A slight man, much like Detective Reid but older, appeared. He had a receding hairline, small eyes, and a guarded look on his weathered face.
“Can I help you?” He peered out, looking around. She guessed he wanted to make sure she was alone. Once a cop, always a cop.
“If you’re retired Detective Jim Voight, you can.”
“I am. Who are you?”
She extended her hand. “I’m Hope Early.”
His grip was firm and his expression still curious. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about Devon Markham. I know she came to see you before her death.”
“Are you family?” He let go of Hope’s hand.
“No. I’m a friend. I promise, I won’t take up much of your time. It’s important.”
He nodded and welcomed her inside his home.
She wiped her boots on the welcome mat before entering the white-and-black-tiled foyer. From where she stood, she could see straight through the living area to a snow-covered deck just outside a glass slider. She imagined in the summer it was a lovely spot to sit and enjoy a lazy day.
“Let me take your coat.” He hung the coat on a pegboard next to a bulky gray parka and led her into the living room.
A small brown dog came racing toward her and slid to a stop at Hope’s feet.
“Her name is Mabel.” Jim scooped up the dog, who had to be no more than six pounds. Standing there holding his dog and dressed in a tan sweater with corduroys, he looked relaxed. Hopefully, he would remain that way for the rest of her visit. “She talks a lot but doesn’t bite.” He continued to the black leather chair kitty-corner in the room. It had a view of the fifty-two-inch television and the deck. “Have a seat.” He released Mabel, who immediately ran to Hope.
Hope sat on the sofa and stroked the little dog’s head.
“What is it you want to know?” He leaned back into the supple leather and kept his gaze trained on her. Maybe he thought he would make her uncomfortable, squirm a little, but she’d had Detective Reid do the exact same thing to her. She hated to disappoint the retired cop, but she wouldn’t be squirming any time soon.
“Devon asked me for help with researching her mother’s case for the podcast and I’m continuing to do that.” Was it exactly what Devon had said? No. Hope didn’t know what Voight would tell her, but she was confident if she told him Devon had asked for her help to find her mother’s killer, he would toss her out.
“Ms. Markham didn’t mention a partner.” His appraising look ratcheted up a notch. Was he detecting Hope’s fib?
“She probably didn’t see the need to at the time. Unfortunately, I don’t have her notes from her meeting with you.”
“Ms. Markham didn’t write any notes. She used her phone to record our conversation. You’re not doing either.”
Darn.
“I have a good memory.” She shifted to the edge of her seat. “I’m here to find out what happened to Joyce and Devon. You can ask me to leave and I will. But I hope you don’t, because I really need to find out the truth. Devon was a friend. Her mom was a nice lady who baked the softest sugar cookies.” If that wasn’t the lamest thing she’d ever said, she didn’t know what was.
His face brightened. “Those are my favorite.”
“They are?” Okay, maybe not so lame.
“At Easter, I bake them in all sorts of shapes for my grandkids. Though I can’t seem to get them as soft as I want them. And they spread. They’re cookies; it shouldn’t be so hard.”
“It took me years to replicate Joyce’s recipe, but I did it. It’s one of the most popular recipes on my blog.”
“You’re a food blogger?”
Hope nodded. “I do. It’s called Hope at Home.”
“Get out! That’s why you look familiar to me. I gotta find the recipe on your blog.”
“Or I could show you now. That is, if you have the time.”
“I’m retired. I always have time.” He jumped up and led Hope into his galley kitchen. While he pulled out all the ingredients and Hope preheated the oven, he told her about his late wife and their three kids and nine grandchildren. By the time Hope rolled out the dough, she had his complete life story. This wasn’t what she had expected, but her visit couldn’t have been going any better.
Jim grabbed three different cookie cutters and a container of sanding sugar.
“I remember the case quite well. There are a few cases that haunt a cop. Joyce’s case was one of those for me.”
Hope slipped three bunny cookies onto the prepared baking sheet, along with the duck-shaped cookies.
“Because it was unsolved?”
Jim sprinkled sugar on the cookies. “Yes. There’s always a gnawing at you that you missed something. Otherwise, you would have been able to solve the case.”
“I heard Joyce liked to flirt with men. Sometimes she even did so in front of her husband.”
Jim lifted the baking sheet and slid it into the oven, then set a timer.
“I was aware of the behavior. From what I found through my investigation, she didn’t have a lover. From my experience, it seemed she was looking for attention from her husband and not those other men.”
Hope collected the bowls and utensils and set them into the sink, which she filled with soapy water.
“Do you think her husband killed her?”
Jim shrugged. “I never crossed him off my list of persons of interest. Though I didn’t find any evidence he was involved. All his financials checked out.”
“You were looking to see if he hired someone?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a husband did.”
A shiver ran through Hope at the thought. How could a man pay someone to murder his wife? The mother of his children? But it happened far too often. Compared to those situations, she was grateful her divorce was somewhat amicable.
Hope leaned against the counter. “When Devon spoke to you, did she have any information that you didn’t have twenty years ago?”
Jim stiffened.
