The Hidden Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  Reid jotted down some notes. “Do you know if she had company recently?”

  Hope dragged her attention from the house and focused back on Reid. She shrugged. “She’s been in rehab for a while and I’ve been busy with my house and work. Besides, I really don’t pay much attention to the comings and goings at my neighbors’ homes.”

  The houses weren’t close. Each house was on a minimum of two acres. She loved the privacy the road provided, yet she wasn’t completely isolated and was within walking distance to town. Peggy’s house was set on three acres, and, with a couple of homes between them, Hope wouldn’t have easily seen anyone coming and going unless she was that nosy neighbor every street had.

  “When was the last time you were in her house?”

  “Two days ago.”

  “Was she alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she mention anybody else being in the house at the time? Perhaps staying with her?”

  “No.” If there had been someone there, why didn’t he or she turn off the smoke alarm the other day?

  “How are you so certain?”

  “Well, I’m not. I didn’t search her house. Why are you asking?”

  He looked at Hope point blank. “We found a second, badly burned body in the kitchen. Preliminary reports tell us it was a female.”

  Hope gasped. Her hand covered her mouth as she processed what she’d just been told. A second victim? A woman? Oh, no! “Meg?” She was the only person Hope knew who visited Peggy.

  Reid held out his hand to stop Hope’s racing thoughts. “Mrs. Griffin is alive. I spoke with her earlier.”

  Hope exhaled a relieved breath. “Thank goodness. We’re not the best of friends. Not since grade . . .” She realized she was rambling and stopped short. Her rocky relationship with Meg wasn’t important. There was a second fire victim. Who was she? Why was she at Peggy’s house? Could she have set the fire? Maybe something went wrong and she got trapped inside.

  “Do you think she’s the one who tossed the gas container by the garage?”

  “How do you know about that?” Reid’s dark eyes narrowed and he frowned.

  She knew that look all too well. “I heard about it last night and the fire chief labeled the fire as suspicious.”

  “Thank you for answering my questions.” He flipped his notepad closed. “I understand you tried to get to Mrs. Olson last night. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you weren’t injured or worse.” He turned and began to walk away but stopped. He looked over his shoulder. “One more thing, Miss Early.”

  Hope met his gaze.

  “This is an official police investigation, and I expect you to stay out of it. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, you are very clear.”

  He nodded and then continued to his sedan parked along the curb. Yes, he was never going to let that last incident go.

  Hope looked back at the house and to the garage, which was detached and showed signs of neglect, unlike the house. If the other woman set the fire, she would have had to douse the house with the gasoline, toss the can toward the garage, and then go back inside, where she eventually died. Why would she do that? Hope tried to put herself in the woman’s shoes. If she set a house on fire, she would hightail it out of there without looking back.

  She stepped away from the yellow caution tape and off the curb. Could Peggy have had someone visiting for the evening? Or, maybe Peggy had a friend staying with her. Whoever it was, there was a chance she could have been the target of the arsonist. Could Peggy be dead now because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time? As Hope looked at the fire-damaged house, a shiver coursed through her body. Two women were murdered the night before. Just a couple of houses from her.

  Hope used the short walk back to her house to review her to-do list. Mornings were her busiest time of the day. She’d fed the chickens and cleaned their coop. Next she’d fed Bigelow and walked him. Their twenty-minute walk did double duty—Bigelow expended energy and she checked social media on her phone. Normally after they returned home, she’d start work, but that day she had the photography workshop. Later in the day, she wanted to pay a condolence call to Meg. Tears welled up, but she pushed the emotion down by focusing on her to-do list.

  At some point she needed to select which recipes she’d feature for the fall season on her blog. Even though it was the very beginning of summer, she planned several months ahead for the content on her blog, just like she did when she was a magazine editor. At the magazine she would be working on Thanksgiving and Christmas features now because the magazine was always six months ahead. As the publisher of a blog, she could comfortably work three months ahead, which gave her more flexibility.

  Her head spun with all the things she needed to do until she saw Claire’s Mercedes parked in the driveway. Claire usually spent her mornings at the real estate office prepping for house hunting with clients or at the gym, looking for new listings. Recently, she’d been cramming campaign work for her mayoral bid into the first part of her day. So, what was she doing at Hope’s? The fire. Her sister was checking on her. She stepped up onto the curb and unhitched the latch on her front gate.

  Claire came into view as she stepped out of the barn. Clearly, her sister wasn’t dressed to be in a barn. Even though Hope kept her barn tidy, it wasn’t the place for high-heeled pumps and silk blouses.

  “There you are!” Claire made her way across the grass, which was damp from the morning dew. Her poor overpriced designer shoes.

  They met on the flagstone patio in the back of the house. “What are you doing here so early?”

  “I heard about the fire. Did Peggy fall asleep again while cooking?”

  “No, we don’t think so.”

  “Then what happened?” Claire shifted so the bright morning sun wasn’t shining directly in her eyes.

  “Drew told me last night an empty gasoline container was found out by the garage. And I just saw Detective Reid at Peggy’s house.” Hope still couldn’t believe he caught her about to duck under the crime scene tape and trespass onto a crime scene. Who would have thought he started work so early in the morning? Lesson learned. Snooping was better late at night.

