“I know.” She laced her fingers around her cup. “Honestly, I haven’t inserted myself in your investigation.” Though technically, asking Hildy Parson and Maurice questions could be considered interfering.
“How do you explain your conversation with Maurice Pomeroy yesterday?”
“It was part catch up and part . . . to ask if he’d heard what the waitress had described as a car backfiring. I admit I’m curious.”
Reid leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. His somber, close-set eyes focused on hers. Yep, there was a lecture coming, and she deserved it. Braced for a polite yet firm warning, Hope shifted in her seat, straightening her shoulders and preparing to tell the detective she understood.
“I appreciate your honesty. And now I’ll admit something.”
Her ears perked up, and she leaned forward too.
“I’m impressed by your ability to notice and recall the innocuous, to piece together the solutions to the previous murders we’ve had in Jefferson.” He quickly raised his forefinger to stave off her reply. “However, you’re a civilian and have no business tracking down a killer. While a part of me is impressed by you, let me be clear. I won’t hesitate to arrest you for interfering in my investigation. And the chief won’t be able to help you. Am I clear?”
I impressed him.
An interesting turn of events, and it left her at a loss for words.
“Ms. Early?”
“Sorry. Yes. You are crystal clear. But I have one question.”
“Of course you do.”
Hope ignored his wry tone. “Lionel wanted to develop the old Parson horse farm into condos, but Bart Parson was opposed to selling the property and had an alibi for the night of Lionel’s murder. But maybe there’s someone else who didn’t want Lionel to make the deal. Maybe another developer?”
Reid stood, pushing back the chair. “I can’t comment on an investigation. However, I’m not ruling out the theory you laid out. One more thing. You should consider installing a security system.” Not waiting for a reply, he walked out of the coffee shop.
A ping from her cell phone alerted Hope of a new text message. She grabbed the phone out of her purse. The text was from Jane.
Please, be careful, dear. Someone has you in his or her sights.
Hope lowered the phone and slumped back in her chair. Not exactly comforting words.
Outside The Coffee Clique, Hope’s mind turned over Jane’s grim text message, which she knew was intended to be helpful. A honking horn caught her attention, and she recognized the sleek sedan. The passenger-door window lowered as she approached Matt Roydon’s Lexus and leaned in. She peered inside the luxurious interior. The lawyer did well for himself.
“Good morning.”
“Coming or going?” he asked.
“Going home, then I’m off to the magazine.”
“Get in. I’ll give you a lift.”
Hope welcomed the offer. The thought of walking back home in the humidity, even though she wore shorts and a cotton T-shirt, didn’t appeal to her. Her favorite season, autumn, was a few weeks away, and she felt like a kid on Christmas Eve waiting for the big day.
“How’s it going at the magazine?”
“Good so far. I’m there for a few more days. It’s been nice to get out and work somewhere other than my kitchen. It’s a different energy, you know?” Hope adjusted the seat belt and snapped it secure.
“I get it. After I got my law degree, I worked for a large firm before going out on my own. It’s a different experience.”
Hope had met Matt months ago when a local real estate agent was murdered. He’d been the police detective on a cold case she believed was instrumental in the woman’s murder.
“You never said why you left the police force to become a lawyer.” Hope looked over at Matt. His mussed, sandy-blond hair matched his casual dress of a button-down shirt and khaki shorts. Looked like his weekend was extending into weekdays.
“Not much to tell. I’d thought about law school when I was in college, but being from a cop family, my future was, as they say, sealed.”
“I didn’t know you came from a line of cops. How many?”
“My dad, his dad, my uncles, and my brothers. There’s a strong line of blue in the Roydon clan. It’s great for them, but I wanted something else. After ten years on the job, I decided to go to law school.”
“How’d your family take it?”
“Not well at first, especially because I became a criminal defense attorney. My family’s motto is ‘lock ’em up.’” He turned and grinned at Hope.
She laughed. “I guess family can be challenging.”
“Speaking of family, how’s Claire doing? I left her two messages. I was hoping she could help me finish decorating the house. When she showed the place, she rattled off a long list of ideas. I’ve done what I can, but now I’m stuck.”
Claire had made it her mission to find Matt the perfect weekend house in Jefferson because she believed he was a good catch for Hope. Though they both came to the realization they weren’t each other’s type. They’d settled into building a solid platonic friendship.
“Give her a little more time. She’s coming around. I’m seeing the old Claire come back. In fact, I got a lecture from her recently.”
“Let me guess. It had something to do with Whitcomb’s murder.” Matt turned onto Fieldstone Road and into Hope’s driveway.
“Good guess. While I was a little annoyed at the lecture, it was nice to see my sister coming back.”
Matt opened his mouth to say something but closed it as he shifted his car into Park. Hope guessed he was trying to figure out what was going on with the blue tarp cover on her garage door.
“Someone spray-painted a message on the door. It said, ‘stay out of it.’” Hope didn’t want to drag out the conversation. And because there was a tarp, it wasn’t like she could hide what had happened.
