Hope didn’t need for him to expand any more on the topic. She knew enough from Claire’s long career as a real estate agent to know Alfred was looking for the exclusive listing of the development. He was probably betting on the town eventually giving the green light to construction and Lionel raising more capital. Now, with the meeting having gone kaput, he was probably looking at kissing his exclusive listing goodbye.
“I understand. I’m sorry your meeting ended in such a bad way.” Hope took another drink of her iced coffee.
Alfred pivoted and reached for the door handle. “How’s Claire doing? I miss her around here.” He was a kind person and her sister had liked working for him. If only he wasn’t married to Maretta.
“She’s doing okay. I know she misses you and all her coworkers.”
“Then I hope she’ll be coming back soon. We’ve gotten some new listings I know she could sell in a heartbeat. Tell her, please.” Alfred opened the door and entered the office.
Hope lingered for a moment longer and then pulled herself away from the real estate agency. Whatever was going on with Miranda Whitcomb was none of her business, and neither was the situation between Alfred and the two real estate developers. The last time she poked her nose into where it didn’t belong, it almost got her killed.
An old saying popped into her head—once bitten, twice shy. A good reminder to her of how she should tread when it came to other people’s business. Walking along Main Street, heading in the direction of her car back at the inn, she sipped her iced coffee. Yep. She was definitely twice shy.
* * *
Her iced hazelnut coffee was almost gone by the time Hope pulled into her driveway and shut off the ignition. She grinned at the welcome sight of Ethan and Bigelow up ahead by the patio. From her vantage point, they seemed to be playing fetch. Too bad her adopted dog wasn’t much of a team player. She dropped her car key into her tote bag and then glanced at the pastry bag. She wasn’t expecting Ethan to be there until later. Shoot. She’d have to share the pastry.
She pushed open the car door and walked toward Ethan. He’d thrown a ball and Bigelow chased after it.
“Thought you’d be home earlier.” He met Hope halfway. Dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, Hope couldn’t remember if he was on duty or not. As the chief of police, he didn’t always wear a uniform and his hours were unpredictable.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. I stopped by the inn to go over last-minute details for the Scavenger Hunt.”
“It gave us guys some more bonding time.” Ethan broke into a grin as he closed the small space between them.
She caught a whiff of his musky aftershave as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her in for an I-missed-you-all-day kind of kiss. The gentle pressure on her lower back and the kiss sent a spark through Hope. Oh, yeah, she definitely could get used to those kinds of welcome-home greetings. The shift in their relationship over the past couple of months had taken them from the friend zone to romantically involved. Before she took the plunge, she’d worried about ruining their friendship, but it got stronger as they became closer.
Bigelow raced back without the ball in his mouth. The medium-size brown-and-white dog wagged his tail and jumped on Hope to welcome her home. She’d been trying to train him since she took him in, but he had a lot of energy and a lot of charm, which made training a challenge because she kept spoiling him. Maybe the training issue lay with her and not Bigelow.
Gently, she pushed him down and then lavished him with kisses. All the training books she’d purchased did say to remain firm with the dog. With his head tilted sideways and his big brown eyes staring at her, staying firm was no easy feat.
“And you stopped at The Coffee Clique?” Ethan eyed the pastry bag.
“I did. Got me a little treat. I’m happy to share,” she fibbed.
“No, you’re not.” Ethan dipped his head for another kiss.
“Maybe . . . maybe we should go inside.” Hope eased back from Ethan and pressed a palm to his chest.
Her neighbors’ homes weren’t close on Fieldstone Road, each house set on at least two acres, but her neighbors liked to walk, and she didn’t want to give them a show.
“Good idea. Come on, Bigelow.” Ethan turned and walked, along with Hope and the dog, into the house.
They entered through the mudroom and went into the kitchen, which opened to the family room. The large space had been gutted and remodeled when Hope purchased the home, giving her a dream kitchen, complete with a six-burner stove and two wall ovens, and a generous-size living space anchored by an original fireplace.
