The Hidden Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “Fascinating.” Jane held Hope’s gaze for a moment. “Before I forget, Sally and I will be attending the tea for Maretta. It’s very nice of you to host the event. You know, she can be a bit prickly, but she does have the best interest of Jefferson in her heart.”

  Prickly? Seriously? Maretta was practically an entire saguaro cactus. Not too long ago, when Hope attended a funeral reception at Maretta’s house, Maretta threw her out. Then Maretta publicly accused Claire of murder in the General Store. And as a housewarming gift, she gave Hope a broom. A broom.

  “I’m glad you’ll both be there. I’m going to join Felicity and the others for a cup of coffee. I’ll come back and fill you in on what I know about the fire.”

  “All right, dear. It’s a beautiful day and it should be enjoyed.”

  Hope nodded and walked toward the patio door. Jane was right. It was a beautiful day and since she had the morning to herself, she’d make sure it didn’t go to waste. A cup of coffee, a chat with fellow bloggers, which was a rare treat in her hometown, and maybe some antiquing.

  “Hope, dear . . .”

  Hope looked over her shoulder.

  “Be sure to keep me updated on anything you learn about the mysterious woman they found. It’s quite . . . fascinating.”

  Hope grinned. The retired mystery author was always looking for intrigue, and Hope often wondered why Jane hadn’t gone back to writing after her children went off to college and began their own lives. One day she’d ask Jane, perhaps over a cup of tea and one of Jane’s favorite blueberry muffins. Until then, Hope had work to do and a bit of her own curiosity to satisfy.

  She made her way to her friends on the patio. Louis noticed her right away and waved her over to the table he shared with Felicity and Elena. Felicity had settled in with a cup of coffee and her cell phone, while Elena was reading on her tablet.

  “Finally. Someone to talk to.” Louis stood and pulled out a chair for Hope. He looked less rumpled and more relaxed. Maybe the fresh air in Jefferson was agreeing with him. “You know bloggers, always on their devices posting or checking stats.”

  “Necessary evils. Do you mind if I pour myself a cup of coffee?”

  “No, not at all. Help yourself. I heard what happened at your neighbor’s house last night. Felicity said everyone at the diner was talking about it. Do you think there’s a connection between the fire and the postponing of the class? Did Cal know the homeowner who was killed? Do you think the class will be cancelled?” Louis’s rapid succession of questions finally ended when he bit into a buttered bran muffin.

  Felicity and Elena both looked up at the same time and annoyance flashed on their faces.

  “Seriously? Chill, Louis,” Felicity snapped.

  “Why are you being so morbid, talking about that tragedy over breakfast?” Elena asked.

  “I’m not being morbid. Aren’t you a little curious?” Louis spoke around a mouthful of muffin.

  “I don’t think Cal knew Peggy.” But what about the mysterious dead woman? Hope poured a drop of cream into her coffee and stirred. There was a missing woman in town. Lily Barnhart. Could she be the unidentified victim in Peggy’s house? No. That was crazy. What would Lily have been doing at Peggy’s? She doubted the women knew each other. But, what if they did?

  She had to find Ethan. There were perks of being friends with the police chief, like being able to have access to him, even in the middle of a high-profile case.

  “I’m sorry. I have to be somewhere.” Hope stood and rushed back into the inn. Luckily, Jane was on the phone and Hope didn’t have to explain her abrupt exit.

  She hurried along Main Street, heading south to the police department. The possibility the unidentified woman in Peggy’s house was Lily Barnhart was a reach. Most likely the dead woman was an old friend of Peggy’s or a caregiver. Those two options made more sense. Though, it was possible Peggy and Lily were friends. Hope didn’t know everything about Peggy’s life and barely knew anything about Lily’s life. Which meant anything was possible.

  She arrived at the police department, a one-story brick building set back from the road. A long concrete path led to the front door, while a wide driveway led around to the back of the building to a parking lot. Hope made her way along the path, passing a teak bench surrounded with bright flowers. A birdfeeder hung from the tree beside the sitting area and a loud chorus of chirps welcomed her to the tranquil spot for visitors. Well, at least those visitors not wearing handcuffs.

