She had to get up. One more push of momentum and determination and she was sitting up.
Great. Now what?
The room spun and the blurriness came back, along with a heavy dose of drowsiness. She wouldn’t surrender. She wouldn’t give up. She’d power through the pain and dizziness.
Come on, Hope, you can do it!
Nausea rolled through her as the spinning in her head became faster. Oh, God.
As she succumbed to her heavy eyelids closing, her body fell back to the floor. Her last thought as she drifted into unconsciousness was she was grateful Bigelow wasn’t home.
Her dog would be safe.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Hope’s eyes opened and she moaned. Why was she on the floor? What happened? Her hands were bound. And her feet, too.
Why?
Snippets of recall flashed. She’d hit her head.
Her eyes opened wider as her memory trickled back. She’d hit her head after she was pushed. She must’ve been knocked unconscious. How long was she out? Who pushed her?
Too many questions for her throbbing head to wade through but . . . what was that smell? Her nose sniffed harder.
Smoke!
Everett.
All the memories came crashing back.
Everett had thrown her on the floor. Tied her up. Laughed. There wasn’t any pity or remorse, just his arrogant confession of murder and arson. She twisted her head to look over her shoulder. Every inch of her body was sore.
Her eyes widened in terror at the sight of smoke billowing out from the front of the house.
Her house was on fire!
She coughed violently. The smoke was filling up her lungs. It was so hard to breathe.
She struggled to right herself but couldn’t. She was tied too tightly. She couldn’t get enough leverage to lift her body up. Damn.
No. She wasn’t going to die in a fire.
She worked the rope around her wrists, but they were tied so tightly they cut into her skin. The blood was sticky on her fingers. Tears welled in her eyes. Defeat threatened to overwhelm her.
More thick smoke filled the room. The heat from the fire intensified. It was getting closer to her.
She couldn’t untie herself, but maybe she could inch her way to the French doors and kick out the glass.
With every ounce of strength she could tap into, she pushed herself along the floor. She willed herself to stay positive. She concentrated on getting out, seeing Claire, and hugging her niece and nephew. Her belly glided across the floor. Slow. So slow. She barely had any energy left. She couldn’t go on.
Her head hit the floor. She’d barely made it to the end of the sofa. To get to the doors, she needed to turn her whole body around the end of the sofa. She couldn’t do that. Tears streamed down her face. Was this how it was going to end? She coughed again. Smoke was overtaking her and her eyes began to close again.
“Hope! Hope!”
Ethan?
“Hope! Are you in here?!”
Hope’s eyes closed. Her coughing and her fight succumbed to the smoke.
“Oh, God! Hope!”
Love you, Ethan.
“Hang on, honey. Hang on.” His voice was raspy and he coughed. “I’ve got you now.”
No. Save yourself.
“I’m going to get you out of here.”
Fire! Leave! Save yourself !
“Can you hear me?”
She wanted to answer him, to wrap her arms around him, but all she could do was lie there on the floor. Wait. She was being lifted, scooped up. What was going on? Her body bounced, like it was running. But she wasn’t. Her head bobbed. Her neck was sore. Air. Fresh air hit her, but there wasn’t any room for it in her lungs. She was too weak.
“Breathe! Hope, breathe, damn it!”
Was she outside? Out of the fire? She was able to drag in a small breath. God that hurt. She smelled freshly cut grass. Under her body, she felt the softness of the ground. Her hands weren’t restricted anymore. Her feet were freed too. Another breath. Another cough. More fresh air.
“You’re safe, Hope. Can you hear me? You’re safe.”
Hope’s eyes opened. Was she dreaming? Was Ethan really leaning over her? He swept back the hair off her face. He was real. Her hero. Her handsome, rock-solid hero. Though, he was blurry. She couldn’t focus on any of Ethan’s features. She coughed, ragged and deep. Her lungs burned. Her throat felt raw and her head spun with confusion.
Sirens blared in the distance.
Ethan straightened. “Over here.”
