She measured out the dry ingredients for her Sunshine Corn muffins recipe. A sprinkle of grated orange zest gave the traditional corn muffins a little spark of brightness, which was why they were one of her favorite muffins.
She cracked two eggs and added the milk and oil she’d already measured out. After a quick whisk, she dropped in the tablespoon of orange zest. The tiny flecks of orange and the scent of fresh citrus made her happy.
A little happiness was welcome. Throughout the night, she had been plagued with nightmares, each one increasing in terrifying intensity from the one before. The last one had her bolting upright, startling Ethan and Bigelow. It was a mash-up of Devon’s car accident and Shirley’s lifeless body in her vehicle. She had settled back down, cocooned in Ethan’s embrace, and managed to fall back asleep for a couple more hours.
The oven beeped, signaling it was ready for the muffins to go in. She picked up her pace, and within minutes the batter was combined and divided among the muffin cups. She set the filled muffin trays into the oven and set the timer.
With a quick cleanup of the countertop done, she refilled her coffee cup and then settled at the table and opened her composition notebook.
Over her first cup of coffee, she jotted down notes about the gruesome scene she’d discovered yesterday. Not exactly the journaling her mother did daily.
She sipped her fresh coffee and made a notation about Donna’s alleged suicide note. Heavy footfalls from the hall drew her away from her writing. Ethan was coming downstairs. She didn’t want him to see her notebook. She quickly closed the book and looked around for where to stash it as the footsteps got closer.
Shoot.
Her tote. It was on the sideboard. She jumped up and dashed to the bag and shoved the notebook inside. That was when she felt a swipe to her hand.
Princess was sitting on the sideboard, peering at her.
“Where did you come from? You were in the living room.” The cat sat, her pose regal. “You’re like a ninja.”
Princess blinked.
“Don’t judge me.”
Meowwww.
“Yes, it looks like I’m hiding this from Ethan, but I’m not really.”
Meowwww.
“Why am I explaining myself to you?”
Princess rose onto all fours and walked along the edge of the sideboard, flicking her tail and swatting Hope in the face. She then jumped down and pranced out of the room as Ethan entered.
“Hey, I thought you might sleep in.” He looked refreshed and well-rested in his JPD T-shirt under a flannel shirt and black work pants. He had arrived after his shift with a pizza and a shoulder to cry on. Hope had appreciated his concern and not having to make dinner. She hadn’t had much of an appetite but managed to eat a slice before going to bed.
Hope moved back to the coffee maker and filled a travel mug for him. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You’re baking?” His nose wiggled. “Corn muffins?”
“Yes.” She handed him the travel mug. “How about breakfast? I can whip up scrambled eggs.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “Thanks. But I can’t.”
“You know, I meant what I said yesterday. I don’t believe Donna killed herself. I think someone murdered her.”
“Hope, not every death results from murder. Let us do our job. Besides, you’re busy with yours right now.”
“I am?”
“The muffins.” He nodded toward the oven. “You’re baking them for the blog or a video, right?”
Hope glanced over her shoulder at the oven so she wouldn’t be looking at Ethan when she answered.
“Right. My blog.”
As she looked back to face him, he pulled her close to him for another kiss. “Love you. Call me if you need to talk. Okay?”
“I will.” She watched him disappear out to the mudroom and, a few moments later, the back door opened and closed.
Meowwww.
Princess’s sudden vocalization startled Hope. “Where the . . .” Her voice trailed off when she realized the cat was sitting on the island. “I thought we had this discussion about where you can and cannot jump up on to. The countertops are off-limits.” She scooped up the cat and set her on the floor.
Princess stared up at Hope.
“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t lie to him. Well, not exactly. I’ll use the recipe for my blog.”
Princess’s ears flicked back and gave Hope a doubtful look.
“Fine, I fibbed. And I hid my notes.”
The cat turned and slinked away, leaving Hope to wrestle with her decision to be less than forthcoming with Ethan. But first she had to clean the countertop.
