THE UNINVITED CORPSE
Hope continued down the hallway and stopped at the closed study door. She twisted the doorknob then entered with Drew behind her. A wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases greeted them, along with the faint smell of cigars. Leather furniture, dark wood, and a massive desk left no question the room belonged to Harrison.
Hope’s gaze narrowed on three half-empty glasses left coasterless on the end table. She swiped them up with precision, setting them on the tray, and was pleased to see no rings on the hardwood. A visual search of the room found no other unattended glasses, however it did turn up a messy situation over by the desk.
“Look at this mess. I can’t imagine Harrison leaving his study like this.”
Papers were scattered on top of the impressive desk that gleamed from regular polishing. Her gaze traveled downward, where she saw more papers and folders scattered on the floor. It was as if someone had been searching for something.
“My career is going nowhere.” Drew’s head dipped down and he tapped on his cell phone. He was always checking his messages for the next big story.
“That’s not true and you know it.” Hope knew a thing or two about a career going nowhere and was even more intimately familiar with a career that had crashed and burned. She inched cautiously toward the desk. Something felt off, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. She froze in place. A shudder zipped through her body and her muscles tensed as she looked down.
Peaches McCoy’s body was sprawled, facedown, on the carpet . . .
The Uninvited Corpse
Debra Sennefelder
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
THE UNINVITED CORPSE
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Recipes from Hope’s blog, Hope at Home
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 Debra Sennefelder
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
KENSINGTON BOOKS and the K logo are Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1592-0
First electronic edition: April 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1595-1
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1595-0
This book is dedicated to my parents,
Martin and Elsie McCormack.
Thank you for everything.
Love you, always!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a novel is a long, long, long process, and rarely does an author take on the process by herself. Every step of writing The Uninvited Corpse I had trusted friends and supportive family alongside me. Then when I was ready to show my baby to the world I found industry professionals who helped turn my manuscript into this novel. I would be remiss if I did not thank those people who stood with me and who now celebrate with me. A big thank-you goes out to my husband, George. Your support and encouragement all these years has meant the world to me. I want to thank my friend and critique partner, Ellie Ashe. You’ve been one of my biggest cheerleaders, and you’ve pushed me to step outside my comfort zone time after time. You’ve helped me become a better writer. You’ve believed in this book since day one and I am grateful for that. Thank you to my friend Heidi Ulrich. You turned this writer into a plotter and a sticky-note collector. Your encouragement and advice have been priceless. Thank you to my nephews Michael Confield and Erick Kuhlmann for answering my police-procedural questions. Thank you to my agent Dawn Dowdle for believing in this book. Thank you to my editor John Scognamiglio and the team at Kensington for bringing The Uninvited Corpse to publication. You all just don’t make books, you make dreams come true.
Chapter One
“Thank you, Hope Early, for joining us and sharing all of your tips for spring cleaning. I’m sure you’ve inspired our listeners to get busy and start cleaning out their homes,” Morning Pete of WPTX radio said.
With the cordless phone tucked between her ear and shoulder, Hope refilled her coffee cup for the second time. She’d been on air answering caller questions and promoting her blog, “Hope at Home.” Most of the questions were easy—where to begin cleaning out, how to organize the process, and how to stay motivated midway through the important ritual of spring. It was a ritual she participated in every year and one she had down to a science. Then came the question she didn’t expect.
She hated being blindsided and she hated being naïve just as much. She should have seen it coming.
“What was it like going from being a successful magazine editor to becoming a finalist on The Sweet Taste of Success to writing a blog about taking out the trash?” Morning Pete asked with a laugh, followed by a chorus of laughter from his morning crew.
Oh, so very funny. Her descent from high-powered editor to baking competition reality show loser to newly divorced blogger was fodder for Morning Pete. With no other choice but to laugh along with the morning crew, she bit her tongue and somehow managed to get the interview back on track. “Life throws us curveballs all the time, and sometimes I wish I had a little guidance when I went through all that stuff. Speaking of guidance, I have a free giveaway, and it’s called ‘How to Survive Spring Cleaning.’ I invite everyone to visit my blog and download your copy today.”
Finally her time was up. “It was my pleasure,” she said through gritted teeth and then clicked the phone off. As she set the phone back into its base, footsteps sounded in the mudroom. There was only one other person who would be up so early.
Chief of Police Ethan Cahill greeted her with a smile. He’d always looked damn good in his uniform. The classic cliché—tall, dark, and handsome—always fit him. But on this chilly late-March morning, he looked even better to her because he held a white pastry bag from her favorite coffee shop, The Coffee Clique on Main Street.
