“Thank you.” Felice eased Gail’s hand from her arm and led her friend to the door. “I’ll write you a check this afternoon.”
Gail murmured not to worry about the money before she left the apartment.
Felice closed the door and turned to Hope.
“Now we can talk.” Felice shoved her hands into her jeans’ pockets and moved to the sofa. “Being here with her things, knowing how we left off the last time we spoke . . . do you know what’s harder than having your sister die?”
Hope had no clue and she never wanted to find out.
“The answer is not knowing why she died. Was it an accident, or did someone make it look like an accident?” She dropped down onto the sofa, grabbed a decorative pillow, and wrapped her arms around it.
Felice had gone from numb to anguished to full-on suspicious in a matter of twenty-four hours. The emotional roller coaster she was riding was understandable and to be expected. Hope needed to keep a clear head for both of them.
“The more I’ve been thinking about Devon’s accident and the reason she came back home, the more convinced I am that it’s connected to our mother.”
“I spoke with Donna yesterday.” Hope sat next to Felice. She wanted to do something to help ease her friend’s pain, but what could she do? She couldn’t bring Devon back.
Felice nodded. “She wants to start a scholarship fund in Devon’s name. I honestly don’t know how much I can help her right now.”
The stabbing pain in Hope’s heart returned. Luckily, the rumble of a truck passing by outside drew her attention to the front window. It was a nice reprieve for a moment. But as the rumbling faded away, she was back with her thoughts about Devon’s death.
“I’m sure Donna understands, and I’m certain she’s willing to take on most of the responsibility for the scholarship fund-raiser. I’ve offered to help her do whatever I can.”
“She was a tremendous support for us after Mom disappeared. She even came down from Boston to take me shopping for my prom dress.”
“She did say a few things about your mom.” Hope kept her gaze on Felice’s reaction. At any moment, she could fall apart. Any word or memory could trigger an onslaught of sorrow.
“What did she say? I need to know everything my sister knew.” Felice squared her shoulders and straightened her back. She looked like she was bracing herself against unpleasant news.
“Okay. If you’re certain.” Hope continued when Felice nodded. “Donna said she witnessed your mother more than once flirting with other men, and your father wasn’t pleased by the behavior.”
Hope caught a flicker in Felice’s eyes. She knew about her mother’s flirting.
“This isn’t news to you, is it?” Hope asked, relieved she hadn’t hurt Felice any more than she already was.
“No, it’s not. I saw it once. At a graduation party. Us kids hung out by the pool, and there was a volleyball court set up. Of course, Devon stayed by the pool, and I joined in on a volleyball game.”
In high school, Felice ran track and got a college scholarship because of it. So Hope could easily see her on the volleyball court. Whereas Devon preferred nonathletic activities like sunbathing.
“I was having a good game, until I got hit on my nose by the ball. Talk about bad timing. I had my first date with Ronnie Taylor the next night. Remember him?”
Hope did. He played football. He also had a smile that melted nearly every girl’s heart.
“So, I didn’t want to have a swollen nose. It would have been disastrous.”
“You’d been trying to get him to ask you out for months, if I remember correctly.”
“You do! No way I was going with a big fat nose. I went inside to get some ice, but I needed a towel or something, so I looked for my mom. I spotted her in the living room, and my dad was in there too, with some other adults.” Felice turned her head slightly and stared ahead at the bare beige wall. “My dad was standing by the window, staring out to the street. While my mom was standing next to a man I didn’t know. Her hand was on his chest, and she tossed her head back, and her long hair bounced. And she giggled. But it wasn’t a giggle I’d heard before.” She looked back at Hope. “It was almost sultry. She was flirting with that man right in front of my dad.”
“I’m sorry you had to see it.”
“I wonder how many times she did it in front of my dad. Anyway, I eased away from the doorway and went back outside. After that, I didn’t care about my nose, or Ronnie.” Felice’s chin quivered. “Why would she do that?”
“I don’t know why.” Hope knew Felice wasn’t looking for an answer from her about her mother’s conduct. Only Joyce could have answered the question. But she was gone.
“I need to know what happened to Mom, and I don’t care how much it could hurt me. I need to know the truth. And I need to know if Devon died because of what happened to our family twenty years ago.” She reached out and squeezed Hope’s hands. “I can’t wait for the police to determine what happened with Devon. We’ve wasted twenty years already. I need your help.”
It was déjà vu for Hope. Just a few nights ago, she’d sat there on the sofa and been asked the same question. Two days later, Devon was dead. The last thing she wanted was for Felice to face the same fate. “I know I’m asking a lot. If there is a connection between what happened to my mother and Devon, I know we’ll both be in danger.”
“It’s not like I haven’t put myself in the path of a killer before.” In fact, Hope had done that too many times in the past year. The sensible thing would be to let the police handle the matter. But how could she say no to Felice?
“I’m not a detective. I don’t know how much help I can be.”
“You’re underestimating yourself.”
“No, no, I’m not.” There was no modesty at play there. She’d let her inquisitiveness get the better of her, and it had landed Hope face-to-face with a murderer. “I’ll help with whatever I can do. I just don’t think it will be a lot.”
