Hope’s shoulders tensed. She wanted to keep Shirley’s confession private. She had zero interest in broadcasting the indiscretion. She’d never want to hurt Shirley in that way, but the police should know. They should have known twenty years ago. If Greg had deep feelings for her and believed if he were single, they could have been together, that gave him a motive for murder.
“I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s possible to keep this a secret any longer. You have to tell Detective Reid.”
“No!” Shirley recoiled. “I will not do any such thing. This is my private matter. And I expect you to keep your mouth closed about it.”
“I’m sorry, Shirley, I can’t make that promise.”
Shirley’s face contorted into a mixture of anger, hurt, and fear. She scooped up her books and shot up. She gave Hope one final look before she spun around and hurried off, eventually disappearing around a corner.
Hope sucked in a deep breath. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Shirley. Would revealing the affair really help solve Joyce’s case? She shrugged. Perhaps not. Did she think Shirley was the one sending her anonymous threats? Not really.
She pulled herself up and headed to the exit. As the door closed, she looked over her shoulder. Who said going to the library was boring?
A gust of wind smacked her and, being no match for her opponent, she hurried to her vehicle. With the ignition started, she was about to pull out of the parking space when her phone rang. It was Gail.
“Hey, Hope. Sorry to keep bothering you, but I’m stuck again,” Gail said, her voice edgy.
Any other time, Hope might have been irritated at yet another call for assistance—after all, she wasn’t a helpline—but she was relieved to be focused on anything but Shirley’s bomb of a secret.
“What happened?”
“I ran into some trouble in the back end of the blog. I was trying to create a menu, and now it looks like I messed up the whole website.”
Hope felt her friend’s pain. When she’d started her blog, she couldn’t afford a designer, so she had to roll up her sleeves, dive headfirst, and figure out all the parts of blog design. She had been up to her eyeballs in coding, plug-ins, and widgets. She took in a deep, hopefully cleansing breath, before speaking.
“It’s probably not as bad as you think. I’m just leaving the library, so I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
After a grateful sigh, Gail thanked Hope. With the call ended, Hope backed out of her space and pulled out of the parking lot, heading to the house Gail shared with her father, Ernie.
* * *
“Well, hello, Hope!” Ernie Graves opened the door of his house and flashed a grin, revealing yellowed teeth from too many years of smoking. His brown eyes were hooded with thick brows and his forehead was deeply creased.
“Good morning.” Hope wiped her boots on the welcome mat before entering the small foyer. The space opened to formal rooms on either side, and just ahead was a staircase leading to the second floor. An area rug covered most of the hardwood floor and the smart use of organizational tools made Hope’s inner organizer very happy. A coatrack hung on one side of the door with a bench that had built-in shoe storage beneath it, and on the opposite side was a three-drawer cabinet that housed a mail station and a charging station, with all its ports being used. Hope had a similar one for her phone and tablet.
“Gail will be right down. Come on into the living room. She’s set up her computer in there.” After Ernie hung up Hope’s coat, he led her into the other room.
He hadn’t changed much from the photos Hope had seen while researching Joyce’s disappearance. Still short and paunchy, his gray hair was thinning and creating a bald spot at the top of his head. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his black pants.
The living room was bright and airy thanks to the white, slipcovered furniture and whitewashed fireplace wall. On the coffee table was a seventeen-inch laptop. The computer was sleek and thin; it looked new.
Ernie must have noticed her interest in the computer. “Yeah, got that for her when she told me she wanted to start a blog. Made sure it was top-of-the-line. Take a load off.” He dropped onto an armchair.
Hope murmured a thank-you and sat on the sofa. “You made a good choice with this model.” Hope was happy Ernie was supportive of his daughter. In the past, he always seemed angry whenever Hope saw him. Now, he seemed like a different person. Maybe age had mellowed him out.
“You’ve known my girl for a long time.” Ernie leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and clasping his hands. “You know Devon’s death has rattled her. I’m not sure how much you remember from when Devon’s mom disappeared, but let me tell you, everyone was scared because we didn’t know if it was an isolated incident or if there was a lunatic looking to harm random women. We all wondered who’d be next. Terrible thing to think about.”
“Yes, it is.”
“The one good thing was, because Gail’s mom had already passed, God rest her soul, she didn’t have to worry about going through what Devon and Felice did.”
“You’ve done a good job raising both Gail and Alec on your own. Gail is very ambitious. And I hope Alec is doing well.”
“Yeah, my girl has big dreams. Always had. Though it hasn’t been easy for me or the kids. I worked too much.”
“You had a family to provide for. You did what you needed to do.”
“I guess you don’t go through life without any regrets. I always told my kids that.” He shook his head. “Like how I warned Gail not to smoke, drink, or get a tattoo, but you know how teenage girls are. Full of rebellion.” He chuckled.
“Dad!” Gail hurried into the room. “I never did any of those things.”
Ernie continued laughing. He seemed to enjoy his daughter’s embarrassment. “Well, I know for sure you didn’t get a tattoo. The other stuff?”
Gail’s cheeks flushed. “Every one of my friends wanted one. I wanted a little heart on my ankle.”
