The Hidden Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  Hope’s mouth gaped open. Her sister was siding with Maretta Kingston, of all people? How could she?

  “We just hugged. I was leaving his house after we had coffee and talked. Nothing else happened. It was just a hug!” Hope used Drew’s dramatic hand gestures to get the point across. “Just a hug!” The doorbell rang again. Thank goodness.

  Hope stomped away to let in the first of the guests. Before she reached the front door, she ditched the newspaper and pasted on a warm smile. As the ladies entered her home, she was on the receiving end of several sly smiles and curious glances. Yep, they’d all read the newspaper with their breakfasts. The stream of guests trailed off, with a few running late. Just as she was about to close the door and join everyone in the family room, one last-minute guest showed up, and Hope was surprised by her arrival.

  “I’m happy you were able to come today.” As she closed the door, she caught a whiff of a citrusy perfume Elaine Whitcomb had apparently bathed in.

  “Lionel does business with Maretta’s husband, so I’m here in that capacity.” Elaine gave Hope a cool look and her voice was icy. They wouldn’t be exchanging girlfriend bracelets anytime soon.

  “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here. Everybody’s in the family room, and we’re about to get started.” Hope gestured for Elaine to proceed ahead.

  Elaine’s hips swayed as she walked through the foyer in high-heeled strappy sandals. Her leopard print wrap dress hugged her hourglass figure and a clutch bag dangled carelessly in her fingers.

  Claire passed Elaine as she entered the foyer. “She came?” she mouthed while pointing her thumb at Elaine.

  Hope shrugged.

  “All they’re talking about is the article and photograph. How could you, Hope?” Claire asked.

  “I didn’t do anything.” She whisked past her sister and went to the family room, where her guests mingled. Some were at the buffet, others were grouped into seating areas, chatting. She heard bits of conversations as she passed through the room. They were discussing her, Cal, Lily, and the fire.

  “These White Chocolate Chip Scones are delicious. I must have the recipe for the inn.” Sally Merrifield approached Hope, a half-eaten scone on a plate.

  Sally was equally enthusiastic about town politics and baked goods. She always asked for a recipe of something she enjoyed, and Hope was happy to oblige. “I’ll e-mail it to you later today.”

  “Good. Good. Now, I think you should know everyone is buzzing about the photograph in the newspaper.”

  Before Hope could reply, Maretta rushed past her. “Finally, the press has shown up.”

  Hope glanced over to Claire. “Press?”

  “I sent a press release to the Gazette. This is news.” Claire followed Maretta to the foyer.

  “Your sister is correct. This is news.” Sally bit into the remaining half of her scone before turning to walk away.

  It was only eleven in the morning, but Hope was exhausted. First, Brenda, and now, the circus in her home. She wanted to get the event over with so they’d all leave and she could crawl back into bed. Just when she thought her day couldn’t get any worse, Claire and Maretta returned with Norrie behind them.

  “Hello, Hope. You have a great house.” Norrie smiled brightly as she surveyed the open space. “You’re really doing all the work yourself?”

  “I’m sure you didn’t come here today to talk about DIY projects,” Maretta interrupted. “Let’s get started. I have an announcement to make.”

  Hope ignored Norrie and Maretta and zoomed in on her sister. “What is she doing here? She’s not welcome in my house.”

  “Calm down. We don’t need a scene.” Claire led her sister away from Norrie.

  “I think it’s a little too late for that advice,” Hope said.

  “Everybody, please. If I could have your attention.” Maretta clapped her hands together as she took center stage in front of the fireplace. She lifted a pair of reading glasses to her face as she prepared to read from a sheet of paper.

  The guests quieted down as they turned their attention to Maretta. Elaine sat on the sofa next to Jane. She crossed her legs and jutted out her ample bosom. Jane shifted. She looked as if she was trying to get comfortable again. Claire dropped onto the edge of an ottoman while Hope stood off to the side, where she had a good view of Norrie. The reporter positioned herself across from Maretta to take photographs. Hope wanted to keep an eye on Norrie, to make sure she didn’t disappear and snoop through her house.

