The Hidden Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  After she swallowed, she wiped her mouth with a napkin. Now it was time to find out what Drew wanted. “You’re being very kind to me.”

  “Well”—Drew waved his hand in a dramatic gesture—“it’s my pleasure. After all, you’re my best friend.”

  Hope nodded as she chewed another bite of the pastry. “I am.”

  “And best friends are happy to do things for their best friends.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So, it was my pleasure to make sure you had your favorite coffee and pastry.” Drew leaned forward and rested his arms on the table.

  Hope wiped her mouth again, discarded the napkin, and then took a sip of her coffee. While she was confident something was attached to her afternoon treat, she had to admit she was enjoying being taken care of for a change. She couldn’t remember the last time someone fussed over her.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  Drew grinned. “That obvious?”

  Hope laughed. “Yes.”

  Drew took a long drink of his coffee before confessing his ulterior motive. “I want every detail of what happened today.”

  “Since when are you interested in food photography?”

  “I’m not. I’m interested in Cal Barnhart. More precisely, his missing wife.”

  Hope shook her head. She should’ve known. Every reporter from local newspapers to the wire services wanted an interview with Cal. During the five hours she was at Cal’s studio, which was located on his home’s five acres, he never once mentioned Lily. When they broke for lunch, they all gathered around a picnic table outside under a majestic maple tree and ate a catered lunch his assistant picked up. Their conversation revolved around photography and blogging and a bunch of photos were snapped for everyone’s social media platforms.

  “There’s nothing I can tell you. He didn’t talk about Lily during the class. We weren’t there to discuss his missing wife.”

  The workshop cost Hope an exorbitant amount of money, so the only thing she wanted to talk about was photography. Food blogs that earned decent money had great food and awesome photographs, reason number one to sign up for the class. The other reason was to up the ante on her camera skills because she’d been approached to contribute to a cookbook being published by The Sweet Taste of Success. Along with the recipes, she needed to include photographs.

  Drew slumped and his face twisted with frustration. “I’ve been trying to land an interview with him since Lily disappeared. He’s shut out all media. I can’t even get a ‘no comment’ out of him.” Drew reached across the table, broke off a piece of the cinnamon roll, and chewed it.

  Hope couldn’t blame Cal for staying away from the media. After her loss on The Sweet Taste of Success and her subsequent divorce, she was on the receiving end of some negative coverage in newspaper gossip columns and on celebrity websites. In the past couple of weeks, she had seen Cal receive some of the same treatment. But his case was worse, since husbands were always the first person the police looked at when a wife went missing.

  “I need that interview. I need an exclusive.” Drew rubbed his temples and exhaled a deep breath. “You know him personally.”

  “Barely. And only through blogger events and some work at the magazine years ago. What’s going on?”

  Drew set his hands on the table, then laced his fingers together. “Remember what I told you a few weeks ago about budget cuts at the newspaper?”

  Hope nodded. The newspaper’s publisher had gathered the staff together for an impromptu meeting to announce that the Gazette was in financial difficulty and would be looking at ways to reduce expenses, including layoffs. To recover from the stunning announcement, Drew showed up at her door that night with a bottle of wine, a container of ice cream, and a list of movies he wanted to watch.

  “You’re very good at your job, Drew. I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” Hope reassured.

  “I have a lot to worry about and she has a name.”

  “Norrie?”

  “You got it! The new shiny star of the Gazette. She ran out of the office today because she landed an interview with Lily’s secretary. If I don’t get something exclusive or juicy, I’m out! Out!”

  Hope reached out and covered his hands with hers. “Drew, calm down. You’re overreacting.”

  Drew harrumphed.

  “You’re not going to get fired.”

  “Not if I can get an interview with Cal Barnhart.”

  “Reach out to him again,” Hope suggested.

  “He’ll just turn me down, again. But I bet you can convince him to give me an interview.”

  Hope shook her head. “I’m not going to do that.”

  “But we’re best friends and you did ask what you can do for me.”

