Elaine wasn’t wrong in suggesting the police should look at the former mayor and his wife as suspects. Both had lost their reputations and their businesses and could lose their freedom if they were convicted of taking bribes from Lionel. Hope would never have considered mild-mannered Milo Hutchinson as a murder suspect had she not had an unpleasant encounter with him and then learned about his criminal dealings. His wife, Pamela, was a cool, calculating woman, and Hope wouldn’t rule her out as a murder suspect. That was if Hope was investigating Lionel’s murder, which she wasn’t.
Chapter Seven
Sunday mornings are the best! Over the years, how I spend my Sunday mornings has changed. Throughout school, I squeezed in every extra minute of sleeping late on a Sunday I could get away with. While working my way up the magazine editorial ladder, I got up early to enjoy the one day of the week that was truly mine. I read the newspaper leisurely in my pjs, made a big, beautiful breakfast, and spent the day either reading or visiting museums and exploring the city. Now, back in Jefferson, I still wake up early, mostly because of the chickens, and I make a big, beautiful breakfast, but my Sundays aren’t as leisurely as they used to be. Not when I have a century-old home to finish renovating.
Hope loved weaving in bits and pieces of her life with her recipe posts. Connecting with her readers was a must to growing her blog. The word “authentic” was a buzzword in the blogging world. From Hope’s experience, buzzwords got overused and diluted and exploited to where they became jokes. Nonetheless, she strove to be authentic and relatable to her readers. They were smart. They could identify a blogger being fake from reading just one paragraph of a blog post.
She clicked off the post and navigated to the analytics, where she scanned her page views and page interactions. She smiled. All looked good.
“Good morning!” Drew bounded into the kitchen from the mudroom. He’d texted her after his workout and wangled an invitation for brunch out of her. “Am I late?”
Hope looked up from her tablet. Showered and freshened up after his spinning class, Drew wore a white polo shirt he’d tucked into a pair of paisley print shorts, and his denim-blue canvas sneakers completed the outfit.
“Just in time.” Hope set down the tablet and went to her double wall ovens. She grabbed two pot holders and pulled a frittata out of the top oven.
She loved frittatas for their simplicity and for the wow factor all in one dish. Because frittatas were delicious and versatile, she believed every cook should have a basic frittata recipe in her recipe box. The variations of the dish were limitless. Leftover ham or extra asparagus could easily be tossed into the egg mixture for a hearty meal.
“I love Sunday brunch.” Drew helped himself to a cup of coffee and took it to the table. “Frittata. Yum. Is Ethan coming over?”
Back at the oven, Hope closed the door. “I’m not sure. He’s going to try. I have toast.” Four slices of whole-wheat bread popped out of the toaster. Talk about perfect timing. She plated them and carried the plate to the table. Drew wasted no time. He’d already helped himself to a wedge of the frittata.
“This looks delicious. Good thing I went to spin class.” Drew took a drink of coffee and, after setting the cup down, leveled a serious look on Hope. “We need to have a talk.”
Hope returned to the table with a filled cup of coffee. She served herself a wedge of the egg dish and then buttered a slice of bread. “What about?”
“A few months back, I asked you if I could investigate the next murder on my own.”
“You did? When?”
Drew pouted. “I knew you’d forget. It was the day we picked up all the stuff for Princess after you adopted her. You agreed to stay out of the next murder investigation.”
Hope searched her memory and came up with nothing. The time around adopting Princess was hectic. She’d barely escaped an attempt on her life. Trying to pinpoint a conversation about something she thought wouldn’t happen again was futile. She’d take Drew’s word she promised. “I am staying out of this investigation.” Hope scooped up a forkful of frittata and chewed.
Drew rested his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “Really? How do you explain Elaine and Rona being here yesterday?”
“You heard?”
“Everybody has.” Drew pulled back; his arms flailed out for emphasis. “One of your nosy neighbors must’ve caught sight of their knock-down, drag-out fight.”
Hope cringed. With neighbors, she expected to have a little invasion of her privacy, but it seemed her neighborhood had a high level of nosiness and gossiping. Moving to a more remote property sounded appealing.
Drew ate some of his frittata and chewed, making a yummy face. “Delish. Seriously.” He took another mouthful.
“Thank you. What you’ve described happening is an exaggeration. Yes, voices got loud, but it was nothing like you’re saying.”
“If you’re not investigating, why were they here?”
“To talk.”
“Who are you, their therapist?”
“No. I guess I’m a friendly ear to unload on. They’re both going through a rough time.”
“What did they say?”
“I’m not discussing what they said with you. Butter your toast before it gets cold.” She shifted the conversation from Elaine and Rona.
Drew slathered his slice of toast with butter and took a bite. “I’m still confirming Lionel’s marital status to Miranda and Rona. It’s a big mess. Who would’ve thought Lionel Whitcomb was a bigamist?”
“Only if his previous marriages weren’t dissolved. You don’t know for sure yet if Miranda and Rona are telling the truth. Have you been able to find out if Lionel was arriving or leaving the restaurant Friday night?”