Matt looked over at Hope. Deep furrows lined his brow. “Do you think they randomly selected your house for vandalism?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then what do you believe caused the vandalism?”
“I’m not on the witness stand and you’re not cross-examining me.”
“Too bad, because if you were you’d be under oath to tell the truth.”
“I am telling you the truth.”
“Hope, have you put yourself in the crosshairs of a killer again?”
Hope didn’t reply. Instead, she unbuckled her seat belt.
“I know cops who go their entire careers without confronting as many killers as you have.”
A tapping on the passenger window interrupted their conversation or interrogation, depending on how you looked at it. Hope pressed the power button and lowered the window.
Her contractor, Liam Ferguson, stood there shaking his head.
“How bad is it, Liam?” Hope braced for the worst-case scenario—replacing the door.
“Bad. Needs to be replaced. Have you checked with your insurance? I think they will cover the replacement.”
“I’ll contact my agent, and in the meantime, order a replacement. I can’t leave it up there.” She pointed to the big, ugly tarp.
“Sorry I couldn’t give you better news.” Liam looked over his shoulder and muttered something Hope couldn’t hear. He turned back to her. “What’s wrong with people these days?” He didn’t wait for a reply. He marched to his truck and pulled out a clipboard and began writing something. Hope guessed he was calculating his labor charge. Great. More money she didn’t have.
“Did you file a police report?” Matt asked.
“This morning. The police had their hands full last night. Want to come in for a glass of lemonade?”
“Can I have a rain check? I’m meeting someone for coffee.”
“Someone? A date?” Hope welcomed a change of topic. Matt, like her, had gone through a rough breakup and indicated he wasn’t ready to dip his toe back into the dating pool. Looked like things had c
hanged. And by the hint of color on his cheeks, she was right. “What’s his name?”
“Mitchell. He’s also a lawyer. Personal injury.”
Hope reached out and patted him on the arm. “Good for you.”
“It’s only coffee.”
“It’s a start.” Hope stepped out of the car. Before she closed the door, she asked, “One quick question. If Miranda and Lionel’s marriage was never dissolved, what happens to Elaine?”
“I can only speak in hypothetical terms. If the first marriage wasn’t dissolved, the estate goes to the legal wife, which would be the wife from the first marriage.”
“The two other spouses would receive nothing?”
“Legally, they wouldn’t be entitled to anything from the estate. I’d expect all the parties could come to an arrangement, but it’s unlikely, given the high emotions of the parties involved.”
Hope chuckled. “High emotion is an understatement when it comes to those three women. Thanks for the lift.” Hope closed the door and made her way around to her mudroom as Matt backed his car out of the driveway. She dug her keys out of her purse. She almost felt sorry for the lawyers who would be retained by the three widows. They’d definitely be earning their billable hours.
“I’ll call you when I get a delivery date,” Liam called out as he climbed into his truck.
Hope waved goodbye before stepping into the mudroom. After the damage to her house at the start of the summer, the last thing she needed was another insurance claim. She tossed her purse onto the bench. How much would her premiums go up? Maybe installing a security system would help offset the looming increase.
Stay out of it.
If only she could.
Chapter Fourteen
Hope’s fingers flew over the keyboard in a race to complete her article for Cooking Now. She had one paragraph to finish. When she typed the last word, she reached for her cup and took a drink of lukewarm coffee. Talk about disappointing. She’d need a refill of hot, strong coffee to get her through the proofread of the article before sending it to the editor.
The test kitchen was quiet. Most of the staff had returned to the main building. Kitty had left earlier with a long list of supplies and ingredients to purchase. She was responsible for ensuring every recipe produced met the magazine’s highest standards. She also made sure everything was done on schedule and spent hours shopping each week for supplies.
The food photographer wasn’t around either. Hope guessed he was in the photo studio editing the images for the January issue he’d shot all week. The two interns had their heads together, reviewing tomorrow’s schedule before May dismissed them for the day.
Hope had done her best to stay out of May’s path during her time at the magazine. May had a clear dislike for Hope’s day job. She also got the feeling appearing on a reality baking show was right down there with being a food blogger where the editor was concerned. It was amazing how far down May’s slender nose she could look upon people.
Regardless of May’s feelings for her, Hope couldn’t let them affect the work she’d agreed to do for the magazine. They’d hired her to produce a feature article on quick, healthy meals for the January issue. So far, mission accomplished.
Five recipes for the magazine and three more for the website were done. Now she needed to put the final touch on the article. Polish it up so it shone.
Before diving into the proofread, she wanted to scan through the photographs of the noodle and grain bowls she’d created. A few clicks on her keyboard and the file was open. She leaned closer to her screen to examine each photo, enlarging some to get a better look. Her lips curved upward. The photographs were stunning. During the photo shoot, she’d observed the staff food stylist at work and taken notes. She was always looking to improve her photographs because they captured her readers’ attention. A great photo could stop a person from scrolling on in an instant and bring them to the post and recipe.