  Hope swiped her coffee cup and stood. “You’re right, we are best friends. Next time the coffee and pastry will be on me. I have to get going.”

  Drew sighed.

  “Good grief,” Hope muttered.

  Drew pouted.

  Hope sighed that time. “Fine. I can’t promise anything.”

  Drew smiled. “You’re the best.”

  Hope turned and headed out of the coffee shop, shaking her head. She had no idea how she’d approach Cal about Drew.

  My friend Drew is a reporter and would like to interview you about your missing wife. Not a bad start to getting herself kicked out of class. Hope pulled open the glass door and stepped out onto Main Street.

  Maybe something more direct. Would you like to set the record straight that you didn’t kill your wife and dispose of her body? Hope winced. Too direct. She walked toward her car, which was parked down the street.

  Lordy, how did she allow Drew to manipulate her so easily? Guilt. He knew her too well. At least she had three more days of the workshop to figure out how to approach Cal about an interview with Drew. She’d figure something out.

  Chapter Two

  Hope’s kitchen door swung open and she was unexpectedly greeted by her sister, Claire Dixon. She had one hand propped on her hip and her nude-colored lips were pursed. “Where have you been? Your photography class ended over an hour ago.”

  Uh-oh. Claire is channeling our mother.

  “Sorry I missed my curfew.” Hope walked past Claire and dropped her bags on the table. She’d had a long day and just wanted to collapse on the sofa, but with the stern greeting she’d received, she doubted there would be any relaxation.

  She turned just in time to brace herself for the excited onslaught of her adopted dog, Bigelow. His ears flopped and his tail wagged and he bounded across the antique pumpkin pine floor at record speed to welcome her home. She rubbed him enthusiastically. Having a dog wasn’t on her to-do list when she moved back to Jefferson, but when his owners could no longer keep him, she jumped at the chance to take him.

  “It’s good Bigelow was here to keep you company while you waited.”

  Claire gave the dog a sideways glance. She and Bigelow had a complicated relationship. He liked jumping on people and dragging his dirty paws on their clothing, while Claire preferred not to be pawed by dogs.

  “Some company. He’s been sleeping.” Claire walked to the counter and picked up her protein shake bottle and took a sip. “I finished at the gym early so I thought I’d come by to see you.”

  Even though she’d just come from the gym, Claire’s makeup was perfect and her long blond hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her bright capris and purple tank top were perspiration free and her sneakers looked like they just came out of the box. Hope shook her head in amazement. When she finished working out, she was a sweaty mess while her sister looked like she stepped out of a magazine layout.

  Bigelow settled down and retreated to his bed tucked in a corner of the family room. The kitchen was an open space that incorporated the cooking area, a dining space, and a family room. The large space was the heart of her home and where she did most of the work for her blog, so it made sense for Hope to have spent a huge chunk of her bud
get and time remodeling there first. What probably didn’t make sense was buying an old, run-down house when she was recently divorced and starting a new business.

  “What are you doing here?” Hope asked.

  Normally she didn’t arrive home to find Claire waiting for her. Especially now. Claire had been juggling her career as a real estate agent and running her campaign for mayor of Jefferson with raising her two kids, while her husband traveled often for business. Sitting around Hope’s house waiting for her usually wasn’t on Claire’s to-do list.

  Claire perked up. “Two things.” She set the bottle down and walked around the island. “I was at the Workout Fix and you won’t believe what I found out.”

  Hope went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of iced tea, then poured a glass. As a real estate agent in a small town, her sister had access to a lot of gossip, and spending time at the only fitness center in town meant she could find out anything about anybody.

  After taking a refreshing sip Hope asked, “What did you find out?”

  “Meg Griffin wants the position on the Planning and Zoning Commission that Lily Barnhart has . . . or had . . . whatever. Meg wants it.”

  “Can she do that? Lily hasn’t officially resigned?”

  In the past few years, the topic of development had become a hot button for town residents and Hope didn’t envy Lily or the other members. From what she knew, serving on the P&Z Commission seemed to be wrought with headaches, primarily from unhappy homeowners.

