There was always something going on at the Gazette. Staff shake-ups, budget cuts, shrinking circulation. “No . . . no. We have to talk now.”
“What’s going on?”
“Well, if you stopped talking about yourself, I could tell you.”
“Whoa! Food blogger gone cray cray?”
“This is serious, Drew.” She tugged at his arm, pulling him away from the front of Town Hall. She wanted no one overhearing their conversation. “Norrie intimated that Elaine is using me because I’m involved with Ethan.”
“No?” His eyes bulged. “Tell me everything. Leave nothing out.” He extended a hand and guided Hope to a bench that flanked Town Hall’s front entry. It was a nice spot to sit and take a breather. Or, in their case, a nice spot for Hope to describe her encounter with Norrie.
Hope sat and set down her drink beside her. “She said Lionel wasn’t Elaine’s first dead husband, and she’d befriended a wife or girlfriend of a cop at some point.”
“That’s all?”
“She was vague. I know Elaine was married three times before Lionel. But I don’t know what happened to those ex-husbands. What have you come across?”
Drew sat at the other end of the bench. “I haven’t dug deep into her past marriages. The story is about Lionel’s marital history.”
“Why didn’t you? She could be a black widow.”
“Wait, are you freaking out about this?”
“No! Yes. Maybe.” Hope inhaled a deep breath and regained her composure. She was on the verge of a public meltdown. She’d had one before in front of Matt, and it wasn’t pretty. “If she’s using me, it’s for one reason only.”
“Because she’s the killer.”
“And believes I can persuade Ethan to shift the investigation away from her. I never thought my relationship with Ethan would become so complicated.” Hope lifted her cup and took a sip of her iced coffee.
“It always is, sweetie.” Drew reached out and rubbed her arm. “I’ll write up this business profile. I promise it’ll be my fastest article ever. And then I’ll dig into Elaine’s past and find out what Norrie is talking about. You know, she could just be messing with you. Maybe she’s trying to get you to trust her so you’ll give her information she suspects you’ve learned from Ethan. If that’s the case, she’s wasting her time because I can’t get anything out of you.”
Hope blinked. Drew made a good point. Norrie could think Hope had an inside track to the police investigation. She didn’t doubt Norrie would exploit anything or anyone to get her next lead.
If someone was using people, her money was on Norrie.
“You’re probably right. I almost forgot. Amy came by last night to drop off the schedule for the parade. She told me Alfred is trying to buy the Parson horse farm, and that’s what Lionel and Rupert were doing at the real estate office last week. He was trying to make a deal with them.”
“I thought you were staying out of the investigation.” Drew leaned back and crossed his legs.
“I am. I told you I wasn’t going to get involved. We were talking and she mentioned it.” Hope was pretty certain it had happened like that. She stared at her drink. Thinking back to the visit, Hope did lead Amy into a conversation about Alfred and Lionel. She pressed her lips together. It was official. She couldn’t mind her own business.
“What else did she tell you?”
“Bart Parson didn’t want to sell. He has a motive for killing Lionel if what Amy said is true. She also said Alfred is determined to develop the property into condos, which means Alfred could be in danger if Bart is the killer.”
“That’s an awful lot of theories for someone who’s not investigating a murder.”
“Fine. I’m investigating. I can’t help myself. Besides, I’m the one who found Lionel’s body.”
“I knew it!” A smile twitched his lips. “I also know there’s nothing I can say to discourage you.”
“You’re not angry?”
He stood and looked at Hope. “Just in case Norrie isn’t yanking your chain, be careful when you’re at Elaine’s house. If she’s a black widow, I don’t think she’d hesitate to kill a food blogger who’s catering her husband’s funeral reception. You know?”
“Got it.”
Drew’s parting words weren’t at all comforting to Hope. In fact, they chilled her right down to the bone.
Chapter Nine
Hope surveyed the buffet one last time on her way back to Elaine’s kitchen. She rearranged the container of coffee stirrers, snatched up a handful of emptied sugar packets, and straightened the stack of napkins. She gave a satisfied nod. The table looked good.
