by his other garage. He said to meet him there; it’s where he parks his plow truck. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. It’s freakin’ cold.” As if right on cue, fluffy snowflakes started to fall. “And now it’s snowing.”
“That I did hear. And it’s supposed to turn to sleet and ice.” Hope shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
“You still haven’t told me the real reason you’re here, and don’t say it’s only to pay your bill. Spill, sistah.”
“Fine. I wanted to talk to him about Joyce’s disappearance.” Hope looked over Drew’s shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Devon said her mom felt uncomfortable around Oliver and I’m hearing now that she flirted a lot. Maybe he got the wrong message from her.”
“You think he made a pass, she rejected it, and he killed her?”
Hope shrugged. “It’s possible. It happens all the time. Well, not the killing part. But misunderstandings do happen.” She also knew her theory was complete conjecture and would never hold up in court. Heck, forget about court. It wouldn’t hold up with Ethan or Reid. Neither one would act on her theory.
That was why she needed something more concrete.
“He does live in the perfect location to dump a body. His acreage goes way back behind his second garage.”
She tilted her head and stared at the one-bay garage. “Why does he need two?”
“He stores his work vehicles in the back one.”
“Then it means he has nonwork vehicles. I’ve never seen him in anything but the pickup truck he plows with. Have you?”
Drew’s gaze shifted to the small garage. “No.”
“Then what is he keeping in there?” She pointed to the building, just feet away from them.
Drew angled himself so he had a full view of the structure. “Maybe a twenty-year-old corpse?”
His question sent a shudder down Hope’s spine. Was it possible Joyce’s remains had been hidden away all those years inside a garage not too far from her home?
“Looks like there’s only one way to find out.” Hope pushed off, crossing the deck without any concern for her safety. If a board broke, then so be it. She was too eager to see what was inside the garage. She hurried down the deck steps and kept the same speed to reach the double-door entry of the garage.
“Are we going to break in?” Drew came up beside Hope and gestured to the padlock on the doors.
“I don’t think so.” Not deterred, Hope stepped to her right and looked down at the side of the building. Determined to get a look inside, she plodded through knee-high snow to reach the window. The coldness of the snow seeped through her jeans, but she didn’t let it stop her.
On her tippy toes, she tried to get a look inside. Years’ worth of dirt and grime obstructed her view into the building.
“What do you see?”
“Not much. How hard is it to clean a window?”
She was able to see a shelving unit filled with paint cans, rollers, and other DIY supplies. A workbench stretched the length of the back of the garage and was covered with hand tools and discarded rags. In the center of the space was a collection of snow blowers, all different sizes, but what drew Hope’s curiosity was a drop cloth draped over something long.
“Let me look.” Drew nudged her out of the way so he could peer in the window. “A workshop. No wonder it’s locked.”
“Do you see the drop cloth? What’s it covering?”
“Dunno.” Drew pressed his nose against the glass. “You think it’s a skeleton?”
“I wonder how tall Joyce was.”
“What’s going on here?”
Hope jumped, again, at an unexpected voice. She turned and found Oliver standing at the front corner of the garage with a pile of firewood in his arms. Despite being in his late sixties, he was still strong enough to carry all that wood. Twenty years ago, he easily could have been strong enough to dispose of a body.
Drew stepped back from the window. “Oh, hi, Oliver. We were looking for you.”
“You thought I locked myself in there?” Oliver asked.
Busted.
Drew laughed. It was a nervous laugh Hope had heard before. They were caught snooping. But Hope was curious to hear Drew’s answer.
“No, no . . . you know, if now isn’t a good time, we can reschedule.” Not much of an explanation. Drew trudged toward Oliver and then dusted the snow off his legs.
“Nah, it’s good. Might as well do it now, before the next round of snow and sleet hit. I just needed some more wood for the stove. Looks like I lost track of time. Now what about you, Hope? What brings you by?”
Drew cocked his head sideways. He was waiting for her answer. And she knew he was thinking the same thing she was just a moment ago. He was curious to hear her explanation.
“I was on my way home when I realized I was passing by your house, so I figured I might as well drop off your check. It’ll save me a stamp.” She slogged through the snow to reach both men. And then she whipped out her checkbook and pen. She saw Oliver smile, so it looked like he believed her story.
“They keep raising the prices on those things. Remember when they were under thirty cents?” He walked to the deck and set down the firewood.
“I certainly do. What was the price twenty years ago?” Hope followed Oliver with Drew beside her.
Yeah, real smooth, Hope.
Drew shot her a questioning look and she waved it away.
She didn’t dwell on her not-too-subtle reference to the time period when Joyce disappeared. She wrote the payment and signed her name.
“Twenty years ago? Who remembers?” Oliver pulled off his work gloves and accepted the check.
“So many things happened twenty years ago. Y2K. Julia Roberts won Best Actress,” Drew said.
“Who? Oh, right, the actress. Thanks, Hope. But you didn’t have to drop it off. I trust you. You’ve always paid on time.”
Drew’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to answer the call.