  “What did Barney Fife have to say?”

  Hope cringed at Claire’s unflattering nickname for Reid. But she couldn’t blame her sister. While she wasn’t present when Reid arrested Claire for the murders at the end of winter, she was certain the event wasn’t pleasant for her sister. So, she kept her mouth shut about the nickname. At least for now.

  “There was a second woman in the house last night. She perished in the fire.”

  Claire drew in a shocked breath. “Who was it?”

  “From what he said, I don’t think they’ve identified the body yet.” Chills skittered along her spine. “I guess it’s possible Meg hired a caregiver for her aunt.”

  Claire arched an eyebrow, which told Hope her sister was due for a Botox injection. “You know she wouldn’t have done that. She’d put her aunt into a nursing home and sell the house. I hear Jerry’s business isn’t doing too well. In fact, they turned in their lease for their car sooner than necessary in order to downgrade to a less expensive model.”

  The amount of gossip her sister was privy to amazed Hope. Maybe if she didn’t spend most of her time in the house she’d know what was going on in town too.

  “If the woman wasn’t a caregiver, then who was she? And why was there a gas container by the garage?”

  “The gasoline could have been used for yardwork. A weed whacker or chainsaw. When you were over there the other day, did you see any signs of work outside?”

  “No.”

  “I hope you aren’t entertaining thoughts of investigating. Remember what happened last time,” Claire warned, pointing her finger at Hope. “The last time you did, you found yourself with a gun pointed at you. That was too close of a call.”

  Hope let out a sigh. She didn’t need a lecture from her sister about the dangers of actively tracking down a murderer
when you’re a full-time blogger because she knew firsthand. “Why are you here?”

  Claire lifted her chin and gave a small nod, signaling she’d let the topic go for now. “Maretta’s tea.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Here’s the list of people I invited to the event.”

  Hope scanned the long list of names. What was her sister thinking? “I thought this was supposed to be a small, intimate group.”

  Claire laughed. “A small, intimate group won’t get Maretta on the P&Z Commission. We’re up against Meg and, given what happened last night, she’ll use the sympathy vote to get the advantage. No, we need to go big. Thanks so much for doing this. It’s going to be great.” Claire adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder. “I’m showing Matt Roydon some houses this morning.” She flashed a big smile and her eyes twinkled.

  Hope was all too familiar with that twinkle. Flashbacks to her early days in the city when her sister set her up on a blind date all the way across town. She’d ventured out of her cozy apartment and trudged through a raging storm to meet an accountant for dinner. Hope later informed Claire being drenched in the rain was the highlight of the evening. So, seeing the twinkle in Claire’s eyes had Hope on the verge of dropping to her knees to beg her not to play matchmaker again. Even though Matt wasn’t anything like the boring accountant, who had mommy issues, she didn’t want to be set up.

  “I’m sure he’ll love all of the houses you show him.”

  “And I’m sure he’d like a little help decorating when he finally does make a purchase. You’re so good at decorating.” Claire shifted and began walking in the direction of her car. “I think we should all have dinner since he’s in town looking for his weekend house.”

  “I am a big girl and I can handle my own love life.”

  Claire stopped walking and turned to face Hope. “Which is pretty nonexistent at the moment. Matt is handsome, single, and successful. And he’s going to have a great house very soon.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Hope relented.

  “That was easy.” Claire sounded surprised. “I need to go. Talk later.” She turned and continued to her car.

  Hope headed into her house through the French door on the patio, while Claire drove off. If she continued to resist Claire’s matchmaking attempts, then she’d be pestered constantly until she caved. Hope’s agreeing to think about it would lead Claire to back off, which would give Hope time to find out who the mystery woman in Peggy’s house was and why she was there. She closed the door and stared out. Off into the distance, the rolling hills of her corner of the world seemed to reach the sky. Sadly, all of the beauty around her couldn’t erase the ugliness of the night before. Because of that, the next person Hope wanted to find was the person responsible for killing two women down the street.

  Chapter Six

  “I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night.” Jane Merrifield wagged a finger at Hope. “I had to hear it from a guest who went out this morning and overheard people talking about it at the Coffee Clique.”

  “I’m sorry. It was late and I didn’t want to wake you.” Hope expected the scolding so she was prepared with a plate of Lemon Bars when she entered the Merrifield Inn. After Claire left, Hope received a text message from Cal’s assistant informing her the workshop was postponed until the afternoon. That left time for Hope to do some baking for her impromptu visit with Jane.

  “There’ll be plenty of time to sleep when we’re dead. You know Sally and I are night owls.” Jane leaned forward on the reception desk, which was polished to a high-gloss shine. Guests had registered there for over a hundred years. Built in the late 1700s by merchant Edmund Merrifield as a private residence, the house was turned into an inn by a descendent a century later. It was still in the family, and Jane, along with her sister-in-law, Sally, came in each day for a few hours to work. “Why don’t I have Carly take over the desk and we can have a pot of tea and you can tell me everything that happened?”