  Hope pushed open the front door of the building and stepped into the main reception area. Behind a protective glass wall, the dispatcher sat at an impressive electronics board. Hope tried to look over the dispatcher’s head into the open work area, where the officers had their desks and where Ethan’s office was. She didn’t see him.

  Freddy moved the microphone in front of his face and smiled. “Hi, Hope. What brings you here?”

  “I’m looking for Ethan. Is he around?”

  Freddy shook his bald head. “Sorry. He’s out. Want to leave a message?”

  A message? How would that go? Ethan, I think the dead woman in Peggy’s house is Lily Barnhart. No, Hope didn’t want to leave a message—written or voice mail. Her theory was better shared in person.

  “I’ll be happy to take the message for you, Miss Early.” The familiar voice from behind made her sigh with frustration.

  Her lips formed a thin, tight line. Detective Reid. Was he everywhere?

  She turned around. “Thanks. I’ll just leave a voice mail for him.” She’d only tell Ethan she needed to see him and ask to meet up with him. Reid didn’t need to know her completely speculative theory about what happened at Peggy’s house.

  “I’m sure whatever brought you here is important, so I’m happy to assist. Unless it’s personal.”

  “I wouldn’t come to see Ethan . . . er . . . Chief Cahill for personal business while he’s on duty.” Why was she explaining herself to him? She came to see Ethan, he wasn’t there, nothing more to say. Especially to Reid. Except, Cal’s missing wife could be the mystery woman from Peggy’s house. “I had a thought about the fire at Peggy’s house.” Why was she still talking?

  Reid crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a pointed look. “I’m listening.”

  She paused for a moment. Was Reid actually taking her seriously? There was a first time for everything. “The other woman who died in the fire could have been Lily Barnhart.”

  Reid’s demeanor didn’t change one iota. He showed no reaction, positive or negative, to her theory. “Why do you think that?”

  “Lily’s been missing for several weeks and an unidentified woman was discovered in Peggy’s house. Plus, Cal has postponed his workshop this morning.”

  “What makes you think we haven’t identified the body?”

  “I . . . I just thought . . .”

  “And if you’re correct, it would seem more reasonable Mr. Barnhart would have cancelled the workshop rather than postponed it. Thank you for stopping by. Have a nice day, Miss Early.”

  She hated to admit it, and would be loath to say it out loud, but Reid did have a point. If Lily was the woman who died in the fire, then Cal wouldn’t be holding class in the afternoon. So much for her sleuthing skills, which were pretty much nonexistent.

  “Then I won’t waste any more of your time.” Hope began to walk past the detective.

  “One more thing, Miss Early.”

  Ugh.

  “Remember, this is a police matter and civilian interference is not needed or welcomed.”

  Right.

  “Good-bye, Detective.” She pulled open the door and walked out of the police department. Everything Reid said made sense, so why did every fiber of her body tell her that her instinct was right?

  Chapter Seven

  Hope balanced the six-quart Dutch oven in her hands as she walked along the gravel path to Meg Griffin’s front door. Before she reached the front step, the door swung open and Meg appeared. Her normally flawless face
was blotchy and haggard, while her brown eyes were teary and guarded.

  “I’m so sorry, Meg.” Hope’s words were automatic and sincere. Whatever differences they’d had weren’t important. She hoped Meg felt the same way.

  “Thank you. Please come in.” Meg stepped back and allowed Hope to enter the foyer, which was open on both sides to a living room and dining room and a staircase straight ahead. Sunlight streamed in from the open kitchen and family room at the back of the house.

  “I made a batch of chicken orzo soup.” When Hope left the police department she had thrown herself into a cooking project to take her mind off the run-in and rejection from Detective Reid and the fact Ethan still hadn’t called her back. She debated sending him a text message but decided to be patient.

  Meg took the pot and led Hope to the kitchen. “You’re always so thoughtful.”