“I guess it’s a benefit of living in a small town and having been in business for as long as you have.”
“It has been a long time. Not always easy, but I’ve made a living. This place isn’t much.” He was at his house. “But it’s all mine.”
“You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard. I remember when you mowed the grass for my parents. You never missed a week. Guess it’s why people always refer you to their friends. Say, didn’t you also mow the Markhams’ grass back then?”
Oliver folded the check and slipped it into the pocket of his flannel-lined plaid shirt. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Thanks again for stopping by. I appreciate it.”
“Maybe that’s how my parents ended up hiring you. My mom was friends with Joyce. She probably referred you to my mom.”
Oliver’s face clouded and he grew quiet.
“Mom always relied on word-of-mouth referrals.”
“I didn’t work for the Markhams for very long. Barely knew them.”
“No? How come?” Hope fidgeted with the straps of her purse.
“Hard to remember so far back. Thanks again for the check. You drive safe going home.” Oliver turned and climbed the steps up to the deck and picked up his firewood. “Tell Drew we’ll have to reschedule the interview.” He walked to his front door.
Hope turned and headed to her vehicle. Oliver had had a quick change of mood once she mentioned the Markhams. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, she noticed Oliver giving her a final look over his shoulder before he entered the house. Her breath caught. Was the stare supposed to be
a warning?
A tapping on the passenger window forced her to shake off Oliver’s eerie gaze. She turned on the ignition so she could lower the window for Drew.
“What happened?” he asked.
“He got weird when I started talking about Joyce. He also said to reschedule the interview. Sorry.”
Drew sighed. “Me too. Do you really think he’s involved with Joyce’s and Devon’s deaths?”
“I honestly don’t know.” When she looked back at the house, Oliver was nowhere in sight. “I’d better get going. Do you want to come for dinner tonight? Claire and the kids are coming. Ethan’s bringing the girls too.”
“Sounds like fun. See you later.” If Drew was upset about losing the interview, he didn’t show it. Hope suspected he was as curious as she was about the garage and what the drop cloth covered.
Ethan’s ringtone interrupted them. “I’d better take this,” she said.
Drew gave a nod and then pulled back from the vehicle. He walked away in the direction of the second garage. She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and fumbled inside for her phone.
She lifted the phone to her ear, all the while keeping her gaze on Oliver’s house.
“Are we still on for dinner?” Ethan asked. In the background, she heard his daughters squabbling over something she couldn’t make out.
“I’m heading home now.”
“Oh? Where are you?”
Hope cringed. Shoot! She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to tell him what she was up to either. At least not yet.
“I stopped by Oliver’s to pay him. Claire said she’s coming for dinner with the kids.” She hoped he wouldn’t fixate on her sudden need to pay for plowing in person.
“Good. The girls enjoy spending time with Hannah . . .” Becca’s wailing drowned out the rest of what Ethan was saying. “Molly, give Izzy back to Becca.”
Izzy was Becca’s favorite doll in the whole wide world, and they were never separated. Except when her older sister snatched the doll.
“Not until she says sorry!” Molly demanded.
“I gotta go. See you in a few, babe.” The line went silent.
Hope set the phone in the console and drove to the end of the driveway. She stopped and looked in both directions for oncoming traffic. Before she pulled out onto the road, she glanced over her shoulder. Oliver’s property was secluded, a perfect place to bury a secret.
Chapter Ten
Hope made it back home in time to bake the rustic apple pie. Though peeling and slicing the apples didn’t go as quickly as she would have liked. Her mind kept drifting back to her conversations with Donna and Oliver, forcing her to stop and wipe her hands clean so she could jot notes in her composition notebook.
When she was a member of the library’s mystery book club, she had used a notebook to jot down observations, clues, and notes about the story. She’d been determined to uncover the killer’s identity before anyone else in the book club. Apparently, old habits die hard.
And they also slowed down her pie-making process.
Despite the distractions, she was able to get the pie into the oven just as Claire and Logan arrived. Her sister brought her usual dinner contribution—a salad. Not that she was a bad cook; she just preferred not to. And she was more than happy to give her sister props for being the best cook in the family.
Logan raced in looking for Bigelow and begging his mom for a dog while Princess made herself scarce.
By the time the table was set, Drew had arrived, followed by Ethan with his daughters. The girls were giving each other the silent treatment. Claire nudged Hope as the girls moped. It was like gazing through a looking glass at their childhood. How many times had they quibbled themselves into silence?
“Hope, can Izzy eat with us?” Becca looked up while holding her doll tightly to her chest. She had her father’s dark eyes and her mother’s loose curls.
“I’d love for Izzy to join us for dinner.” Hope reached out and tousled Becca’s light brown locks.
Becca beamed. “Thanks!” She swung around and ran to the table, ignoring Ethan’s reminder only a few moments before not to run through the house.
“Daddy said not to run,” Molly said with her hands on her hips and a pointed stare at her little sister. Molly’s hair was darker and straight. She favored Ethan more than Heather in appearance and temperament. Molly was a by-the-books six-year-old.
