“I do admire your spunk and determination to get to the truth. Sometimes, you’ve been so headstrong that it almost got you killed. But I have to say, you’re way off base here. From what I remember, Joyce was a loyal and loving wife to her husband. The woman I knew back then wouldn’t have stepped outside her marriage.”
Hope couldn’t recall the last time someone called her spunky. Elaine Whitcomb had called her a busybody not too long ago. In fact, she’d threatened to start a #busybody with Hope’s name attached to it.
Alfred’s desk phone buzzed. “Excuse me.” He lifted the receiver. “Yes, I’ll take the call.” He covered the speaker with a hand. “I have to take this. Thanks for the muffins. I’m sure everyone in the office will love them.”
Hope stood. “You’re welcome. Have a nice day.” She walked to the door and pulled it closed behind her as she stepped out into the hall. She continued to the staircase and stopped at another closed office door. It was Kent’s.
Joyce might not have been having an affair with Kent or anyone else at the agency, but Alfred might not have known everything about her.
On her way out of the building, she stopped by Amy’s desk to say goodbye and to find out where Kent was. Luckily for her, Amy didn’t hold the fact she’d gone off her diet against Hope and told her Kent was at his newest listing. With the address in hand, Hope left, determined to learn more about Kent’s involvement with Joyce’s professional ambitions—or more.
Chapter Thirteen
Outside, she braved the wind as it swept down, jostling storefront banners and threatening to sweep away anything that wasn’t nailed down. The cold pricked Hope’s cheeks, making her tug up her scarf to cover her chin. February could be a fiercely cold month, and this year it wasn’t disappointing. As she speed-walked to her vehicle, she kept reminding herself the weather was perfect for her upcoming ski getaway with Ethan.
With her car started, she punched the address Amy had given her into her navigation system and took off.
The narrow roads were even more harrowing with piles of snow on both sides and spotty ice patches. Her telephone rang, and she answered it.
“I was about to give up getting hold of you. This phone tag is bananas.” Corey’s nasal voice came through the car speaker, loud and clear.
“Sorry. Things have been . . . hectic here.” Hope took a curve on Old Chester Road slowly. Good thing she did, because she had to come to a sudden stop to let a deer cross the road.
“Yeah, yeah, I can imagine how busy things are up in Mayfield.”
“Jefferson,” she corrected and ignored his sarcastic tone. She eased off the brake and pressed down the accelerator after the deer made it across the road.
“Whatever. Look, I wanted to update you on Mama Mia. The contracts are being drawn up as we speak. This is big, Hope.”
Yes, it is.
“I can’t believe I’ll be working with them. Do you know how long I’ve been cooking their pasta?”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I pitched it to them, remember? Lifelong Mama Mia Pasta eater. Your mom cooked it every Friday night.”
Sentimentality wasn’t Corey’s thing. But it didn’t matter. He got Hope the deal.
“Also, I got the details from Frye-Lily about their partnership with Allied Home Centers and what posts they’d want from you. I just emailed it to you. Looks good. Let’s make this deal happen too.”
“I’ll review it later.” Up ahead, she caught a glimpse of something shiny, like ice, and eased off the gas. “Look, Corey, I can’t talk. I’m driving.”
“Yeah, well, I’m walking and talking.” The sounds of Midtown traffic spilled over into their conversation. Corey always seemed to be out of the office. Come to think of it, she didn’t know if he had an office or worked from a Starbucks.
“It’s not the same thing. We’re having a bad winter and the roads are slick.” Why was she explaining this to him?
“That’s what you get for moving up to Mayfield.”
Hope sighed. Corey was a born and bred New Yorker who ventured out of the city only as far as the meticulously maintained hamlet of Greenwich, Connecticut.
“Jefferson. I’ll call you later to go over the details and dates. Bye.” She disconnected the call.