She dropped her tote and the bag from The Coffee Clique onto the center island. It was a mindless act, something she’d taken for granted since moving into the house, but almost losing her beloved home reminded her how important even the smallest things were. A few months earlier, her home had been intentionally set on fire with her trapped inside. She’d escaped with bruises and a concussion, while her home faired about the same—there was damage, but it wasn’t a total loss.
“Where’s Princess?” Hope scanned the family room and didn’t see the white cat she’d recently adopted after the owner passed away. With no place other than a shelter to go to, Hope took the cat into her home. Life was hectic already, but a cat was an easy pet. Or so she thought.
Ethan shrugged. “Not sure. She’s probably curled up on top of something, sleeping.” He walked to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea and poured a glass. “How was your first day at the magazine?”
Hope plated the cinnamon roll and cut it in half. She broke off a piece of her half and popped it into her mouth and chewed.
“It went okay. The test kitchen manager, Kitty, is really nice. We had lunch together. May, the senior editor, doesn’t seem to appreciate food bloggers.”
“Sounds like high school.” Ethan pulled off a piece of the cinnamon roll and chewed.
“In some ways, yes. I got through a few recipes and everyone liked them. I think it’ll be a good feature.”
“Good exposure for you.”
Hope ate another piece of the pastry. “Who knows? Maybe I can become a contributing editor. That would be a nice gig to have. A little steady work, but not a big commitment. Actually, it would be ideal.”
“Just be careful not to take on too much. You don’t want to be working twenty-four seven.”
Hope sipped her iced coffee. “I already work twenty-four seven. The hazards of being self-employed and renovating an old house and raising chickens. Anyway, when I stopped at the inn, Jane told me two new guests had checked in and both women have the same last name.”
Ethan took one more piece of the cinnamon roll before he walked to the family room and collapsed into an armchair. Bigelow followed and settled by Ethan’s feet.
“Aren’t you curious?” Hope asked.
“No. I’m actually hungry. Do you want to go out?”
Hope shook her head. “I’m going to take a shower and then I’ll grill.” She walked out from behind the island. “Their last name is Whitcomb. Isn’t that odd?”
“A lot of people have the last name of Whitcomb.”
Hope rolled her eyes. “Two women with the same last name come to Jefferson, of all places, and Lionel Whitcomb just happens to live here and is going to trial. You think it’s a coincidence?”
Ethan’s gaze trained on her. “Jane has a very active imagination and you have a way of getting yourself into trouble.”
“I know. I’m just curious. I met one of the women on my way out of The Coffee Clique. She was texting and walked right into me. Her name is Miranda Whitcomb.”
“She introduced herself?”
Hope laughed. “Yes, she did. I didn’t pry it out of her, I swear. Anyway, she got a call and I overheard it. Well, at least her end of it. She was trying to force someone to meet her on Friday. I think she was talking to Lionel Whitcomb. It doesn’t sound like it’s going to be a happy reunion if they meet.”
Ethan leaned back
and scrubbed his face. “Hope . . .”
“I know. It’s none of my business why Miranda Whitcomb or the other Whitcomb lady is here in Jefferson.” Hope sat on the sofa, across from Ethan. “What’s going on with Lionel’s case?”
“Not sure. It’s in the hands of the DA now.”
“I wonder what Elaine will do if Lionel is convicted. I don’t exactly see her as one of those wives who’ll visit Lionel in prison.”
“There’ll probably be a quick divorce and she’ll be off looking for her next husband.”
“You’re probably right. She’ll be on the prowl for husband number five.”
“Number five?”
Hope nodded. “She was married three times before Lionel. I wonder what happened to them.”
“What are you going to grill?”
“Is that all you can think about, food?”
He chuckled. “I’m a guy.”
“Fine. I’ll go shower. How do steaks sound?” Hope stood.
Ethan grinned. “Perfect. I’m going to go back to the office. There’s some paperwork I should finish up and then I’ll come back.”
“Okay. Don’t forget about the Scavenger Hunt. Friday night you’ll have to fend for yourself for dinner.”
