Iva smiled a genuinely happy smile. Hope couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Iva look happy. “Absolutely. We used to have chickens when I was a kid. And a bunch of rabbits. It’ll be a nice change from dusting. I can start tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” So soon? “Great. Let me give you my cell number and we can confirm the time for you to start and the pay later today.” Hope dug out her cell phone from her purse and entered in Iva’s contact information.
“Thank you, Hope. I appreciate this.” Iva turned and walked along Main Street until she disappeared into the pharmacy.
Hope stared at her phone. What had she done? Of all the people she shouldn’t hire to work for her, Iva Johnson was at the top of the list, and yet Hope just had. Well, at least Iva would work outside the house, so Hope wouldn’t have to worry about Iva eavesdropping or snooping.
No, what she had to worry about was breaking the news to Claire that she’d hired Iva.
Rather than continue to the coffee shop, Hope texted Drew. She told him to meet her in front of the Bark Boutique and added that it was urgent. They had a new lead.
Within minutes, she was back in front of the shop, and Drew wasted no time in loading the food for Bigelow and Princess into Hope’s vehicle. For the trip to the Horseshoe Tavern, they went in his car. Pulling out of the parking space, Hope filled him in on what she’d learned from Trudy and Iva. She left out the part about hiring Iva.
She wasn’t sure how that would work out. She could have Iva do the morning chores for the chickens. Those tasks didn’t take up a significant amount of time in Hope’s day, but having someone else do them meant she only had to close up the chicken coop at night. She also had gardens to continue prepping for fall planting and for next spring. She’d wanted to plant daffodils. She loved seeing them at the beginning of spring. And having help would free up time she could use for her blog and other freelance work.
“She could be having an affair with the unidentified man. Or he could be the killer. Maybe she hired someone to kill Lionel.” Drew thought out loud as he navigated his two-door sports car along a winding back road.
“I can’t see Elaine hiring a hit man.” Hope’s eyes flicked from Drew to the expanse of forest stretching along the quiet lane.
Splatters of red maple leaves popped from the thick patches of green. Summer was fading. A new season was on summer’s doorstep, and within weeks, there would be so much change. Not only would trees take on vibrant hues of autumn, kids would return to school, the temperature would drop, and the days would shorten. A smile crept onto her lips. Evening meals of hearty stews and cozy nights of reading and snuggling with Ethan. Now, there was a change for the better.
“Earth to Hope . . .” Drew said.
She looked back to Drew, shaking off her thoughts of chilly autumn nights with Ethan and focusing back on their conversation. Maybe Drew was right. Maybe the man Elaine had met with had something to do with not only Lionel’s death but also Maurice’s. She shouldn’t be so quick to dismiss the theory.
“It’s something to consider.” She leaned her head against the soft, leather seat.
“Now, let me take the lead at the restaurant. Okay? I’ve interviewed hundreds of people. I know how to get people to talk to me.” Drew turned into the restaurant’s parking lot.
Out of his vehicle, they walked across the parking lot and entered through the main door. A smiling hostess greeted them.
“Welcome to Horseshoe Tavern. I’m Kara. Two?”
Hope and Drew nodded in unison, prompting the multipierced twentysomething to grab two menus.
“This way.” The hostess, dressed all in black, led them through the main dining room, which was flanked by an exposed brick wall on one side and a view of the massive elevated bar on the other. A large wood railing with metal curlicue inserts ran the length of the bar area. Lanterns dangled from the high ceilings and the wood flooring was worn and scuffed. The dark, wood square tables were set with simple flatware and dark napkins. Six years ago, the once-stodgy, lodge-styled restaurant was transformed into a hip establishment that served craft beers and artisan meals sourced from local producers.
The hostess left Hope and Drew to peruse their menus.
Hope scanned the offerings and her stomach rumbled. She was getting hungrier by the minute.
“I love this tap list.” Drew lowered his menu. “I think I’ll try the Grizzly Bear Brown Ale.”
