Three Widows and a Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  She was in love.

  Too bad love was a fickle emotion, and one that came with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. She’d learned a big life lesson thanks to her divorce. The word “love” shouldn’t be tossed around recklessly or prematurely. Which was why she hadn’t shared the feeling out loud with Ethan.

  She backed away from the table in her office she used for most of her photography. Nothing fancy. Just a wide, flat surface tucked under a large window. One wall in the room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookcases, while the other wall had shelves of props and supplies. She set her hands on her hips. She was confident she’d gotten a few good photos to work with. Time to wrap up the shoot. She flicked off her camera and cleared the table. Packing up the cookies into a plastic container, she tried to envision what it was like for Miranda or Rona to wake up one day and learn they were still married to their husband.

  Talk about a terrible day.

  A crashing sound startled Hope, and she spun around. Princess sat on the desk, licking her paw. The paw she’d just used to knock the cordless phone off the surface.

  Hope groaned. When she took Princess in, she’d expected the cat would be docile. After all, an elderly woman had owned her and also because she looked angelic. Well, apparently, looks were deceiving. Princess was proving to be anything but angelic.

  She’d walked to the desk to replace the phone and shoo the cat off when she was stopped by a loud, rapid knocking at the mudroom door. Princess lifted her head and gave Hope a cool look with her deep blue eyes.

  “I’ll be right back,” she told the feline.

  Hope crossed the small hall between the office and the mudroom, where the laundry room was tucked in, and hurried to the door. The rapid knocking got louder, and her curiosity was piqued. Who was the impatient person on the other side?

  She pulled open the door and found Elaine standing there in midknock. At the reception, she’d avoided being alone with Elaine. It felt a little hypocritical, being there to support the widow while snooping into her past.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My life is a nightmare. Haven’t I suffered enough with the loss of my husband?” Elaine breezed by Hope and strutted into the kitchen. Her alligator-embossed satchel dangled from her manicured fingertips and her heavy-handed application of a floral perfume left a trail in her wake.

  “Please, come in.” Hope shut the door and followed Elaine into the kitchen. When she reached the island, she noticed Princess had made her way into the family room and up onto the sofa table. The cat was like a ninja.

  “Detective Reid showed up after everyone left. He’s trying to make a case against me. You should have heard his questions. You know, he asked me the same questions he asked me the night of Lionel’s murder. I think he’s trying to trip me up because he thinks I killed Lionel.”

  “He’s doing his job.”

  Elaine shook her head and raised a finger. “No, he’s trying to railroad me. I can’t let him. I couldn’t survive prison.” Her eyes watered and she dug into her satchel for a tissue. She patted her eyes and blew her nose.

  Elaine’s burst of emotion tugged at Hope. She was struggling with her husband’s death and Reid’s scrutiny. Definitely not an easy spot to be in.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “You really don’t have a girlfriend you could talk to about this?”

  “Hope, you’re the only person in a long time to show any kindness to me.” Elaine sniffled.

  “What about Jocelyn? Her husband and Lionel had been partners for years.” Hope moved to the refrigerator. She needed a drink. Too bad there wasn’t any liquor, not even an open bottle of wine, in the refrigerator. She grabbed the lemonade pitcher’s handle and made do.

  “We never clicked. She’s older than me and tends to be a little judgmental. I get that a lot.” Elaine tucked a lock of her bleached-blond hair behind her ear.

  No surprise there.

  Hope took out two glasses from an upper cupboard and filled them with lemonade. She slid one toward Elaine and then took a gulp from her glass. She felt sorry for Elaine. She couldn’t imagine not having her sister or Drew or Jane to turn to during her crash-and-burn period before settling back in to Jefferson. Hope took another gulp of lemonade.

  More tears had Elaine plucking out another tissue.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this, but I don’t know how I can help you.”

  Elaine blew her nose. Her flawless makeup was now spotty and, thanks to her emotions, she’d need a lot of skin-tone corrector to hide the redness blotching her face from crying.

