“Your winter isn’t ruined.” Claire reached for her glass again, but the look on her face said she wanted something stronger.
“What are kids supposed to do for fun? You grown-ups always say to get off video games and go outside. Well, outside we throw snowballs when there’s snow. Sure, maybe Billy shouldn’t have thrown the snowball at Mrs. Kingston, but we all shouldn’t be punished.”
“He makes a compelling argument,” Hope said, earning her a glower from her sister. Lucky for her, she was immune to the look, seeing as it was their mother’s signature expression to convey her displeasure with her daughters. She was proud of her nephew’s newfound activism. Who knew where it could lead him?
Becca’s head swung up and she looked at Ethan. “What’s a com . . . compel . . .”
“Compelling argument. I’ll explain later,” Ethan said.
Becca’s head bobbed up and down, and she went back to eating her soup.
“I guess it could be worse. My son could be trying to solve a mystery.” Claire leveled her gaze on her sister. “I know you went to see Donna today.”
“To find out more about the scholarship fund she wants to start. I volunteered to help,” Hope said.
“It’s a nice idea. I’m going to write a piece about it for the Gazette.” Drew tilted his bowl to spoon out the last of the soup.
“Sounds like you had a busy afternoon. You also went to Oliver’s place.” Ethan wiped Becca’s face with her napkin and then returned it to her lap. French onion soup was messy for a four-year-old.
“Not so busy.” Hope returned to eating her soup and avoiding the subject.
“The scholarship article will appear in the next edition. Speaking of which, I thrilled my editor with my write-up of the accident, which means Norrie was unhappy.” Drew’s smile stretched from ear to ear.
“Cool,” Logan said.
“Yeah, way cool,” Drew agreed.
“You didn’t discuss the accident or Joyce’s disappearance with Donna?” Claire’s tone was suspicious. She refilled her water glass and waited for Hope to answer.
“Well, those topics came up. Donna told me something surprising about Joyce.” Hope paused. She suspected the girls were too young to understand, but Logan was at the age when he understood too many things. “But it’s not important. Let’s finish our soups. Then we’ll have the salad while the steaks cook.” Hope caught a look from Ethan, that all-too-familiar one that revealed his displeasure with her sleuthing.
After Hope and Claire cleared the soup bowls, salad was served while Hope prepared the steaks. The girls were more interested in dessert and were ecstatic when she told them she’d baked an apple pie. Though it confused Becca because it didn’t look like the pie her mother bought at the store. Hope tried to explain what a rustic pie was but realized the simplest explanation was the best: her pie had only one crust.
“It’s silly-looking.” Becca giggled before eating a forkful of pie.
Drew said his goodbyes after dessert. He had an early morning and wanted to get his beauty sleep. Before he left, he asked Logan for an interview about his plan to fight Town Hall if Maretta’s proposal to ban snowball throwing went through. Logan jumped at the chance, while his mother didn’t look pleased.
Logan seemed to be walking on air for the rest of the evening, his resistance to the mayor bolstered by the interview request. On the way out the door, Claire pulled Hope aside. “I think Drew has created a little monster,” she whispered. “He’ll pay for this.”
Hope’s first instinct was to warn Drew. On second thought, letting it play out could be entertaining. She said good night to her sister and kissed her nephew on the head as he raced past her. He was eager to get home and prepare for the interview.
Yes, it would be very entertaining in the coming days.
Hope finished cleaning up while Ethan tucked the girls in for the night upstairs in their bedroom. During dinner, snow began coming down faster and the temperature dropped. Usually, Ethan wouldn’t have given driving home on slick roads a second thought, but he had the girls with him, and they’d begged for a sleepover. They were excited about feeding the chickens in the morning if they got to stay the night.
Hope had set up two twin beds in a spare bedroom. With input from the girls, she’d purchased a lilac-colored set with a butterfly design for Molly and a princess themed set for Becca.
“A penny for your thought?” Ethan tightened his hold on Hope, and she snuggled closer against his solid chest on the sofa. They were finally alone.