  Hope paused mid-step when she realized she hadn’t heard a sarcastic tone in Meg’s voice. She’d entered into unchartered territory and didn’t know quite how to handle herself. Pleasantly surprised, she hurried to catch up with Meg. Perhaps there was a chance the tragedy could bring them closer together. Maybe they could be friends again.

  “I can’t believe she’s gone. I mean . . . I knew this day would come. When she got sick and was rushed to the emergency room, the reality she wouldn’t be around forever hit hard.” Meg set the pot on the peninsula. “So, I began to mentally prepare for her passing. Isn’t that a horrible thing to say?”

  Hope arrived at the other side of the peninsula. She reached out and covered Meg’s hand with hers. “No, it isn’t. This is a part of life, and we shouldn’t avoid thinking about it or preparing for it. What happened isn’t your fault.”

  “You know, I was named after her. She was also my godmother.”

  For a brief moment, Hope stared at Meg. Gone was the competitive woman she’d known for far too long. In her place, Hope saw a sad little girl. Claire’s words earlier about Meg’s motives for wanting to keep Peggy in a nursing home were harsh. She wasn’t staring at a person who was counting her inheritance. It was clear how much Meg loved her aunt.

  Meg pulled her hand back. “How about some coffee? I have a fresh pot.” She busied herself with preparing two cups before Hope could answer. “Sally Merrifield came by earlier with a loaf of zucchini bread. Would you like a slice?”

  The thought of Sally’s famous zucchini bread had Hope’s mouth watering. She would have loved to indulge in a thick slice, but she was trying to watch her calories, and there wasn’t any time for a run later. She politely declined the bread but gratefully accepted the steaming cup of coffee. Restless nights made staying awake during the day challenging. Hope sat on a stool and looked around the kitchen. It had been years since she’d been inside Meg’s house. She actually couldn’t recall the last time she was there.

  “When my dad died,” Meg said as if reading Hope’s mind. “That was the last time you were here. Five years ago.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “You’re right. What happened to us? We were friends. We had fun together.”

  “We did.”

  “Now we barely speak a civil word to each other.” Meg dipped her head and took a sip of her coffee.

  Hope drank her coffee. She wasn’t there to rehash their history. For that, they’d need something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee. She was there to support and offer her condolences to a person she’d known since grade school. “It would be nice for that to change.”

  Meg’s lips curved into a small smile. “Yes, it would.”

  For the next twenty minutes they talked about Peggy. Meg shared some family photographs and stories about her rebel aunt, many of which Hope hadn’t heard before. Such as the period in Peggy’s life when she was a hippie. With a van full of friends, she went to Woodstock against her parents’ wishes. Then off she went with Ricky and eloped. Meg said her family was furious, not only because of the elopement but also at the newlyweds’ living in a motor home for three years. Hope shook her head in disbelief. Peggy was a wild child back in the day.

  “I probably should get going.” Hope didn’t want to overstay her welcome. It looked like their relationship had taken a positive turn.

  “First, let me get a bowl for the soup so you can take your pot. It’ll just take a moment to rinse out.” Meg went to where she’d set the pot on the counter.

  “Oh, it’s not mine.” Hope stood and carried her mug over to the sink. “It was your aunt’s pot.”

  Meg’s forehead crinkled with confusion. “Why do you have it?”

  “I took it from her a couple of days ago to clean.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a little incident. She burnt some peppers and onions, so I told her I would clean it for her. It’s not that hard, but the process is a little time-consuming. You see, you fill the pot with warm water and mild detergent and let it sit overnight. Then in the—”

  “Wait, she was cooking and burned her food? Peppers and onions? That was Uncle Ricky’s favorite dish.”

  Hope nodded. “That’s what she said.”

  “Why didn’t you call and tell me? Oh, my God. She must have been cooking last night. I told her not to cook. I provided her meals to heat up in the microwave. This is exactly why I wanted her either to have a live-in aide or relocate to a senior facility. You should have told me!”

  “She made me promise not to tell. She told me she wouldn’t cook anymore.”

  Meg’s face darkened as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Promise? What are you? Ten? You should have known better!”

