Three Widows and a Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “Did you see who he was talking to?”

  “Maurice!” a male voice shouted.

  “No. I only saw the back of the man. Sorry. Look, I have to get back to work.”

  “Sure. No problem. But you have to tell Detective Reid, even though you didn’t get a look at the person Lionel was talking to.”

  “I guess you’re right. I will, when I finish work tonight. Good seeing you.” Maurice darted away to the other end of the kitchen.

  Hope savored the moment. She’d just uncovered a new witness for Reid’s investigation. Maybe she was good at this sleuthing thing after all.

  “’Scuse me, ma’am.” A busboy shuffled past Hope with a tub of dirty dishes, pulling her from her thoughts, and she realized she needed to get back to Claire.

  Satisfied she’d helped Reid a smidge, Hope exited the kitchen. She wasn’t hopeful he would thank her if Maurice’s statement led to a break in the case, which it could if Maurice remembered more than he thought he saw.

  She arrived back at her table and found lunch had been served and Claire was eating her salad.

  “Have a nice chat with Maurice? Don’t try to deny it. I know he works here, and you were gone longer than you should have been,” Claire said in between bites.

  Seated, Hope lifted her knife and fork and sliced into her chicken glazed with a balsamic dressing with a side of fluffy white rice. “Yes, and because I talked to him, he remembered something he will tell Reid about.”

  “See you’re at it again.” Meg Griffin approached the table with a dour look that rivaled Maretta’s default facial expression of bitterness. Despite their age difference, the two women had a lot in common.

  “Hello, Meg,” Claire said after she sipped her water.

  “We’re just enjoying our lunch.” Hope bit into the chunk of chicken.

  “I don’t think so. You weren’t so stealth when you entered the kitchen. What does your boyfriend think of you poking around the murder case? I’m not sure why you’d waste your time. Everyone knows Elaine killed her husband.”

  Meg was a jealous person by nature and had proven it again and again since grade school, especially with Hope. When Hope got a role in a school play Meg wanted, Meg did her best to undermine Hope. And it seemed Meg hadn’t outgrown the behavior. Elaine was a flirt and had been friendly with Meg’s husband, Jerry, one day. Hope couldn’t condone Elaine’s flirting, but no one would seriously think Elaine would leave megabucks Lionel for Jerry, who had to turn in his luxury sedan and downgrade to a less pricey model. No one except Meg.

  “She was late joining our team, and the reason she was late was because she was murdering her husband.”

  “When did she meet up with your team?” Hope set down her utensils and considered what Meg was saying.

  “We waited twenty minutes for her to show up after your team left. We thought we’d have to forfeit, but then she came rushing into the Community Center all out of breath and in those ridiculous shoes. How on earth she expected to traipse around town in those was beyond me. Then again, she knew we’d find her husband dead and she wouldn’t have to continue with the Scavenger Hunt.”

  Hope did a quick calculation. The Avery Bistro wasn’t far from the Whitcomb house. Elaine could’ve driven to the restaurant, killed Lionel, and then driven to the Community Center.

  “Was this your team’s first stop?” Hope asked.

  Meg crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes. Elaine said we should get the easiest items first, like a napkin, and then the next stop would be a few minutes away at my house to get a recipe card. I thought it would help us make up time.”

  “You’re thinking Elaine set this whole thing up, aren’t you?” Claire asked her sister and then glanced at Meg. “Did you tell Detective Reid what you just told us?”

  “I think you have me confused with your sister. I’ve told the police everything I know. I’m not trying to play Nancy Drew, or whatever the name of Jane’s amateur detective was.” Meg swung around and tramped off to a table across the dining room.

  “What are you thinking, Hope?” Claire lifted her fork and returned to eating her lunch.

  “Did you know Elaine’s second husband was murdered and they never caught the murderer?”

  “No! Are you serious? Hope, you need to stay away from her. She could be dangerous.”

  “I’m not so sure. I don’t see her as a killer.”

  “I’m sure her two dead husbands didn’t either.” Claire crunched on a cucumber.