  “She’s been missing for three weeks. The P&Z Commission needs to vote on very serious matters. The town can’t wait for Lily to get her act together and come back home if she did take off. And, we can’t wait to find . . .”

  We can’t just wait to find her body.

  That was what they’d all been thinking. While everybody in town wanted to remain hopeful Lily would return safely, there was an unspeakable truth they all knew was a possibility. She was dead. She wasn’t the type of person to run off. She was far too responsible to do something so reckless. She worked as an architect, served on the P&Z Commission, volunteered at the senior center and the library. No, Lily Barnhart wouldn’t have walked away from her life.

  “Hope, did you hear me?”

  Hope snapped out of her thoughts. “What?”

  “If Meg is successful in her bid, she’ll be a nightmare on the board. She’s more of a tree hugger than Lily was.”

  “Claire!”

  “It’s true. At least Lily had common sense on her side. She was open-minded about development, and I do have to admit she had some good arguments against some of the proposed developments. But Meg? And her Society to Protect Jefferson group? Ugh. She’ll veto all development projects in town.”

  Hope shrugged. “If Meg wants to run, you can’t stop her.”

  “True,” Claire said. “However, I can find a candidate to oppose her.”

  Oh, boy.

  “Who?” Hope dared to ask.

  “Maretta.”

  “Are you serious?” Hope eyed the protein shake bottle. Was it spiked? Because Claire would have to be drunk to even consider Maretta Kingston as a potential candidate.

  They’d both known the woman since childhood and, while some people loosened up as they got older, Maretta seemed to be more tightly wound. Rigid, righteous, and overbearing summed her up nicely. Maretta was pro-development. After all, her husband owned a real estate agency in town, where Claire worked. Having Maretta on the P&Z Commission would definitely change the dynamics of the votes. “Isn’t the fact her husband owns a real estate agency a conflict of interest?”

  “Pish.” Claire waved away the suggestion. “Don’t worry about the details. I’ve got this all covered.”

  “You’re running for mayor, which means you should be concerned about the details.”

  Claire shrugged. “I need your support. Well, Maretta needs your support. I think there should be some kind of get-together where Maretta can do a meet and greet with everyone now that she’s officially a candidate.”

  Hope arched an eyebrow. “A meet and greet? Who hasn’t she met and greeted in the sixty-plus years she’s lived in Jefferson?” Or, rather, who hadn’t she offended? Hope didn’t want to emphasize the negative since her sister was excited about her plan.

  “I would do it at my house, but I think it’s better if someone else who isn’t running for mayor host the event.” Claire had a look Hope knew all too well.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” Hope shook her head. With her glass in hand, she walked over to the table and sat. She set the glass on a coaster and then unzipped her laptop bag. She had a blog post to write and she needed to check her e-mails. And maybe her sister would get the hint she was too busy to continue this conversation.

  Claire swooped over to the table. “Come on. It’ll be a piece of cake for you.” She snapped her fingers. “A couple of hours, some beverages . . . ooh, we can do an English tea. You can serve scones. Everybody loves your scones. Especially those chocolate chip ones you bake with sugar sprinkled on top. So worth the extra time on the treadmill.”

  Hope hated when Claire appealed to the baker in her. Darn. But she would remain firm.

  “You make it sound like it’s no work at all. Invite people over. If you haven’t noticed, I’m swamped. I have this photography class, I have my blog, I have Bigelow to train, and I have to finish putting up the shelving in the garage.”

  She wasn’t sure when she’d be officially done working on her house, but she did know she was nowhere near that date. The construction crew had just finished building the garage, wrapping up two days earlier with the Sheetrock and paint. She needed to install the organizational system so everything had a place and her garage wouldn’t end up a dumping ground.

  “Oh, come on, who are you kidding? With your uber-ninja-like entertaining ability, you know it’ll take you a couple of hours to pull the tea party together. You love stuff like this,” Claire pointed out.