Drew swallowed his bite of toast. “Arriving. He was meeting with his business partner, Rupert Donnelly.”
“They’ve been partners for years, haven’t they?”
“Yes. What I’m hearing is, their partnership has been rocky lately because Rupert has been concerned about getting caught up in Lionel’s legal problems. Who knows what the DA’s office could uncover as they dig further into Lionel’s business dealings.”
Hope took a bite of toast and considered Rupert’s current predicament. He’d found himself partnered with a man who got himself arrested and charged with felonies. She wondered if Rupert had suspected his partner was committing crimes all along. Or had he been a part of the bribery scheme? Had he been looking for a way to make the criminal investigation go away, possibly by getting rid of Lionel?
“Rupert could’ve had a motive for murder. If you kill the prime target of an investigation, it’s reasonable to assume the investigation will stop.” Hope leaned back.
“Ah . . . you’re on to something. Rupert could’ve met Lionel outside and shot him and then made his way back around to the front of the restaurant and entered, all while his business partner lay bleeding out in the parking lot.”
“It’s a theory I’m sure the police are looking in to.”
Drew set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You’re really not going to investigate?”
“No. Why would I? Do you want another slice of frittata?”
“Yes, please.”
Hope happily scooped out some more of the egg dish for Drew. “I should text Ethan to see if he’ll make it over.”
“He’s not here by now, so he probably won’t. Maretta has been all over him and Reid. I even heard she reminded Ethan he works for her.”
Hope grimaced. “That doesn’t sound good.”
“I can’t believe the town elected her mayor. She has no clue what she’s doing. Claire would have been the better choice. How is she doing, by the way?”
“Good. We went shopping yesterday, and she’s definitely getting back to herself. She needs to figure out what to do next.”
“Well, I know what I’m going to do next after I finish brunch. I have an interview with Miranda. I got it before Norrie could land it.” Drew’s chest pu
ffed out as satisfaction glimmered in his eyes.
“Congratulations on the exclusive.”
Hope wasn’t surprised Miranda was giving an interview. It was an opportunity for her to tell her side of the story. She might be able to provide documentation proving she was still legally Lionel’s wife and proclaim her innocence in the murder. It also was smart to get out ahead of Elaine or Rona.
Though doing an interview was risky. Miranda would have no control over the final product. Lucky for her, Drew had ethics and wouldn’t inflate or interject a narrative whose sole purpose was to sell more papers. Yeah, she was lucky Norrie wasn’t doing the article. Otherwise, it could be filled with innuendo and pseudofacts. How the reporter remained employed baffled Hope.
“She says she wants to get out her side of the story. My guess is, she’s going for the wronged woman angle. You know, swept off her feet, dumped for another woman, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“The other woman being Rona?”
Drew shrugged. “Not sure yet. Who knows? There could be another Mrs. Whitcomb we don’t know about yet. I’d love to get an interview with Rona. Because you and she are best buds, how about asking her if she’d like to be interviewed?”
Hope didn’t take long to answer. “No. We’re not best buds and I’m not getting involved, remember?”
“She showed up at your house yesterday. Sounds like you’re involved, at least a little.” Drew held up his hands with his thumb and index fingers really close together. “A little.”
Hope shook her head. She would remain steadfast. She wasn’t involved.
Twenty minutes later, Drew had finished his second helping of frittata and headed out for his interview with Miranda.
Hope wasted no time in cleaning up and then grabbed Bigelow’s leash to take him on a walk before the day got too hot. Back inside with the air conditioner blasting, she settled down for a quiet day of catching up on her blog.
After a quick session of outlining some new posts, she opened her photography software. It was time to edit the photographs she’d taken of recipes. Aside from publishing them on her blog, she’d post them on her social media and on websites devoted to sharing food photos. Most of those sites weren’t easy to get published on. They had high standards for what was referred to as “food porn,” photographs that left you drooling and famished. To get to that level of photographic skill, she’d spent hours taking photographs and editing. All the hard work paid off, because now she was a regular contributor and got a lot of views on her blog from those sites.
Selecting the perfect photo was a tedious process. Halfway through the hundreds of photographs she’d taken, Ethan called to let her know he’d be working straight through into the evening, so he’d miss dinner. The lure to running a small department for him was the lack of bureaucracy that burdened bigger ones, but it also meant he worked with a lean staff, and when major crimes hit, like murder, it meant longer hours and no days off until the crime was solved.
A little bummed she’d be eating alone, she was grateful for the now longer stretch of uninterrupted time for editing.
Bigelow must have sensed her disappointment because he padded over to her from his comfortable bed in the corner of the family room. He settled beside her leg and she smiled. His unconditional love never failed to melt her heart.
She placed her hand back on the mouse to finish editing the photograph of the triple decadent brownies she made last week when a crashing noise from the dining room made her jump.
Princess.
* * *
On her way to the magazine, Hope grabbed her travel mug from her vehicle’s console and rallied the enthusiasm she’d had last week, when she started at Cooking Now.
It wasn’t the going to work part that had her in a glum mood. Rather, it was the inevitable questions about Jefferson’s latest murder.