Ethan groaned.
“What? The hunt is fun.”
“Fun? Half the town running around in groups doing stupid things. It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“Nonsense. We’ve been doing the hunt for twenty years. Nothing ever happens, but it’s a good time for everyone.” Hope stood and headed out of the room. “Nothing is going to go wrong. Trust me.”
Chapter Three
“Good morning, girls.” Hope carried a bucket from the feed storage area she’d carved out of her barn to the coop. She’d repurposed an empty stall to give her chickens a home with an extra layer of protection against the weather and predators.
A round of happy clucks returned her greeting and grew louder as she approached the feeder. Her girls were hungry. Wasting no time, she hoisted the bucket over the aluminum container and let the grain-based feed rain down until the feeder was full.
A loud cluck drew Hope’s attention downward. Helga, her four-pound Hamburg hen, stood beside her foot. She’d slipped into her muddied, scuffed barn boots as she dashed out of her house with Bigelow. If her food blog ever tanked, she could rock a fashion blog.
She laughed at the ridiculous thought. “I better stick to developing recipes. Right, Helga?”
Feathered bodies brushed by her bare legs. Pandemonium had ensued, and she scooted out of the way. When the hens finished eating, they headed outside for a day of free-ranging.
She returned the bucket to the table and pulled off her work gloves. She’d wanted chickens from the moment she made an offer on the house. There were numerous benefits of raising the birds besides having fresh eggs. The chickens were great hunters of insects, resulting in natural pest control, and they were happy to eat scraps, so Hope would have less food waste.
Bigelow’s playful, friendly bark drew Hope’s attention outside. Hope suspected a neighbor was taking a morning stroll.
Peering out of the barn, she spotted Bigelow trotting to the road and followed him. She came to the end of her property and saw someone. But she wasn’t a neighbor.
Fieldstone Road had recently become a place of curiosity. Morbid curiosity, thanks to a tragedy a few homes away from Hope’s.
Hope stepped off the sidewalk and approached the stranger. Maybe the “For Sale” sign drew the woman’s interest and Hope would have a new neighbor.
“Good morning!”
The woman looked over her shoulder and her gaze immediately drifted to the dog. “He’s adorable. What’s his name?”
Bigelow sauntered over to the stranger and sniffed her legs, then lifted his head for a pat.
“Bigelow.” Hope joined her dog.
“What a very proper name for a handsome boy.” The woman gave him one last pat on the head and then shifted her attention to Hope.
“Are you interested in purchasing the lot?” Hope gestured to the open space behind the woman.
It was only a matter of time before someone purchased the property and built a new home. Every milestone for the new owner would be a sad reminder for Hope of what had happened at Thirty-Three Fieldstone Road just months earlier.
“Why is there an empty lot on this road? What happened?”
“A house fire.”
Hope crossed her arms over her chest. A heaviness plopped in her stomach. The memories of the fire were as menacing as the flames Hope saw that night. She could still smell the smoke, feel the heat, and hear the wailing sirens. She shuddered.
“How terrible. Was anybody hurt?”
Hope hated talking about the incident, especially when just days later the arsonist struck again. “Are you interested in purchasing the lot? It’s a nice street.”
“I’m sure it is. But I’m only visiting.” The woman extended her hand. “I’m Rona Whitcomb.”
Hope shook Rona’s hand. “Welcome to Jefferson. Are you staying at the Merrifield Inn?”
“I am. The ladies who own the inn are very interesting. Is it true one of them was a mystery writer?”
“It is. Jane wrote five mystery novels years ago.”
“She’s very inquisitive. But I guess when you own an inn, that’s in your DNA. In fact, it’s something I would love to do. I’m a people person. I can talk to anyone, anywhere. My mom called it a gift. My sister calls it nosy.” Rona chuckled.
“I think it is a gift. I’m Hope Early.”
“You live on this street?”
Hope nodded and pointed. “Over there.”
“And you’re a blogger?”