“I was thinking about Logan. He’s so grown-up.” She craned her head to face Ethan. “When did that happen?”
Ethan laughed. “It happens fast. Right before your eyes. I can’t believe how the past six years have flown by with the girls.”
Hope re-snuggled and got comfortable. “I remember when they were babies. You and Heather . . .” Her words trailed off. She didn’t like talking about Ethan’s ex. Just like she didn’t enjoy talking about her own ex.
“Yeah, I know.” He gave her a squeeze and a kiss on the top of her head. “Have the girls told you how much they love their bed sets?” Ethan raised the remote and scrolled through the guide.
“They have. I have some paint chips for them to choose from and I saw the cutest pair of bedside lamps.”
Ethan stopped scrolling. “Don’t get carried away.” He clicked on a show about knife forging.
“There are only two beds up there. They need a dresser and end tables and lighting. They’re little girls. Not boys camping.”
“They’re good.”
Hope got the message. The room upstairs wasn’t theirs. Their bedrooms were at his and at Heather’s house. It was too early in her relationship with Ethan to move the girls into her home. Heck, it was too early to move him in. She sighed and turned her attention to the television show.
She tried to understand the interest in making knives and putting them through rigorous tests to see who had made the better knife. But she couldn’t. Ethan, on the other hand, was mesmerized by the three final contestants and their sharp blades.
“I’m looking forward to our ski trip.” She craned her neck again to get a look at Ethan, his eyes fixated on the television.
“Uh-ha.”
On second thought, maybe it wasn’t too early in their relationship for him to move in, because they were acting like an old married couple. She was talking, and he was ignoring her.
With the confirmation that the honeymoon phase of their romance was over, Hope stretched out her hand and grabbed her cell phone from the end table.
She checked her messages and found a new one. Gail needed help with her assignment. Hope took a quick look at her calendar and then replied. She could meet in the morning if Gail wanted to come over.
“How’s Elaine doing? Is she all settled into her new house?” Hope had been meaning to talk to him about his house call ever since Elaine had gushed over how wonderful he was to do so. She’d like to say they hadn’t had the right time for the talk. It would be partially correct. But mostly she’d feared what he’d say. Scared she’d hear an admission of betrayal . . . again. And she hated herself for it, because Ethan Cahill wasn’t that type of guy.
He tore his gaze from the television. “What?”
Hope had his attention now. She shifted and sat up.
“Oh, yeah. After she came in to file the paperwork, she called me.”
Hope didn’t say a word.
“Oh, come on. Are you really jealous?”
“Not so much jealous.” Totally a lie. “More like curious about why you didn’t tell me, but Elaine did when she came to class the other night.”
“She’s in your class?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Not funny. You know how she is, and I felt blindsided. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it was no big deal. Elaine can bat her eyelashes all she wants and twerk all—”
“She twerked!”
“You are jealous.” H
e grinned. “Babe, I’m not the least bit interested in her. She asked for help, and I helped her. End of story. Now, let’s talk about what you’ve been up to. What didn’t you want to say about Joyce in front of the kids?”
“You’re a good man, and I’m happy you helped Elaine. Underneath the surface, she must be lonely and scared.”
“I think you’re right. But enough about her. It’s your turn to share now.”
“Right. Donna told me Joyce flirted all the time, right in front of her husband. Even Maretta mentioned something similar.”
“That’s it?” His tone was flat, and he seemed unimpressed by the newly discovered information.
“Come on, it’s a motive for murder. A jealous husband, a spurned lover, or a jealous wife. Take your pick.”
“We don’t know she’s dead.”
“She’s been missing for twenty years and no one I’ve talked to, ever, has believed she walked out on her family.” Hope’s cell phone chimed. Gail replied she’d come by tomorrow.
Hope set down her phone.
Ethan pulled her back to him, and he wrapped his arms around her. “I know a cold case is intriguing, but just on the off chance Devon’s death is related to her mother’s disappearance—and I’m not saying it is—I don’t want you involved. It’s too dangerous.”