“Teenage girls are rebellious by nature. You tell them not to do something and they have to do it. It’s in their DNA. Guess that’s why grown women get those things too. It might be a flower, but it’s still a tattoo.” He wagged a finger at his daughter. “I got lucky, though. You were always a good kid.”
Gail blushed again. “Hope doesn’t want to hear about my antics when I was in high school. Besides, she probably knows about most of them.” She joined Hope on the sofa.
Ernie shrugged. “Probably right.”
“I am right. Don’t you have your coffee meetup with the guys?” Gail’s nudge for her dad to leave wasn’t subtle.
“Right. Right. Don’t want to keep the boys waiting. Good to see you, Hope.” Ernie stood. “Oh, you left your phone in my vehicle the other day.” He pointed to the coffee table and then turned to leave the room. Moments later, Hope heard the front door open and close.
“He gets together a couple of times a week with the guys who used to hang out at the auto body shop. It keeps him active.” Gail reached for her white phone and slipped it into her jeans’ back pocket. “Now, to the mess I’ve created.” Gail’s shoulders sagged.
“I’m sure it’s not too bad.” Hope inched to the edge of the cushion while Gail brought up the dashboard on her website. Each blog theme had its own default navigation menu, but a blogger could create a custom one. Though it could be tricky the first time.
Hope reworked the menu. Gail watched on in awe and asked a dozen questions while Hope clicked the mouse and arranged the menu structure the way Gail had wanted it. She heaved a big sigh of relief when Hope finished.
“You made it look so easy. I finally have the drop-down tabs!”
Hope smiled. She knew exactly how her friend felt. There had been many times over the years when she was tempted to toss her computer out the window because she was so frustrated. Thankfully, she never did. Instead, she managed to develop some skill level in website design.
“The more you do this work, the easier it will be.”
Gail gave Hope a sideways look. “If you say so. Now my menu is fixed, do you want some coffee?”
Hope checked her watch. “Thanks, but I need to get going.” She stood. Her stops at the police department and the library had put her behind schedule.
“Right. Sorry if I interrupted your work.” Gail stood and escorted Hope to the front door.
“I’m happy I was able to help. You’re doing a great job with the blog. Nice design, by the way.” Hope recognized the theme Gail had chosen for her blog. It was a free one that came with her website hosting and she was starting to make it her own by selecting a color palette and purchasing a font plug-in.
“I appreciate your encouragement.” Gail handed Hope her coat.
“It seems your dad is very supportive of your venture.” Hope shrugged into her coat and zipped it.
“Yeah, he is. He’s been my rock. The divorce wasn’t easy for me.”
“It rarely is.” Since returning to Jefferson, Hope had tried not to dwell on her own failed marriage. Some days it was easier than others. “How’s your brother doing?”
“Oh, Alec is doing good. He’s living in Ohio now, working in customer service for an auto supply company. It’s the perfect job for him.”
“Sounds like it. Nice to hear he’s doing well. See you in class?”
Gail laughed. “I still can’t believe you’re my teacher. See you in class.”
Hope left and walked to her car. Inside, while she waited for the seats to warm, she wanted to satisfy her curiosity about Alec. So many of her classmates had taken off for college and not returned to Jefferson, like Devon. She wondered what happened to them all. While she couldn’t search social media for all of them, she did find Alec’s social profile, with no security settings.
She scrolled through his posts and pieced together that he’d recently married for the second time and gotten a promotion at work. Good for him. She continued to scroll and found a bunch of photos of old cars. No surprise there; he grew up around cars at his dad’s shop. There was a link to an article in a local newspaper about a car Alec restored and showed. She tapped on the link and navigated away from the social profile to the newspaper’s website. The short article was about his prized Mustang. She guessed you had to be a car enthusiast to appreciate the story.
While on the website, she searched Alec’s name out of curiosity and came up with another article, and this one wasn’t about an old car.
The second article recounted Alec’s arrest for stalking a former neighbor. The unidentified thirty-three-year-old woman had contacted the police after several unwanted visits, phone calls, and a physical altercation.
Had the starry-eyed romantic Hope had known back in high school morphed into a stalker?
Chapter Sixteen
She really needed to clean out her purse more often, Hope thought as she turned the bag upside down and all its contents rained down onto the countertop. She sifted through her pens, keys, crumpled receipts, bookmarks, a pressed powder compact, hand wipes, too many lipsticks, and the tube of concealer gifted to her by Elaine. But no mascara.
She’d somehow misplaced the fifty-dollar mascara. She’d hoped it had made its way from her bathroom to her purse.
It hadn’t.
She rested a hand on her hip and scanned the kitchen. She’d searched the drawers, hoping it had been stashed away during a frenzied cleanup session after filming a video. She usually had her lipstick, mascara, and pressed powder handy for quick touch-ups between takes.
Fifty bucks was a lot to pay for the mascara, but it did lengthen and thicken her lashes.
There was one more spot she hadn’t checked. Please. Please. Please. It had to be there.
At one end of her island were cubbies for storage, and in the middle cubby was a basket. With any luck, the mascara had fallen into the basket. As with her purse, she emptied the basket on the island. A quick look at the items, mostly pens, sticky notes, and eyeshadow quads. No mascara.