  Hope reached for her water glass. “You may have a point.”

  Their conversation shifted from murder to plans for a Labor Day cookout at Hope’s house. They lingered a little while longer over coffee, allowing Hope to relax and enjoy her moment as a lady who lunched. Then it was back to reality.

  She dropped Claire off at her house and then headed to Cooking Now for a few hours.

  The full-time staff had to attend a company meeting, which meant she didn’t have to go in until after two. She parked in one of the handful of empty spots for visitors to the test kitchen building. Inside, Hope settled at her desk and turned on her computer. She then opened the company’s website and clicked on the Careers tab. She searched the employment opportunities and came across an open position for an administrative assistant for the craft magazine.

  “Looking to stay on?” Kitty peered over Hope’s shoulder.

  Hope’s fingers paused on her keyboard. She hadn’t heard Kitty approach.

  “I know someone who might be interested in this position.” Hope clicked on the detail list of the position requirements and then clicked on the printer icon.

  “A close friend?” Kitty shuffled back when Hope pushed her chair away from her desk and stood.

  “Not really. Someone I met the other day. She was Lionel Whitcomb’s assistant.” Hope walked to the printer and took off the printout. Back at her desk, she slipped the paper into her tote bag.

  “Nice of you to help someone you don’t know. It’s always good to have connections.” Kitty walked to her desk and sat.

  “I guess so.” Hope returned to her seat and closed out of the company’s website. “How do you think the Flourless Chocolate Cake recipe went over?”

  Kitty lifted her chin and smiled. “It was delicious. Everyone loved it. Including May.”

  “Good to hear.” Hope’s walk to her assigned cooking area had a little spring in it. Impressing May wasn’t easy. Maybe she was winning the woman over. Hope had a feeling by the end of the assignment, May would see food bloggers in a whole new light. She tied on an apron. Her plan for the afternoon was to work on her morning glory cookie recipe.

  Working in the test kitchen was a nice reprieve from the past few days. She didn’t have to worry about Elaine barging in and there’d be no talk about murders, and she wouldn’t be thinking about her list of suspects. Even Kitty’s curiosity had tempered down.

  Hope was looking forward to losing herself in her recipe and then biting into a cookie. Because she packed the cookies full of healthy stuff, she wouldn’t feel the least bit guilty.

  By the time Hope finished drying the mixing bowls, the timer went off and she slid out the two baking sheets from the oven. She set them on a cooling rack, where they’d stay for at least five minutes.

  Her phone buzzed. An incoming call from Drew. She snatched up her phone from the counter and walked out of the kitchen to the hallway. To her left was the building exit, straight ahead was the entry to the photo studio, and around the corner to her right were the restrooms.

  “Got your message. So, what’s up?” Drew asked.

  The test kitchen door closed, and Hope walked a few feet, stopped, and leaned against the wall.

  “Claire and I went to the Avery Bistro for lunch. I wanted to give you a heads-up for your story.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Just promise me you’ll confirm before you write anything.”

  “Seriously? Do you think I’m a hack like Norrie?”


  “No, no, I don’t. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “Just tell me what you got. I’m almost to Rye Mill.”

  “A waitress said she heard what sounded like a car backfiring around the time Lionel was killed.”

  “Meh.”

  Hope sighed. She thought Drew would’ve shown more enthusiasm about her newly uncovered information.

  “Maurice Pomeroy said he remembered hearing the backfiring also.”

  “Meh.”

  “He caught a glimpse out the kitchen’s back door around the time he heard a car backfiring and saw a man talking to someone. He was in shock Friday night and forgot to mention that to the police. But he’s going to when he gets off tonight.”

  “Are. You. Freakin’. Serious? You know what you have? You know what I have now? A witness. Thank you, Hope!”

  “Well . . . Listen, there’s one more thing . . . Drew?” The line went silent, and Hope pulled the phone from her ear. No bars. She’d lost her connection. Darn. She quickly sent a text message letting Drew know Maurice didn’t get a good look at the man, nor did he actually see the person the man was talking to.