When the previous murders occurred, she’d been able to cocoon in her house after finding a dead body and not have to deal with the outside world. But not today. Today she was reporting for work, and she’d be facing coworkers who she expected would have questions.
Braced for an onslaught of questions, Hope entered the test kitchen with some prepared responses like I’m sorry, I can’t discuss the case, and yes, it was awful finding a dead body.
The second option made her flinch. For a civilian, she’d definitely discovered too many dead bodies. Maybe her ex-producer, Corey Lucas, was right when he suggested months ago that she combine her food blog with a crime blog. True crimes investigated with recipes. Now she had to admit the idea didn’t sound so silly. It sounded like it could be successful.
When she entered the kitchen, it surprised her to find a hushed tone and solemn-looking faces greeting her as the door closed behind her.
She said good morning to her coworkers and received only a few murmured greetings back. She made her way to her desk. Hope set down her travel mug and tote bag. The stillness in the room was unsettling.
What on earth was going on?
“It seems you’ve had a busy weekend.” May Henshaw approached Hope with her hands clasped together and her thin lips firmly set in a grim line. Her judgmental gaze had narrowed in on Hope. “A man was murdered in Jefferson Friday night.”
May’s tone rankled Hope, and she didn’t understand why she was upset. But now she understood the weird vibe in the kitchen.
“It’s a shame.” Hope pulled out her chair and sat. She dug through her tote bag for her recipe notebook. She used a spiral notebook for recipe development. In there, she kept her notes on ingredients, cooking times, and details about each recipe test. “I’m going to bake a flourless chocolate cake today.”
May moved closer to the corner of Hope’s desk. “I’ve heard it wasn’t the first time you’ve found a dead body and somehow gotten yourself involved with those murders. They even arrested your sister for a murder.”
The hairs on the back of Hope’s neck pricked up. May was crossing a line. “My sister didn’t murder anyone. I’m sure when you searched online you also found that piece of information.”
May crossed her arms over her chest. “Cooking Now doesn’t need sordid publicity. Even though your presence here is temporary, you’re still a part of this magazine.”
Temporary. The magic word.
There were only a few more days at the magazine before her assignment ended and she’d be done with May’s disapproving looks.
While she wasn’t looking to appease the editor, Hope understood her concern for the magazine. She also didn’t want negative publicity directed toward Cooking Now.
“I’m only a witness in the investigation, nothing more, I assure you.”
“Fine.” May lowered her arms and then spun around. She walked away, toward the studio kitchen, and disappeared. They were shooting a video series on holiday cookie baking. Hands down, her favorite type of baking. The thought of sugar cookies made her smile. Last week, she got a peek at the recipes, and now she was looking forward to a little taste testing later in the day.
At least she had something to look forward to.
She scanned the short list of emails and clicked onto each one to read. The more focus she put into the emails, the less she was thinking of May. And a few deep breaths helped too. When May emerged from the studio kitchen and marched to her desk, Hope barely gave the editor a thought.
Kitty came rushing into the test kitchen with apologies for being late. She shuffled by May’s desk, who looked up from her planner with a scowl. Kitty gave a weak smile and continued to her desk next to Hope’s. She dropped her overstuffed, canvas shopping bag, her purse, and a plastic bag bursting with groceries on the desk’s surface. She wiped a bead of sweat from her brow.
“It’s been one of those mornings. My car wouldn’t start and then I had to stop for groceries.” Kitty leaned toward Hope. “May looks especially perturbed. What did I miss?”
“A lecture on how finding dead bodies is bad for the magazine.”
“Oh.” Kitty pu
lled back. “I can’t believe there was a murder in Jefferson and you found the body. How awful!” Kitty wheeled out her chair from under the desk and sat.
“It was. The whole scene was crazy and surreal.” Hope turned her attention back to her emails. There was an appointment request from the editor-in-chief, along with May and the managing editor. Hope wasn’t sure if it was business as usual. Perhaps there was another assignment they wanted to discuss with her. Or it could be about the recent event in Jefferson. With a little uneasiness in her belly, Hope accepted the meeting.
“I heard three women claim to be his wife.” Kitty unpacked her canvas bag, laying out the boxed teas on her desk.
“You heard correctly. It appears Lionel Whitcomb’s ex-wives believe their divorces weren’t completed.”
“How can that happen these days?”
“Well, the first wife married him about thirty years ago. So I guess it’s possible.”
Kitty shook her head vigorously. “Sounds like Lionel Whitcomb was running some kind of scam duping innocent women. Men like him think they can get away with whatever they want and consequences be damned. They leave broken families and children in the wake of their greed and lust.”
“Kitty! We’re waiting.” May stood and gestured for Kitty to join her in the kitchen they used for photographing recipes.
“Sorry.” Kitty jumped up and gathered the boxes of tea and scooted across the room. Hope wasn’t sure what feature they were working on for the tea, but given the trials of the past few days, she’d love a cup of tea. Before she could stand and head to the back room to brew one, she received a text message from Elaine.
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 9