  “Thank you all for coming here today,” Maretta said. “I’ve given much thought about the opportunity the Planning and Zoning Commission offers. The commission has great oversight when it comes to the development in town and, with that, great responsibility.”

  Hope scanned the room. Heads nodded in agreement and Claire smiled with pride. So far, so good. The speech should take just a few more minutes, then everyone would help themselves to more food, chat about Maretta’s speech, and head out the door.

  “I’ve also given much thought to how I could best serve my hometown of Jefferson.” Maretta lowered the hand that held her glasses. She stopped reading from the paper. “I feel serving on the P&Z Commission doesn’t afford me the best opportunity to serve Jefferson.”

  Hope looked around the room. The heads stopped nodding, and Claire’s smile faded as confusion glazed over her face.

  “I feel the best way to serve the town I love is by running for the office of mayor. Jefferson needs me, and I’m ready to serve. Today, I officially announce my candidacy for mayor.” A triumphant smile stretched across Maretta’s thin face.

  Oh, boy. Confusion gave way to anger. Redness spread across Claire’s face, and Hope dashed to her sister just in time to stop her from jumping up from the ottoman.

  “No,” Hope said.

  “But . . . she . . . what . . . ?” Claire muttered, unable to complete a thought.

  “Take a deep breath and count to ten and take another breath. Remember, we don’t want to create a scene.” Hope held a firm grip on Claire’s shoulder, despite her death glare. Their mother would be so proud of Claire’s master of the facial expression because Hope was certainly scared by it, but not enough to let Claire do something foolish.

  “Sounds like good advice.” Norrie approached with her camera poised for a photograph. “And here I thought this was going to be one of those dull teas for ladies who lunch. I love my job.”

  “Good for you,” Hope snapped. “Do you mind giving us a moment?”

  “Sure. Right after I get a quote. Mrs. Dixon, how do you feel about the announcement today? You were under the impression Mrs. Kingston was seeking the open position on the P&Z Commission and then she pulled the rug right out from under you by announcing her bid for mayor.”

  “My sister has no comment.” Though, Hope had a few choice comments of her own for both Maretta and Norrie, but they would remain private. Just like any comments Claire had at the moment.

  Claire jerked her shoulder free of Hope’s grip and stood. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “Actually, I do have something to say.”

  “No, you don’t.” Hope gave her sister a stern look.

  Norrie inched closer to Claire. “What is it you want to tell the people of Jefferson?”

  Hope inserted herself between Claire and the reporter. “She doesn’t have a comment at this time. Now, please leave my house.”

  Norrie’s mouth opened to protest but before she could say a word, she was cut off by Sally, who came to Hope’s side. “Let me show you out, Miss Jennings.”

  “I still have more questions,” Norrie said as Sally wrapped an arm around her and led her toward the foyer. Her protests eventually faded as the two women disappeared out of the room.

  Not only would Sally get the recipe for the White Chocolate Chip Scones, Hope would bake her a special batch as a thank-you for showing Norrie the door. With the reporter situation taken care of, Hope wanted to focus on her sister’s situation.


  “I can’t believe Maretta! Where is she?” Claire bolted in search of her opponent.

  “Looks like your little tea party is over,” Elaine said. “I for one am glad Maretta has thrown her hat into the ring. Looks like you won’t get to be the First Sister of Jefferson.”

  “The what?” Hope asked.

  “You know, like the First Lady, but you’re her sister. Guess you shouldn’t have counted your chickens before they hatched.”

  “I haven’t counted anything. I need to check on Claire.” Hope shook her head in confusion as she wove through the guests. The one good thing that came out of Maretta’s unanticipated announcement was there was a new topic of conversation. The chatter shifted from the photo in the Gazette to Maretta’s surprising news.

  “Seriously?!”

  Meg’s loud voice broke all the conversation hubs and had all heads turning to the entry into the family room, including Hope’s. Meg stood holding a rolled-up newspaper. The Gazette, Hope guessed.