Hope had arrived at the Whitcomb house after the press conference and found Elaine’s housekeeper, Iva, had set out all the plates, glassware, and utensils. Elaine had good taste. Hope recognized the china pattern. She’d spotted the set on a recent visit to a high-end department store. There were no thrift store or tag sale finds for Elaine.
With the buffet table all set, Hope reheated her Artichoke and Spinach Pasta Bake, warmed the Parker House rolls, and tossed the salad with her balsamic vinaigrette. She also had a prepared tray of chocolate cookies and shortbread bars ready to be set out with the coffee.
She wove through the mourners, who chatted in hushed tones in the cavernous room set off from the dining room. She wasn’t sure what the room was used for. She’d seen the living room, the den, and the dining room, but this room only containing the buffet table and a substantial fireplace surrounded with white marble was a mystery to her.
A ballroom maybe?
Who had a ballroom these days?
Because she wasn’t buying the house, it didn’t matter what the intended purpose of the room was. She continued to the kitchen and pushed open the swinging door. She had some serious kitchen envy going on.
Upgrades everywhere, from the appliances to the countertops. And not just any upgrades. After she’d signed the papers for her house, the first room she’d tackled was the kitchen. She was determined to take it from its vintage 1980s—yes, that’s what the seller’s agent had used to describe the white-with-wood-trim cabinets, tiled countertops, and white appliances—to contemporary with warmth and functionality. She believed the two concepts could go hand in hand with painted cabinets, granite countertops that were durable yet neutral in tone, and high-end, stainless-steel appliances for years of reliable service. The remodel of her kitchen took a huge chunk out of her budget, but nowhere near what it cost the Whitcombs to outfit their kitchen.
Dark walnut cabinets, which Hope was certain were all custom, lined the walls and were also the base for the massive island that was covered by a slab of gold-flecked white marble. She’d priced out a similar stone and had nearly choked on the salesperson’s estimate. Clearly, the Whitcombs swallowed the price easily, probably with the aid of a beverage from their dedicated beverage center. She wondered how often the built-in coffee maker was used. It still looked brand new. She sighed.
Hope discarded her envy. Her kitchen might not have all the bells and whistles, but there wasn’t one inch of her kitchen that wasn’t appreciated, or used, for that matter. She checked the countertop coffee maker, which was brewing a second pot of coffee for the guests. It’d been set out when Hope arrived, and she figured Elaine didn’t want her using the expensive built-in one for the guests.
The coffee was almost finished brewing, giving her a few minutes to continue her research. She grabbed her purse and pulled out her cell phone and resumed her research into Elaine’s previous marriages.
She’d been in such a hurry to get from Town Hall to her house to pack her vehicle with the food for the reception, she hadn’t had time to finish her search into Elaine’s past.
Norrie’s comments about the widow using Hope because of her relationship with Ethan gnawed at her.
On the internet, she searched Elaine’s name and then clicked on links. One link was to a newspaper article about her second husband’s murder. Clive Bass ha
d been killed during a break-in at his office. The cause of death was blunt force trauma to the head.
What were the odds Elaine would have two husbands who were murdered?
The article mentioned a police detective, and Hope wondered if it was his wife or girlfriend whom Elaine had befriended, like Norrie had said.
The kitchen door swung open, and Hope jumped as her head turned from her phone, nearly dropping it. She caught it before it landed on the travertine-tiled floor. Clearly, Drew’s cautionary warning from earlier still rattled her.
“There you are.” Jocelyn Donnelly entered the kitchen. The thickset, middle-aged woman, the wife of Lionel’s business partner, Rupert, looked more composed now than when she’d first arrived at the Whitcomb house. She had had an emotional breakdown after paying her condolences to Elaine and run off to a bathroom.
“I’m making a fresh pot of coffee.” Hope shoved back her phone into her purse and zipped it up securely.
“Good. I could use a cup.” Jocelyn stopped at the megasize island and rested her hands on the bevel-edged granite surface. She was at least ten years older than Elaine. Dressed in a muted tweed suit, her dark hair was pulled back into a sleek chignon, and tiny lines creased the corners of her teary blue eyes.