  After sending the text, Hope lowered the phone and sprinted to the test kitchen door. She needed to get the cookies off the cooling rack. Over the threshold, she heard her name from behind.

  “Thanks.” Kitty rushed to the door, her hand extended to grab the knob. “Are those cookies done yet?”

  “Yes, they are.” Hope transferred the cookies to a third cooling rack and lifted one. She broke it in half to check its density and beamed. She took a bite. Perfect.

  Chapter Twelve

  The first thing Hope did when she arrived home was to let Bigelow outside. Next was to find Princess. The cat was curled up in a tight ball on Bigelow’s bed in the family room. A quick check of the downstairs revealed the domestic furball terrorist hadn’t broken anything while Hope was away. With Bigelow back inside, Hope went upstairs to change into her painting clothes—cutoffs and an oversize shirt. Spattered with paint and wood stain, the shirt was a fabric journal of how far she’d come since fleeing the city. After a quick dinner, she set to work in the living room.

  Hope lowered her roller to the paint tray on her ladder’s pail shelf. She wiped her sleeve across her forehead. Happy to be done with the first coat of paint, she climbed down the rungs. It was time for a water break. She walked across the drop cloth and picked up her tumbler off the gallon of primer. Sipping, she gave the fireplace wall an appraising look. Not bad. Actually, the medium shade of gray freshened up the room.

  For the three other walls, she’d chosen a crisp white. Those gallons were stacked in a corner of the room. More than she probably needed, but they were gifted to her by Frye-Lily paints as part of her role as their brand ambassador. An old door with chipped and weathered paint was propped up against the wall with a new lease on life. It was her latest DIY project. On the window portion of the door she’d sprayed a product that transformed the window into a vintage-looking mirror. To date, the project was one of the most popular blog posts, and it didn’t hurt that she’d included a recipe for blondies, a bonus treat for herself and her readers. Upcycling and baking, always a win-win on her blog. The mirrored door would be hung over the sofa when the room was finished.

  She set the tumbler back down. Ready to climb back up the ladder, she paused when her phone rang. “Boys of Summer.” Ethan’s ringtone.

  A cool song for a cool dude.

  She crossed the room to the sofa table, where she’d tossed her phone when she entered the room. The few pieces of furniture she brought back to Jefferson were clustered together in front of the windows. The other pieces she’d purchased since buying the house were stored in the garage.

  “Hey, change your mind about dinner? I have leftovers I could reheat.” She turned to face the fireplace, then leaned against the arm of the sofa.

  “I ate something quick. But I was thinking about coming over. You still up?”

  “Yes, I am. In fact, I just painted the fireplace wall in the living room.”

  “Ambitious.”

  Hope chuckled. “Or crazy. I’m exhausted, but I needed to do it before I chickened out on the color and selected something else.”

  “It’s not like you to be indecisive. Why were you having such a hard time with the living room paint color?”

  “I’m not sure. To be honest, I don’t know if I like it. It needs one more coat and then I’ll decide. Anyway, come on over. I have some apple pie left and a whole batch of morning glory cookies.”

  “Sounds good. Be there in a few.”

  She disconnected the call and set down the phone. A bark and a glimpse of fur caught her attention. Princess sped into the room and headed right for the ladder. Hope’s heart sank with dread. Bigelow followed the cat’s path. More dread. Princess careened under the ladder, taking a hard turn to avoid the corner of the room. Bigelow didn’t run under the ladder. Rather, he skimmed the ladder, knocking it hard with his side. So hard, the ladder rocked.

  Hope watched frozen in horror as the ladder tipped sideways. Her eyes bulged as Bigelow darted away a nanosecond before the ladder crashed onto the floor and the paint in the roller tray splattered all over the drop cloth. In the blink of an eye, both animals were out of the room.

  Hope snapped out of her I-can’t-believe-my-beloved-pets-just-did-that fog and dashed to the drop cloth to inspect the hardwood floor beneath. She held her breath. Was her antique floor damaged? Would she need to refinish it again? She lifted a corner of the cloth, careful not to let any excess paint spread, and exhaled her breath.