Fifteen minutes later, the timer dinged and she pulled the muffins from the oven. She was immediately hit with a waft of pure joy. Freshly baked muffins. There was nothing better on a cold, bleak morning. As she closed the oven door, she found Bigelow had finally joined her in the kitchen.s
“What took you so long?” She chuckled, setting the muffin tins on cooling racks. “You already had your breakfast, and it’s too soon for a snack. Besides, these are not for you.” She patted the pup on the head.
She’d baked for two reasons. The first one was to have something to feed to Iva as they discussed the missing charm bracelet. The second was that she wanted to take them with her when she visited Alfred Kingston.
She’d heard what Maretta had to say about Joyce and now she wanted to listen to what her husband had to say. Alfred had a weakness for baked goods. They’d sit and chat while he enjoyed a snack.
The mudroom door opened, and Iva entered the kitchen. She wore a puffer vest over a denim shirt, jeans, and insulated work boots.
“Smells good in here.” Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tucked under a wool cap.
“Sunshine Corn Muffins hot out of the oven.” Hope gestured to the muffin tins. “Coffee?” She pulled out another cup from an upper cabinet.
“Love some.” Iva walked toward Hope, and the floor squeaked. She glanced downward. “Need to fix that.”
“I don’t think so. It’s a part of the flooring’s charm.”
“Charm?” Iva gave Hope a skeptical look.
The two women didn’t share the same appreciation for old things. While Iva would help tackle some of the projects in the house, she definitely wouldn’t be fixing the lovingly salvaged pumpkin pine floor anytime soon.
Hope handed Iva a full cup of coffee and then turned out the muffins onto another cooling rack. She plated a muffin and carried it to the table.
“If I don’t say so myself, these are delicious. You have to try one.”
Iva followed. “Thank you. I am a little hungry.” “How’s your mom doing?” Hope refilled her cup and grabbed a muffin before joining Iva at the table. Bigelow followed. No doubt he was hoping for a few fallen crumbs.
“Every day is different. Yesterday it was rough. It’s hard seeing her suffer. Then again, it’s good to have her around.” Iva sipped her coffee. She liked it black and strong.
“I love the paint job you did in the living room.” Hope bit into her muffin. From experience, she’d learned to give Iva some positive feedback before broaching the subject of the missing bracelet.
“Thanks. The paint was superb. Most people go cheap with paint, but they regret it later.” Iva broke off a piece of the muffin and chewed. The hard edges of her face softened, and her eyes brightened. “You’re right, this is delicious.”
Hope smiled. Hearing compliments never got old and having someone enjoy what she’d baked warmed her inside. Yeah, she was that corny sometimes.
“Thank you. I’m glad you like the muffin. How are my chickens doing? Is Helga still giving you a rough time?” The hen was notorious for pecking at people. She’d mellowed out since Hope got her, but she was still spirited.
Iva shrugged. “She’s like my mom; she has good days and bad days.” She broke off another piece of muffin and ate it. There were plenty of muffins, and Hope would send he
r home with a few.
“It’s good everything is working out well. There is something I want to talk to you about.” Hope lowered her gaze as her finger traced the rim of her coffee cup.
“Is there something wrong?” Iva asked.
Hope lifted her gaze and was about to launch into the dreaded conversation when Iva’s cell phone rang. Hope knew the ringtone. Iva’s mother was calling.
“Sorry, I gotta take this.” Iva pulled her phone out of her jeans’ pocket. She tapped on the phone and took the call. “What is it, Ma?”
Hope stood and walked to the island to give Iva privacy. She boxed up the muffins, dividing the big batch in half.
“Okay, no problem. I’m on my way now. Go back to bed.” Iva disconnected the call and stood. “Sorry, I gotta go to the pharmacy for my mother. She forgot to tell me she needed a refill last night. Thanks for the coffee and muffin.”
Hope grabbed one box. “Here, take these.”
Iva smiled. “Thanks, Hope.” She headed to the mudroom door. “Hey, we can talk about whatever it was you wanted to talk about later, okay?”
