“We know he was a witness in a murder. He planned to tell the police what he saw. Lionel’s murder is connected to Maurice’s death. I’m certain.”
Ethan was quiet, as if he was processing all the information and trying to figure out what was happening in Jefferson. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you later.” He stood and headed for the mudroom, then stopped. “Hope, do you know if Maurice told anyone else?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Did you tell anyone else?”
“Claire and Drew.”
He shook his head. “I want you to be careful.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Lock up.” Ethan disappeared into the mudroom. A moment later, Hope heard the door open and close. Bigelow scampered into the kitchen from the hall and arrived at her side. His brown eyes looked remorseful and her heart softened. She reached out her hand and patted him on the head. “All’s forgiven. I can’t stay mad at you. Come on, we have to lock up.”
With Bigelow following her, Hope walked into the mudroom and locked the door. She stared out through the door’s glass panels at the darkness. Every fiber of her body screamed it wasn’t a coincidence. There was one killer cleaning up, making sure there were no witnesses.
* * *
Hope couldn’t stay home. After tidying up the kitchen and putting away the painting supplies, she’d texted Drew. He’d just returned from Rye Mill and was on his way to the restaurant. They agreed to meet.
Up ahead, police lights flashed, lighting up the night sky. It was déjà vu all over again. Same location, same scenario.
Avery Bistro and a dead man.
Hope glimpsed a figure emerge from the darkness in her side mirror and the passenger door of her vehicle opened, letting in the sounds of radios squawking.
Drew climbed in and closed the door after he settled into the passenger seat. “Does Ethan know you’re here?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d left her house earlier. He’d told her to lock up, but he hadn’t told her to stay put.
“What happened?” Hope asked.
“Maurice was walking out of the kitchen toward his pickup truck when a dark vehicle came speeding from the rear parking lot and hit him. There was a sous chef in the kitchen. She heard the speeding vehicle. She looked out the door in time to see Maurice get hit. The car never stopped.”
“Did the sous chef see the driver?”
“No.”
“So the car was lying in wait for Maurice?”
“Seems like it. There’s an entrance to that section of the parking lot from Orchard Road.” Drew pointed out the front window of the car.
Hope remembered the small turnoff from the dead-end road into the parking lot. There were a few houses scattered on the road, but it was mostly wooded. “The car must’ve come from there.”
“The police are questioning everyone who was in the restaurant, but most of the staff had already left. I’d better get back.”
“Right.” Hope’s gaze drifted back to the windshield and to the scene unfolding in front of her. “I pushed Maurice to go to the police, to tell them what he saw.”
“You’re not responsible for his death. At some point, he would’ve remembered and gone to the police. Besides, we’re not sure if his death is connected to Lionel’s murder.”
Hope leveled a look on Drew. “This isn’t a coincidence. Did you tell anyone else what I told you about Maurice going to the police?”
Drew shook his head. “And give away an exclusive? No way. How about you?”
“Only Claire, when I got back to our table.”
“Were there other people around?”
“Sure. It was lunchtime.”
“Gotta go. I’ll keep you updated. And fill you in on my visit with Julia Bass later. Can’t do it now.”
“I understand. Call me.”
Drew opened the passenger door and climbed out of the vehicle. When he closed the door, Hope started the ignition and pulled out of her parking space. She drove slowly by the restaurant and spotted Ethan exiting it with Detective Reid behind him. She pressed on the accelerator so as not to be seen by either one.
It’d been almost a week since someone killed Lionel and, so far, there didn’t seem to be any viable leads. And now another man was dead. Murdered, if tonight’s witness was accurate.
Hope flicked on her blinker and made a right turn. The temptation to drive down Orchard Road was overwhelming, but she reasoned the police would look there for evidence. And it would be difficult to explain her presence there if she was spotted by an officer.
Her drive home revealed Jefferson was tucked in for the night. The homes she passed had front lights glowing and curtains drawn. In the morning, they would all learn about another death.
