“No, it’s not.” Hope eased back into the chair and crossed her legs. “I’m glad you came by today.”
“Me too. It was a nice ride, especially in my husband’s car. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me know about the job. I’ve applied and I’m waiting to hear about an interview. It would be great not to have to work for Mr. Donnelly any longer.”
“He’s a tough boss?”
Billie tilted her head sideways. “Yes and no. Lately, he’s been a bear to work for. But since Mr. Whitcomb is gone, he’s calmed down.”
“There was that much tension between them?” If what Hope witnessed outside the real estate office the other day was any sign of how much their professional relationship had deteriorated, it was no wonder Billie had been unhappy working for them.
“Ever since Mr. Whitcomb bought the vacant commercial lot in this town.”
“Why was Rupert against it?”
Billie blinked and her lips pressed together. She placed her glass on the tray and leaned forward, resting her forearms on her legs. “Mr. Donnelly doesn’t confide in me. However, I heard him say he didn’t want to expand into commercial properties and the whole situation with the building process here in Jefferson was too messy for him. I believe that’s why Mr. Whitcomb purchased the land through his company.”
“The day Lionel was murdered, I saw him storm out of Alfred Kingston’s real estate office.”
“Mr. Donnelly was fuming when he got back. He marched to his office and slammed the door shut behind him. No one dared to go near him all day.”
“When Rupert walked away, Lionel shouted out that Rupert owed him. Do you know what he was talking about?”
“No. I’m sorry.” Billie shook her head and leaned back.
“Is there anything else that could’ve driven a wedge between them, other than a business deal?”
“Anything’s possible. What are you thinking?”
“Could Rupert and Elaine have been having an affair?” Hope held her breath. She wasn’t sure how Billie would react to the question.
Her mouth fell open.
“They were having an affair?” Hope asked.
“Mr. Donnelly and Mrs. Whitcomb? No.” Billie shook her head. “I never saw any sign he was unfaithful to his wife. When he told her he was working late, he was. Why do you think they were having an affair?”
“I’ve been told they were together at a restaurant the night Lionel was murdered.” Hope lifted her glass to her lips and sipped her iced tea.
“Huh. I would have put money on Lionel being the cheat. He often had ‘late meetings’ outside the office. Come to think of it . . . no . . . it can’t be . . . could it?”
Hope wiggled closer to the edge of her seat. “What? What is it?”
Billie waved a hand. “I can’t say. I don’t want to spread gossip.”
“If it can help solve the murders—and there have been two so far—you wouldn’t be gossiping. You’d be helping.”
Billie was silent for a moment. Hope’s best guess was that she was grappling with a moral and ethical decision. It was time to help her guest decide.
“You don’t want someone to get away with murder, do you?”
“No, no, of course not. If you think it can help, I’ll tell you.”
“I do think it can help.”
“One afternoon, I wanted to try something different for lunch, Thai. I’d heard good things about a new restaurant. It was quite a drive from the office, but I’d put in extra hours and I offered to pick up lunch for my coworkers; there are three of us. When I got to the restaurant, there was a car that looked like Mr. Whitcomb’s parked in the lot.”
“He was at the restaurant?” Hope wanted to keep Billie moving forward with the story. She didn’t want her guest to get cold feet and stop talking.
“He was inside with someone. I grabbed my order and rushed out. I made sure he didn’t see me.”
“Who was he with?”
“Mrs. Donnelly. They were holding hands.”
Hope fell back into her seat. Lionel and Jocelyn were having an affair? Hope’s mind raced with questions. The first being, why on earth would Jocelyn Donnelly have been interested in a man like Lionel Whitcomb? He was a known cheater, an alleged criminal, and a pompous blowhard. Her eyelids lowered for a nanosecond as her body went skeevy with disgust.
“Please, please, you can’t let anyone know I told you that. If Mr. Donnelly finds out . . . he’ll fire me for sure.”
The second question was, could Elaine and Rupert have found out about their cheating spouses and met to discuss what to do? If so, they each had a motive for murder.