She probably could have continued talking with Corey, but she was too excited about the Mama Mia deal to focus on conversation and driving at the same time. Being connected with a national brand that had been a staple in millions of kitchens for generations was huge for her career. And the exposure working with Allied Home Centers would bring made her feel like she would burst. All her long hours and seven-day workweeks were finally paying off.
Minutes later, Hope’s navigation system announced her arrival at her destination. She pulled off the road and traveled along the rutty driveway surrounded by dense forest on either side. Approaching a clearing, she spotted a sleek Mercedes parked on the large gravel pad.
She parked her car next to the Mercedes, just in time to see Kent pulling the front door closed behind him.
The midcentury home reminded Hope of the Brady Bunch house, with its sharp angles and floor-to-ceiling windows.
Out of her Explorer, she walked toward the entry of the house.
“Good morning.” Kent’s booming voice filled the quiet morning air as he crossed the bridge. “What brings you by? I know you’re not interested in making an offer. This isn’t your style.”
No, her style was more run-down with Pinterest potential.
“It’s not, but it’s striking. It’s an unusual style for this area.”
“During the 1940s and ’50s, there was a group of architects known as the Harvard Five. They settled in New Canaan and built close to one hundred homes. One of their former employees who broke out on his own designed this house.”
Kent had an encyclopedic knowledge of architecture, and Hope suspected that was an asset he used to lure and entice potential owners. Who wouldn’t want to own a piece of an architectural movement? His ability to romance the history of a home and his smooth selling style allowed him to rise through the ranks of a junior real estate agent to megaseller over the past twenty years. He was dressed in a tan wool coat and a Burberry scarf tucked into the neckline. His dark hair was thick and shiny. There wasn’t a hint of balding or gray. In his gloved hands, he held a portfolio and a cell phone.
“I’ve never heard of them.”
“Not surprising. But back then, those visionaries caused quite a stir.” Kent pointed to the house. “This type of architecture wasn’t welcome in the very Norman Rockwell town, with endless white picket fences, saltbox homes dating back to the Colonial period, and churches over a hundred years old.”
“I can understand why. It’s a masterpiece, but not very quaint.”
Three oversize white orb pendants hung from the porch, which stretched the length of the house. It didn’t have the same warmth as Hope’s wraparound porch and no furniture for a quick respite on a warm spring afternoon.
“Buyers for this type of house aren’t looking for quaint.” He turned halfway, looking back at the house. “The outside has held up well after all these years. The inside needs a little freshening up. I just got off the phone with Claire.”
“You’re keeping her busy these days.”
“Speaking of busy . . .” Kent gestured to his car. “I have an appointment to get to.”
“Of course. I don’t want to keep you.”
“But you’re going to, aren’t you?”
“I want to talk to you about Joyce Markham. It won’t take long. I promise.”
Kent flashed his toothy smile. “You never cease to amaze me. Her daughter dies in a car accident and you suspect foul play.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re here asking about her mother. Somehow those events are connected in your mind.” Great. Now he was sounding like Alfred. “Look, I don’t have time to indulge your inner Miss Marple or Jessica Fletcher or whatever was the name of Jane Merrifield’s detectiv
e.” Kent’s long stride quickly took him to the driver’s side door of his Mercedes, forcing Hope to chase after him.
“I’m not indulging anything. I’m simply curious why you took an interest in Joyce’s career. I heard you mentored her and encouraged her to pursue a real estate license.”
Kent opened the car door and tossed in his portfolio and phone. “I did. She was a nice lady who had ambition. I like that in people. At the time, I was building my team, and I thought she’d be more of an asset to me as an agent rather than a secretary. Then she disappeared, and like everyone, I was shocked. And now her daughter. The family must be cursed or something.”
Hope didn’t believe in curses or in coincidences.
“I also heard she liked to flirt.”
“You hear a lot of things, don’t you?”
“I do.”
Kent grinned. He seemed to appreciate Hope’s honesty.