Hope threw up an arm and grabbed him. He couldn’t leave her. She was too scared to be alone.
“Hey, I’m not going anywhere.”
“Prom . . . promise?” Her voice sounded so small to her ears.
He nodded. “Promise.” He removed her hand from his arm and held it firmly in his hand. He kissed her palm lightly.
The blurriness lingered and she barely made out dark shoes approaching before two men dropped down to their knees. Her body tensed. Who were they? She heard their voices but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. One positioned an oxygen mask over her face. Oh, they were paramedics. Ethan answered their questions and walked beside the stretcher to the ambulance. The paramedics lifted the stretcher into the ambulance on the count of three and Ethan climbed in, sitting on the bench.
“Who did this? Can you tell me?” he asked.
“Ev . . . Ev . . .” She squeezed her eyes shut, frustrated she couldn’t say one simple name. “Et . . . Ev . . . Et.”
“Are you trying to say Everett?”
Hope nodded. Panic surged through her body. A flash of being yanked back from the front door hit her hard. “Yes. Him.”
“We need to get going, Chief,” one of the paramedics said.
“Hope, you have to go to the hospital, and I need to get my men looking for Everett. I promise I’ll be at the hospital in a little while. Okay?”
Fear rippled through her.
He must have seen it in her eyes. “Hey, you’re safe now. Nothing is going to happen to you. You have my word. Have I ever let you down?”
“No,” she whispered.
She lifted her hand and touched Ethan’s face. Day-old stubble pricked her fingers. He needed a shave. She smiled. He took her hand into his and kissed it lightly.
“See you soon.” He let go of Hope’s hand.
“Okay,” she murmured as her eyes closed.
Ethan exited the ambulance and then closed the doors.
She looked to the paramedic next to her. “Guess I’m lucky.”
The paramedic nodded. “I’d say.”
“How bad is my house?”
“Don’t worry about your house. We’re going to get you to the hospital. You’re going to be fine.”
The motion of the ambulance speeding away with sirens left Hope desperately wanting to go back to see her house. To see how much damage was done by Everett. Her heart sank. All the work she’d done to restore the home was now for naught. Like Peggy’s house, it too was destroyed. As the ambulance made a turn, she wondered if she had the strength to start over again.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The beautiful Saturday afternoon brought people out looking for treasures and bargains, like the group of women walking ahead of Hope. They were more interested in antiquing than the recent events in Jefferson, which were murder and arson. The shoppers were dressed in comfortable walking shoes and each carried a large tote bag. Hope envied their “not a care in the world” swagger. She glanced at Bigelow, who walked beside her, and he looked up to her with his big brown eyes filled with unconditional love.
A pain stabbed at her heart. She had been so close to never seeing him again.
A chorus of loud disappointment drew Hope from her “what might have been” thoughts to the group of shoppers ahead. They’d stopped at the Red House Antique Shop and stared at the CLOSED sign on the front door. Little did they know the shop was closed because its owner was
a wanted man in two murders, one attempted murder, and three arson cases. They sucked up their disappointment and continued a few feet to another antique shop, while Hope and Bigelow remained in front of Everett’s former business.
She looked into the shop’s window. Not too long ago she’d stood in there talking with Everett and handing over her credit card for the table. Had she only known she wasn’t talking to a friend, maybe she wouldn’t have almost ended up dead and her beloved home would have been spared being set on fire.
Bigelow barked. She looked at the little guy and was so grateful he’d been out on a playdate with Buddy when Everett revealed his true colors and doused her house with gasoline. She couldn’t bear losing Bigelow.
Tears filled her eyes. Again. She’d been on an emotional roller coaster since being released from the hospital a day after the incident. With smoke inhalation, combined with a concussion and bruised ribs, the hospital kept her for observation. Normally, she balked at being kept confined, but for once she didn’t put up an argument. Her body needed to heal and her mind had to sort some things out. She seemed to be crying at the silliest things and was guarded around those closest to her. How could they understand what she was going through when she couldn’t? Time. Maybe she just needed time.