Hope diverted her gaze to the list. “An American brown ale. Nice choice. It’s a roasted malt with caramel and chocolatelike characters.” She lowered her menu. “If I recall, they’re both a medium intensity for flavor and aroma. It pairs well with meat and vegetables.”
“How do you know about the beer?”
“For a challenge on The Sweet Taste of Success.” Hope closed her menu. Deciding was tough, but she’d settled on the burrata salad served on Boston Bibb lettuce with tomato and pesto.
“You took the challenge seriously, didn’t you? What else do you know about ales?”
“Quite a bit. I did a lot of studying to make sure I won.”
“What was it?” Drew asked.
Before Hope could answer him, a tall man with flame-red hair approached their table with his arms held wide open.
“Hope Early! It’s about time you came in for a meal.” The man reached out for Hope and gave her a hug. “Good to see you.”
“Hello, Brett. It’s been a long time.” She hugged him back and then untangled herself from his hold. He hadn’t changed a bit. Wearing his trademark denim shirt, he looked relaxed and at ease. His deep, emerald eyes twinkled with warmth.
“Too long.” He looked over to Drew and extended his hand. “Welcome. I’m Brett McGrath, the owner of the Horseshoe Tavern.”
Drew shook Brett’s hand. “Drew Adams.”
Brett turned his attention back to Hope. “How are you doing? I heard you’re a food blogger now.”
“I am. Hope at Home is my blog. Looks like you’re doing well. If you have a few minutes, please join us.”
“Sure.” Brett grabbed a chair from a nearby table.
Drew leaned forward and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me you knew the owner?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I’m glad you’ve stopped in. Are you celebrating a special occasion or something?” Brett settled onto the chair.
“No, we’re not. We’re hoping you can help us. We have a few questions about two of your customers. Hopefully, you’ll remember them both,” Hope said.
“If they’re regulars, I probably will. If not, I don’t know. We get a lot of people in here,” Brett said. “I’m curious why you’re asking about my customers. What’s going on, Hope?”
“I’m a reporter with the Gazette and I’m running down leads in the murder of Lionel Whitcomb. You heard about his death in Jefferson?” Drew asked.
“I did. Terrible news.” Brett’s voice lowered. Murder was definitely a conversation downer.
“His widow met someone here the night her husband was killed,” Hope said.
“Are you a cop too?” Brett asked.
“No. I’m just trying to find out the truth,” Hope said.
“Well, because you gave me one of our most popular desserts, I’m happy to help you. Though I know little. The man’s wife was here that Friday night,” Brett said with confidence.
“How can you be certain?” Drew asked.
“I’ve seen photos of her on the news, and she’s not the type of woman you forget seeing.” Brett grinned.
“I guess not,” Hope mused. “Do you know the man she was with?”
Brett shook his head. “I’ve seen him here a few times, but I don’t know his name.”
A waitress approached the table. “Are you ready to order? Or is he taking your order?” she asked with a giggle, looking at Brett.
“Nope. I’m not going to infringe on your tip.” He winked. “Do you know about the man who was killed in Jefferson?”
“
Horrible thing.” The woman frowned.
“You worked that night. His wife was here with a guy I don’t know. He’s a semiregular. She was the blonde with pouty red lips and made a fuss about her drink order.”
It took a moment, but then realization flashed in the waitress’s hazel eyes. “Right. Her. She wanted a cosmo. When I told her we only serve beer, she made a big fuss and settled for water because she hates beer.”
“Do you know the guy she was with?” Drew asked.
“Sure. He comes in here often, but not with cosmo lady,” the waitress said.
“Do you know his name?” Hope prodded.
The waitress tapped her pen on her order pad. “I can’t remember. He has a funny first name. Starts with an R.”
Hope and Drew looked at each other. At first the description Trudy gave Hope was pretty generic, but it fit one man with a funny first name that began with an R.
“Rupert?” Hope and Drew asked at the same time.
“Yeah! That’s it.” The waitress looked pleased with herself.