Hope opened her mouth to object, but before she could say a word, he covered her lips with his and her protest flittered away. She relaxed into his embrace and happily kissed him back. Her thoughts about Devon’s death, the snow pelting her house, and her overbooked calendar all vanished. Until Bigelow lumbered over to the sofa and barked before dropping his head onto her lap.
“Somebody has to go out,” Ethan said.
Hope untangled from his hold and gave her pup the stink eye. “We have to work on your timing.”
* * *
Hope woke the next morning to a text from Josie, who’d decided to work from home. She looked out the window and understood why. Last night’s snowfall wasn’t epic, but it had turned to sleet and freezing rain, leaving tree branches sheathed in ice, and Hope expected the roads were also covered with slick spots.
Ethan’s text an hour later confirmed roads had been dicey, but the town trucks were out working their magic to keep everyone safe. He’d dropped the girls off at their mother’s house and then headed to the PD.
Iva managed to get her beat-up old car over to Hope’s house before sunrise. Her work ethic continually surprised Hope. Though the bracelet was still missing, and Hope was still avoiding a conversation about it.
Pouring a second cup of coffee, Hope admitted to herself that the way she was dealing with the bracelet situation wasn’t the best strategy.
The doorbell rang, giving her an excuse not to think about the piece of jewelry or Iva. She set her mug on the counter and headed to the front door, where Bigelow joined her. He hadn’t sprinted for the door at the sound of the bell. Instead, he walked from the living room and waited patiently.
Before she opened the door, she swooped down and gave her pup a kiss on his snout and praised his good behavior.
The doorbell rang again, prompting Hope to straighten and open the door. She welcomed Gail inside and then hung her coat in the hall closet. Gail gave Bigelow a quick pat on the head before following Hope into the kitchen.
“How are the roads?” Hope walked to the island where she had a box of assorted teas set out. Meanwhile, Bigelow trotted to a spot in front of the wall of windows that overlooked the backyard. He lay down and kept a watch for squirrels or any other critters. “Would you like coffee or tea?”
“Tea, please. The roads are a little slippery. But they could be worse. There was a thick layer of ice on my dad’s work truck when I left.” Gail dropped her purse on the island and perused the varieties of tea while Hope set the kettle on the stovetop. “I love what you’ve done to this old farmhouse. It was such an eyesore before.”
While the water heated, they chatted about the various projects Hope had completed and the ones she planned on tackling next. The kettle whistled, and Hope filled a mug for her guest.
Princess strolled into the kitchen from the hall. She never failed to impress Hope with her beauty. Long, white fur, sparkling, big eyes, and a lovable air of superiority only a cat could pull off.
“She’s gorgeous.” Gail squatted down and extended her hand while making a gentle noise to encourage the cat to approach. Princess blinked before sauntering away. “And a little bit of a diva.”
“She’s a sweet girl. When she wants to be.” With her coffee, Hope walked to the table. “Show me what’s going on.”
“I guess I won’t take it personally.” Gail dropped a tea bag in her mug and followed to the table. Her oversize plaid shirt hid her curves. She never did girly with her clothing, not even back in high school. She preferred jeans, T-shirts, and those hideous biker boots she loved. Hope snuck a glance at Gail’s footwear. Not the same pair from high school, but still biker boots. Some things didn’t change.
Gail sat, placing her mug down and resting her bag on her lap. She pulled out a notebook, a pen, and her leather-cased cell phone.
“I brainstormed ten ideas and outlined two in detail. I’m confused by the categories. I’m also wondering, do I need sub-headlines?”
“You need categories regardless of what you’re blogging about. It keeps everything organized for you and your reader. Now, subheadings are used to break up text in your post, and with all the information coming at your readers, it’s tempting for them to skim or skip reading a big block of text. On my food blog, I have the advantage of using photos to break up text.”