Sadness stabbed at Hope’s heart.
When she lived in the city, it wasn’t unusual to read in the paper about a murder somewhere in the five boroughs, but when it happened in Jefferson, it was particularly sad because she knew the victims. They weren’t anonymous people. Maurice had a dream of opening his own restaurant and now he’d never have the opportunity.
She flicked on her blinker and made a left turn onto Beaver Ridge, a long stretch of road lined with a deep forest on either side. She’d be back home in just a few minutes. Beaver Ridge was curvy and twisty, like most of the roads in the northwest section of the state. In the daylight, it was a beautiful drive with full, lush trees and thick patches of wildflowers growing along the roadside. At night, it was desolate, and shadows cast from trees, thanks to a full moon, were a little scary.
She reached an intersection and made a right turn and then another right onto her street. She passed by Dorie’s house, Gilbert’s house, and the empty lot. She’d never get used to it and hoped someone would make an offer on the lot and build a new house soon.
She reached her driveway. At the start of the summer, construction on her garage was completed. Her bank account took a big hit because of the new building, but it was worth it. Winter was a few months off, and now she wouldn’t have to deal with de-icing her car every morning, and the two-bay garage provided organized storage space, always a bonus. She’d also splurged on a garage door. She wanted one with modern efficiency but looked like an authentic carriage door to complement her farmhouse. Yes, it was another large expense, but after the job was completed, she was happy with her decision. From the door to the sconces to the trim, all the details gave Hope the look and feel she was going for.
She drove into her gravel driveway. Her headlights shone on the white garage door and her mouth gaped open at the large block letters scrawled across the door.
Stay out of it.
Hope shifted her vehicle into Park and leaned forward onto her steering wheel.
Stay out of it.
She canvassed the area surrounding her garage. No one. She opened the car door and climbed out.
Her steps toward the door were slow and deliberate.
Stay out of it.
She shuddered. Four little words meant to intimidate her. To warn her. To scare her.
Why?
Who?
Stay out of it.
Like hell she would. Not now.
Chapter Thirteen
Hope placed her order for a large hazelnut coffee sans the cinnamon roll. Maurice’s death and the cryptic message scrawled on her garage door had made for a restless night’s sleep and a major loss of appetite. Waiting, she checked her phone and found several messages. The editor of The Sweet Taste of Success cookbook, a representative from a spice brand she’d been trying to connect with, and one from May at Cooking Now were among the emails.
She slipped her phone back into her purse and reached for her coffee. While she wasn’t hungry, she was desperate for caffeine and expected to be consuming a large amount to get through the day. As she turned to join Jane at a table, Hope bumped into Norrie Jennings.
“Just the person I want to talk to. My sources tell me you spoke w
ith Maurice early yesterday. What did you two talk about?”
Not much of a greeting. A good morning would’ve been nice.
“No comment.” Hope sidestepped around the pestering journalist.
“Any idea who vandalized your house last night? The message seems to show you’ve become involved with something. Is it the murder investigation of Lionel Whitcomb? What has Elaine said about the other two Mrs. Whitcombs?” Norrie followed Hope.
The rapid-fire questions dizzied Hope. After all, she was running on only a few hours’ sleep. She halted and turned to face Norrie.
The sometimes-innocent-girl-next-door look Norrie flashed for the world when it was convenient for her vanished. In its place was the cold, hard stare of a determined reporter.
“Again, no comment.” Hope continued to the table but heard Norrie grumble before she exited The Coffee Clique. “Good morning.” Hope set down her coffee and sat across from Jane.
“She’s persistent.” Jane directed her attention back to Hope. “You’ve been holding out on me.” Her bright pink lips pursed and her hooded eyes, swept over with pale blue eyeshadow, narrowed on Hope.