  “True.” Gosh, Hope was so easily manipulated. First by Drew and now by Claire. “But I don’t love Maretta Kingston.”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Nobody does. But you’ll be doing this for Jefferson. For our town’s future. This is bigger than Maretta. Trust me.”

  Before Hope could say something, the doorbell rang, sending Bigelow racing through the house to the front door. Hope leapt up and chased behind him at full speed. He had a bad habit of jumping on the door, leaving scratch marks. Since she’d spent hours stripping and painting the wood door, she needed to break him of the habit.

  The dog training book she bought said she needed to create a calm environment for the training, and she needed to invite him to the closed door. Well, he wasn’t waiting for an invitation. He was already at the door and was excited by the prospect of a visitor; he was barking loudly and dancing on all fours.

  “Sit,” she commanded.

  A playful howl escaped Bigelow’s lips. The medium-sized brown-and-white dog continued to dance as Hope approached. At least he wasn’t jumping on the door.

  Baby steps, she guessed.

  “Sit,” she commanded again, pointing with her finger.

  The dog obliged. He settled into a perfect “sit” position as Hope reached for the doorknob. She pulled the door open and found her elderly neighbor, Peggy Olson, on her front porch.

  Hope’s smile faded when she saw the nervous look on Peggy’s face. The petite woman wore a pair of white pants with a blue blouse and a matching cardigan. Her short, thin white hair was messy. Her brown eyes were wide with confusion, and she was wringing her hands together.

  Hope immediately stepped out of her house onto the front porch and placed a hand on Peggy’s shoulder. “What’s the matter, Peggy?”

  “Oh, my . . . I can’t believe . . . Please, come over.” Peggy kept glancing toward the road. She lived a few houses away in a beautiful Victorian home her niece, Meg Griffin, had been maintaining while Peggy was recovering at a rehab facility. Hope had heard from another n
eighbor Peggy was home and she planned on visiting soon.

  “Of course I will. Can you tell me what’s happened?” Hope’s mind raced with scenarios of what could have happened in Peggy’s house. She tamped down the uneasiness that was settling in her gut. There was no need to jump to any conclusions. Remain calm, she told herself.

  “I’m thinking we can have tea around eleven.” Claire approached the doorway. She stopped when she saw Peggy. “Oh, hi. How are you today?”

  Peggy’s gaze darted to Claire. “Not good, dear. Please, Hope, come over. I don’t know how I did it. I can’t remember. Maybe I . . .” She turned and began walking down the porch steps.

  “What’s going on?” Claire asked.

  Hope looked over her shoulder. “I have no idea. I’ll be right back.” She dashed down the steps after Peggy.

  “Take your time. I’ll check your schedule and pick a date for the tea,” Claire called out as Hope caught up with Peggy, as the older woman stepped off the lawn and onto the road.

  Peggy grabbed hold of Hope’s arm as she walked. “Hurry, dear. There’s so much smoke.”

  Hope did a double take. Smoke? She stopped. Peggy’s house was on fire?

  * * *

  Hope entered the gracious Victorian house behind Peggy through a propped-open back door. The home was built in the mid-nineteenth century and was trimmed with elaborate gingerbread and painted a bright yellow. They walked through the butler’s pantry to reach the kitchen. Hope winced at the excruciating beeping noise emanating from the smoke detector.

  She dashed over to the stove, which was high-end thirty years ago. A six-quart yellow Le Creuset Dutch oven sat on a trivet next to the stove. She grabbed the potholder from the counter, lifted up the lid, and found a burnt heap of peppers and onions.

  “Dear, please make it stop.” Peggy pointed to the ceiling.

  “Okay. I can do that.” Hope returned the lid to the pot and looked around the kitchen. In its heyday it was top of the line and still hung on to its grandeur, even though the shiny newness had worn off. A hand-painted tile backsplash lined the granite countertop, while a butcher block center island with intricately carved legs stood solidly on the terracotta tile floor. She hurried over to the table and pulled out a chair. She moved the chair to under the smoke detector and climbed up.