Claire nodded as she shifted her stance.
“Do you want breakfast? I can make you egg whites and spinach.”
“I’ve already eaten. Now, back to Kent. I don’t need you alienating one of my clients.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Are you sure? He was pretty steamed when he called me. Why were you asking him questions about Joyce Markham?”
“Because he mentored her. Before she disappeared, she was planning on becoming a real estate agent, and he took her under his wing, so to speak.”
“Wait. How do you know that?”
“Alfred told me.”
“You talked to Alfred?” Claire’s voice had ratcheted up, and she sighed.
“Yes. Speaking of the Kingstons, you should know Maretta came looking for me before class. She’s upset about Logan’s petition.” Hope removed the pan from the stovetop and slid the eggs onto a plate. By the time she set the pan in the sink, her toast popped up and she glided a pat of butter over the slice. “She wants you to get control of your kid.”
“What? How dare she!”
Hope dipped her head as she walked to the table with her plate and coffee to hide her smirk. She’d successfully shifted Claire’s anger to someone else.
“Who does she think she is? She actually told you to tell me to get control of my son?”
“I think she’s the last person to be doling out parenting advice.” Hope took a mouthful of her egg and spinach and chewed.
Claire marched to the table and set down her cup. She shrugged out of her coat and draped it over another chair before sitting. She crossed her arms over her chest and set her lips in a firm, thin line. She studied Hope with narrowed eyes.
“Wait a minute. I know what you’re trying to do. It’s not going to work. I’ll deal with Maretta later. I’m here to deal with you!”
The distraction almost worked. Hope ate a forkful of egg before answering. “All I did was talk to Kent.”
“There’s the problem. In your head, you heard a conversation, while Kent felt like he was being interrogated.”
“Nonsense. It was a conversation. And I believe he had nothing to do with Joyce’s disappearance.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I’m sorry I upset him. And I’m sorry he’s angry with you. If it helps, I’ll apologize.”
“Thank you.” Claire unfolded her arms and reached for her cup. “You’re awfully accommodating today.”
Hope swallowed a bite of toast and then took another. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. “What do you want from me? I offered to apologize and now you’re suspicious?”
“I most certainly am.” Claire leaned back and crossed her legs.
“All right. The truth is, I’m not up for a fight. I had a bad night. I’m exhausted and a little freaked out.”
“Why? What happened?”
Hope pulled up the text messages from last night and showed the phone to her sister.
Claire’s eyes bulged as she read the messages. “Oh. My. Goodness. Am I reading this right? You texted back? Are you crazy?”
“I was trying to find out who the person was.” Hope set the phone on the table.
“Let the police figure it out. Have you shown this to Ethan yet?”
“Not yet.”
“The man must really love you.” Claire took another drink of her coffee.
“Why do you say that?”
“You’re obviously doing something that’s making someone very nervous. You know darn well Ethan doesn’t want you investigating because it’s dangerous, yet you continue to do so. Though I’m sure he’ll forgive you like he’s done in the past.”
“Right. Just like he’s always done.”
Claire set her cup down and leaned forward. “Have you thought about how much damage your sleuthing is doing to your relationship?”
“I’m only asking questions. How can it possibly damage what Ethan and I have?”
“By eroding his trust. Hope, you keep things from him and only tell him about them when you absolutely have to. How does that make for a good relationship? He’s a good man. He’s good for you. I blame Tim for the breakup of marriage number one. If you keep doing what you’re doing, and Ethan breaks up with you because he can’t trust you, this time it’s on you.”
Stunned, Hope pulled back from her breakfast, absorbing her sister’s words.
Claire stood and put on her coat. She grabbed her purse and then patted her sister on the shoulder.
“You need to tell him everything. And then you need to back off. You’ve gotten lucky the past few times you got yourself involved in police matters. Luck has a way of running out at some point.” She disappeared out the mudroom door.
The door closed, and Hope leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands. Her sister was right. She hadn’t been up front with Ethan since the night she met with Devon, and it was a mistake. A big fat mistake.
She’d been so worried about not repeating past behavior, she hadn’t realized her quest for answers was jeopardizing what she had with Ethan. Why hadn’t she seen it?
She lifted her head. Okay. She now knew what she had to do.
She’d come clean with everything going forward. No more keeping things from him. She’d deal with whatever his reaction was, good or bad. And it started now. She stood and did a fast cleanup of the kitchen. When she was done, it was time to head out to the police department to show Ethan the messages.
While her car warmed up, she texted Ethan to let him know she was on her way to see him. By the time she arrived in the parking lot of the PD, he hadn’t replied.
Inside the main entrance, she was greeted by Freddie, the dispatcher. He told her to have a seat. A moment later, the door to the back offices opened, and she frowned. Detective Reid. He gestured for her to follow him.
In his office, he gestured to a chair as he made his way around his desk to sit. The surface was clutter- and memento-free. Not even a framed photograph. Clearly, the detective had a well-defined separation between work and his personal life. Maybe he didn’t have a personal life. Maybe his whole world revolved around his work. Come to think of it, she didn’t know if he was married or not. Did he have kids? Did he have a pet?
