“They’re called bigamists, Leila. Apparently, Lionel was one.” Dorie refilled her cup.
“When I was at the Community Center, I noticed Elaine missing from her team. Did either of you see her arrive?” Hope bit into her muffin and her eyes fluttered with happiness. The deep, rich flavor layered from the cocoa powder and melted chocolate chips, combined with the crunch of the walnuts, was heavenly.
Dorie and Leila looked at each other and nodded.
“We noticed also,” Dorie said.
“I saw Meg’s team leave the Community Center. Elaine wasn’t with them. But they were all together when we arrived at the gas station to pump gas for a stranger. You should have seen the strange looks Matt got. He’s such a gentleman and pumped for us while Meg had Amy pumping gas. Elaine sat in Meg’s minivan with her arms crossed over her chest. She didn’t seem to be having fun.”
Hope took another bite of her muffin. She chewed slowly and wondered how late Elaine had been to join up with her assigned team.
“Do you think Elaine killed her husband and that’s why she was late Friday night?” Dorie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table.
“I don’t know, Dorie. The spouse usually is a person of interest. I’m sure the police will figure it out soon enough,” Hope said.
“I hope it’s figured out before anyone else gets killed.” An edge crept into Leila’s voice. “If Elaine is the killer, at least we know there won’t be another murder. But if it wasn’t her, will the killer strike again?”
The three women went silent, and Hope could practically hear an ominous and dramatic soundtrack playing over Leila’s question. She cleared her throat.
“Elaine is hardly a killer. Maybe it was a robbery gone bad and Lionel was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Hope hoped she was right. Their cozy little town had had enough drama for a lifetime recently. What were the odds of that happening again?
* * *
Hope arrived at the Merrifield Inn as promised. After dropping Jane off at the inn following the Scavenger Hunt last night, Jane had told Hope to stop by first thing in the morning. Hope didn’t need to ask what for because she knew her friend too well. Over tea, they’d review what had happened at the restaurant.
She opened the front door and stepped inside. Voices drifted from the dining room, and the aroma of bacon made her mouth water.
She turned into the dining room and her appetite waned at the sight of Maretta Kingston. Dressed in a gingham shift dress with a pleated ruffle neckline, the dress bordered between feminine and preppy, not typically Maretta’s style. She was more the buttoned-up, drab kind of gal. The abrupt change in fashion style for the sixtysomething woman gave Hope pause.
Jefferson’s new mayor ate her breakfast while reading a newspaper. It was easy to blame Maretta for Claire’s bout with melancholy. But Hope reminded herself the majority of the town voted for Maretta. They were the ones to blame. She gave herself a mental shake. She didn’t want to blame anyone. She only wanted her sister to be happy again.
With the reminder front and center in her mind, Hope pushed off and walked toward Jefferson’s mayor. Her focus was on an article she was reading and she didn’t seem to hear Hope approach. Or, if she did, she chose not to acknowledge Hope’s presence beside the table.
“Good morning, Maretta.” For a fleeting second, Hope considered calling her Madam Mayor. But that seemed over the top.
Maretta’s gaze shifted from the newspaper to Hope. She peered at Hope over her bifocals. “Do you really think it’s a good morning?”
“It’s a figure of speech.”
Maretta gave Hope a flat stare and Hope sighed. Maretta made nothing easy.
“It’s been nonstop since I woke up this morning. Phone calls. Emails. Text messages. The media is all over Lionel’s murder. You have no idea how much time this will take up. I suspect Detective Reid will understand and be willing to work extra-hard to wrap up this case quickly.” Maretta lifted the linen napkin from her lap and dabbed the corners of her mouth and then reached for her coffee cup.
Hope replayed Maretta’s sentence just to confirm she had heard her correctly. Maretta believed being besieged by phone calls from the media was comparable to having to investigate a murder. The woman was clueless about how hard it was to investigate, but Hope had firsthand experience, and tracking down a killer was no easy feat.