“I don’t mean to imply you didn’t do your job, but maybe twenty years ago someone kept something a secret.”
“I knew what you meant. It’s not uncommon for witnesses to come forward years later. That’s how many cold cases are finally broken open. She did tell me that she had information about an affair her father was having prior to her mother’s disappearance.”
Hope wished she’d had a chance to read through Devon’s notes. She was certain those notes were shredded or burned now. Whoever staged the car accident wouldn’t chance those papers or recordings being discovered.
The timer dinged, and Jim grabbed a pot holder and pulled out the baking sheet.
“Let them set for a minute and then we can transfer them to the cooling rack.”
“I’ll put on the kettle for tea.” He set down the pot holder and filled the kettle at the sink.
The cookies cooled while the tea was prepared, and they settled at the table beside the large window overlooking the fenced yard. It was long and narrow, but enough room for his grandkids to play in nice weather.
“It’s a shame, what happened to Devon. She struck me as someone determined to get answers.” Jim reached for a cookie while Mabel lay beside his foot.
“We’d lost touch after high school graduation. Even back then, she was like a dog with a bone. She hadn’t changed much.” Hope sipped her tea. She waited for his review of the cookie.
“These are delicious.” He smiled and finished eating the cookie. He then helped himself to another one.
Hope let out the breath she was holding. “Thank you.” She reached for a cookie and took a bite. Tender and lightly sweet.
“My grandkids are going to love these.” He finished eating his second cookie. “Thanks so much for the recipe.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t much help.”
“You didn’t throw me out.” She laughed.
He chuckled
also. “Devon was lucky to have a friend like you.”
“I wish I could have done more sooner.” She glanced at her watch. “I should be heading back to Jefferson. I want to get back before the storm hits.” Another snowstorm was heading for Connecticut and the last thing she wanted was to get stuck on the road as it barreled into the state.
“How’s the new chief working out?” Jim stood and walked her to the door.
Ethan was hardly the new chief. He’d been in the position for nearly six years.
“Good. Well, I may be a little biased. I’ve known him since high school.” Hope shrugged into her coat and put on her gloves.
“I retired soon after he joined Jefferson PD. He seemed like an all right guy.”
“Your instincts are spot-on. Thank you again.” Hope reached for the doorknob.
“The knife!” He snapped his fingers. “Of course. The knife.”
Hope looked over her shoulder. “What knife?”
“I can’t believe I’m just now remembering.” Jim ran his hand over his head. “There was a knife missing from the knife block in the Markham kitchen. There wasn’t any evidence of a struggle in the home.”
Of course. That was what had seemed off to her and Devon. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier, when she’d looked at the photo of the Markhams’ kitchen that Devon had pinned to the bulletin board? The knife block had an empty slot. Such a small detail. Could it really be significant?
“But the knife could have been a murder weapon.”
“Or it could have been tossed out by accident. It’s not uncommon. My son never paid attention to what he dropped in the trash can. We never determined whether Joyce willingly left her family or not. Until there’s more evidence, we won’t know for sure.”
Hope opened the door and stepped outside. “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. And thanks for the recipe. Be sure to keep me informed, or call if you have any questions.”
Hope nodded and then hurried back to her Explorer. Making her way back to the highway, she went over the visit. What had she accomplished?
Not much. It also seemed Devon hadn’t learned much either.
Or Jim could have been withholding information from Hope.
* * *
Hope arrived home before the snow started to fall. The updated forecast she heard on the drive back to Jefferson called for heavy snow within a couple of hours. That scenario was never a good one because road crews had a hard time keeping the roads safe with several inches of snow falling in a short period of time. She entered the mudroom and was greeted by Bigelow. She let him out to do his business while she got out of her coat and boots.
In the kitchen, she was greeted by Princess. The cat slinked by her legs with her tail high and flicking in the air. Hope dashed out back to the mudroom to allow Bigelow back inside.
Shaking off the cold, Hope returned to the kitchen and then checked her phone. She’d heard a text come in while she was hanging up her coat.
It was from Ethan. Because of the storm, he wanted to stay at the PD. It looked like she’d be eating alone tonight.
She made a quick dinner of lasagna rolls. There was enough to drop off to Ethan tomorrow for lunch. After filling the dishwasher, Hope wiped down the countertops, then fed Bigelow and Princess.
Hope then did a quick tidy-up of the family room before grabbing her notebook and settling on the sofa to listen to another episode of Devon’s podcast. Bigelow jumped up and made himself comfy on the other end of the sofa. She hadn’t the heart to make him scoot off, especially when Princess had commandeered his bed in the corner of the room.
She tapped on her phone and the podcast began, and she was ready to make notes.
“The morning after we realized my mother had disappeared was cold and dreary. I remember opening my eyes, convinced the day before was a nightmare. My mom would come into my room any moment and tell me to get up and greet the new day. She always said that to us. I waited and waited. My bedroom door never opened.
“I finally got out of bed and went to the window. It had rained the night before. I could see what snow was left had been washed away. I still had hope she’d open my bedroom door and walk in.