  “You’ve solved murders before. You can do it again. For me.”

  “Elaine, I’m not an investigator. I’m a food blogger.”

  The waterworks paused. Elaine cocked her head sideways and gave Hope a pointed stare. “I know what you are. Someone who can’t mind her own business. You stuck your nose into a murder investigation months ago and you took your theories to the police and look where it got Lionel.”

  “You’re blaming me for his murder?”

  “Well, partially it’s your fault. You set off a domino effect when you morphed into . . . who’s that detective in those books? Nancy Drew! Yes, her. You went all Nancy Drew on the investigation and my poor Lionel got caught up in your zealous behavior.”

  Hope refilled her glass. Despite not wanting to, she could see how her last venture into amateur sleuthing had resulted in Lionel’s arrest and white-collar-crime charges. Though she could argue that eventually, it all would’ve come out anyway. A person could only hide the truth for so long. With all those rational arguments for why she wasn’t responsible for Lionel’s legal problems or death, why did she feel guilty?

  Hope glanced over the rim of her glass at Elaine. She wore a dress and carried a bag that cost more than Hope’s mortgage payment. One would think with all her money and a huge house she didn’t have a care in the world. Yet she looked scared and vulnerable.

  Hope set the glass on the island. “I have two questions I need you to answer honestly. I want the truth.”

  Elaine nodded her compliance.

  “The reason you were late to the Scavenger Hunt was because you had problems applying your false eyelashes, correct?”

  “Yes. I got glue in my eye. I was running late and rushing. I had to flush out my eye with saline solution. Then I chipped a nail, so I had to do a quick touch-up. You don’t know how lucky you are. Taking care of this,” Elaine did a Vanna White gesture to her body, “takes an enormous amount of work.”

  Hope opened her mouth to say something but closed it. She was pretty sure she had just been insulted.

  “What’s the next question?” Elaine looked eager, as if she was answering questions on a game show.

  Hope’s cell phone rang, interrupting the conversation, much to her dismay. She wanted to get to the next question while Elaine was willing to answer. She retrieved her phone from the back pocket of her jean shorts. It was Drew. She excused herself from Elaine and walked over to the sofa.

  “What’s up?” she asked after swiping the phone on.

  “I talked to Elaine’s stepdaughter, Julia Bass. She still lives up in Rye Mill, and she’ll see me tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow? That’s great. Rye Mill—it’s about a two-hour drive up north, isn’t it?” She lowered her eyelids and silently cursed. She shouldn’t have said the town’s name out loud. Discreetly, she looked over her shoulder at Elaine. Had she heard Hope’s question?

  “It is. I just got to the office. Gotta go.”

  The line went silent and Hope swiped her phone off.

  “Something wrong?” Elaine asked after she finished sipping her lemonade.

  “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Hope slipped her phone back into her pocket and joined Elaine at the island. “Let’s get back to what we were talking about. My second question is, did you kill Lionel?”

  Elaine gasped. “I didn’t kill him.” She reached out and to
ok Hope’s hand in hers. “I’m scared. I’m scared the police won’t look any further than me. I understand the detective suspecting me. I had reasons to do what he thinks I did, but I swear, I’m innocent.”

  “I can’t make any promises other than that I will stand by you during the investigation.”

  Elaine squealed with delight, wrapping her arms around Hope in a tight hug. “Thank you! Knowing you believe me and you’ll have my back means the world to me. Thank you! Thank you!”

  Hope winced. Elaine’s tight hold hurt and her flowery fragrance assaulted her nose. She extracted herself from the hug and put some space between them. Elaine grabbed her satchel from the island and waved goodbye as she exited through the mudroom. Hope followed and closed the door behind her unexpected visitor. Clicking the lock, she hoped when Drew finished talking to Julia Bass he’d have answers and they’d know more about the circumstances around the murder of Elaine’s second husband.