“Murder is simply unseemly.” Maretta set the delicate, floral-pattern cup back down in its saucer.
“I agree. The police have been working around the clock since . . . I discovered his body.” Hope gulped.
Maretta tilted up her head. “Since you’ve moved back to Jefferson, there have been several murders. Whatever was unleashed when you came back here, I really wish it would be contained, because I have no desire to continue dealing with murders in my town.”
“I’m confident, as a reasonable adult, you can’t possibly blame me for the murders.” It was a stretch to refer to Maretta as reasonable, but Hope didn’t want to make the situation worse.
Maretta scoffed.
“I’m certain Ethan and his department are doing the best they can to find the killer and bring him or her to justice.”
“As they should be. Chief Cahill had better find the murderer soon. It’s bad publicity for the town.” Maretta stood and dropped her napkin on the table. “I have work to do, in addition to dealing with the press.” She snatched her plain black purse from the back of the chair and swept by Hope and stomped out of the dining room.
A moment later, Hope heard the front door open and close.
“Wow! She’s something.”
Hope’s head turned at the sound of Rona’s voice. She hadn’t noticed her when she entered the dining room. If she had, maybe she would’ve bypassed Maretta and saved herself from being accused of unleashing some kind of evil in town.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she wasn’t exactly quiet. Who is she? How come she’s blaming you for the murder?”
“She’s Maretta Kingston, the town mayor, and it’s a long story.” Hope approached the table for two in the corner. Rona’s swollen, red eyes were far more welcoming than Maretta’s had been to Hope.
“She’s the mayor? Interesting choice. Forgive me. Would you like to join me?” Rona gestured to the chair across from her. She looked like her night hadn’t been any more peaceful than Hope’s. Her blond hair, with pink highlights, was flat and messy. Gone were the sculpted spikes from yesterday, and a veil of exhaustion covered her makeup-free face.
“Thank you.” Hope pulled out the chair and sat. “How are you doing?”
Rona glanced down at her plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, which looked untouched. “I feel numb. I can’t wrap my head around what happened.” She looked up. Sadness radiated off of her.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” Rona gave a weak smile. “I think you’re the only person, other than sweet Jane and Sally, who have acknowledged my loss. I guess most people don’t think it’s much of a loss. Miranda has refused to speak with me, and Elaine treated me like I was invisible last night.”
“I think everyone is in shock. Between the murder and you and Miranda showing up and claiming to still be married to Lionel.”
“I know how it looks. But I’m not lying. Our divorce wasn’t completed.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, why did you come to Jefferson after all these years?” Figuring she would be staying for a while, Hope rested her purse on her lap.
When Rona reached for the teapot and filled the empty cup in front of Hope, she was certain she was staying and about to hear how Rona became wife number two.
After setting down the pot, Rona lifted her cup and took a sip. “I’ve been looking for him for years, and a few weeks ago, I was online and a friend shared a Facebook post from, of all people, Elaine Whitcomb.”
Hope took a drink of the tea. Earl Grey. One of her favorite blends. “What ki
nd of post?”
“A beauty video. Elaine was showing how to contour cheekbones. I know, silly, right? But I was bored and it was interesting. I looked at her profile. She has absolutely no security settings, and then I saw a photo of her and Lionel. My Lionel. I read through her posts. She bragged about her house, her car, her husband. My husband. It didn’t take me long to find out where Lionel was living, and here I am. And he turns up dead. Just my luck.”
Social media was a huge part of Hope’s career. It was a way for people to find the information they needed, like a recipe or a DIY project. There was also the dark side of social media, stalkers and the like. If Elaine had taken a few precautions with her security online, Rona might not have been seated across from Hope.
“You’ve been looking for him since he left you?” Hope asked.
Rona leaned back. “You ask a lot of questions.”
Hope dipped her head. Rona was politely saying she was nosy.