Darn.
Her phone chimed with an alert that someone had opened the back door, and a moment later, Ethan walked into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said, closing the door. His eyebrows drew together, and his forehead crinkled. “Looking for something?”
“What do you think?” Hope tossed the items back into the basket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Yes, I’m looking for my mascara. I have no idea where it is.”
Ethan surveyed the messy island. “You always know where everything is.”
“I know! It’s driving me crazy.” After setting the basket back in the cubby, she returned the items from her purse to the bag.
“Just buy another mascara.” He walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. He stood there for a moment before pulling out a container of fried chicken. She’d been working on a new recipe and had fried enough chicken to feed an army. He opened the container and took out a drumstick.
“I’d love to, but at fifty dollars a tube, I don’t have the budget. I need to find it.”
Ethan swallowed his bite of chicken. “Fifty dollars?”
Oops. Hope forgot guys didn’t understand the cost of beauty or, in her case, the saving of time the mascara gave her because she didn’t have to fuss with false lashes.
“Never mind. Eat your chicken.” She patted him on the arm and went to get a plate from a cabinet.
“I’d rather talk about your recent text exchange with a possible killer.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have engaged, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought I could possibly reveal his or her identity. It didn’t go as planned. We don’t know who it was.” She set the plate on the counter and took out a few pieces of chicken from the container. “I have some potato salad.”
Ethan nodded. “Yes, please.”
Hope retrieved the bowl from the refrigerator and added two heaping spoonfuls to the plate. She grabbed a fork from the flatware drawer and gestured to the table as she handed Ethan his lunch. She poured two glasses of water and joined him.
“We don’t know the identity, but we were able to find out the text messages came from Devon’s phone.”
Hope’s mouth gaped open. “Her phone?”
“You said you didn’t recognize the number.”
“The number came up as unknown. Devon never gave me her phone number. The few times we talked, it was in person. So, all this time the killer has kept her phone? Wait, can you find the phone by tracking it?”
“No luck there. It’s probably turned off or destroyed by now.”
“You haven’t found her purse yet, have you?”
Ethan shook his head as he ate a forkful of potato salad. “I don’t like the cat-and-mouse game this person is playing with you.”
“Me neither. The thing is, I don’t know anything. Well, I know in my core that Donna didn’t commit suicide. It wasn’t her handwriting on the note I found.” Hope sipped her water.
Ethan didn’t look up; he kept his gaze on his plate of food.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Her case is still open, so I’m limited in what I can share. However, it does appear, based on some other writing samples, the handwriting does not match up.”
The temptation to say “I told you so” was a hard one to let pass. Hope knew Donna wouldn’t have killed herself, and if she had, her final note to the world would have been far more eloquent and beautiful. Not some chicken scratch on a sheet of paper.
“Again, your instincts were right.” Ethan pushed away his plate and reached out for Hope’s hand. “The thing is, your instincts can get you into trouble. Serious trouble.”
“I know. Earlier, I was at the library and I ran into Shirley. She told me something you should know.” She noticed Ethan’s gaze held steady on her. He wasn’t going to interrupt. “She admitted to having an affair with Greg prior to Joyce’s disappearance.”
“She just came out and told you about the affair?”
“Sort of.
I saw she looked upset and I asked her what was wrong, and she blurted it out. I think she wanted to tell someone. Get it off her chest. And I was there.”
“How convenient.”
Hope sighed. “I’ve known Shirley for years. I don’t think she had anything to do with Joyce’s disappearance.”
“Reid will still want to talk to her.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going. Look, I want you to be careful. Extra-careful. I need you in one piece for our ski trip.”
Hope’s shoulders slumped. With everything going on, all thoughts about the getaway had been shoved to the back burner. How could she have forgotten?
“Nothing is going to keep me away from our trip. Four glorious days of just the two of us skiing all day and cozying up by a roaring fire every night.”
“Maybe we should start a little early. How about tonight?” He stood.
Hope smiled. “Sounds good. See you later.”
Ethan kissed her on the top of her head and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, her cell phone chimed, indicating he’d exited out the back door. She sipped her water and leaned back. She was a hundred percent certain she had no idea who was behind the murders and the threats made against her. Though Donna must have had an inkling. She remembered something about the day Joyce disappeared. If only Hope had taken the call.
In Donna’s message, she’d mentioned a work truck. She could have seen Oliver’s truck at Joyce’s house. No. Something didn’t feel right about the theory. She’d never heard any whisper of Oliver being inappropriate with his female clients. Surely in a small town like Jefferson, there would have been gossip, warnings not to hire him. Though he was angry with her for sharing what Devon told her with the police, and for snooping around his property. In all fairness to him, a person didn’t have to be guilty of a crime to feel violated by someone invading his privacy or sending the police in his direction regarding a crime.
She took another sip of water and played out different scenarios. Had Greg, finally fed up with his wife’s behavior, confronted her, and things got out of hand? Or had someone read more into Joyce’s flirting and wanted to go further but was rejected?
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 22