“Hope.”
Hope lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. May was approaching her desk. “What’s up?”
“My son isn’t feeling well, so I have to head home. Are you almost done?”
“Almost. I have a little more work.”
“I prefer not to leave you alone in the kitchen.”
“I’ll be fine.”
May jutted out her chin. “I’m sure you will be; you’re an adult. It’s company policy.”
“I understand. I won’t be long.” Hope still doubted May’s primary concern was the company policy.
“Very well. Make sure you turn off the lights and lock the door to the kitchen.” May walked to her desk and gathered up her purse and tote bag and then left the kitchen.
“I hope your son feels better,” Hope called out. When the door closed, she returned to the computer.
She continued going through the photographs, getting lost in the subtle nuances of the lighting and angle of each shot.
A deep yawn reminded Hope how late it was getting. She’d fallen down the rabbit hole of viewing hundreds of photographs. Another yawn.
Her cell phone pinged, alerting her to a text message from Claire.
Meet for dinner?
What time was it? Hope looked out the window. It was dark. A quick glance at the computer told her it was after eight. Shoot. She should have left by now. So much for not being long.
She typed a quick reply to Claire, letting her know she was leaving the office now. She rushed to pack up her tote bag. She had leftovers she could reheat, so they’d have a quick meal.
With her stuff packed, Hope headed to the exit. She flicked off the light switches, and the kitchen went dark. She made sure the door locked. May would have nothing to complain about.
Stepping outside, she saw the night air wasn’t as thick as it had been earlier in the day. But humidity still clung to Hope as she walked toward her vehicle. She hated rushing the seasons, but autumn couldn’t come soon enough for her.
With the test kitchen being so far away from the main building on the campus, an eerie sense of isolation enveloped her. The dark overhead lamps didn’t ease her feelings. She wondered if their timer was off schedule or if they didn’t work at all. It was a safety issue, even if the magazine was located in a safe town. It was odd she also considered Jefferson a safe town, yet there’d been two murders here in one week.
Thinking about the two murders wasn’t the best idea when she was walking alone in an empty parking lot in the dark. When she arrived, the parking lot was full, except for one spot in an area that edged an embankment with no barrier.
Another safety issue.
She shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about such concerns. She was only there for a few more days. There were safety issues to worry about at home. Top on her list was purchasing a home security system, cameras, and floodlights with smart technology.
Her contractor had suggested such a system when her home renovation began, but she didn’t like being a prisoner in her own home—having to punch in a code when she left and punch in a code when she got home. Now, looking back at not just the garage vandalism but other incidents that had happened in her home, she was rethinking her original decision. If she’d already had the system installed, she and the police would have gotten a clear image of the vandal.
She decided to call Ethan. Maybe he’d come over for a late dinner like Claire was. She dug into her tote bag for her phone as her car came into view. She walked around the front of her vehicle. Her fingers searched the side pocket where she thought she’d put the phone. It wasn’t there. She rummaged through the tote, pushing aside her wallet and about a million other things stashed in there.
Success! She’d found her phone. Just as her fingers grasped the phone, she heard a sound from behind her.
She stopped. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and her skin prickled. Someone was behind her. She felt it in her core. Before she could look over her shoulder, a hard shove pushed her. She yelped as she tumbled forward, tripping over her f
eet and landing on the pavement, leaving her close to the edge of the embankment.
She’d lost her grip on her phone and her bag fell off her arm.
I need my phone!
She tried to look up, to see who had pushed her, and that was when the sole of a shoe pressed against her back.
She struggled to get away, but being on the ground and stunned from the attack left her at a disadvantage.
Get it together.
The shoe against her back pressed harder and, with a final thrust, her body began its descent down the embankment.
She screamed as she tumbled down the slope. Fear pulsated through her as she bumped over branches, rocks, and dusty dirt. She grasped for anything that could stop her body from falling. Her fingers always missed.
How far would she fall?
Her stomach hit a rock in midturn, and then she rolled along a patch of dry, crunchy leaves.
How deep was the embankment?
Her eyes squeezed shut to keep out the dirt, but she slit one open in time to see a clump of broken branches and tree limbs below where she was heading.
She braced herself for the impact with the debris. Her body landed hard, but she’d stopped. She exhaled a relieved breath and opened her eyes. One wayward branch was too close to her face, and she swatted it away.
She lay there bewildered. The only sounds were her heavy breathing and nature’s playlist of frogs and crickets. The latter would soothe her, but lying there battered and bruised, she found no comfort, only anger.
Someone had pushed her. Risked her life. Why?
Stay out of it.
Was it that person? The vandal who’d scrawled the cryptic message on her garage? The person who’d murdered two people?
She’d find no answers lying there under the dark sky. She looked up to the top of the embankment where she’d been pushed from.
No one.
Whoever shoved her and then sent her careening down the embankment was gone. Probably long gone, unless he or she had stood to watch their handiwork.
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 16