She sipped her coffee. Bless Kimberly, the co-owner of the Coffee Clique, for “not seeing” Bigelow when Hope popped into the shop for her much-needed caffeine. Hope didn’t have clearance to drive yet from her doctor, so Claire had driven her sister into town, then dashed off for a house showing. Hope planned on visiting Sally and Jane and was headed in the direction of the inn.
The Merrifields had been so kind, visiting her in the hospital and then checking up on her since her release. Because of the damage done to her house by the fire, she’d been staying with Claire. She took another sip of her coffee. Her niece and nephew loved having Bigelow stay with them. Claire? Let’s just say it was an adjustment. It seemed that four thousand square feet of living space wasn’t big enough for both Claire and Bigelow. She hoped the fire restoration company she hired would make quick work of getting her home back to the way it was before the fire.
“There you are, dear.”
Hoped turned at the lyrical sound of Jane’s voice. As always, a smile covered her face and her blue eyes twinkled with delight. Her soft pink floral dress flitted in the light breeze as she walked toward Hope.
“I was just on my way to see you and Sally.” Having another near-death experience reminded Hope of how important friends and family were to her. In those dark moments, when she didn’t believe she’d make it out of her house alive, she thought about never seeing those she loved. That pain was more excruciating than whatever physical pain she had been in. And now the memory hit her hard, causing her heart to ache all over again.
“It’s a lovely day for a walk. You need all the fresh air you can get.” Jane came to a stop and reached down and patted Bigelow on the head, which he accepted graciously.
Hope said a silent thank-you to the dog-training gods because he didn’t slobber Jane’s hand with his excited kisses.
Jane straightened and set her gaze on Hope. “How are you feeling?”
Truthfully, Hope didn’t know. It had only been five days since her release from the hospital. Some days her chest hurt because of something as simple as breathing. Her head sometimes spun and a wave of nausea hit her. Other times her throat was so scratchy she didn’t think it would ever heal. The ups and downs of recovery, she guessed.
“A little better. My throat still hurts and so do my ribs. And my head, actually. But each day it’s a little less discomfort.” She hated not feeling well. She hated having a laundry list of ailments or complaints. Most of all, she hated people feeling sorry for her.
Jane’s smile widened. “In no time you’ll be back to your old self.” Her gaze drifted to the closed shop and her smile slid into a frown. She was probably thinking what every other person in Jefferson was thinking—how was it possible that the mild-mannered Everett Cranston was an arsonist and murderer? Hope knew how. He was a psychopath.
“You did a wonderful job uncovering him as the killer. Though, you did find yourself in a very dangerous situation.”
A rueful laugh escaped. Talk about an understatement.
“I’m very glad you weren’t seriously hurt.” Jane’s eyes cast down. “Or murdered.”
So was Hope.
“However, on the bright side”—Jane glanced back to Hope—“you’re very good at being an amateur detective. You have a mind for murder.”
Hope wasn’t sure if she wanted a mind for murder since it’d almost gotten her killed twice in as many months. Though, both times she did manage to escape with just a few minor injuries. It probably was just luck and how long could she rely on luck to keep her alive if she kept playing detective?
“I’m not Barbara O’Neill,” Hope said. Jane’s fictional detective was far braver and always seemed to get away unscathed.
“I know that, dear. You’re a real person I care deeply about. I’d never want to see you hurt, and it saddens me that you were.” Jane’s soft voice was sincere. “But, when you have a gift like you do, you must use it. You helped solve two murders. I envy you, dear.”
She envied Hope? No one should envy the foolish choices she’d made. While she might have a penchant for investigating and she did find it a little exciting, okay, very exciting, she put herself in danger. “The next murder mystery is all yours.”
Jane laughed as she reached out and patted Hope’s arm. “Enough of this. Let’s go to the inn so Sally can see for herself that you’re on the mend. And we can indulge Bigelow with some peanut butter cookies from that adorable little pet boutique.”