“Yes. Do you read my blog?”
“No. It was a lucky guess. Your shirt.” Rona pointed to Hope’s tank top.
Hope looked at her outfit of the day. She’d paired her cutoff jean shorts with a top her niece, Hannah, had given her as a birthday present. The message T-shirt read I ♥ Blogging.
“Right. I have a food blog. Hope at Home.” It had become an automatic reflex to include the name of her blog whenever she told anyone what she did for a living.
Rona shrugged. “I’m not much of a cook.”
Fifty percent of the time, when Hope told people what she did, she received that response. She’d learned to move on with the conversation. She wouldn’t convert a noncook into a cook or a reader of her blog in one short meeting.
“Are you out for a morning walk?”
Rona nodded. “I love to get out before breakfast, but I have a bad sense of direction. I got turned around somehow and now I think I’m lost. How do I get back to Main Street?”
“You’re not far. Just continue that way.” Hope pointed to the direction ahead.
“Great! I’m starving. They feed you like a queen at the inn. I think I may need to take a couple of walks a day.” Rona started walking and Hope fell in step with Bigelow by her side.
“Well, Jefferson is beautiful. You’ll have pleasant walks. Are you here for business or pleasure?”
“Neither, I’m afraid. It’s family stuff. You know, it’s time to settle some things. Thanks for the directions. It was nice meeting you.” Rona’s pace picked up as she continued along the road and eventually disappeared around the curve.
Hope looked at Bigelow.
His big eyes stared at her and blinked.
“Who are those women? Are they related to Lionel?”
Bigelow barked.
“I know. I know. Mind my own business and make breakfast. Come on. Let’s go inside.”
She patted her leg and Bigelow sprang into a trot back to the house. She couldn’t help but glance over her shoulder to where Rona Whitcomb had stood moments ago. “It has to be more than just a coincidence those women have come to Jefferson.”
* * *
“The house is right on the beach. Floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s like the waves are crashing right into you
r bedroom. It’s amazing.” Drew Adams stepped out of Hope’s SUV.
From the moment Drew hopped into the passenger seat, he’d been jabbering on about his upcoming vacation out on Long Island. More precisely, the Hamptons, where the wealthy spent weekends recharging and being seen.
“How much money does Fritz have?” Hope came around the vehicle with her purse in hand. She’d returned home from the magazine and changed into a denim shirtdress and a pair of low-wedge sandals for the Scavenger Hunt. She wanted to be comfortable and cool. Well, as cool as you could get on a hot August day.
On the way out the door, she’d tamed her shoulder-length dark hair into a ponytail and pleaded with Bigelow and Princess to behave while she was out. Neither animal offered any assurance.
“Gobs. His inheritance is off the charts. You can’t begin to count the money. Or, how many houses he owns.” Drew had chosen a navy-blue polo shirt paired with khaki chino shorts, his summer go-to for looking pulled together and cool. He’d slipped into a pair of pristine vanilla-white canvas sneakers.
Hope approved his choice in footwear, comfy and he’d be fast on his feet to snatch up the treasures they needed to collect. Speed was the secret to winning.
“Sounds like you’ll have a good time in the Hamptons.” A slight twinge of jealousy pricked at Hope. She’d love a week away in the playground of the Manhattan elite. Lying on a sandy beach with a summer read and no chores or recipes to create or posts to publish or photographs to edit; it sounded like heaven. It also sounded like she’d spread herself too thin.
“You bet I am! One whole week of sand, drinks with little umbrellas, and no Norrie Jennings. It can’t get much better.”
Hope nodded in agreement. Her best friend had been dealing with a new staff reporter on the Gazette. To describe Norrie as ambitious would be an understatement. She’d proven during the last murder investigation in town she wasn’t above borderline dishonest tactics to get her byline on the front page.
“I hope you enjoy the week. You’ve earned the vacation.” Hope set the strap of her purse on her shoulder.
Drew nodded. “You got that right, sistah. When was the last time Claire went out in public?”
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 3