“Absolutely. Go take care of your mom.” Hope watched Iva disappear out to the mudroom and then heard the back door open and close. She let out a whoosh of relieved breath, though their conversation was only postponed. She’d still have to discuss the missing bracelet with Iva. But that was for another day. Now, she needed to finish getting ready and head out to Alfred’s office.
* * *
Hope’s trek from her Explorer to the entry of the Jefferson Town Real Estate office was brisk, much like the weather. She juggled the box of muffins in one hand as the other opened the door.
Inside, a toasty warmth greeted her and so did Amy Phelan, the agency’s full-time secretary. The young blonde pointed to the headset she wore and nodded.
“Yes, I’ll let him know. Thank you for calling and have a great day!” Amy pressed a button on the telephone and removed the headset.
“Good morning.” Hope wiped her boots on the mat before stepping forward. She lifted the box’s lid, flashing a glimpse of the freshly baked muffins.
“Corn? My favorite.” Amy leaned forward and plucked one out of the box, along with a napkin that Hope had tucked into the corner.
“Enjoy.” Hope closed the lid.
“You know I’m on a diet, right?” Amy always seemed to be trying to lean out her curvy figure.
“Sorry.” Hope flashed an apologetic smile. She never intentionally wanted to sabotage anyone’s diet, but she couldn’t imagine a life in which you couldn’t indulge in a muffin.
Amy nibbled at the still-warm treat.
“No, you’re not. I’m so glad you’re not sorry. This is delicious.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin. “I have to tell you, my mom is super excited about the blogging class. It’s all she’s been talking about since she registered.”
“She’s a great student. Her homework assignment was top-notch. I think she’ll enjoy blogging.”
Amy leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Too bad what happened to Devon. It’s really dampened my mom’s enthusiasm. She and Devon’s mom were close friends. It breaks her heart to have to console Felice. Again.”
“Devon’s death was a shock to everyone.”
“I remember Mom crying after Joyce disappeared. I asked her why she was crying, and she told me she wished things had turned out differently with Joyce.” Amy bit into the muffin.
“What did she mean by that?” Hope’s curiosity was piqued.
Amy motioned that she’d answer in a moment, after she swallowed her bite. “Don’t know. She wouldn’t say. But I guessed it was like Violet Neville and me. Remember her? We were besties until she told a guy I liked that I had mono. I still can’t believe she was so mean. Anyway, we weren’t besties after that incident.”
Hope didn’t remember Violet Neville, but Amy was a few years behind Hope in school, so they hadn’t traveled in the same circles.
“And my mom was so upset the day they found Devon’s car. And now Donna’s death. Was it really a suicide?”
Before Hope could reply, approaching footsteps drew her attention to the staircase.
“Hope?” What brings you by?” Alfred’s gaze landed on the pastry box, and his usual smile broadened. Alfred was good-natured, mild-mannered, and amiable. A striking contrast to his wife, Maretta.
“Good morning. I baked muffins.” Hope walked toward him. She lifted the top of the box, and Alfred got a whiff of the citrus aroma.
“I wondered with Claire gone if you would be dropping by with treats for me . . . I mean us.”
Hope lowered the top of the box. “Of course I will. Claire striking out on her own doesn’t mean I’ll stop sharing my baking.”
“Well, because you’re here and I’m between appointments, why don’t you come up to my office? We can have a chat and catch up.”
Exactly what Hope was hoping for.
Alfred turned and ascended the staircase and Hope followed. They walked the long, narrow hallway, passing several offices. Would one of those have been Joyce’s if she hadn’t disappeared?
“Come, sit.” Alfred gestured to one of the two chairs in front of his neat and organized desk as he sat in his leather chair.
There was nothing in the room that boasted how successful he was in his business. He’d started his career with a national real estate agency and quickly excelled as a salesman, eventually branching out on his own. Even with his success, he wasn’t a flashy kind of guy. He drove an affordable car and lived in the same house he’d purchased decades ago. Though he did have a priceless view of Main Street through a bank of nine-over-nine windows. The snow-covered Congregational Church bell tower was off in the distance.