“You’re a good man.” She snatched the bag and moved back into the kitchen island. She should eat something healthier like yogurt and granola or whole-grain toast with an egg white. But after dealing with the morning crew circus, she deserved something sweet and delicious.
The cinnamon bun, not Ethan. Then she sucked in a deep breath at the thought.
Whoa. Where did that come from?
Ethan was her rock. The friend she leaned on. The person who helped her through the darkest period of her life. So when did he go from all that to sweet and delicious?
He settled at the table and gestured to the bag. “There’s one in there for me, too.”
She glanced down. Better to focus on the food. She quickly plated both gooey treats and set the plates on the table, along with two filled coffee cups.
“You handled yourself well, even when that jerk asked about the reality show.” Ethan bit into his cinnamon bun, then licked a drop of icing off his bottom lip.
Slightly distracted by Ethan’s mouth, it took a second for Hope to register his comment. “Yeah, I didn’t expect that question. Guess it’s always going to come up.” She’d made peace with the fact that when her name was searched on the Internet, it would always be associated with The Sweet Taste of Success. A baker’s dozen of wannabe culinary stars competed for a prime-time slot on the Culinary Channel. She walked away from the twelve-week experience—just losing the top prize, and then losing her marriage.
Ethan lifted his head and leveled his gaze on her. “You did good.”
“Thanks. I think what really bothers me is people think the TV show and living in New York City was the best time of my life and I somehow settled by coming back home. I didn’t settle. I’m here because I want to be here.”
“Would you do the show over again?”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“Honest answer.”
She didn’t want to think any more about her time on the Culinary Channel or her divorce or the end of her publishing career. “I have a full day. After Audrey’s garden tour, I have errands and I have to bake for the library’s bake sale.” Every year since she was a little girl, she’d baked dozens of cookies for the annual fund-raiser. Spending the afternoon baking wasn’t a hardship and it also provided content for her blog. Bake sales would be popping up all over the place, and she had a series planned on the perfect treats plus tips on presentation and pricing. The first recipe she planned on making was the double-chocolate raspberry bar she’d been dreaming about for weeks. The first run-through delivered the cookie of her dreams. But since she’d promised her readers she would test a recipe three times before posting it, she had two more batches of the bars to make. Luckily her friends and family were willing to be her taste testers.
“What about you? What’s on tap for you besides fighting crime?”
Ethan chuckled. “With Jefferson being named as one of the safest towns in the state, there isn’t much crime to fight. I have a meeting up in Hartford this morning. Then I was thinking we could have dinner.”
“That sounds good. I’ll whip something up and we’ll have cookies for dessert.” Hope glanced at her watch. “Shoot. I’ve gotta get going. I haven’t done the barn chores yet.” She ate the last bit of the cinnamon bun, wiped her mouth on a napkin, then stood. Grabbing her plate and mug, she deposited both in the sink.
“Why don’t you hire someone to help you around here?”
“There isn’t that much work. I can handle it for now. Oh, there’s more coffee. Help yourself. Call me later.” She dashed out of the kitchen and grabbed a jacket from the mudroom before heading out to the barn. Closing the door behind her, she felt a twinge of satisfaction knowing that if she turned and went back inside, Ethan would be waiting for her. That little feeling put a spring in her step. And the little extra boost would come in handy as she collected eggs from her hens.
* * *
Holidays always brought a smile to Hope, and when the day revolved around her favorite cookie, she could barely contain herself. She knew that National Chocolate Chip Cookie Day wasn’t a holiday that closed schools and the post office, but that was clearly an oversight. To celebrate the day, she would share five of her favorite recipes on her blog. She wanted to serve up a traditional cookie where it was all about the dough and the chocolate chip, but she also wanted to incorporate two hot trends in the foodie world—caramel and salt.
“Good morning.”
Hope looked up from her laptop as her part-time assistant, Vanessa Jordan, walked into the kitchen. She’d set up at the table, which was convenient for recipe testing. Still, she needed a proper office, and she planned to do a series for the blog on the project. Off the kitchen, there was a small room being converted into her office. There was enough space for a desk, a nice span of wall for bookshelves, and enough light for her photography.
Vanessa removed her jacket and draped it over a chair then dropped her purse on the table. All of five feet, she was a small powerhouse of organization who ran a tight ship, working for both Hope and her friend Audrey Bloom. Meeting the energetic thirty-something through Audrey was the best thing that had happened to Hope in months.