“Chief Cahill is out at the moment. So, Miss Early, what brings you by?” He’d forgone his usual dark blazer in favor of a sporty, half-zip top over a pale-blue T-shirt and chinos.
“Last night I received this text message.” She showed him her phone.
Reid leaned forward and took the device. After he read the text exchange, he asked, “Any idea who sent this?”
“No. I wish I did. I think it’s the same person who left the warning in the library for me.”
Reid gave the phone back to Hope and reached for a pad of paper and pen. “Start from the beginning.”
“The beginning? Well, it was when Devon came into Claire’s shop and said ‘hi’ and asked if we could talk.”
“Keep going.” Reid’s voice was dry, no hint of emotion.
Hope continued recounting her activities since her meeting with Devon the night after her first class. To his credit, he remained silent and just took notes.
“We have no evidence Mrs. Markham was murdered.” Reid stopped writing when Hope suggested what had happened two decades before was related to Devon’s death.
“There’s no evidence she wasn’t . . . well, except for the missing knife from the Markham house.”
His lips twitched. “How do you know about that detail?”
“Jim Voight told me yesterday. He said one of the kitchen knives was missing from the block on the counter. No one in the house knew what happened to it. What if it was used to kill Joyce?”
“There wasn’t any blood or signs of a struggle in the house.”
“Maybe the person cleaned up. Twenty years ago, the police didn’t have the technology they do now to find minute traces of blood or DNA.”
Reid coc
ked an eyebrow.
“Devon’s podcast was very thorough in discussing not only her mother’s cold case but others.”
“It is all but impossible to remove all DNA evidence from a crime scene,” he acquiesced.
“So, there could have been some trace evidence left behind. I guess it’s too late now to reexamine the Markham house, especially the kitchen. Then again, maybe the person used the knife to force Joyce to go with him or her.”
“Or the knife was misplaced or even accidently tossed in the trash, and Mrs. Markham left on her own.”
“Why would a woman with two daughters walk out on them?” She’d heard too many times over the years that Joyce may have left on purpose. Even as a teenager, Hope hadn’t been able to wrap her mind around that theory. Who would do that?
“You’d be surprised by what some people will do.”
Hope shrugged. Reid had a point. She’d been surprised recently by people she’d known, people she never thought capable of murder. So maybe running away from home wasn’t so implausible.
“Devon believed her father had been having an affair at the time of her mother’s disappearance. She told Jim that. Maybe she’d finally found out who the other woman was. Maybe the woman wants to keep it a secret at any cost.”
Reid jotted down some more notes. When he stopped writing, he set down his pen and leveled his gaze on Hope. His scrutiny was uncomfortable. She braced herself for the “speech.”
“Ms. Early . . . Hope . . . I understand your need to find an answer to why Devon’s car crashed, killing her. I also understand the lure of an unsolved mystery like her mother’s case. What I need you to understand is, as of now, we have no evidence of a connection between what happened to Devon and her mother’s case. However, these messages left for you lead me to consider a possible connection, because someone wants you to stop asking questions.”
Hope blinked. He hadn’t threatened to toss her into a cell. He hadn’t told her to mind her own business. He’d just said there might be a connection between Devon’s death and her mother’s cold case. She wanted to make sure she heard him correctly.
“What are you saying, Detective Reid?”
“I’m saying I want you to be careful going forward, and I will look into Mrs. Markham’s case personally.”
“Really? Will you speak to Oliver again? Maybe he thought warning me in person wasn’t enough. Can the text message be traced?”
Reid raised his palm. “Hope, I’ve got this. Remember what I said. Be. Careful.”
“I will. Thank you.” She stood and walked out of the office. Wow! He didn’t lecture her and he didn’t tell her to stop her own investigative pursuit, just to be careful. And he’d called her Hope. Now was the time to leave, before their relationship regressed. She picked up her pace and got out of there before he changed his mind.
Instead of heading home right away, Hope decided to go to the library. When she arrived, she found a space in the parking lot and dashed into the building. Two middle-aged women smiled as they passed by with armfuls of books. Beyond the lobby, Hope saw a dozen or so of Jefferson’s residents browsing through the stacks, seated at tables reading periodicals, and Angela at the circulation desk, helping a patron. She then spotted Sally pushing a book cart toward the elevator. She followed the hall toward the staircase. The archive room was in the lower level. There she could search through newspapers.
She started with the Gazette. Devon had had numerous articles from the newspaper and Hope wanted to find them. She began looking for articles on the Markham family. It was possible someone close to them was responsible for Joyce vanishing. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a photograph of her with someone giving her a dark look and then Hope would have a new potential lead.
Could she get that lucky?
By what seemed like her one hundredth article, she hadn’t gotten lucky.
Scrolling through old articles was tedious, but it also was a trip down memory lane she hadn’t expected.
She came across the article on her high school graduating class. She lingered on the article and enjoyed the flood of memories.
They were all smiles in the class photograph. They had new adventures ahead of them: college, jobs, travel, love. Then there was Devon. She’d graduated with a profound sadness. Hope enlarged Devon’s face. While her fellow classmates were all toothy, Devon’s lips were pressed together in a straight line. Hope couldn’t remember seeing Devon smile after her mother disappeared. She remembered her friend’s slumped shoulders, heavy steps, and lack of interest in anything. Devon had gone from a thriving A student to barely passing, with a C average.