Brett’s attention was diverted for a moment. “I need to get back to work. Enjoy your lunch. It’s on the house.”
“No, we couldn’t,” Hope protested.
“I insist. Don’t be a stranger.” Before he walked away, he told the waitress, “Be sure they each get the caramel toffee cake for dessert.”
“Caramel toffee cake?” Drew’s eyes sparkled. “I can’t wait.” Drew unfolded his napkin and draped it across his lap.
“Neither can I. It’s one of my favorite recipes I developed on the show.” Hope gave her order, and then Drew gave his.
The waitress walked away with the promise that their entrees would be out shortly.
Hope lifted her water glass and took a drink. “I wonder why Elaine and Rupert met here.”
Drew cocked his head sideways. “Oh, naïve little Hope. They’re both married. This place is far from where they both live. It’s clear they were, and probably still are, having an affair.”
“There could be other reasons for them meeting here.” Hope didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. “We don’t have all the facts, so we can’t assume Elaine and Rupert are involved. However, it’s a theory, and then it begs the question—did Lionel find out about the affair?”
Drew reached for his water glass. “If he did, we have to ask if Rupert or Elaine would have killed to keep the affair a secret.”
Chapter Nineteen
Lunch at the Horseshoe Tavern was both delicious and insightful. Not only had Hope enjoyed a wonderful lunch, she’d learned three things. Elaine had lied about the night Lionel was killed. Elaine had had a secret dinner with her husband’s business partner. And Brett’s chef had done a fabulous job replicating her dessert recipe.
When she and Drew returned to Jefferson, they drove to her parked car, and then Drew followed her home to carry in Bigelow’s food. The pup greeted them at the back door with his excited dance and wagging tail. She let him outside while Drew stored away the bag of food. He wanted to stay and continue running through theories, but he had a family obligation and reluctantly left.
With Drew gone and Bigelow back inside, she did a quick sweep looking for Princess and found her nestled on the sofa in the living room. The cat didn’t seem to mind the drop cloth draped over the sofa. Hope was tempted to pat the cat’s head, but she thought better of it. No need to risk waking the little terror.
Hope went to her office and dropped onto the chair at her desk. The first order of business was checking her calendar. Being pulled in many directions lately, she needed to check where she was on all her projects. The monthly calendar gave her a quick glance at what was due over the next thirty days. There weren’t any details, no running to-do lists, only short descriptions of actionable items, like “video upload sessions” or “follow-up with a brand.” The calendar kept her on track so she wouldn’t drop the ball on any one thing.
Her cell phone buzzed. The caller ID told her it was Billie Tomlinson.
So much for being on top of things.
“Hey, Billie. I’m on my way to the coffee shop,” she lied. How on earth had she forgotten? They’d agreed to meet for coffee to discuss the position at the publishing company.
“No need to rush. I just arrived. Is everything okay?”
“Sure. I’m running a little late.”
“I heard about what happened at the magazine. Glad you weren’t seriously hurt. Listen, why don’t I come to your house? You live close by?”
“I do. Actually, it’s within walking distance of the coffee shop. And I have an upside-down strawberry cake.”
The day before, she’d had enough of taking it easy and squeezed in some baking time. With a bunch of ripe strawberries begging to be baked into something, she’d set out to make her favorite upside-down cake.
“Upside-down strawberry cake? Give me your address and I’ll head over now.”
Hope texted Billie her address and used the few minutes she had before she arrived to prepare the refreshments. Thanks to a shift in the weather pattern, soft, warm breezes swept through, and with lower humidity, it was a lovely afternoon to sit on the porch.
She retrieved an antique pink glass pitcher from the hutch. She’d spotted the Depression-era pitcher at an antique fair last spring and had to have it. She filled it with iced tea and then plated two slices of the cake. She grabbed forks from the utensil drawer and took out two Mason jars for the iced tea. After she’d set two gingham cloth napkins on the tray, she added a biscuit for Bigelow. She whistled for him and his ears perked up.