  “She said she was going to use the meals you gave her. She was just going to use the microwave. Besides, the police—”

  “She probably forgot she told you that. I don’t believe this. Her death could have been prevented.” Meg unfolded her arms and stabbed a finger at Hope. “You were right before, this wasn’t my fault. It’s your fault!”

  Meg’s words hit Hope hard, like she’d been slapped in the face. “I don’t think it’s fair of you to say that.”

  “Fair? My aunt is dead. That’s not fair. You need to leave. Now.”

  Hope opened her mouth to defend herself, but Meg raised a palm, stopping Hope. In one sweeping motion, Meg lowered her hand, grabbed Hope’s purse, and shoved it at Hope. “Let me show you out.” She spun around and marched out of the kitchen.

  Hope followed. She tried to figure out a way to tell Meg the fire was most likely not started by her aunt’s cooking but by an arsonist. Why hadn’t the police told her last night? Her cell phone chimed Drew’s ringtone. Meg threw an irritated look over her shoulder as Hope pulled the phone out of her purse and swiped it on.

  “Now’s not a good time.”

  Based on the intensity of Meg’s glowering that was an understatement.

  “They’ve identified the second body in Peggy’s house,” Drew said. In the background Hope heard a horn honking and the rumble of a truck.

  Hope stopped walking. Meg must have heard Hope’s footsteps stop on her cherrywood floor because she turned and propped a hand on her hip.

  “Who was it?” Hope asked.

  “Surely you can take that call outside.” Meg continued to the front door.

  “Lily Barnhart! I’m on my way to Cal’s house. Gotta go.” The line went silent.

  Hope pulled the phone from her ear and stared at it for a moment as she processed the news. Turned out she was right. Her instinct was correct. But instead of feeling triumphant, she was sad. Two women were dead. There was nothing to be happy about.

  “Good-bye, Hope.” Meg pulled open the door and stood aside for Hope to exit.

  “The woman in your aunt’s house was Lily Barnhart.” Hope swiped her phone off and slid it back into her purse.

  “What? Why was she in my aunt’s house?”

  “Did they know each other?”

  Meg shook her head. “I have no idea. And even if I did, it’s none of your business. I have things to do toda
y. Like plan my aunt’s funeral.”

  “Of course.” So much for not overstaying her welcome. Hope stepped out onto the front step and turned to face Meg. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

  Meg closed the door hard, without as much as a good-bye. Hope sighed. The condolence call didn’t go as she expected. After adjusting her purse strap on her shoulder, she descended the front steps.

  “Hope Early?”

  Hope looked over her shoulder and saw a woman rushing from a trendy compact car parked next to her sensible SUV. The woman looked familiar and then it clicked as she got closer. Norrie Jennings, Drew’s competitive coworker. Wearing a floral dress with ballet flats and a crossbody bag, the young woman looked like she was dressed for a summer luncheon, not chasing down a story for the newspaper.

  “Yes.” Hope pulled out her key fob from her purse. There were several voice mails on her phone from reporters who wanted a quote from her about the fatal house fire. She didn’t call them back because there wasn’t an ounce of desire in her to do so.

  Norrie extended her hand to Hope and pumped a firm handshake. She was petite with short hair the color of ginger and had big green, inquisitive eyes. She didn’t appear to be the hard-nosed, career-driven, overachieving reporter Drew made her out to be. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Norrie Jennings. I’ve heard so much about you. You’re quite a celebrity in town.”

  “Not really.” Hope waved away Norrie’s big fuss. “I was just on a baking competition show a couple of years ago.”

  “And you’re friends with Mrs. Griffin?”

  “I have no comment.” Hope walked past Norrie toward her car. Since her reality show days, she’d gotten used to the “no comment” comment. She only wished her ex-husband had embraced the term at some point.

  “Oh, I’m not looking for a comment. I was just curious. I’m new in town, so I’m trying to get the lay of the land, you know?” Norrie flashed a bright smile that appeared to be sincere, but Hope had a feeling the young reporter wasn’t as wet behind the ears as she claimed to be. She’d already landed interviews with those close to Lily Barnhart.