  “You’re at it again!” Meg stormed into the room, making a beeline for Hope as mouths gaped open and eyes widened with a mixture of horror and excitement.

  “I’m sure we can calmly discuss whatever has you upset.” Hope reached out, but Meg recoiled. A calm discussion didn’t seem likely.

  “You’re turning my aunt’s murder into a fiasco. The article is all about you. Your blog. Your amateur sleuthing abilities. Your relationship with Cal. You. You. You. What about Aunt Peggy? She’s the victim.” Tears streamed down Meg’s cheeks. Her eyes were puffy and her face was blotchy. She must’ve been crying since the newspaper arrived at her house.

  “I had no idea Norrie was writing the article. Most of what she wrote isn’t true.”

  “Playing innocent again? Just like when you got the role of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz after you pestered Mrs. Collins about it for days and then claimed you had no idea why she changed her mind. That role was mine! I ended up being the Wicked Witch of the West. I had to wear that stupid green face makeup and I had a breakout for weeks and that’s when we had our class photographs taken!”

  “Do you hear yourself? You’re holding on to something that happened decades ago. Look, if you don’t believe me about the article, there’s nothing I can do about it. But don’t come barging into my home and yell at me.” Hope’s spine was straight, her shoulders squared, and she wasn’t backing down. There’d be no more apologizing.

  “Meg, honey, how about a cup of tea?” Beth Green swooped in and led Meg to the buffet.

  Hope nodded her appreciation. As much as she was angry with Meg, she still had empathy for the woman because of the loss she’d suffered.

  Once Meg was settled with tea, the rest of the guests returned to their conversations and Hope continued to look for Claire.

  She found her sister on the front porch with Jane. A soft breeze swept by, and the clucking of her hens off in the distance harkened to what should have been a lovely spring English tea party, not a fiasco of cutthroat politics.

  “Her car is gone.” Claire pointed to the line of parked vehicles. “She left. Just like that. She dropped the bomb and then hightailed it out of here. Can you believe her?” Claire dropped her arm and paced the length of the porch.

  “She never mentioned an interest in running for mayor?” Jane asked.

  “No, never. If she had, I certainly wouldn’t have hosted this tea for her. I expected to have an opponent, but I didn’t think it would be her. What am I going to do?” Claire stopped pacing. Her shoulders sagged and her gaze searched Hope’s eyes for answers.

  Her sister needed support and reassurance. Hope gladly stepped up to the plate. “You’re going to go back in there and put on a happy face.” She pointed to the front door.

  “Happy face. Really?”

  Hope squeezed Claire’s arm. “Really. You’re not going to let anyone see you’re upset. You’re their candidate. They came here today because you’re the woman they want as their mayor.”

  “They came here because I asked them to support Maretta.”

  “Support her for the P&Z Commission.”

  Claire nodded. “Okay. You’re right. I’ve got this.”

  “You’ve got this.” Hope let go of her sister and was about to turn to go back inside her house when the sound of approaching vehicles caught her attention. Two Jefferson police SUVs pulled into her driveway. A moment after the engines were turned off, Ethan exited one vehicle. She could’ve used a police officer earlier when the tea party took a downward turn. Even though he was a little late, he was a welcome sight. Though, the driver who exited the second vehicle wasn’t.

  Detective Reid. What now?

  “Ethan, we’re in the middle of a crisis at the moment.” Hope gestured for Claire and Jane to go inside, but they stood firm. Whatever the reason for the visit from the police, she was going to have an audience.

  “We need to talk. Now.” Ethan’s voice was stern and official sounding as he climbed the porch steps.

  Dread whooshed through her and yet she still asked, “What’s going on?”

  Reid followed Ethan up to the porch. He looked grim, as usual. “We’d like to know what you were doing at Hans Vogel’s house.” Reid reached into the breast pocket of his navy blazer and pulled out a notepad.

  “Hans Vogel. What were you doing at his house? The man is a recluse, a hoarder, and a nasty person.” Claire stepped forward, next to Hope. “But his lot is a good size. If it got cleaned up, he could sell for a decent price.”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in selling because he’s dead,” Reid added.