“I appreciate anything you can do. Thank you.” The smallest of smiles touched Felice’s lips. Nothing Hope or the police could do would bring Devon back. But maybe Felice would find some peace, some comfort in knowing the truth.
Hope raised her palm. “However, I want to clarify that whatever I learn, I will tell the police. I’m not going to keep any secrets to protect anyone.”
Felice leaned forward and hugged Hope. “I understand. I wouldn’t want you to.” She released Hope and jumped to her feet.
Hope stood with less eagerness.
“I wish we had Devon’s research notes. But I should be able to find the articles she got from the library and online. It’s a place to start.”
Hope offered to stay and help Felice pack up what little there was of Devon’s clothing and the few personal items she brought with her to Jefferson. Thirty minutes later, they emerged from the building, going in separate directions.
Hope glanced in the window of Claire’s shop and saw her talking to a client. She wanted to update her sister but didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe she wanted to prolong not having to tell Claire what transpired upstairs. That she’d promised to help Felice, which meant she would be digging into the Markham family’s past.
All families had their secrets.
An uneasiness bubbled in her stomach.
What would she find?
The woman Claire was talking with turned and walked toward the round table where Claire had her consultations, and her sister would see her at the window when she turned away from the counter to follow her customer.
Hope scooted out of view. She scolded herself for being a chicken. But she didn’t want to have the discussion right there and then.
She pulled out her phone to send Claire a text with a promise to call later to give her a full update. Before she could send the message, she noticed a voice mail from Donna.
She accessed the call and listened.
“Hope, I . . . I . . . need to talk to you. I . . . I . . .” Donna
’s words faded and then boomed back, only to ebb out again in a bout of sobbing. “Can’t . . . believe I forgot. . . work truck . . . saw driving by Joyce’s . . . house.” The message ended.
She tapped on the phone to redial Donna’s number and was sent to voice mail.
Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
Donna’s words had been difficult to understand, but it sounded like she’d remembered something from the day Joyce disappeared. Something upsetting enough to leave her crying.
Hope turned and hurried to her Explorer. She tossed her purse onto the front passenger seat and climbed in. What could Donna have remembered? Would it be enough to finally find out what happened to Joyce?
Or would it only be a false lead like so many of them twenty years ago?
Chapter Eleven
The cryptic voice mail had Hope ditching her planned return home for a quick drive over to Donna’s house. Maybe Devon’s podcast and arrival back in Jefferson had led to a break in her mother’s case after all.
When she arrived at her destination, she parked in the driveway. Before exiting her Explorer, she grabbed her cell phone from her purse. There was a sensible explanation for the mysterious message, she told herself as she made her way to the home’s entry.
Halfway, she stopped in her tracks and wondered what was the explanation for the open front door.
Her grip on her phone tightened as she recalled two other similar scenarios.
First, Joyce’s door had been found open by her daughters the day she was reported missing. Then Devon’s door had been found open when she had gone missing.
Hope gulped. Was Donna the next woman to go missing?
There was only one way to find out. Then again, there could be another reasonable explanation for why, in the middle of February, Donna chose to leave her door wide open. As Hope stepped forward and entered the house, she willed her mind to come up with some ideas.
“Donna,” she called out. There was no reply.
She looked into the living room. Empty. She glanced down the hall that led to the bedrooms but decided to check the kitchen first. Maybe Donna had slipped and fallen. It happened all the time. Wasn’t falling the leading cause of deaths in homes? She shook away the morbid fact as she made her way through the house.
She rushed to the kitchen, but Donna was nowhere to be found.
A half-filled coffee mug and a cell phone sat on the peninsula. On the table, she spied a piece of paper.
I’m so sorry. I can’t live with this guilt any longer.
Donna.
What guilt? Before she could try to figure out what the note meant, her ears perked up at the sound of a low rumble.
She turned toward the garage door. Thank goodness. Donna hadn’t left yet. There was time to stop her from doing something stupid. Hope hurried to the door and yanked it open.
A cloud of exhaust fumes overwhelmed her, and she coughed. She raised her hand to cover her mouth and nose, all the while doubting what she was seeing.
Donna’s body slumped over the steering wheel in her sedan.
The shock of the scene hit her like a punch to the stomach. The blow nearly crippled her, but she couldn’t give in. Donna needed help. She started to step down to the concrete floor, but the fumes were too much.
Her coughing turned into jagged fits as her lungs filled with fumes and through her tearing eyes, still she pushed forward, clumsily looking for the automatic door opener.
She found it and slammed her palm on it. As the door rolled up, she hurried to the car and yanked open the driver’s side door. Every fiber in her body screamed to get out as a wave of light-headedness rolled through her, forcing her to grip the doorframe to steady herself. Once she had her footing, she reached into the car and shook Donna.
“Please wake up.”
There was no response. She was too late.
A deep cough rose through her chest, followed by another one, and the wooziness made her sway. Her grip on the doorframe began to loosen. She had to get out of there. She had to leave Donna.
Hope pulled back and staggered out of the garage. She gulped in fresh air as she punched in 9-1-1.