“Come on. Company is coming over. You need to be on your best behavior.”
Bigelow’s big, dark eyes studied her. Was he considering taking her advice? Or would he go rogue? There was no way to predict. Bigelow’s toenails clicked on the hardwood floor as he followed her out to the porch.
Running the length of the house, the porch gleamed with newly refinished wood flooring. Beside the front door was an old milk can she’d painted black to co-ordinate with the front door and stenciled the word welcome on it.
She’d added a black-and-white-checked ribbon around the neck of the can to set the cozy, welcoming tone she hoped the entire house had. All except the big, blue tarp.
She had to follow up with Liam to find out how much longer she’d have to live with the eyesore.
At the beginning of spring, she’d set out a bistro table and three chairs where she sat and drank a cup of coffee midday while Bigelow snoozed on his outdoor bed. Soft spring breezes flitted through while the chirps of birds filled the air, announcing their return for the season.
She’d added an outdoor sofa and armchair for more seating. A quilt was draped over the sofa and bright throw pillows were scattered along the cushions. She set the tray on an old wood box repurposed as a coffee table.
A car engine caught her attention. A sporty, two-door red car pulled into her driveway. When the engine stopped, Billie emerged from the car and waved.
“Beautiful home.” Billie’s gaze drifted to the garage and the big, blue tarp. “What happened?”
Hope sighed. How to explain that some crazy person, possibly a killer, had left a threatening message wasn’t easy. She opted for something vague. “Long story. Hey, cool car.”
“My husband’s. He took mine for his fishing trip. It’s more practical.” She slung the straps of her rattan tote over her shoulder and climbed the steps. She looked less formal than she had at Lionel’s funeral reception. For the Sunday afternoon, she’d tucked a white polo shirt into a green paisley skirt and slipped into white sneakers. She had added a pair of blue gemstone earrings, along with a gold wedding band and a silver-tone watch.
“I thought we’d have our cake outside.” Hope led Billie to the sofa.
“And who is this handsome fella?” Billie stopped to pet Bigelow, who refrained from jumping on her. It impressed Hope. He was maturing.
“His name is Bigelow, and he’s being a very good boy ri
ght now.”
“He is.” Billie continued to the sofa with Bigelow behind her. As she settled on a cushion, he continued to his bed and curled up. “I have a bad case of porch envy.” She brushed a hand over her bangs, and her gaze traveled the length of the porch.
“It’s still a work in progress.” Hope reached the serving tray on the coffee table and lifted a plate.
“It looks finished. I think you’re too hard on yourself.” Billie accepted a plate from Hope. “This looks delicious. Definitely better than anything we could have gotten at the coffee shop.”
“Thank you. I hope you enjoy the cake.” Hope broke off a piece and chewed as she sat across from Billie on a deep, cushioned chair.
Billie took a bite of the cake and rolled her eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. This is scrumptious. Please tell me the recipe is on your blog.”
“You read my blog?” Even though she’d been blogging for years, Hope was still surprised when someone told her they read her blog. She guessed deep down inside she’d always be that newbie blogger whose only readers were her mom and sister.
“I do. I love it.” Billie took another bite and swallowed. “Tell me, what’s going on with your social media? You had a surge in new followers suddenly.”
Hope’s insides twisted. She’d yet to figure out what had happened to her accounts because she’d been busy with the magazine and following leads in Lionel’s murder.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought new followers is a good thing.”
Hope regrouped and tried to convey an easygoing vibe. She didn’t want Billie to feel uncomfortable. She apparently hadn’t read the nasty comments posted.
“It’s okay. I’m not sure what happened. I’m looking in to where they came from.”
“There’s software you can download to find out.”
“You’re familiar with social media?” Hope was aware of the software Billie was referring to. What she needed was a block of time to download it and sort through the data.
Billie sipped her iced tea. “I am. Tweeting, liking, and sharing isn’t just for teens.” She laughed as she set down the glass.
Three Widows and a Corpse Page 21