  The floor was safe. Not a drop of paint.

  But she had a mess to clean up.

  She picked up the ladder and stood it upright. By the time Ethan arrived, she’d discarded the disposable roller tray, and then he helped her gather up the cloth.

  “You have your hands full with those two.” Ethan followed Hope into the family room. “Where are they?”

  “No idea.” She loved them, but at the moment, she didn’t want to see either one of them. If she could, she’d give them a stern lecture and punishment. But they were animals and all she could do was forgive them for being rambunctious. She continued to the kitchen and plated two slices of Dutch apple pie and filled two glasses with milk.

  Thanks to hours of recipe testing squeezed into her tight schedule, she had pies, applesauce, and a basketful of apple-walnut muffins.

  Ethan didn’t waste any time breaking off a piece of his pie slice. After he swallowed his bite, he grinned. “Delicious as always.”

  “Long day?” Hope claimed the seat across from Ethan and took a sip of milk.

  “Very.” He ate another bite of the pie.

  “Any progress on the case?”

  Ethan gave her a cautious look. “I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “You are looking at Rupert Donnelly, right?” Hope ate a bite of pie. She enjoyed eating pies as much as she enjoyed baking them. The rolling of the dough, the crimping of the pie crust, and, for the Dutch apple pie, she loved the crumb and streusel topping. The flavors of the sweet apples, cinnamon, and brown sugar mingled together made her very happy. For a fleeting moment, she’d forgotten about the paint-splattered mess that occurred in her living room.

  “Why are you asking about Rupert?”

  “Drew and I were talking . . .”

  “I already don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Ha. Ha. Anyway, isn’t a partnership like a marriage? Aren’t the spouse and business partner usually the first to be looked at?”

  Ethan reached out and covered Hope’s hand with his. “Babe, what part of I-can’t-discuss-the-case didn’t you understand?” He squeezed her hand.

  His touch was warm and reassuring, but his words felt like cold water splashed on her. Not because he was shutting her down about discussing the case, but because he was shutting her out.

  “How about we discuss hypotheticals?”

&n
bsp; “No. This pie is superb. Definitely a keeper.” He pulled back his hand and finished his slice.

  “Thank you,” she muttered as she moved her hand and her lips twisted. He may not want to discuss the case, but she had something more to say about it. “Do you know if Maurice Pomeroy showed up at the police department yet to see Detective Reid?”

  “No idea. Besides, Reid left after his shift. Why?”

  “Claire and I went to the Avery Bistro for lunch and I talked to Maurice. He said he heard a noise outside around the time Lionel was killed and saw a man standing by a parked car talking to someone. He wasn’t sure if it was Lionel because the man had his back to the kitchen door.”

  Ethan set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You’re doing it again.”

  “No. I’m not. I was simply talking to Maurice and I’m telling you what he said. He also said he would tell Reid everything.” Hope leaned back, putting a little more space between her and Ethan.

  His dark eyes narrowed on Hope and his lips twitched.

  “He said he was in shock and forgot what he’d seen. He’s not even sure it was Lionel.”

  “I warned you. Reid warned you.”

  “I didn’t interrogate him.” She didn’t think she interrogated him. Though she had asked the questions that led to Maurice recalling what he’d seen. If she’d just popped in to say hi and left, would he have remembered?

  “Okay, okay. I appreciate you telling me this and not trying to find out who Lionel, if it was him, was talking to.” Ethan’s phone rang, and he swiped it on after he pulled it out of its pouch. “Cahill.” He listened for a moment. “How bad?” He frowned. “Damn it. I’ll be right over.”

  He disconnected the call.

  “What happened?” She wanted to add “If you’re at liberty to tell me,” but she didn’t.

  “Maurice Pomeroy was run down in the parking lot of the Avery Bistro. He’s dead.”

  Hope gasped and leaned forward. “He was murdered!”

  “We know little right now,” he cautioned.