“After the reality show?”
“I’d quit my job to appear on The Sweet Taste of Success. After the show, I had to decide whether to stay and get a new job or pursue my blog full-time.”
“Any regrets?” Kitty asked before taking another bite of her sandwich.
“Sure. But I don’t dwell on them. What’s done is done. What about you? Where did you study?”
“The Culinary Institute of America.”
“Impressive.”
A redness tinged Kitty’s cheeks. “It was tough. But worth every minute. I learned a lot and made good friends. Did you go to cooking school?”
“No, I’m self-taught. I learned most of what I know from my mom.”
“My mom isn’t a big cook. She makes the best reservations.” Kitty laughed. She plucked a chip out of the snack-size bag and crunched.
“Sounds like my sister.”
“Well, I think people like my mom and your sister serve a very important role. Without them, who would eat what we cook?”
“A very positive outlook.”
“Isn’t that what we need? Positivity? I mean, look at what’s going on in your town. The scandal with the former mayor and the developer. From what I’ve seen on the news, it looks really ugly.”
Hope took a bite of her salad to delay answering. Discussing the events that had played out at the beginning of the summer wasn’t on her top ten list of things to talk about. A murder had led to a corruption scandal, and Hope had managed to get herself involved in both investigations.
Not many people were happy with Hope’s snooping. Her sister, Claire Dixon, had tried to stop her from tracking down a killer. And Hope’s new boyfriend, Ethan Cahill, the chief of police, wasn’t happy with how close Hope almost came to getting herself killed.
Hope shook off the negative thoughts and focused on the here and now and didn’t want to talk about the current scandal rocking her hometown.
“Do you know either man?” Kitty pushed away her tray after draining the last of her soda.
Hope nodded. “I do. And because the case is about to go to trial soon, I don’t think I should discuss it.”
She hoped she wouldn’t have to testify. Each time she thought about it, she had an overwhelming feeling of the willies. The last thing she wanted to do was come face-to-face with the murderer again.
Kitty broke eye contact for a moment. “I understand. You do know it can be really boring up here. A little juicy gossip would be welcome.”
“I’m sure there’ll be a lot more to come out as the court date gets closer,” Hope said.
She finished her salad in silence while Kitty checked her phone for messages.
“All set?” Kitty slipped her phone into the back pocket of her pants.
Hope nodded again as she lifted her tray. “Thanks for asking me to lunch.”
“Hey, I know what it’s like being the new kid in school.” She smiled and then led Hope to the trash and recycling station on their way out of the cafeteria.
Hope pushed open the door of the main building and stepped out into the hazy, humid afternoon. For the past couple of weeks, she’d been obsessed with her first day at the magazine and the recipes, so she hadn’t given much thought to the recent events in Jefferson until Kitty mentioned them. Now they were front and center in her mind.
Kitty followed Hope out to the sidewalk, and they fell into a companionable silence, though Kitty did greet a few coworkers as they passed by.
Hope pushed away thoughts of the upcoming trial and enjoyed the walk across the campus on the return to the test kitchen. She had so much going right in her life for a change, she was just going to focus on the positives—a new opportunity and a chance to expand her business.
Chapter Two
Hope opened the door of the Merrifield Inn and stepped into the foyer of the grand Victorian house on Main Street. Soft, classical music drifted from the living room. Hope peeked in, looking for Jane, but found several guests had gathered for what she expected was afternoon tea. Sunlight from the large windows overlooking Main Street and French doors leading to the patio bathed the room. Antique furnishings, handed down from one generation of Merrifields to another, filled the spacious room. Not seeing Jane, Hope continued to the reception desk.
There was a little brass bell on the desk and, just like when she was a little girl, Hope was tempted to ring it. She hovered her hand over the bell, ready to tap it, when Jane appeared from the kitchen, carrying a plate of scones.
“No need to ring the bell, dear. I’ve been expecting you.” Jane Merrifield’s face was bright and her signature pink lips curved into a smile.