  Claire gasped. “Oh, my.”

  Hope dragged in a breath. She’d just seen him a few days ago. How could he be dead?

  “Is that so?” Jane’s blue eyes widened with a hint of curiosity.

  Hope could tell Jane’s wheels were turning about the news. Like Hope, she was probably trying to piece together the sequence of events.

  Hope spoke with Hans about Lily and then he ended up dead. A coincidence? Or murder?

  Jane had agreed with Hope the hoarder didn’t seem to be a likely suspect in Lily’s disappearance and fatal fire because he lacked the sophistication to plan out those events. However, he could have known something about the crimes and the killer wanted to make sure he didn’t tell anyone.

  “You’re here because you think Hope killed Hans?” Jane asked.

  Chapter Twenty

  “What have you gotten yourself into?” Claire paced the length of the kitchen. “Why did you go there? To clean?” She was channeling their mother in her tone of voice and cadence, and she’d nailed the disapproving head shake.

  Detective Reid raised a hand. “Mrs. Dixon, please. I need to ask your sister a few questions.” When Claire complied, he sat across the table from Hope, with his notepad open and pen in hand.

  For the first time, Hope appreciated the detective. Though, she was confident the newfound appreciation wouldn’t last for long, not once his attention turned back to her. When it did, the questions were routine about her visit to Hans Vogel. She was a little distracted as she answered because she kept glancing to Ethan, who was leaning against the island with his arms crossed over his chest and his face furrowed in deep thought. It didn’t take a detective to know what was on his mind. Three deaths in less than one week. That was a lot for a police department the size of Jefferson’s to investigate, and it had to be taking a toll on Ethan.

  “How did you know I was there?” Hope asked.

  “We found a plate of cookies in the kitchen,” Ethan said. “Lemon Ricotta. I recognized the plate and the cookies.”

  Hope nodded. She’d dropped off a plate of cookies a week earlier for Ethan at the police department and she’d used one of those plates she’d purchased at the flea market. “How did he die? And do you have a time of death?”

  “We’re the ones asking the questions, Miss Early,” Reid answered.

  “That’s because they’re the police and you’re not.�
� Claire passed behind Hope, continuing to pace.

  Reid ignored Claire’s comment. “What time were you at his house?”

  “Wait one minute.” Claire halted and her tone changed to protective. “If you suspect my sister of having any involvement with Vogel’s death, then I want to call Matt Roydon.”

  “No, Claire, we don’t suspect Hope of murder.” Ethan unfolded his arms and shoved his hands into his pants pockets. Hope could tell his patience was waning once he started to shift.

  “You don’t?” Hope asked.

  “Should we?” Reid asked.

  “No!” None of this made sense to her. “Then why are you here?”

  “We want to know why you were there,” Ethan said.

  Hope stood and walked around the island. She poured a cup of coffee and stirred in a dash of cream as she considered what to tell them. A motion outside on the patio caught her eye. It was Elaine strutting past the French doors and then she disappeared. After Ethan and Reid entered her house, her guests were ushered outside by Sally and Jane, where they could finish their tea and gossip about the newest turn of events.

  “Why were you there?” Claire propped her hands on her hips and gave Hope their mother’s powerful “you better spill the truth now or else” look. “I went to look for an old sign. I heard he had a collection.” Hope took a drink of her coffee and chided herself for not being completely forthcoming, but all she had so far were hunches and gossip. Nothing concrete. Nothing solid. Nothing she could prove. At least not yet.

  “Did you buy a sign?” Reid inquired.

  Hope pulled her attention back to the matter at hand. “No.”

  Reid jotted something down on his notepad. “What did you two talk about beside his sign collection?”

  Hope shrugged. “He mentioned his wife and we briefly discussed the mandate the P&Z Commission made regarding his property. He’d had an outburst at the last hearing and was very angry with Lily.”

  “I knew it!” Claire had her own little outburst. “You’re sleuthing again! This is why some psycho left the note yesterday.”