“You heard correctly. Though I never got the feeling she would have followed through. She wasn’t that type of woman.”
“You two never . . .”
“Had an affair?” Kent asked, finishing Hope’s sentence. “No. Never.”
“Did you know about her tattoo?”
Kent’s eyebrow arched, and he looked sincerely confused. “What tattoo?”
“Never mind.”
“Hope, why do you always suspect me of murder?”
“I don’t. Not always.” Though it did seem like she did. In her defense, he had had motives in two previous murders.
Kent laughed, but it wasn’t a funny laugh. “Yes, you do. To be honest, I’m tired of it.”
“You’re not a suspect. You’re someone who knew her at the time she disappeared.”
Kent rested his hand on the car door’s frame. “We worked together. We had a professional relationship. What I knew about her personal life, I told the detective investigating her disappearance.”
“What was that?”
He blew out an irritated breath. “You’re not going to give up, are you?”
She tilted her head to the side and gave him a look. A look that said she wasn’t leaving until he told her.
“She loved her daughters and her husband, and I didn’t believe she would up and leave them. I still don’t believe it. Her husband . . . Greg . . . yeah, Greg, wasn’t supportive of her being an agent. Her girls were caught up in their own teenage dramas, and Joyce liked to flirt with good-looking guys.”
“It sounds like she was two different people.”
“We humans are complicated.” He glanced at his gold watch, and Hope noted that it was the real deal. “I need to get going. Am I off your suspect list?”
Nobody was off her suspect list.
“Remember what happened last time you were too curious.” Kent’s tone had darkened, sending a chill that wasn’t from the weather down Hope’s spine.
Now there was something she’d never forget. Almost dying in her own home. No, this time she was being more careful. But a quick glance around gave her pause.
She’d tracked Kent down to a secluded location to ask him about the disappearance of a former coworker. If he had been responsible, she’d just put herself in grave danger. So much for being careful.
“I appreciate you talking to me. Thank you.” She turned and walked back to her car while Kent got into his and drove away.
Kent had the right idea. It was time to go. Walking toward her vehicle, she wondered what type of staging job Claire would do for this midcentury house. A ding from her cell phone interrupted her decorating thoughts. She pulled the phone from her jacket pocket. The new message was from Corey.
The man could be such a nag.
She replied, assuring him that she’d review the contract as soon as she got home.
The chugging of a truck alerted her someone was approaching. Why hadn’t she left when Kent did? Now she was alone at an empty house, and no one knew she was there.
Well, except for Kent and Amy.
The vehicle came into view. It was Oliver’s plow truck, and it came to a hard stop. The driver’s side door swung open. He leaped out and marched toward her, his gait determined, and his gazed locked on hers. Gone was the friendly look she’d gotten only days ago when she gave him Double Chocolate Oatmeal cookies.
“What do you think you’re doing?” He jabbed his finger in the air toward Hope, and his nostrils flared. His voice was thick with anger.
Hope froze as if rooted to the spot. Her heartbeat kicked into overdrive, creating a rhythm that frightened her as much as Oliver did.
“Calm down. We can discuss whatever has you so upset.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He jabbed his finger again as he closed the gap between them.
“Stay back! Or I’ll call the police.” She raised the phone to show Oliver.
“Go ahead.” He advanced, forcing Hope to step back, away from her car. Her only means of escape. “What are you up to?”
“Nothing.” She glanced around. Yep, she was all on her own.
“You didn‘t come by just to pay your bill.” He pulled his cell phone from his jacket pocket. After tapping the phone, he held it up so Hope could see the video playing.
“You were there to snoop. You peeped into the window of my home and garage! I knew something was up with you and Drew. What were you looking for?”
Hope swallowed. Where did he have the surveillance cameras located? She hadn’t seen them.
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”
“No! I don’t think so. You came to ask me about Joyce Markham. And now the police want to know where I was when Devon and Donna died. They want a freakin’ alibi! And it’s because of you!”