Question number three was whether or not the affair was over by the time of Lionel’s death. Were the secret lovebirds still going hot and heavy? Another wave of disgust rippled through Hope at that thought. Or had the affair ended? If so, was it Lionel’s doing?
Being dumped by a lover could be motive for murder.
“I guess it really doesn’t make a difference now. Someone has already confessed to the murder.” Billie set her glass on the tray.
“You’re right. Someone has confessed.” And because of that, Hope didn’t think Detective Reid would be eager to continue investigating. He had his confession. The District Attorney’s office had a slam-dunk case to take to trial.
But did they have the real killer?
“I love when you share photos of him. He’s so sweet. I should get going.” Billie glanced at her watch and stood. “Graham Flour,” she said matter-of-factly as she slung the strap of her tote over her shoulder.
“What about them?” Hope asked as she stood.
“Graham Flour. I follow them and they mentioned your blog in one of their posts. I wonder if that’s why you got so many new followers.”
Graham Flour had been a staple in many kitchens for decades. In fact, Hope had just purchased a twenty-pound bag on her last trip to the supermarket.
“I didn’t see a tag from them. I’ll have to check it out. Thank you.” This was another reminder she could use a little help with her blog. Maybe having Iva take care of the chickens and lending a hand with the gardening would give her more time to focus on her blog.
Hope walked Billie down the porch steps and waved as the car backed out of the driveway. Bigelow had gotten up from his bed and joined Hope. He nudged her hand with his snout. She looked at him. Compact, with a lot of energy and love, Bigelow’s tail was wagging at full force, and she knew exactly what he wanted. Road trip.
* * *
Hope and Bigelow barely made it to the farmers market before closing time. Arriving so late in the day wasn’t ideal. What was left was slim pickings, but Hope was determined to find farm-fresh tomatoes. Harnessed, Bigelow walked leisurely beside Hope with no pulling or whining.
Yes, her pup was maturing.
They reached the Potter Farm stand and there was still a decent bounty of all varieties of tomatoes to choose from.
Turned out she wasn’t the only one on the hunt for a good tomato. Matt was filling a bag with quirkily shaped heirloom tomatoes. They were one of Hope’s favorite tomatoes. Their beauty was unique, coming in an assortment of colors, and their flavor was off the charts.
“Hi.” Hope and Bigelow approached the farmer’s table, and she reached for a tomato. “These green ones tend to have a light, zesty bite to them.”
“Hi there. What about this yellow one?” Matt tossed a tomato he’d held up in the air and caught it.
“Milder than the red ones.”
A sheen of amusement lit his caramel-colored eyes. “I guess I can’t stump you when it comes to food. I’m surprised you don’t have a vegetable garden.” He dropped the tomato into his bag.
“I don’t have the time. Maybe next year.” She grabbed a few more tomatoes and approached Helena, the second half of the husband-and-wife farm team. She and the older woman exchanged greetings, and she paid for the tomatoes, which she bagged and then set into her tote. “Today
Drew and I went to the Horseshoe Tavern.”
“For lunch? From what I hear, they have a good menu.” Matt paid for his produce and walked, with Hope and Bigelow next to him.
“They do. We did have lunch, but that’s not why we went there.”
“Should I ask?”
“I had reason to believe Elaine was, or still is, having an affair with Rupert Donnelly. It was confirmed they had dinner there the night Lionel was murdered.”
Matt halted. “What?”
“You heard me. Your client and her dead husband’s partner might be involved in Lionel’s murder.”
“Where do I start?” Matt dragged his hand through his dark blond hair. “First, I can’t talk to you about this because Elaine is a client. Second, why on earth are you chasing down leads? Never mind. You don’t have to answer that one. Have you told the police?”
“No, not yet, but I will. Elaine lied to me. She said she was late for the Scavenger Hunt because she had a problem with her false eyelashes. I believed her.” An unpleasant awareness hit her like a ton of bricks. Norrie might have been right about the reason Elaine befriended her so suddenly. How could she have let it happen?