“It must be a very draining day for you. You and your husband knew Lionel for several years.” The coffee maker beeped, signaling the brewing was complete, but Hope ignored the alert. She closed the space between her and Jocelyn. “If you don’t mind me asking, did you or your husband know about Miranda and Rona?”
“Quite a spectacle, isn’t it?” Jocelyn lowered her eyelids.
Hope suspected she wanted to roll her eyes but was too classy to do so.
Jocelyn stepped back from Hope and walked along the ten-foot island, gliding along her manicured fingertips as she walked. “We knew Lionel had been married before, but we didn’t know the details of the marriages or divorces.”
The door swung open, and Claire popped her head in. “Hope! You have to get out here now! Miranda has shown up.”
“Oh, boy,” Hope muttered.
“Why on earth would she show up here today?” Jocelyn followed Hope out of the kitchen.
All three of them reached the foyer, their heels clicking on the marble tile, and at the door stood Miranda and Iva Johnson.
“I want to see Elaine. I want to know why I wasn’t invited to my husband’s funeral or reception. Why is everyone paying their respects to his glorified mistress?” Miranda’s nostrils flared and her lips flattened into a serious expression.
“You have no business being here,” Iva spat back. The housekeeper’s hands balled into fists she propped on her hips.
No good would come from a confrontation between Miranda and Iva. Hope had gone to high school with the housekeeper, who’d grown up from an angry teenager to a bitter woman. She’d wasted a good part of her life by mixing pills and alcohol and taking dead-end jobs one after another. Not a loyal person by nature, Iva was only protecting Elaine at the moment because she was being paid. If she didn’t get a check, Hope had no doubt Iva would escort Miranda to Elaine in a heartbeat.
Seeing a stalemate, Hope lunged forward. “This isn’t the time or place to be doing this. Everyone’s emotions are running high.”
Miranda raised a palm to Hope to silence her. “I appreciate what you’re doing, trying to help, but this is none of your business.”
“She’s right, you know,” Iva said with a smirk.
A flurry of clicking drew their attention to the front step.
Good grief. Hope wasn’t surprised to see Norrie. The reporter had a way of turning up like a bad penny.
“Looks like I arrived just in time.” Norrie lowered her camera and stepped forward.
“No, you haven’t.” Hope marched to the door and slammed it shut.
“What are you doing here?” Elaine had pushed her way through the guests in the foyer. Wearing a snug, black, cold-shoulder dress with a plunging neckline and leopard stiletto heels, she didn’t look like the typical grieving widow. In fact, the lace handkerchief in her hand seemed nothing more than a prop. “You murdered my husband!”
Here we go again.
“Elaine, you can’t go around making such accusations.” Hope walked away from the door toward Elaine.
“I did nothing of the sort.” Miranda pointed her finger at Elaine. “You found out he was still legally married to me and you killed him.”
“What is going on here?” Rupert Donnelly had made his way through the cluster of guests. His hefty, solid frame easily parted the curious onlookers. “This isn’t your house, you weren’t invited, and you’ve upset Elaine. I must insist you leave” He guided Miranda to the door, which he opened and shooed her out.
“We’ll see about this being my house.” Miranda huffed and turned. She descended the front steps and Rupert closed the door.
Hope, like everyone else, was stunned into silence by the heated argument. A loud, wailing sound broke the tentative silence. Elaine covered her face with her hands and sobbed. She turned around and rushed up the stairs.
With the show over, the guests began to disperse. Most of them headed to the buffet.
The coffee.
She needed to set out the fresh coffee, but Rupert was walking toward her from the closed front door.
The coffee could wait.
“Thank you for handling Miranda. This whole situation isn’t good for anyone. I guess the claims on Lionel’s estate from Miranda and Rona are an added complication for you, on top of Lionel’s legal issues.” Hope kept her voice conversational. She wasn’t sure if Rupert would brush her off or confide in her. While she braced for the big brush-off, she hoped for the latter.