Hope lowered her gaze to avoid the disapproving look. She took a long drink of her coffee. Her third so far. She’d consumed the first two between feeding her chickens and giving a report to a police officer about the vandalism. Because of Maurice’s death, she’d waited until the morning to call to report the incident. The police had more important things to deal with than graffiti last night. She also wanted to delay the lecture she was sure Ethan would give her. She took another drink of her coffee.
Jane called in the middle of the officer’s visit and Hope filled her in on the cryptic message. She also gave her a quick recap of her conversation with Maurice.
“Yesterday I was so busy. I intended to tell you all about what Maurice said. Which wasn’t much. He never saw the person Lionel was talking to. And he wasn’t certain it was Lionel he saw, but the timing suggested it was.”
“It appears the killer didn’t know that. Otherwise, why kill Maurice?” Jane broke apart the chocolate chip scone in front her. Her mint-green tunic brightened her face, and she wore her favorite pearl-stud earrings. She looked less put out than she had when Hope first joined her.
“You believe Maurice’s death is connected to Lionel’s?”
“You don’t?” Hope’s shoulders sagged. In her gut, she knew the two deaths were connected.
“You feel responsible?” Jane popped a piece of scone in her mouth and chewed.
Hope nodded. “Drew says it’s not my fault.”
“It isn’t. It’s the fault of the killer. You know, Barbara Neal faced a similar situation in Dead by Senior Year.”
Hope groaned silently. Once again, she was about to be compared to Jane’s fictional creation, and she wasn’t sure if that was a healthy thing.
“Her classmate was murdered after Barbara convinced her to go to the college administration to report an inappropriate exchange between her and a professor. Back then, those things weren’t discussed like they are now. The victim was often the maligned person and blamed for the situation. Well, after the girl made the report, she was murdered. And Barbara felt guilty. Maybe if she hadn’t encouraged her friend to go to the administration, she’d be alive.”
Hope hated to admit it, but there was a case for the comparison. “There’s no guarantee the classmate wouldn’t have been murdered anyway.”
“Exactly! What was known for certain was, the girl would have lived with the shame of the incident and the burden of never speaking out for herself. She’d have been a victim for her entire life. What Barbara did wasn’t wrong. And she decided to seek justice for her friend.”
“You’re saying I should do that?”
“It’s the only thing you can do. Now, because someone vandalized your home with a message we believe is connected to the murders, I’m fairly certain you’ve raised your profile with the killer.”
“Great.” Hope’s goal since she went full-time with her blog was to raise her professional profile with brands and readers, not with killers.
“Don’t forget, you helped to solve two previous murders. I’ve told you before, you have a mind for murder.”
“I think I got lucky, in more ways than one. Besides, I don’t think I’d know where to start. Three women are claiming to be his wife, and I’m guessing the number of people who had a grudge against Lionel is extensive.”
“True. You’d want to start close to home.”
“Elaine?”
“What about Elaine?” Drew asked as he pulled out a chair at the table and sat. He dropped his messenger bag on the floor and took a drink of his cappuccino.
“We’re discussing where Hope should begin to investigate.” Jane popped another piece of scone into her mouth and chewed. She wiped her hands on a napkin and reached for her tea.
“Do we know where Elaine was last night?” Drew reached out and broke off a piece of Jane’s scone, which earned him a slap on the back of his hand and a stern look from the older woman. He grinned before devouring the bite of pastry.
“No, we don’t.” Hope leaned back. “We also don’t know for certain if Maurice was murdered.”
“He was. The police are now investigating the hit-and-run as a murder. They didn’t find skid marks at the scene. It was intentional.” Drew stared at Jane’s scone. “I’m famished. I should’ve gotten a pastry. Be right back.” He stood and dashed to the counter.
Jane leaned forward. “You have to find out where Elaine was last night.”
“I’ll try to see her today.”
“See who?” Drew returned to the table with a megasize blueberry muffin.
“Elaine,” Jane said.