Hope giggled as the older woman bustled by her.
“I’ll be right with you, once I deliver this plate to our guests.” Jane continued into the living room and a loud round of appreciation for the treats greeted her.
“They’re all set for now.” Jane returned to the lobby. She grabbed a folder from the desk on her way to the dining room.
Hope followed. The dining room, a mirror image of the living room minus the French doors, reminded Hope of when dining was more than a quick meal consumed between running here and there. A gleaming hardwood floor, intricately carved trim work, and well-curated art hanging on the walls harkened back to a time when meals were enjoyed over several courses and good conversation.
White cloths draped all the tables, and each was set for tomorrow’s breakfast service.
“Let’s sit in here and review the list for the scavenger hunt. Everything seems in order.” Jane chose the table closest to the entrance and sat.
“Good to hear. I hate to jinx it, but the hunt always goes off without a hitch.” Hope pulled out a chair. She’d been on her feet all day, except for the thirty-minute lunch break with Kitty. She was used to being on her feet because she tested and photographed recipes all the time in her home kitchen, but working on the hard floor of the commercial test kitchen had irked her lower back. She eased down onto the chair and set her tote bag on the floor.
The Annual Scavenger Hunt was started in Jefferson twenty years before to raise money to renovate the community center. The event continued to provide ongoing funding for the center. Hope’s mom was one of the first organizers, along with Jane’s sister-in-law, Sally.
The event was near and dear to Hope’s heart, and when she lived in the city, she’d made a point to come home for the weekend of the scavenger hunt. She joined dozens of town residents and together they all embraced the silliness of searching for so-called treasures throughout the town.
“No need to worry about jinxing the event, dear. I doubt anything can go wrong. We have everything all buttoned up, and the weather is going to be nice. No rain. It’s going to be a night of good fun for everyone.” Jane opened her folder.
Hope pulled out her own folder from her tote bag. “All the teams have been assigned?”
Jane looked up from her papers. “Two teams had been short one person, but luckily, we had two last-minute sign-ups. Our team is all set. It’s you, Claire, Drew, and me. By the way, how is she doing?”
Good question. Claire had lost the special election for mayor of Jefferson over the summer. Never known for not giving 100 percent, Claire had campaigned hard for the office. It was understandable to be disappointed about losing, but Hope wasn’t sure it was the defeat itself or the person who won the election that upset Claire so much.
“She’s doing okay.”
Jane slid Hope a doubting look. “Your sister isn’t used to losing. And the loss was a high-profile loss to boot. But I suspect it’ll make her stronger in the long run.”
“I hadn’t looked at it that way.”
“Make sure Claire does.” Jane’s head turned at the sound of the front door opening and then closing.
A guest hurried by them on the way to the staircase.
“I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you.” Jane leaned forward and her blue eyes twinkled. “We’ve had two new guests check in. Bo
th women have the same last name.”
“Relatives?”
Jane shook her head. “No. Both women said they didn’t have any family here and neither asked about the other woman.”
“Do they have a common last name? Like Smith?”
Jane tilted her head. “No. Their last name is Whitcomb.”
“As in Lionel?”
Jane nodded. “Sally says it’s a coincidence.”
“Are you telling her about our new guests?” Sally Merrifield ambled into the room carrying a glass of iced tea. The retired head librarian of the Jefferson Library was a spinster who preferred the company of her plants to most people. Her weathered face was thanks to her years of gardening from the first sign of spring until the beginning of winter. When her hands weren’t in freshly tilled dirt, she had her nose in a gardening book. “I have to keep my eye on her or else she’ll search their rooms.” Sally pulled out a chair at the table and joined Hope and Jane.
Jane feigned a look of hurt. “I’d do no such thing. It would be an invasion of their privacy. But I might follow them.” She flashed a mischievous grin.
Hope pressed her lips together. She attributed Jane’s overactive imagination to the fact that she’d written five mystery novels earlier in life. The now seventysomething widow was retired from writing, but her mind was still a fertile plotting ground.