“I’m curious by nature, but I understand if you prefer not to talk about it.” Hope took another drink of her tea and waited for Rona to decide.
“I don’t mind talking about it. It’s not a secret. I was young and a hopeless romantic. I never thought my marriage would end. Until it did. Out of nowhere, Lionel packed his bags. After he left, I hired a private investigator. The PI was very handsome. And I was young and vulnerable. One thing led to another. I guess I stopped looking for Lionel because I was having a good time with Jake. Then I met this amazing artist.”
“You fell in love?”
Rona’s cheeks flushed. “I did.”
Hope smiled. Rona had found happiness after her disastrous marriage. The two of them had something in common. Both were living testaments that there was life after a divorce. A wonderful life.
“I fell hard. So hard, I moved to Italy with Edward. We lived there in pure bliss until he died.”
“I’m sorry.”
“We had a good life. After his death, I came back to the States. His death reminded me of how short life was. I needed to get my affairs in order, and top on the list was finding my no-good husband, completing our divorce, and moving on with my life.”
“But you didn’t know where he was until you found Elaine on Facebook?”
“Correct. Once I located him, I decided to come here and confront him. Now, I don’t know what will happen. Miranda claims her divorce wasn’t complete either, so she was still legally married to him at the time of our wedding. I don’t think I’ll get anything.”
“Why not hire an attorney to contact Lionel?”
Rona shrugged. “I wanted to face him. To find out why he left and then collect what was owed to me. I make no bones about that. But I didn’t kill Lionel. Why would I? It would just make the situation more complicated. And make me a suspect, which Detective Reid insinuated.”
Hope finished her tea. Rona was right. Killing Lionel wouldn’t get her what she wanted. She stood a better chance of settling with Lionel if he were alive. Now she’d have to deal with the estate and complicated would be an understatement of how things could turn through litigation.
“One more question, if you don’t mind. Why were you at the Avery Bistro last night?”
“A gal has to eat.” Rona flashed a smile.
Hope’s cell phone pinged, and she murmured an apology, then pulled it out. It was a text from Claire.
Ready to go in ten minutes.
Earlier, Hope had suggested retail therapy for both of them. Claire had sounded excited about the outing, but she had to get the kids off to school before she could go.
“I’m sorry. I have somewhere to be right now.” She’d have to find Jane and arrange to catch up later. Hope slipped her phone back into her purse and then pulled out her business card and handed it to Rona. “If you need anything or want to talk, call me.”
Rona smiled. “Hope at Home? You appeared on some reality baking show on the Culinary Channel. I didn’t know you lived here. Small world.”
“It most certainly is.” Hope stood.
“You do believe me?”
Hope wasn’t sure what to believe. She could imagine a confrontation between Rona and Lionel getting heated, and Rona lashing out at her bigamist of a husband. Lionel had a way of bringing the worst out in people with his obnoxious personality.
“I believe you’ve told me the truth.” Hope walked out of the dining room a little regretful she couldn’t say what Rona wanted her to say. She hated to admit it, but her sister had been right about her. She was a people pleaser.
Chapter Six
“Whew! I think I not only got in my daily step goal but then some.” Claire flashed a victorious smile when she claimed a table in the mall’s crowded food court. She dropped to a chair and set down her bevy of shopping bags next to her.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if you did. I think you went into every store.” Hope followed her sister and set the tray on the table. She’d ordered them coffee and grilled chicken salads for lunch. They needed to take a break and refuel before continuing with their impromptu shopping spree. She slid off the handles of her shopping bags, which hung off her wrists. They landed on the floor and she landed on a chair.
“Like you didn’t also?” Claire gestured to the bags beside Hope’s chair.
“Point taken. Here, eat your lunch.” Hope handed one bowl to her sister, along with a small container of dressing. She opened her utensil packet and the lid of her salad bowl. “Are you feeling better?”
Claire nodded. “I am. Thanks. This is what I needed.”
“Running up your credit card bill?”