“Speaking of Elaine, I need to fill you in on what happened yesterday up in Rye Mill when I visited Julia Bass.” He pulled back the wrapper from his muffin and took a bite before continuing with his update.
“We don’t have all day,” Hope snapped.
“Somebody is cranky pants.” Drew wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“Somebody’s garage door was vandalized last night,” Hope pointed out.
“Right. Sorry about that.” Drew lifted his cappuccino and leaned back and crossed his legs. “She’s the daughter of Clive Banks and he was Elaine’s second husband.”
“We know who she is and who her father was,” Hope said.
Drew shot her a you-need-to-calm-down look. “She didn’t say much about Elaine we don’t already know. According to Julia, her stepmother didn’t have close friends until Clive was murdered. Suddenly, Elaine made a new friend, Willa Hayes. They met for coffee and had lunch together. It seemed to Julia the new friend was helping Elaine get through her grieving, the shock of Clive’s murder. It wasn’t until months later that Julia learned Willa was the wife of a police officer, one of the responding officers the night they found Clive dead.”
“Seems a little convenient.” Jane crossed her arms over her chest.
“Doesn’t it?” Drew took another bite of his muffin and swallowed. “Now, the police officer wasn’t investigating the case. However, the optics of this raises the question of whether Elaine was trying to gain information about the ongoing investigation.”
“What are you thinking, Hope? You’re very quiet.” Jane uncrossed her arms and finished the last bite of her scone.
Hope traced the rim of her coffee cup with her forefinger. “It seems convenient. How did Elaine meet Willa? Clive was a prominent member of the town. Willa had to have known Elaine was his widow.”
Drew shrugged. “The stepdaughter didn’t know.”
“If I’m correct, Rye Mill isn’t much bigger than Jefferson. They could have known each other before Clive’s murder. Like you and Elaine,” Jane said.
“It’s possible. Drew, did Julia say anything about her father’s will?” Hope asked.
“Elaine got half the estate, with the rest split between Julia and her brother. Believe me, Julia is
still furious. She considered taking Elaine to court but didn’t want to continue dealing with her.”
“I’m guessing Lionel’s estate goes to his wife because he doesn’t have any children,” Hope said.
“Which wife?” Jane asked as she swiped up the crumbs around her plate.
“Yes. Which wife?”
The question had all three of their heads swiveling toward Detective Reid, who’d approached the table covertly.
Hope sighed. First Norrie and now Reid. She needed more caffeine.
“Good morning, Detective. It’s always nice to see you.” Jane grabbed her to-go teacup.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Reid made his way around the side of the table, giving him eye-to-eye contact with Hope.
“No, never.” Drew gathered up his cappuccino and half-eaten muffin and slung his messenger bag over his shoulder.
Hope watched them, puzzled by their quick movements and clipped words. Maybe it was the lack of a good night’s sleep that caused her to be slow on the uptake—they were leaving. Hightailing it out of the coffee shop. Abandoning her with Reid.
In unison, Drew and Jane said, “We should go now.” And, in a blink of an eye, they were out the door, leaving Hope alone with the detective.
She looked back to Reid. “You sure know how to clear a room.”
Reid laughed, flashing a rare smile. “It happens more than you’d think.”
Hope didn’t doubt it. “Please join me.” She gestured to Jane’s now-vacant seat. Having him seated across from her was preferable than having him standing over her.
He accepted Hope’s offer. “I’ve been briefed on the vandalism at your house last night. The message painted on your garage door seems to be specific. What are you being cautioned about staying out of?”
Cautioned? Interesting take on the glaring threat.
“I don’t know.” She lifted her cup and took a drink.
“I think you do. I think you’ve inserted yourself into another police investigation. I think you’re making someone nervous.”
“The killer?”
“Ms. Early, this isn’t one of Mrs. Merrifield’s novels. Recently, you’ve found yourself in harm’s way and, by some miracle or just plain luck, you’ve survived. It’s a known fact, luck has a way of running out.”
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 15