“She’s always looking for intrigue.” Sally sipped her iced tea. “How’s the Scavenger Hunt going?”
“It looks like we have everything under control. All the teams are assigned, we have desserts coming, and the hunt list is all printed up.” Hope was impressed by how the event coordinator, Angela Green, managed the volunteers and organized all the tasks right down to the smallest detail without missing a beat. It meant Hope didn’t have to worry about anything other than her own part—baking.
Sally leaned forward and lifted a paper from the pile in front of Jane.
“Magazine subscription card. A restaurant napkin. Photo with the mayor.” Sally’s thinned eyebrows arched. “Does Maretta know about this?”
Hope tilted her head sideways. “She should. It’s been on the Scavenger Hunt list every year since the first hunt. The photo with the mayor is a town favorite.”
Silence descended upon them for a moment, and then the three of them chuckled at the thought of Maretta Kingston being besieged by town residents with their cell phones for selfies.
“I wish I could be at Town Hall Friday night,” Jane said between laughs.
“Me too. It’s all in good fun, so I can’t imagine Maretta’s nose getting too out of joint.” Hope returned to reviewing her list. She had a few dozen cupcakes and cookies to bake by Friday night. Normally, it wouldn’t be a problem, but with the assignment at Cooking Now, she was on a tight schedule.
“Tell us, how did your first day at the magazine go?” Sally asked.
“Good. I got through some recipes. The test kitchen manager, Kitty, is really nice. May, the senior editor, is . . . well . . . I don’t think she likes food bloggers much. All in all, it’s a nice change of pace to get out.” Hope closed her folder and shoved it back into her tote bag. “I think we’re good for Friday night. I’d better get going. Bigelow and Princess have been left alone all day. I’m scared of what my house looks like.”
“Cats and dogs. They have a long history of discourse, but they are also known to become the best of friends. Give them time. They’ll sort it all out.” Jane smiled.
“I appreciate the words of encouragement. I’ll share them with Bigelow and Princess.” Hope stood and hitched the shoulder straps of her tote over her shoulder.
“And I’ll keep you apprised of the two Miss Whitcombs.” Jane closed her folder.
“Please do.” Hope walked away.
“Don’t encourage her,” Sally called out.
Hope laughed, waving her hand as she exited the inn. Stepping out into the air was like stepping into a furnace. The temperature hovered around ninety, with a hideous amount of humidity blended into the air. She couldn’t wait to peel off her shirt and slacks for a tank and shorts and flip-flops. As she was about to round the corner to the parking lot, she made the impulsive decision to endure the unbearable heat and trek over to her favorite coffee shop, The Coffee Clique.
Inside, she ordered a tall iced hazelnut coffee and a cinnamon roll. She should’ve remained strong. She had eaten a healthy salad for lunch, but when she saw her most favorite pastry in the whole wide world in the case, she had to have it. She considered it a little celebration of her first day at the magazine.
With her iced coffee and pastry, Hope stepped out of The Coffee Clique to head back to her vehicle. She took a sip of her drink. It was a welcome relief from the heat of the day. Her pace was quick. The sooner she got home, the sooner she could indulge in the cinnamon roll. The layers of light, buttery pastry swirled with cinnamon and sugar and a gooey icing.
Her daydream was cut short when a woman bumped her and jostled her iced coffee.
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.” The woman stepped back, putting a little space between herself and Hope. She lifted her cell phone and frowned.
“No harm done. I wasn’t exactly looking either.”
“What did we ever do before these things?” The woman shook her head as she lowered the phone. Her brows furrowed. She didn’t look happy, and Hope guessed it had to do with the person who had been on the other end of the text or call she’d just finished.
“Tell me about it.”
The woman eyed the bag in Hope’s hand. “I discovered this place the other day, and let me tell you, it may be worth moving east for their pastries.”
“You’re not from around here?”