“I’ve found Donna Wilcox dead in her car.” While she gave the emergency operator all the pertinent information, she couldn’t help but think about what Donna had remembered about her friend’s disappearance and that now no one would ever know.
* * *
“You heard Donna’s message. Clearly, she remembered something about Joyce’s disappearance,” Hope said, tucking the phone back into her pocket, then wrapping the thermal blanket around herself. She’d refused the EMT’s offer of a gurney, and the oxygen had cleared her head. The responding officer who’d found her still struggling to breathe on the driveway, had handed her off to Detective Reid, who now nodded in a noncommittal fashion to Hope’s observation.
“You spoke to her yesterday about the scholarship fund. Is that all you discussed?” Detective Reid asked.
Hope lowered the oxygen mask. “No. She told me she was here in Jefferson the day Joyce disappeared. They were supposed to meet for brunch, but Joyce never showed. After Donna left the diner, she drove to the Markham house. She didn’t see Joyce’s car there.”
Hope took a deep breath from the oxygen mask.
“You really should go to the emergency room.”
She shook her head defiantly. She wasn’t about to continue her streak of being a regular visitor to the local ER. Just a little more oxygen and she’d be fine. And maybe another blanket.
“I will review Mrs. Markham’s case files.”
Reid didn’t look cold. His dark gray wool coat added bulk to his lanky frame, and black leather gloves covered his slender hands. His tall and lean physique made him a standout next to the other officers, but his strengths were a sharp eye for details and an internal lie detector that zeroed in on inconsistencies and half-truths. She’d dare say they made a good team, but she kept that thought to herself so he didn’t toss her in a jail cell.
“She must have remembered seeing the truck at Joyce’s house. What truck could it have been?”
“We’ll look into it, Ms. Early. Could you tell me what type of mood Ms. Wilcox was in when you left her on Sunday?”
“I wonder if it was Oliver Marchant’s truck.” Hope set down the oxygen mask on the ambulance’s tailgate.
Reid stopped writing. “Ms. Early––”
“Wait. Hear me out,” she said. He needed to take what she said seriously. A woman just died, probably murdered because of something she knew about Joyce’s disappearance. “Devon told me Oliver mowed the grass for her parents back around the time Joyce disappeared. Her mom said he made her feel uncomfortable, and when I asked him about working for them, he got nervous.”
Reid clicked his pen. “When did you speak to Oliver about working for the Markhams?”
“Yesterday. I also ran into Maretta earlier and she suggested Joyce’s flirtatious behavior caused her to run off.”
“Sounds like you had a busy day,” he said dryly. “I thought we had an understanding you wouldn’t involve yourself with official police business.”
“We do. And I’m abiding by it. I was only talking to people. I ran into Maretta at the store, Jane suggested I help Donna with the fund-raising, and I had to pay Oliver for plowing my property. The subjects of Joyce’s disappearance and Devon’s car accident just came up.”
“Of course they did.” No doubt his internal lie detector was registering off the charts at Hope’s half-truth.
“Are you going to talk to Oliver?”
Reid shoved his notepad and pen into his coat’s interior breast pocket. “You may be dating the chief of police, but you’re not entitled to know my every move.”
“I didn’t think I was.” Her relationship with Ethan seemed to irritate Reid, and she didn’t know why. Whatever the reason, it was his problem, not hers.
Ethan. Oh, boy. She had to explain this whole mess to him.
She g
lanced at her phone. There was a new message from him.
Car vs. truck accident. On scene. Will meet you at home. Love, E
She smiled. He didn’t seem angry with her.
A small sedan pulled up to the curb behind the ambulance and the driver’s door flew open.
“Detective!” Maretta emerged from the vehicle with her trademark scowl.
Reid looked over his shoulder and sighed. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to update the mayor. I’ll have Officer Roberts drive you home. There’s nothing you can do here now. Please, let me know if you remember anything else.”
He might have been ready to dismiss her, but she wasn’t finished.
She jumped off the tailgate. “Donna wouldn’t have killed herself. If she did, why did she call me? And why didn’t she share in the note what she felt guilty about? And what about the handwriting?”
“What about it?”
“It was barely legible, messy. Donna took pride in her handwriting. She taught calligraphy classes for goodness’ sake.”
“Given the state of mind people are in when they decide to end their lives, it’s not surprising a handwritten note might be messy.”
Hope was about to protest when Maretta interrupted again.
“I’m waiting, Detective Reid!” Maretta stood beyond the crime scene tape with her hands on her hips.
Reid’s lips flattened. Hope was pretty sure he found Maretta more irritating than her.
“I know she was a friend. The truth is, we never know what people are capable of. If you’ll excuse me, the mayor is waiting. Go home.” He turned and walked away.
Hope didn’t envy his position. Nor did she believe Donna’s death was self-inflicted. Or that she wrote the note. Somebody was determined to keep whatever happened twenty years ago buried.
Chapter Twelve
Waking up the morning after discovering Donna’s body, Hope needed some big-time comfort. So, it was no wonder she tied on an apron first thing and pulled out her container of flour.
There was nothing more soothing than baking.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 16