Hope set the box of muffins on the desk. She unzipped her jacket and loosened the scarf around her neck before sitting.
“How’s Claire doing? Too bad about the tenant over her shop. We probably won’t get a new one until spring.” Alfred took a bite of the muffin.
“Devon’s death is tragic. First her mother’s disappearance and now the fatal car accident. Joyce worked here as a secretary, didn’t she?”
“Hope, this muffin is amazing. So moist and flavorful. How do you do it?” He took another bite and shook his head in a good way. “I’ll have to have Maretta try baking these too. The recipe is on your blog, right?”
Hope’s mouth fell open. Maretta made her recipes? Well, wonders never ceased.
“Yes, it will be soon.”
“Good. Good.” Alfred continued eating the muffin and then must have had a moment of self-awareness. “Oh, please forgive me. Where are my manners? Do you want one? Or maybe coffee?”
“No, thank you. I would like to talk to you about Joyce, though.”
“Ahh.” Alfred set down the uneaten half of his muffin on another napkin and wiped any crumbs off his hands. “You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”
“Doing what?”
“Investigating. Sleuthing. Whatever you and Jane call it. I caught the two of you with your heads together in The Coffee Clique the other morning. You think someone murdered Devon, don’t you? And that it’s connected to Joyce’s disappearance?” He leaned back and clasped his hands together over his rounded midsection. Over the years Alfred had filled out his lean figure, and he wore sweater vests as an attempt to disguise what her grandma used to call a jellybelly.
Today, he wore a blue vest over a plaid shirt. The disguise wasn’t working.
“I admit, I’m curious about what happened to Devon. I’m even more curious about her mother.”
“I’m not surprised you are. I’m learning that where there’s a mystery, Hope Early is probably nearby.” He flashed a good-natured smile.
Alfred’s statement, which was so matter-of-fact, took her by surprise. She wanted to deny it, but it was true. At least lately.
“Let me see what I can remember. It was a long time ago. Joyce handled our clients well, always had a smile for them, and she
interacted with the agents professionally. She was an asset to our office.”
“Devon told me she had ambitions of being an agent.”
“She did. I think she had the personality to do well. But she seemed hesitant. Maybe it was a confidence thing. The studying and the exam can be daunting.”
Hope nodded. “I remember when Claire was going for her license.”
“Then you know how strenuous it can be. But I knew she had potential and so did Kent. He encouraged her to enroll in the class and helped her with the course material. He was like a mentor to her.”
“He was?” Hope never thought of Kent Wilder as the mentoring type. No, he was more a slick salesman than a nurturer. When she moved back to Jefferson, he’d almost had Hope purchasing a house one code violation away from demolition. He’d called her and convinced her to look at the house. Claire had been out of town that day at a closing, so Hope went to see the house on her own with Kent. Luckily, Claire intervened before Hope signed any papers; otherwise Hope would now be the proud owner of a never-ending money pit. He’d played on Hope’s emotions all too well.
“They were close?” she asked.
“I’d say so. He took her to a few open houses and closings to give her a feel for the whole process.”
“At the time, he must have been working very hard to establish his own business. It’s wonderful he wanted to pay it forward so early in his career.”
“We’ve always been like a family here,” Alfred said proudly.
Hope tried to figure out a way to delicately ask the next question. Who was she kidding? There was no delicate way to ask the question.
“Alfred, I don’t mean to sound indelicate or speak badly of someone who isn’t able to defend herself.” Hope shifted on her seat. “Is there any possibility Joyce and Kent were having an affair?”
Alfred drew back, and his eyes bulged. “Absolutely not! Kent has never mixed business with pleasure. Never.”
Hope couldn’t argue Alfred’s point. Even though her sister was Kent’s colleague, he still tried to sell Hope a lemon of a house that would have bankrupted her.
“If not Kent, could she have been seeing someone else who worked here?”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 17