Hope leaned back into the chair and tried to remember who’d been friends with whom.
Claire was friends with Felice, but she didn’t get along with Gail. There had been a fight over a boy they both liked. Gail had a small circle of friends. It included Felice and another girl Hope couldn’t remember the name of. Hope was friendly with Alec, Gail’s brother. She scanned more photos looking for him and found him tucked between two beefy guys with exaggerated grins on their faces.
Alec was tall, lanky, and awkward. He stumbled over his words, blushed around girls, and spent too much time in the computer lab. She studied his acne-prone face and wondered what had happened to him. After high school, he’d disappeared, and no one really talked about him. She’d have to ask Gail for an update on her younger brother.
Hope continued going through the articles and came to one about Gail’s family. Back in the day, Gail’s father owned the best auto body shop in Jefferson; Ernie’s Auto Body was celebrating its tenth anniversary with a big celebration, complete with balloons and a hotdog truck. Featured in the article was a photo of Ernie and his two children. Alec was smiling. It was sweet and genuine. If only he hadn’t been so awkward around girls. But that didn’t stop him from falling for all the pretty girls in school. She chuckled. It wasn’t just her classmates. He’d been starry-eyed for their new English teacher. Miss . . . Miss Engel. That’s right. Alec was probably the first hopeless romantic Hope ever knew.
Another article popped up about Oliver’s lawn services. The photo featured him leaning against his truck. She skimmed the article, which was all about how he started his business while still in high school. She studied the photo. Back in the day, he’d been quite handsome. Why hadn’t he married? Maybe he thought Joyce was the woman for him, but she had no intention of leaving her husband. Hope shook her head and chided herself. Total conjecture, nothing solid. She moved onto the next article and the next. And thirty minutes later she declared her visit a bust.
She had learned nothing new. Not even a clue. So much for her sleuthing skills.
Bundled up in her jacket, Hope headed for the back exit, so she didn’t have to walk around the outside of the building.
Hope made the turn into the corridor leading to the back exit and saw Shirley entering the building with a stack of books in her arms. Shirley lumbered forward with hunched shoulders and a troubled look on her face. Hope wondered what was wrong.
“Good afternoon, Shirley.” Hope stopped and waited for a reply. Based on the past few days, she wasn’t sure what type of greeting she’d receive.
“I’ve got to return these books.” Shirley gave Hope a passing glance, revealing wet eyes as she tried to sidestep around Hope.
“Is everything all right?” Hope asked. She’d never seen Shirley this upset. The whole situation with Devon’s return and then her death had rattled everyone, but it seemed to upset Shirley the most.
“No. No. Everything isn’t all right. Far from it.” Shirley shook her head. She exhaled a deep breath. “Everything is a mess.”
“Come sit. Let’s talk. What’s going on?” Hope guided Shirley to the bench. When they were seated, she took the books from Shirley and set them on the floor.
Shirley didn’t make eye contact with Hope. Her gaze went over Hope’s shoulder. “I’ve done something awful. I hurt a friend. And I prayed that no one would find
out.”
Hope reached out and patted Shirley’s knee. “We all do things we regret. Things we’re not proud of.”
“Oh, boy, do I regret it.” Shirley’s gaze locked on Hope’s. “It was a long time ago. I was so lonely back then. And he was . . . he was so kind to me.”
Hope chewed on her lower lip. She had a sinking feeling in the bottom of her stomach about what Shirley was about to reveal. Please, please don’t let it be about Joyce.
“I made the foolish mistake of letting another man comfort me.” Shirley dropped her head. “I should have known better.”
The pieces were now starting to fall into place. Shirley’s shift in demeanor and her insistence that the past be left right where it was—in the past. Could she have been behind the threatening messages? And the two recent deaths? No, Hope discarded that thought immediately because she couldn’t believe Shirley was capable of such a thing.
“It was Greg Markham. You were the woman he was seeing when Joyce disappeared.”
Shirley nodded. Her hand covered Hope’s. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. My late husband and I were having problems.”
Oh, boy. Hope really didn’t want to hear the sordid details.
“You don’t have to explain. Really, you don’t.”
“Isn’t this what you wanted? The truth? Well, let me tell you something, the truth isn’t always pretty.”
Hope stared at Shirley. Her secret was the reason why she was against opening Joyce’s cold case. The first time around, Jim Voight had missed the affair. But Devon wouldn’t. She hadn’t. She just hadn’t uncovered who the woman was before her death.
“Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t like I was a home-wrecker. The last thing I wanted was to break up their marriage. She was my friend. And I betrayed her. But we did break it off, right before she disappeared. We both realized it was a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.”
“Do you know if he told Joyce about your affair?”
Shirley thought for a moment. “He said he wouldn’t, and I promised I wouldn’t. Why hurt Joyce when we both agreed never to do it again? Now that you know, would you please not tell anyone?” With the back of her hand, Shirley wiped her face dry. She did her best to compose herself given the situation.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 21