Matt’s face remained stoic. He didn’t give a hint of whether he knew Elaine was dining with Rupert or not. “Hope, I can’t have this discussion with you.”
Great. Another man who wouldn’t talk to her. First Ethan, and now Matt.
“I’m not asking you to. I’m just telling you what I know and what the police will know soon. So, if Elaine lied to them, she will have some explaining to do. Though, Kitty confessed, so there probably isn’t going to be any further investigation.”
A little boy carrying an ice cream cone bigger than his head ran in front, cutting them off. They laughed until his mother came chasing after him, and the stern look on her face left no question he was in big trouble.
“He may need a lawyer.” Hope leaned into Matt.
“Maybe I should give him my card.” With his hand, Matt guided Hope around a rutted section of dirt. “Is Drew going to write about Elaine and Rupert’s meal at the tavern?”
Hope shrugged. “I have no idea what he intends to do with the information. With a confession, she’s in the clear, right?”
“One would expect. But I don’t . . . as they say . . . count my chickens before they hatch.”
“Ah, smart man.” Hope approached the stand for Blueberry Acres Farm, where she intended to buy corn. The season was ending, and she wanted to get as much farm-fresh corn as she could. What she didn’t eat right away, she would freeze and use in soups once the weather turned colder. Her cell phone buzzed, and she pulled it out of her bag. It was a text from Drew. Her shock must have shown because Matt quickly closed in on her.
“Is everything okay?”
“You won’t believe what has happened.” Hope lifted her head. “Miranda Whitcomb confessed to murdering Lionel and Maurice. What is going on?”
Matt scrubbed his hand over his face. “Looks like she’s trying to protect her daughter.”
“By confessing to murder? Doesn’t she realize she could go to prison?” Hope asked.
“You’d be amazed at what people will do when they feel they don’t have any other choice. Do you mind if I take off? I have some work to do.”
“No, go ahead. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
Matt leaned in and gave Hope a kiss on the cheek. “I enjoyed running into you. Let’s have dinner one evening soon.” He pulled back and headed off to the makeshift parking lot.
With Matt gone, Hope continued shopping with Bigelow, filling her tote bag with fresh produce and vegetables. By the time she’d purchased her corn and a bag of fresh spinach, the vendors were closing their stands and preparing to leave. She headed back to her vehicle and set her tote on the back seat. She secured Bigelow to his seat belt.
Backing out of the space, her mind drifted back to the loud conversation Rupert and Lionel had had on Main Street the day Lionel died.
What was he talking about when he said Rupert owed him?
Had Lionel covered for Rupert in some way to keep him out of trouble? Did Lionel lend money to Rupert to cover up a bad investment? Or was Lionel just being a loudmouthed jerk? There was only one person who knew for sure, and she didn’t think Rupert would talk to her about Lionel’s comment.
She wondered if the police would be interested any longer; they now had two confessions. They’d be busy weeding through both women’s statements because at least one of them was lying.
Chapter Twenty
Monday morning brought on a frenzied cleanup of Hope’s desk bright and early. The haphazard pile of papers, file folders unfiled, and two empty cups on her desk left over from a late-night work session were unacceptable.
Hope Early didn’t thrive on chaos. It was her kryptonite.
She finished tidying up her desk in record time and then got on the phone with her agent. She’d signed with Laurel six months ago and had already seen the benefits of their working relationship. Laurel identified the right brands for Hope to pitch to so she wouldn’t waste time with brands that weren’t right for her blog. She’d also negotiated a higher rate for sponsorships. More money was always a good thing. Their call went longer than she’d expected.
The call put her behind schedule, and she hated being late as much as she hated chaos. Though, one of the things that came out of their conversation was the good news that her surge in followers had indeed come from the mention of her blog on the Graham Flour website. One mystery solved.