Claire shook her head, and her shoulder-length blond hair swung. For their outing, she wore a pair of navy ankle pants paired with a polka-dot blouse and flats. Claire was an experienced shopper and knew comfortable footwear was a must when shopping in the mall. Hope was glad to see her sister out of those heinous shorts and unflattering clogs.
“No. Getting out.”
“Out of your house? Yes. Good idea.” Hope tossed her salad to combine the peppercorn ranch dressing she chose. Unlike her sister, she didn’t opt for her dressing on the side.
Claire drizzled half the vinaigrette dressing over her salad. “I’m talking about getting out of my head. Last night was a good start, but then it ended with Lionel’s murder. The bright side is, I wasn’t thinking about losing the election. Rather, the whole mess is now Maretta’s responsibility. I truly dodged a bullet.”
Hope grimaced.
“Oops. Sorry. Poor choice of words.” Claire pierced a tomato chunk with her fork and chewed.
“I think you’re the only one who came out of last night with a bright side. But I’m glad you have.”
Claire reached for her coffee and took a drink. “To be honest, I don’t believe the funk I’ve been in has been all about losing the election.”
“What do you mean?” Hope asked after she swallowed a piece of chicken.
“Running for mayor took me way out of my comfort zone. Real estate has been my career since I graduated college.”
“I get it. When I appeared on The Sweet Taste of Success, I was out of my comfort zone. I didn’t know what was in store for me or how my life would change.”
“Exactly! Galvanizing a political campaign challenged my organizational skills and my resolve, and also challenged me to look beyond selling houses for the rest of my life.”
Her sister’s reflection of her past and contemplation of what the future held for her resonated with Hope because she’d gone through the same experience.
The difference between the sisters was that after Hope’s appearance on the reality show, her marriage had imploded, while Claire’s marriage strengthened. Claire’s husband stood by her, worked as hard as she did during the campaign, and consoled her on election night. A twinge of envy pricked at Hope. The night the national TV audience saw Hope lose the grand prize on the reality show, her husband was nowhere to be found. He was off with his new mistress, and Hope sat alone in the
ir Upper West Side condo.
Hope rested her elbows on the table, her chin on her clasped hands. “May I offer you some advice?”
“You mean I could stop you?”
“Ha ha. Hilarious.”
Claire tossed her head back and laughed. “What is your sisterly advice?”
“Follow your heart.”
Claire’s face grew serious. “You know what Mom and Dad would say about your advice.”
“Yes, I know. I got the lecture.” Hope dropped her fork and channeled her mother’s tone. The one that accompanied all her lectures. “‘We didn’t raise you to throw away all the education you received or toss away your goals on a whim.’”
“‘Play it safe,’” Claire added.
Hope nodded. “Safe would’ve been going back to magazine publishing, not choosing to blog full-time.”
“It’s been worth it, though, right? Would you make the same decision again?”
“Absolutely. It’s been worth all the sacrifice, hard work, long hours, and juggling to stay afloat. And today, I’m in a position where brands come to me, like Cooking Now, and my eProducts are selling well enough for me to afford this little shopping spree without too much guilt.” She glanced at her bags. She’d have to hustle to pay off her credit card bill, but she loved each purchase she’d made. And it’d been awhile since she’d splurged on herself.
“I have to figure out what to do next.”
“Whatever you decide, you’ll succeed. Just go for it.”
“I’m not sure right now what it is.”
Hope reached for her coffee and took a sip.
She had confidence her sister would figure out what to do next with her life. And she was confident their mother would chime in with her opinion.
* * *
Hope pushed open her back door and stepped inside. She negotiated her way through the mudroom with too many shopping bags and a hyper Bigelow welcoming her home. His toenails tapped on the wide pumpkin pine floorboards she’d salvaged from Vermont after she purchased the house. Prior to installation of the antique flooring, the kitchen and family room had been a hodgepodge of bland hardwood. It lacked the contemporary country vibe she wanted.
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