“Well, following me isn’t going to make you look innocent.”
Oliver barked out a laugh. “I’m not following you. I’m here to finish plowing.”
She looked around again. She hadn’t realized only the parking pad was cleared of snow. The three-car garage still had a half-foot of snow blocking it.
“Mind. Your. Business. Or mark my words, you’ll be sorry.” He swung around and marched back to his truck. He climbed into the driver’s seat, slamming his door shut and starting the engine.
Hope forced herself to slow down her breathing. She took a deep inhale and slowly exhaled to steady her nerves and every other part of her body. Her legs quaked, her knees weakened, threatening to give way any second, and her hands shook. The pit of her stomach felt like a hard rock, and suddenly, she was so hot she was about to rip off her jacket.
But she couldn’t stay, not with Oliver still there. She willed her feet to move, and move fast, toward her car. Inside, she wasted no time in starting the ignition and making a U-turn, then she tore out of the driveway as fast as she could, kicking up loose gravel. She didn’t care. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Oliver as quickly as possible.
Hope didn’t stop driving until she spotted her favorite consignment shop and pulled into the parking lot. Before turning off the ignition, she called Ethan and told him what had happened with Oliver. She was able to avoid going into detail about her reason for being at Kent’s listing, because Ethan was more concerned about Oliver’s threat.
At some point, she’d have to tell him the whole story.
She assured him that she was safe and would head home after she browsed around Zach’s shop. Ethan protested, but she held firm. She didn’t need him to come to pick her up, and she didn’t need a police escort home. He accepted her decision, but insisted she call him when she left the shop.
After promising to keep him updated on her whereabouts, she headed to the shop’s main entrance. Over the years, she’d found several items for her home and for photography props while digging around in there. The one-story, flat-roofed building needed a paint job. Though Zach didn’t seem interested in doing any cosmetic updates. What mattered to him was inside.
Her nose twitched at the muskiness hanging in the air when she entered the building.
The layout of the store was choppy, making it appear smaller than it was. Zach’s haphazard way of merchandising was unique to him, and it seemed to appeal to his customers. There were a handful of them browsing.
“Good to see you, Hope. What brings you by today?” Zach smiled. He stood beside a curio cabinet with a dustcloth in hand.
Hope resisted the urge to share her need to decompress with the shop owner. No, she was a big girl and could handle her own problems.
“I thought I’d look around.” And the curio cabinet had her interest. The price seemed too good to pass up. Though she really didn’t need the piece of furniture. There had to be something else she could purchase on an impulse and not cost her a chunk of her savings account.
“You’ve come on the right day. Look at what we just got in.” Zach crooked his forefinger and then turned on his tattered loafers. He lumbered to the back of the shop. “I was hoping you’d stop in.”
She followed, passing a group of upholstered chairs in a garish print, but they were intricately carved and would be a perfect DIY project. Next was a base cabinet, distressed and weathered; it would also be a great project. Maybe attach a sink bowl on top? She could use it for her work with Allied Home Centers. Though she’d have to negotiate a lower price.
“What do you think?” Zach gestured to a five-foot vertical sign.
What did she think? As soon as she set eyes on it, she loved it. Though due diligence needed to be done. She approached for a closer look.
The word “bakery” was painted in a deep blue against a white background, and a lighter blue paint edged the sign. She inspected it from top to bottom. Other than fading in spots, because of years outdoors, advertising the bakery, and chipped edges, the sign appeared to be in good condition.
“Where did it come from?” Hope ran her fingers over the rough wood. It would be a nice gift to herself for landing the Mama Mia deal.
“Someone’s barn. A long-deceased relative owned a bakery and must have stored the sign when the place closed.”
“I could put it in my mudroom.” She’d stand it next to the door into the kitchen.
“Sounds like the perfect spot.” Zach ran his hand over his bald head. His face grew somber, as did his tone. “There’s something else.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 18