Rupert nodded slowly, as if he was carefully selecting what to say next. “The legal issues Lionel was dealing with didn’t affect me. The developments in question were separate from Whitcomb and Donnelly. Lionel was working on those projects on his own. I had no exposure to any legal actions. Now, as far as the ex-wives are concerned, I suspect it will get nasty because each believes she’s entitled to Lionel’s half of our business.”
“I’m sure the lawyers will sort everything out.”
“At a very high cost, I expect.”
Hope was all too familiar with lawyer fees. Between her divorce, incorporating her business, and buying her home, she’d had a slew of attorney bills in a short period of time.
“It’s good to hear you’re not at risk because of Lionel’s bad business decisions. It was smart to protect yourself. Given everything that has happened, I was surprised to hear you considered going in on the Parson farm development. But I guess you didn’t see any risk. At least, from a legal standpoint.”
“What do you know about the Parson farm deal?” His posture perked up, as if he’d been alerted to a threat.
“Not much. I know you weren’t interested in it, but Lionel was.”
“Miss Early, I don’t know what your game is, but I suggest you stay out of my business.”
His voice was frosty, but it was his stare that left Hope frozen in place. She didn’t blink, she didn’t twitch, and she didn’t breathe.
“And I also suggest you forget what you overheard at the restaurant the night Lionel was killed. That call was not for your ears.”
“Rupert, we should be going before there’s any more drama.” Jocelyn approached her husband and slipped an arm around his. Her focus was on the front door.
Rupert flashed a wide smile at Hope, as if he hadn’t just conveyed a veiled threat. “It was nice to have finally been able to speak with you, though I wish it was under different circumstances.” He turned and, with Jocelyn, who murmured a goodbye, left the house with arms linked.
Hope exhaled the breath she’d held while being threatened by Rupert. She reminded herself she’d been face-to-face with killers before, and Rupert had a long way to go before becoming as intimidating as they had been.
She returned to the buffet table a
nd checked on the food. Someone had set out the coffeepot and tray of cookies. Hope suspected Iva had done the unexpected and actually helped. She immediately regretted the thought. Iva had her share of troubles and Hope shouldn’t judge the woman. What was the old saying about walking a mile in someone else’s shoes? Heavens knew, Hope never wanted to walk in her former classmate’s shoes. Ever.
Hope picked up two discarded napkins. The chafing dish was nearly empty, only a few spoonfuls left. Once again, her tried-and-true pasta bake was a hit. The salad was gone, and the bread basket was empty. There’d be little to pack up. She lifted the empty salad bowl.
A woman dressed in a striped linen blazer and sand-colored ankle pants joined Hope at the buffet and reached for a cookie.
“Elaine mentioned you catered all of this. Do you do weddings?” the woman asked.
“No, I’m afraid I don’t. I’m just helping this time. I’m Hope Early. I’m a food blogger, not a caterer.” Hope juggled the dish and napkins to extend a hand.
The woman shook Hope’s hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Billie Tomlinson. Well, I guess it would be nicer to meet under better circumstances.”
Billie’s grip was firm. She looked to be in her fifties but in superb shape. Her honey-colored skin glowed. Her cropped, reddish-brown hair was glossy, with a sweep of bangs covering her forehead. Gold-tone, hammered disc earrings dangled from her earlobes.
“How did you know Lionel?” Hope reached for the empty water pitcher.
“Here, let me help you. Doesn’t Mrs. Whitcomb have a housekeeper? I thought I saw her.”
“Iva. She’s here somewhere.” Hope let Billie take the water pitcher. She headed to the kitchen with Billie beside her.
“I’m the executive assistant at Whitcomb and Donnelly.”
“Have you worked for them long?” When Hope reached the kitchen, she pushed the swinging door. She set the bowl in the sink and took the pitcher from Billie.
“About five years now.” Billie nibbled on a cookie.
“Being their executive assistant must be a challenging job; they’re both very driven businessmen.” Hope tossed the crumpled napkins into the trash.
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 11