  Chapter Eleven

  “I’m surprised you wanted to have lunch here,” Claire said to her sister when they reached a table for two by the window overlooking the Avery Bistro’s herb and vegetable garden.

  “It’s important we show our support for the restaurant after what happened here Friday night. Besides, it’s still my favorite restaurant.” Seated, Hope accepted a menu from the hostess.

  “Your waitress will be over in a few minutes.” The hostess smiled before returning to her station.

  “You’re telling me it’s only because of community support we’re here today? Because I overheard what you said to the hostess. You asked her about the murder.” Claire opened her menu and browsed the lunch selections.

  Hope looked over her menu at Claire. “Just making conversation.”

  “Ah-ha. So you’re not trying to solve the murder?”

  “I might have the balsamic chicken with rice.”

  “I’m thinking you’re at it again, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why. It was Lionel Whitcomb who was murdered. He wasn’t exactly a pillar of society. The police have a lengthy list of suspects, starting with his three widows. Why you would want to try to solve that slob’s murder is beyond me.” Claire snapped her menu closed. She had an intense dislike for the late developer. At the end of last winter, he’d chosen another listing agent for his last residential development in town.

  “Regardless of his standing in the community, he was a victim.”

  “What about the people who suffered because of his illegal criminal activity?”

  “What are you going to order?” Hope didn’t want to argue with her sister.

  “The Caesar salad.”

  Hope closed her menu. “I know the type of man he was. Elaine asked me to help.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Stop right there. She made you feel guilty, didn’t she? Sure, you were sticking your nose into an investigation like you’re doing now, but you had the best intentions and what her husband did was wrong. He broke the law.”

  Their waitress approached and took their order. She dashed back a moment later with a bread basket, which Claire pushed away. Hope was happy to see her sister turn up her nose at carbs. Another sign Claire was returning to her old self.

  Before the waitress dashed away again, Hope took the opportunity to ask her a question. “Were you working Friday night when the incident happened?” The question prompted a glare from her sister.

  “Sure. Talk about a crazy night.” The waitress leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You know, about the time the incident happened, I heard a car backfire. Now, looking back, I’m thinking I heard the shot. Creepy, huh?”

  “All the way in the dining room?” Hope asked.

  “No. I was back by the kitchen, refilling a water pitcher. Your lunches will be up soon.” The waitress scooted away to another table.

  “Rupert told me he was meeting Lionel here Friday night. He also said he wasn’t involved with any of the Jefferson developments, that they all belonged to Lionel.”

  Claire shrugged her shoulders. “Where are you going with this?”

  “What if Lionel didn’t limit his illegal activities to his Jefferson projects? What if he was doing the same thing on projects owned by Whitcomb and Donnelly and Rupert found out?”

  “Your theory is Rupert lured Lionel here, met him outside, shot him, and came in here to wait for his dinner companion to show up?”

  “It’s plausible.” Hope reached for a roll.

  Her sister might be anticarbs, but Hope wasn’t. Nor was she antibutter, and she slathered the roll with a pat and took a bite. The more she thought about her new theory, the more it made sense because Lionel could’ve easily bribed other town officials without Rupert knowing.

  “I guess it’s possible. Partnerships are always dicey.” Claire unfolded her napkin and placed it over her lap.

  “I’ve heard Maretta is giving Ethan a hard time about the investigation. She must bombard him every morning for an update.”

  “He’s said little about Maretta.” Finishing her last bite of the roll, Hope realized he had said little about the case. She understood he couldn’t share information directly affecting the case, but he barely talked about it, and when he did, he was vague. Very vague.

  “I don’t doubt Maretta is hounding him. Neither one of us has any experience running a town, but at least I had experience running my business. Well, hopefully two years from now everyone will come to their senses and elect someone more suited for the job.”

  “Do you think you’ll run again?”

  “Doubtful. I’m thinking I got lucky by losing. This whole mess of Lionel’s murder and the fallout on the town is Maretta’s problem.” Claire reached for her water glass and took a drink.