“The door opened. My breath caught as I looked over my shoulder. Mom was home. I was about to run to her when I realized it was my sister, Felice. All the hope I had whooshed out of me in one hard breath. Felice’s eyes were red and swollen and she held a damp tissue in her hand.
“‘It wasn’t a dream, was it?’ I asked her. She shook her head and rushed to me. I stood and hugged her and we cried. Our mother hadn’t returned home.” Devon’s voice cracked. “She was gone. I knew right there and then, my mother wasn’t going to come back. Something terrible had happened to her, even if the detective who was assigned to her case didn’t believe that. My mother wouldn’t have up and left us. She wasn’t that kind of woman. Someone took her from us.”
A bing drew Hope’s attention from her notebook to her phone.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Leave the past in the past or you’ll have no future.
Hope dropped her pen and grabbed her phone. Her heart raced. She stared at the message. She shot up from her chair and rushed to the windows that overlooked her property.
All she saw was a dark and snowy night.
Was the person out there watching her house? A lump caught in her throat. She tapped on the app for her smart doorbell. The video included with the doorbell gave her a fairly good view in the front of her house and at the back of her house, where the second doorbell was located. She didn’t see anyone in the area.
Irritated by the anonymous threats and by feeling like a victim, she took the bold, but probably not a smart move and texted back.
Who is this?
She waited for a reply.
Someone who is giving you one more chance. Choose wisely.
Bigelow stirred and snuffled. She looked over to the sofa. At face value, he didn’t look much like a guard dog, but he’d saved her life not too long ago. She peeled herself away from the window and walked back to the sofa, sitting next to her best buddy. He lifted his head and then rested it on her lap. She chewed on her lip and stared down at her phone.
Who had sent the text? What did he or she think Hope knew?
Chapter Fifteen
After her alarm woke her, Hope reached for her phone and checked for new messages. None. She pressed the phone against her chest and breathed as she tried to decide whether she was relieved or disappointed. She was thankful the unknown texter hadn’t continued to toy with her, yet she was dismayed that she didn’t have another chance to try to find out the identity of the person behind the threats. Though unless he or she revealed a name, she had no idea of how she’d track down the identity on her own.
She’d set the alarm for her regular time and now regretted it. She’d barely slept again last night. During the night, she’d drifted from dream to dream. Most of them had Devon’s voice narrating what was happening. There were flashes of the threatening text messages, and every time they appeared, they got bigger and bigger and bigger. As if that weren’t enough, the message played through her car radio while she was driving.
What had her bolting upright at four thirty was Devon’s crash scene and, as the first responders carried Devon’s body to the ambulance, she’d suddenly sat up and asked Hope, “Why didn’t you help me?”
That nightmare had Hope’s heart racing and her brow sweaty. Bigelow nearly leaped out of the bed. She thought she may have kicked him by mistake. It took almost an hour for her to fall back to sleep. She was scared she’d see Devon again, and have to answer the question.
She lifted the phone off her chest and checked online for the weather. As expected, the northwest section of the state had been walloped with snow. She texted Iva and told her not to worry about coming over; she’d take care of the chickens. By the time Hope was in the bathroom, splashing water on her fac
e, Iva texted back. She appreciated the morning off and would be there tomorrow.
When Hope emerged from the bathroom, Bigelow was stretching. It seemed the dog liked to ease into his mornings. She hated to admit it, but she was jealous of her dog. She called him and he eagerly jumped off the bed to follow her downstairs.
Dressed in jeans and a fleece top, she was ready to go out to the barn.
It took longer than usual to feed and water the chickens thanks to the pile of fresh snow and frigid temperatures. The birds didn’t seem eager to venture out beyond their enclosed pen. Even Poppy preferred to stay in her nesting box, while Helga followed Hope around the barn, overseeing the chores so they were done properly. With the chores completed and the chickens fed, Hope headed back to her house.
She peeled off her outerwear while Bigelow did his little dance for breakfast. His toenails tapped the floor and even gave a yowl in hopes of speeding up the process. Hope knew she shouldn’t have, but she served his meal before hers. With him fed, she was able to make a pot of coffee in peace. As she gathered the ingredients for her breakfast, she scanned the family room for Princess. She was nowhere in sight.
With a couple of eggs cracked and whisked, she added them to a pan along with two heaping handfuls of spinach for a quick scramble. After she set a lid on the pan, she dropped a slice of her homemade honey wheat bread into the toaster.
A chime from her doorbell’s app alerted her that someone was at the back door. She grabbed her phone and saw Claire unlocking the door. A moment later, the mudroom door opened.
“Remind me when the first day of spring is.” Claire unbuttoned her full-length coat and set her purse on the island.
“Not soon enough. How are the roads?” Hope poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her sister. Then she filled a cup for herself.
“Not great. But I’m not here to talk about the roads. I’m here to discuss Kent.”
“He told you about my visit to see him?” Hope lifted the lid from her sauté pan and checked her eggs. Almost done. It looked like her breakfast was coming with a lecture. Lucky her.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 20