Vanessa eagerly took on the tasks that ate up valuable time for Hope, freeing her to create more content and focus on developing e-products to sell on her website. Though Hope wondered how long she and Audrey could continue to split Vanessa’s time.
“Today is crazy. I have to be over at Audrey’s house in a couple of hours.” Vanessa moved over to the coffeemaker and poured a cup.
“Well, there are only a few things you need to do here. Then you can head out.” Hope returned to the post she was writing about her love for chocolate chip cookies. Her fingers tapped on the keys, and her mind drifted as she wrote about her first attempt at baking the cookie.
Utter. Failure. Overbaked, overbrowned, and hard enough to use as hockey pucks. She smiled as she remembered her parents ate them with tall glasses of milk and praised their youngest daughter’s baking. She was only ten, and she fell in love with baking.
“I saw Peaches McCoy putting up the For Sale sign at your neighbor’s house.” Vanessa settled down at the table and turned on her laptop.
“Hmm.” Hope looked up. “You saw Peaches?”
Vanessa nodded.
“Gilbert mentioned something about selling his house now that Mitzi has broken her hip. The place is too big for them to maintain.”
Vanessa’s heart-shaped face pinched with annoyance. “He had to select her as his agent? Really? What about Claire?”
Hope shrugged. She wasn’t privy to Gilbert Madison’s decision-making when it came to hiring a real estate agent. “I’m sure he had his reasons for hiring her. We have a lot to get done before Audrey’s garden tour.” She wanted to get Vanessa’s focus on work, not Jefferson’s newest real estate agent. Though the woman seemed to have everyone talking for one reason or another.
“Audrey was a bundle of nerves last night. I assured her today would be fine. She’s worried about Elaine coming because Sally has her granny panties in a twist.”
“That sounds more like you than Audrey,” Hope said.
Vanessa nodded. “Guilty. But, what’s the big deal? The garden club voted Elaine president. It’s not like they didn’t know what they were getting.”
Hope’s assistant did have a point, but she probably shouldn’t share it with Sally Merrifield. As a founding member of the Jefferson Garden Club, Sally felt a responsibility to the club, to ensure it carried on its mission to promote gardening within the community. As a retired librarian, she also believed in structure, and structure was a somewhat foreign concept to Elaine Whitcomb. Instead, Elaine was outgoing, flirtatious, and slightly scattered, but her husband’s wealth helped people look past her flaws.
“It’s difficult for Sally to accept Jefferson didn’t make the top twenty-five community gardens in the state. She’s worked hard over the past ten years to make sure our town green and smaller gardens throughout town were recognized by Connecticut Living magazine,” Hope said. While living in New York City, her friends and coworkers thought their lives were complicated living in a big city. They had no clue what happened in small-town New England. Maybe she should forget her blog and write a novel.
Vanessa shrugged. “It’s time to get over it and move on. Hopefully with spring now blooming all around us, Sally will
forget all this nonsense. God knows, those three acres she has should keep her occupied.”
“Speaking of gardens, we both have to be out of here soon.”
“Right.” Vanessa turned her attention to her computer and, for a few moments, she was silent. “Hey, have you checked your stats?”
“Not today.”
“Holy cow! Did you see the spike in traffic already? And look at how many downloads of your spring cleaning worksheet. Wow, low bounce rates, too.”
Low bounce rate. Three little words every blogger loved. The visitors to “Hope at Home” stayed around to check out a lot of her posts. They also signed up for her mailing list, which meant she could promote her blog and products to them. “At least something good came out of that interview.”
“Come on, it was a good interview, even though Morning Pete was kind of a jerk. He could have framed his question about The Sweet Taste of Success a little better.”
Hope shrugged. She agreed with Vanessa, but she also realized what Morning Pete dished out came with the territory and if she was going to build a career on a public platform like a blog, she needed to toughen up. She would be forever the runner-up winner of The Sweet Taste of Success.
“Well, seeing these numbers, if you have the opportunity go on Morning Pete’s show again, you should. Do you think Audrey would make a good guest?”
“Morning Pete didn’t strike me as a gardening kind of guy.”
“I keep telling Audrey she needs to keep her blog updated on her website. I’m trying to get her into the twenty-first century. It’s like pulling teeth.”
“Really?”
“She doesn’t even own a tablet. Who doesn’t own a tablet nowadays? It’s like my grandparents. Newspaper clippings. Ugh, I can’t stand it. You know, Meg even offered to write the posts for her.”
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