  Hope leaned back, and that was when she caught sight of a waiter emerging from a hallway carrying two plates out of the kitchen. Beyond the kitchen was the rear parking lot, where Lionel had parked Friday night. If the waitress heard what she thought was a car backfiring, maybe someone in the kitchen heard the shot. Maybe someone saw something.

  Maurice Pomeroy. He was the chef, and a former high-school classmate of Hope’s. With any luck, he’d be working that day.

  “I’ll be right back. I’m going to the restroom.” Hope slipped off her chair and walked toward the back of the dining room. Instead of veering right, toward the restrooms, she went left, pushed open the kitchen door, and entered into the controlled-chaos environment known as the lunch rush.

  Maurice barked orders from his station in the middle of the efficient and bright kitchen. He stopped in midsentence when he noticed Hope. Smiling, he tossed the white towel he held over the shoulder of his chef’s jacket.

  “Good to see you, Hope.”

  “Same here. It’s been a long time.” Hope walked around the center workstation toward Maurice. He stood several inches taller than her and, over the years, his lean physique had filled out to a softer, rounder version and his chestnut-colored brown hair had receded, but his trademark smile was still there.

  “Certainly has. Glad you stopped in to see me. I try to get out to the dining room, but sometimes it’s too crazy in here.”

  Now it was Hope’s turn to smile. Maurice was making it easy for her.

  “Like Friday night?”

  He nodded, blowing out a breath. “We’ve never had so much excitement or bad press. I’m sorry the guy’s dead, but why did it have to happen here? We’ve lost a lot of reservations. But it’s picking up.” He walked to the grill and checked on two chicken cutlets. A sous chef busied herself with whisking a cream sauce and another kitchen worker zipped by Hope, carrying a stack of plates.

  “Glad to hear.”

  “I heard you also had your own bit of excitement yesterday at the Whitcomb house with one of the so-called widows and Iva. How is she mixed up in this?”

  Gossip traveled fast in Jefferson. “She’s the housekeeper.”

  “Glad to hear she’s doing something productive. Though someone said she’d stolen j
ewelry while cleaning a house. I guess people really don’t change.”

  Hope was familiar with the rumor. Claire had hired Iva to clean her house not too long ago, mostly out of pity for a former classmate. The old saying of no good deed going unpunished held true for Claire. Shortly after Iva cleaned, Claire discovered several bracelets went missing. Claire fired Iva, and then Iva turned around and bad-mouthed Claire for not paying her in full for services rendered.

  “Maybe you’re right. Look at Lionel Whitcomb. He had a lot of enemies.”

  “Yeah, three of which are those women who claim to be married to him. Man, what a mess.” Maurice moved away from the grill and back to the center workstation.

  “Were you here Friday night?”

  “Right until closing. I never thought in a million years there’d be a murder here.”

  “A waitress said she heard what she thought was a car backfiring outside the kitchen. Did you hear anything?”

  Maurice was silent for a moment. “Come to think of it, I did. It sounded like a car backfiring. I mean, what else could it have been?” His face blanched. “Was it really a gunshot I heard?”

  “Probably.”

  “Wow, I didn’t put it together. You know, Friday night we had everyone from the Scavenger Hunt streaming in searching for their treasures and we had a birthday party in one of the private dining rooms. People everywhere, orders, yeah, really busy.” Maurice shifted over to the commercial stove and lifted the lid off a twenty-quart pot while lifting a spoon. He stirred the soup. “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  Maurice pulled back from the stove and returned the lid to the pot, setting down the spoon. “There was something else. Man, I can’t believe I blanked on this. Before I heard what I thought was a car, I caught sight of someone out in the parking lot.”

  “The rear parking lot?” Hope pointed.

  “I was passing the door.” Maurice gestured to the exit. “And I saw a car. I thought nothing of it. But now, thinking about it, I remember seeing the back of a man, and it looked like he was talking to someone.”