“My blog won’t be as photo-rich as yours. At least not at the beginning. I see your point about the subheadings. I guess I’ll have to become proficient in writing snappy ones.”
“It’ll get easier with practice, I promise.” Hope sipped her coffee and then was about to rattle off a shortlist of category ideas for Gail when her cell phone rang. It was Claire’s ringtone. She excused herself to go grab it from the island.
“Hey, what’s up?” Hope went back to the table and sat. “Gail is here with me.”
“Felice is upstairs in the apartment to pick out an outfit for Devon,” Claire said.
“I’m putting you on Speaker. Is Felice by herself?” Hope tapped the speaker button.
“Yes. She parked on the street and then went upstairs. I wanted to stay with her, but I have a client on the way. Can you come over? She’s all alone.”
“Of course. Gail, do you want to come too?”
“Yes. Why didn’t she call me and let me know?” Gail closed her notebook and shoved it into her bag.
“We’ll be right over.” Hope ended the call. She stood and took both mugs to the sink.
“I’ll follow you.” Gail stood with her bag slung over her shoulder.
Hope walked Gail to the front door to get her coat. “I’m going out the back to the garage. Meet you at Claire’s shop.” She said goodbye and closed the door.
Hurrying to the mudroom, she passed Bigelow, who must have realized there was more activity inside now than outside and looked hopeful he would be going out. Hope paused for a moment and apologized. “Not this time. I’ll be back soon. Then we’ll . . .” She hesitated. She didn’t want to say the word “walk” because he understood that word. “Never mind. Just be lucky you’re a dog.”
Minutes later, Hope and Gail arrived at the shop and parked. Inside, they climbed the staircase to the apartment. When they reached the landing, Hope knocked on the door.
The door opened and Felice appeared. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen. The tip of her slender nose was red and irritated, and her full lips were dry and chapped.
Yesterday, Hope had heard the grief in Felice’s voice and seen traces of it on her face. Now, it was tenfold. Anguish consumed Felice, and she looked frail in her baggy sweater over skinny jeans. Hope guessed the numbness had finally worn off.
“Oh, honey. You shouldn’t be
here alone.” Gail swept in, brushing Hope’s side as she ushered Felice farther back into the apartment. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come with you.”
Felice shook her head, and her gaze darted between Hope and Gail. She seemed overwhelmed. “I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on coming here. Then the funeral parlor director called and said Devon needed an outfit.” She wrapped her arms around herself and lowered her head.
Gail pulled Felice in for a hug. A hug Felice didn’t reciprocate.
“This is too much for you to handle by yourself. Where’s Patrick?” Gail drew back so she was eye to eye with Felice. “He should be here for you.” Her tone was harsh, almost judgmental.
“We’re here now. How can we help?” Hope closed the door. Gail and Felice had been close friends since high school, and she figured Gail would get a pass for her tone, especially because it was coming from a place of love and concern.
“Patrick is working.” Felice wiggled free of Gail’s hold.
Hope stepped farther into the apartment and dropped her purse on the table. It was bare except for the bulletin board, exactly like the last time she was in the apartment.
“What about your aunt? She’s here now, isn’t she?” Gail asked.
“Yes. She’s helping plan for other family members to get here for the funeral.” Felice propped her hands on her hips. “I’ve looked through Devon’s closet, and it looks like she didn’t bring anything I could dress her in for her funeral.”
Hope wasn’t surprised Devon hadn’t packed an outfit to be buried in. Who would?
“As Hope asked, how can we help?” Gail closed the gap between her and Felice and stroked her friend’s arm. Her voice was quieter and more sympathetic.
Felice patted Gail’s hand. “Could you go to the mall and buy a dress and a pair of shoes for Devon? It would be a great help to me.”
“Of course I can. Anything for you,” Gail said.
“Could you go now? I told the funeral parlor I’d drop off the outfit at lunchtime. I’ll text you her sizes.”
Gail offered another weak smile. “Sure. I’ll go now and drop the things off at the funeral parlor.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 15