“You going to tattle?” Becca climbed onto the chair and placed Izzy on her lap.
“Remind you of anyone?” Claire grabbed the salad, which Hope had dressed with a simple raspberry vinaigrette.
“Oh, yeah.” Hope laughed. Even with the bickering, she loved when the girls visited. They livened up the house in a way she could never have imagined. It was like when Bigelow came to live with her. She hadn’t realized how much her home needed a dog. Now she realized how much her heart needed the girls.
“Molly doesn’t have to tattle because I saw you run after I told you not to.” Ethan approached the table from the family room.
“Sorry, Daddy.” Becca gave her father a sad face, and Hope was sure it melted his heart. How could it not? Hers had melted, and she wasn’t the one doing the scolding.
“I’m about to pull the soups out of the oven. Everyone to the table.” On her way to the double ovens, Hope grabbed her oven mitts, while Logan and Drew hustled to the table from the family room.
“I miss having Hannah here.” Hope pulled out the first tray of the French onion soup ramekins, perfectly broiled on top. She set the tray on a cooling rack.
“I know. She wanted to hang out with Becca and Molly. But her friend is having a rough time. Her parents announced they were divorcing, and Hannah said they had a huge fight in front of Anneliese. She’ll be here next time.”
Claire placed the serving platters next to the cooling rack while Hope transferred the bright red pots of bubbling hot soup and they carried the platters to the table.
“Here we go.” Hope set down her platter and served Becca and Molly. “Let them cool. They’re very hot.” She then set a ramekin on Ethan’s place mat.
“Thank you.” Ethan picked up his spoon and poked the edges of the melted cheese, allowing the thick, hearty soup to rise to the surface.
“This looks so delish.” Drew rubbed his hands together as Claire set a ramekin in front of him. She placed her soup and Logan’s down next.
“I’ll take the platter.” Hope reached for the creamy white oval dish from Claire and stacked it on top of her platter. She returned both to the island and hurried back to her seat. She’d been thinking about the soup since she picked up the onions at Donegal’s.
Ethan set down his spoon to help Becca with her soup. Her eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as she watched a long string of cheese pull away from the bowl. Hope had cut the amount of cheese in half for the girls’ servings so it would be easier for them to eat.
“Have you had French onion soup before?” Ethan asked Molly, who was busy slurping a spoonful of broth.
Molly shook her head. “Never in my life. Why is it French?”
The adults at the table chuckled.
“Well, going back to the eighteenth century—” Hope began until she noticed the blank stare from Molly. “It’s a recipe from France.”
“Oh. That’s the place with the trifle tower.” Molly dipped her spoon into the soup and sucked up a sliver of onion and then smiled.
“It’s called the Eiffel Tower.” After his gentle correction, Ethan scooped up a serving of soup.
Hope’s heart swelled. The girls liked the soup, and they were all gathered around the table, eating together as a family. Bigelow’s head lifted, and he sniffed the air, but he remained on his bed in the family room. Hope guessed he was biding his time until she served the steaks. Princess was still nowhere in sight. The girls had searched the downstairs looking for her when they arrived but had no luck in finding the cat. Princess probably had found refuge upstairs in a b
edroom.
“My friend, Billy, got grounded for a week.” Logan looked up from his soup bowl. “A whole freakin’ week.”
“Watch your language,” Claire warned.
“Sorry. But it makes me angry,” Logan said. “He got into trouble for throwing a snowball.”
“He and his friends threw several snowballs at Maretta’s back.” Ethan’s tone left no doubt he considered what the boys did a serious infraction.
“Did the police have to go to his house?” Logan asked. “It’s not like they hurt her.”
“You have to realize, Maretta wasn’t taking part in a snowball fight.” Claire wiped her mouth with a napkin before she reached for her water glass.
“She’s a mean old lady.” Logan’s brows drew together, and he scowled.
“Be nice,” Claire said.
Logan shrugged. “Sorry. But she can be mean.”
No one at the table disputed his statement. Maretta had always been difficult, and more so now that she was mayor. Hope suspected she realized how out of depth she was in the position. She’d made an impulsive decision to run for office last year. Hope knew all about hasty decisions. Like Maretta, she hardly ever made them. She relied on long-term planning and pros and cons lists. Until she made the unexpected decision to appear on The Sweet Taste of Success and quit her magazine editor’s job. In a way, she empathized with Maretta. Appearing on the show with twelve other contestants who seemed far more skilled at baking than her, Hope had to sink or swim, and Maretta seemed to be doing the same.
Maybe someone needed to toss her a life jacket.
Logan set down his spoon with a clang. “You all heard she wants to make it illegal to throw snowballs. That’s crazy talk.”
“It seems over the top even for Maretta.” Drew had been quiet so far because he was enjoying his soup. Claire shot him a don’t-go-there look, and he returned his attention to his soup. Smart man.
“See, Drew agrees with me,” Logan said, and it earned Drew another glare from Claire. “I’m gonna fight Town Hall. Me and the guys aren’t going to let Mrs. Kingston ruin winter for us.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 14