“I’m from Arizona. I’m here for a visit. Forgive me. I’m being so rude. I’m Miranda Whitcomb.” She extended her free hand.
Hope shook Miranda’s hand. The woman stood the same height as Hope, with shoulder-length auburn hair and tastefully applied makeup. The deep berry shade applied on her lips shone and drew attention away from the deep creases around her dark eyes. Then it struck Hope. Miranda must be one of the two Whitcomb women who registered at the inn.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Hope Early. Are you staying at the Merrifield Inn?”
“Yes. It’s a lovely place.”
“Indeed it is. What brings you to Jefferson?”
“Family business.” Miranda’s phone buzzed and she made an apologetic face and turned to step away to answer the call. “Hi . . . No, that won’t do. We have to meet . . . No, you’re not putting this off any longer. You’ve had what, thirty years? Friday . . . Don’t play with me. I’m dead serious.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder.
Hope gave a weak smile before she took a sip of her iced coffee and turned away. Awkward. She couldn’t help but overhear the one-sided conversation. When she looked back, Miranda was walking toward the inn. Was Miranda related to Lionel Whitcomb? Was it him who was on the other end of the phone?
Hope stopped at the curb and waited for a break in traffic before crossing the street. When she caught one, she dashed across, her beverage sloshing in the cup, and stepped up on the curb as the front door of the Jefferson Town Realty office opened. Lionel Whitcomb and another man came barreling out. Their movements were large and their voices loud as they came face-to-face on the sidewalk.
“I thought you wanted to make a deal. What do you really want, Lionel?” the man demanded.
“One friggin’ call. You storm out of our meeting because of one friggin’ call? You know, I have other matters to attend to. I had to end something. What am I doing? You were looking for an out. You had no intention of coming into this deal.” Lionel’s sagging cheeks puffed out as he spat his words.
“Of course not. You know what? This isn’t working anymore.” The man turned and stormed away.
“Damn it! You owe me! Remember, you owe me!” Lionel threw a fist in the air before he noticed Hope standing there, frozen by the scene th
at had just played out in front of her. “What are you looking at?”
“I . . . I . . .” she stammered. She looked in the direction the other man went off to and didn’t see him, but a dark Mercedes sedan pulled out of a parking space.
“Lionel, do you want to continue our meeting?” Alfred Kingston had appeared at the door. He was the owner of Jefferson Town Realty and the husband of the town’s new mayor. Middle-aged, with thinning hair and a protruding belly, he was a docile man by nature with a keen eye for real estate. “Where’s Rupert?”
Rupert? Hope searched her memory and recalled Lionel had a business partner named Rupert Donnelly. If what she’d witnessed was any indication of how the men communicated on a regular basis, they must’ve had a very rocky partnership.
“He left.” Lionel shifted his attention from Hope to Alfred. “He’s not in. He’s wasted my time.” Lionel marched off in the opposite direction of the other man and then disappeared inside a sleek silver Jaguar.
Hope approached Alfred, who still held open the door to his office and looked pale. He probably hadn’t expected his meeting to end in a loud argument. Then again, when Lionel Whitcomb was involved, one should expect a temper tantrum.
“What was that all about?”
“Good to see you, Hope.” Alfred let the door close behind him and stepped farther out onto the sidewalk. “Not every meeting goes well.”
“Talk about an understatement. They were loud and angry. From what I heard, it was because of a telephone call?” Hope wondered if the call Lionel made was the one she’d partially overheard just a moment ago. The timing seemed to suggest so.
“Lionel’s phone kept buzzing, and then he stepped out to make a call. Rupert got all hot about it and stormed out of my office.” Alfred glided his hand over his head. “Now it looks like the deal is sunk.”
“I thought the medical office project was dead,” Hope said.
Lionel had begun clearing a lot by the Village Shopping Center for a medical office complex. But it got tangled up in Lionel’s legal battle, and the site was now fenced up with no prospect of being developed.
“It’s probably not a good idea for me to discuss the meeting.” Alfred frowned.
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 2