“Sounds good to me.” Hope looped her arm into the crook of Jane’s, and the three of them started walking toward the inn. Bigelow walked obediently by her side, his eyes wide open, looking at everyone they passed. Hope was very pleased with him. He was getting better on the leash and his manners were improving. Maybe hiring a trainer wouldn’t be necessary. They walked by shops and a few private homes on their way to the inn. Abundant flowerpots were set outside the front doors, and many of the shops had benches set out for people to sit and relax. Main Street was idyllic and gave no hint to the horror that played out recently. People chatted as they walked by and the birds chirped. She could see how special Jefferson looked to visitors.
“Your blogging friends have left. They were an interesting bunch. I can’t believe sweet Elena had an affair with Cal. Foolish girl. Those things never work out.”
“I’m going to miss Louis. He was fun.” Hope enjoyed his company and laid-back attitude, but most of all she loved his passion for blogging. It was refreshing. She intended to stay in touch with him. Who knew, maybe they could partner up for some projects.
“Felicity was a piece of work.”
“Tell me about it. She’s the one who took the photo of Cal and me and sent it to Norrie.”
Jane stopped walking. “She did?”
Hope nodded. “Felicity has a competitive streak. I saw it at the audition and at a few blogger conferences we both attended.” She understood Felicity’s ambition. Blogging wasn’t easy. With over seven million blogs on the Internet, few bloggers made a livable income from their blog. So, any type of exposure, from a television show to a brand endorsement to a magazine article, was coveted.
“She should be ashamed of herself. She put you in an awkward position.”
Hope couldn’t argue that point. But compared to what happened with Everett, it really was nothing. There was a good chance she’d run into Felicity at a future blogger conference and she’d deal with the conniving blogger then.
The front door of Hair-O-Rama, Jefferson’s popular hair salon, opened, and Maretta stepped out into the sunshine. She stopped short when she saw Hope and Jane and the look on her face soured just as Hope’s mood did. They hadn’t spoken since Maretta announced her bid for mayor a week ago. Though, Maretta
and Alfred did send her a lovely flower arrangement with a note wishing her a speedy recovery.
The three women stood looking at one another in an awkward silence. Hope really didn’t have anything to say to Maretta other than thank you for the flowers. And Maretta didn’t indicate she’d be uttering any words, preferring to glower at Hope instead.
“It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?” Jane broke the ice. She glanced at Hope and the look on her face was very readable. She wanted Hope to say something. Anything.
Hope did her best to keep from rolling her eyes because she adored Jane and would do anything for her. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re very pretty.”
Maretta lifted her chin and her judgmental brown eyes fixed on Hope. “What happened to you shocked us all. Though, you really couldn’t have been too surprised you’d gotten yourself into another mess by sticking your nose where it didn’t belong. You’re lucky the neighbors called nine-one-one right away.”
Hope bit her tongue. To engage with Maretta meant she’d have to stoop down to her level. And quite frankly, Hope didn’t have the dexterity or desire to do so. “I’m fortunate to have good neighbors.”
“If it weren’t for Hope, Everett might have never been identified as the killer.” Jane squeezed Hope’s hand for added support. “We should all be thanking her for what she did and not blaming her for the unfortunate incident at her house.”
Unfortunate incident? Another understatement.
“It figures you’d take that view, given you’re the one who’s encouraging her to be an amateur sleuth or whatever you call it. Now it appears, when I’m elected mayor, I’ll have my hands full cleaning up the town corruption.”
“My sister is still in the race.” Hope always supported whatever her sister wanted to do, but now she intended to not only jump on board the bandwagon of the mayoral race, but be leading it to victory. She’d brainstormed ideas for events and rallies and would use every trick she ever learned about public relations to help her sister beat the support hose off Maretta.
“I really don’t have time to chat. I have a campaign to manage.” Maretta briskly walked past them and eventually disappeared inside her husband’s real estate office down the street.
The Hidden Corpse Page 26