Hope swiped up the two empty cups and hurried to the kitchen. She didn’t want to be tardy for her meeting with Cooking Now’s editor. She grabbed her purse and patted Bigelow on her way out the back door.
Stepping outside, she took in a deep breath of refreshing air. The humidity had dropped overnight, along with the temperature. It was the quintessential drive-with-the-top-down kind of day. But she drove a responsible SUV, so the best she could do was drive with the sunroof open.
With the sunroof open and the windows lowered, a nice breeze blew through her hair, and she turned up the music for the drive. She felt like a carefree teenager again as she navigated the back roads to the magazine.
After today, she wouldn’t be making any more trips to the magazine for a while, not until she landed another assignment with them. Which she hoped would be soon. The extra money from the magazine was helpful to her bottom line.
When she pulled onto the campus parking lot, she parked in the visitor section and entered the main building. The receptionist who greeted her directed her to Anna’s office. Making her way through the maze of cubicles and offices, she finally arrived at the editor’s office.
Anna stood and walked around her desk when Hope appeared in the doorway. About ten years older than Hope, Anna had come up the ranks of cooking magazines on both coasts before landing at Cooking Now. The dress code at the company was always Friday casual, and the turquoise sundress with white sandals Anna wore kept with the policy. All that was missing was a big hat and sunglasses. She gestured for Hope to enter and to have a seat at the round table in the office. At the table, Anna opened the file folder she had in her hand.
Hope wondered if it was another assignment.
“I want you to know it has been a pleasure working with you these past few days.” Her cornflower-blue eyes gleamed and her rosy lips edged up at the corners.
The suspense was killing Hope. Why was she there? And when was Anna going to tell her?
“I enjoyed working here.” Following Anna’s lead, Hope leaned back but made sure her body language conveyed she was open to whatever opportunity Anna had for her. A quick calculation said most likely if it was a magazine feature, she’d be working on spring recipes.
“Except for the incident in the parking lot?” Anna asked.
“Well, yes. But the lights have been fixed and hopefully, something like that won’t happen again.” If Hope returned to the magazine for another project, she woul
dn’t be staying past dark again. Just to be safe.
“Nothing like that has ever happened before. And now with Kitty’s confession and arrest . . . We’re all in shock.”
“I can imagine.” Hope hadn’t been sure if Anna would bring up Kitty’s confession and arrest during the meeting. The situation wasn’t something an employer would be happy about. “You’ve known her for a while. Did she ever mention Lionel Whitcomb was her father?”
“No. She said both her parents lived in Arizona. It’s unbelievable. Anyway, I didn’t set up this meeting to talk about Kitty Ellis.”
Hope did her best to hide her disappointment. Now that the subject had come up, she wanted to talk about Kitty. To find out why she’d confessed to murders she might not have committed.
“I’ve appreciated the opportunity to work with Cooking Now.”
“May I be candid with you?”
Oh, boy. “Please, do.”
“I’ve been watching you in the test kitchen, with the other staff members, at the tastings, and I think you’ve enjoyed yourself because you’re back where you belong. You’re a magazine editor, Hope. You were a good one, and it’s still in you. I want you to work for me as an editor. With your background and experience from blogging, you’d be a remarkable resource for us.”
Hope listened to Anna’s description of the position, and it was a very familiar one to her.
“I’m flattered. I didn’t see this coming.” She laughed. It was a nervous laugh because she didn’t know what to say. She’d never thought her brief assignment would lead to a job offer. A full-time job would remove some of the financial burdens weighing on her, but her blogging income was flourishing. “I don’t know what to say right now.”
“I understand. Think about it. But don’t think for too long. This position will be filled quickly.” Anna stood, signaling the meeting was over.
“I’m sure it will.” Hope stood and grabbed her purse. “I’ll call you soon.” She walked out of the office stunned. A nine-to-five job at a magazine. Her first love. Could she go back? She passed cubicles and heard snippets of conversations between coworkers and glanced at a rack of the current issues of Cooking Now on her way back to the main reception area.
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