  Before Hope could decline the invitation, Jane stood and stepped away from the desk. Who was she kidding? Hope couldn’t say no to Jane. The woman was practically an institution in town. The spry seventy-something married into one of the founding families of Jefferson and selflessly volunteered for any good cause. Before her marriage, she wrote five mystery books. Though she hung up her writing shingle, she didn’t lose her curiosity or propensity for looking for the mystery in anything and everything.

  “Tea would be lovely,” Hope said. “I’ve baked Lemon Bars. I know how much you enjoy them.”

  The twinkle in Jane’s pale blue eyes told Hope she’d been forgiven for her lapse in judgment the night before.

  “Now, start from the beginning so I have a clear understanding of all of the events.” Jane began to lead Hope away from the desk and into the living room.

  “I hate to disappoint you, but there isn’t much to tell.”

  “Peggy and a mysterious woman died in a house fire that’s labeled suspicious? My dear, that’s quite a bit to tell.” The telephone rang and Jane frowned. “Don’t go anywhere.” Jane shuffled back to the desk and lifted the phone’s receiver. The inn still used a clunky multi-line unit that wasn’t hands-free. “Thank you for calling the Merrifield Inn. How may I help you?”

  Hope heard footsteps on the stairs as Felicity’s voice drifted in the air and she looked over her shoulder.

  “They have my rate card. There’s no negotiation.” Felicity descended the staircase, one hand on the railing and the other holding a cell phone to her ear.

  Hope wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but Felicity was talking so loudly she couldn’t help overhear one half of the conversation.

  Felicity tossed her head back and laughed. “Good one. What did he say? Really?” She laughed again.

  From what Hope heard, it sounded as if Felicity was working on getting a sponsorship with a brand. Every food blogger craved such a deal. Those arrangements ranged from writing posts to recipe development to representing a company at events. Gone were the days when bloggers earned money solely from small ads on their websites. Now bloggers had to hustle for income. Hope was logging more working hours as a full-time blogger, but she loved the job.

  “She’s always attached to her phone,” Jane whispered to Hope, who walked back to the desk, as she set the receiver back down.

  Felicity caught Hope’s eye and smiled smugly, while continuing her conversation. “See what you can do. I want to work with them, but I won’t come down, considering all of the followers I have on Instagram,” Felicity said.

  “You’re on Instagram, aren’t you, Hope?” Jane asked.

  Hope nodded. There wasn’t a blogger she knew who didn’t have an Instagram account. That social media platform gave bloggers a place to gain new followers, to create engagement with their community, and to post the best food porn photographs that left mouths watering. Hope loved her Instagram page and often spent too much time there.

  Felicity ended her call as she came off the last step and joined Hope and Jane at the desk. Her thick auburn hair was swept back into an updo, with tendrils framing her high cheekbones. Her lined eyes sported false lashes, because nobody was born with those kind of lashes, and a gloss added shine to her deep burgundy-colored lips. She wore a navy blue shirt tucked into a pair of white capri pants and nude ballet flats. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she said to Hope.

  “Hope visits often. She’s a dear friend.” Jane sat again. “Miss Campbell was out on a run this morning. She said it was very different from her usual run.”

  Felicity’s head bobbed up and down. “Totally. It was nothing like running in Brooklyn. There wasn’t anybody out. I finally found people in the diner. Which, by the way, is so quaint.”

  The tone of Felicity’s voice left Hope unsure as to whether the diner had just received a backhanded compliment. Many city people didn’t appreciate the charm of living in a small town. And since the perky Brooklynite standing next to her wasn’t visiting Je
fferson to sightsee, she probably didn’t see any charm in a town with a historic Main Street, steepled churches, or horse farms dotted along the winding roads that connected Jefferson together.

  “What’s up with the class delay? Do you have any idea why we’re not starting until later today?” Felicity asked Hope.

  “No.” Hope had replied to Brenda’s text and asked why the class was delayed, but Cal’s assistant hadn’t answered.

  Felicity shrugged. “Oh, I just thought since you and Cal are friendly, he might have told you what was up.”

  “Your friends are out on the patio finishing their breakfast.” Jane pointed to the set of French doors at the end of the dining room. “Perhaps you’d like to join them.”

  “Guess I can grab another cup of coffee. If you have time, maybe you can join us too, Hope.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be right out.”

  “Great. I can tell you all about my new agent. She’s a dream and she’s landing me some sweet projects.” Felicity flashed a smile, then walked away from the front desk and through the dining room. When she reached the French doors, she pulled one open and stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

  “She’s up to something,” Jane said.

  Hope’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

  “My instinct tells me she’s trouble. Be sure you watch yourself around her, Hope. What was she talking about an agent? Bloggers have agents? Do you have one?”

  “Yes. I signed with her a couple of months ago.” When Hope began her blog in her Upper West Side condo, she never thought about an agent. Back then agents were for authors and actors. Bloggers? They didn’t need representation. They reached out to companies on their own or vice versa. Fast-forward a few years and bloggers became influencers and in demand by big companies, who paid big bucks. Having reached a respectable following across several social media platforms, Hope had decided it was time to find out what an agent could do for her.