The Uninvited Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  Hope believed Audrey was on the verge of a breakdown. She hadn’t eaten, had barely slept, and her professional life was in tatters. And, as for her personal life, she’d always be the owner of the house where a woman was murdered. Compassion for Audrey overwhelmed Hope, but she couldn’t let that deter her from what needed to be done. First, she needed to remind Audrey she wasn’t alone. Second, she needed to find something to prove her sister didn’t kill Peaches and Vanessa.

  “You know you’re not alone. Staying holed up here isn’t going to make what happened go away. There’s only one way I know how to help.” Hope never liked running away from anything, and she didn’t like seeing those she loved run, either.

  Audrey was on the verge of more tears. “What are we going to do?” Her voice trembled, and she looked uncharacteristically scared.

  “We need to find out why Peaches came here the day of the tour.”

  “No one seems to know why she showed up,” Meg said.

  “What about Vanessa? How well did they know each other?” Hope asked.

  Audrey shrugged. “I really don’t know.”

  Hope knew something had to connect them because both of them being murdered in two days wasn’t a coincidence. “Did either of you see Peaches and Vanessa together the day of the garden tour?”

  Both Audrey and Meg shook their heads.

  “They had to run into each other. But Vanessa was so busy keeping everything on track. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her,” Audrey said.

  “That’s right. She was anxious to get over here early. Does Harrison have any idea of what Peaches could have been looking for in his study?” Hope asked.

  “No. It didn’t make sense the day of the murder, and it still doesn’t.” Audrey stood again and busied herself tidying up the china.

  “Not much makes sense. Did you see Peaches in the study?” Hope asked.

  “Of course not,” Audrey said.

  “Audrey was with her guests for the entire event.” Meg shifted in her seat on the opposite sofa. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. She wasn’t hiding her displeasure with Hope.

  “Would you mind if I looked at Harrison’s study?” Hope asked.

  “Whatever for?” Meg jumped up and moved toward Audrey, placing a protective hand on her shoulder.

  “I’m not sure Harrison would appreciate that.” Audrey patted Meg’s hand and then gently removed herself from Meg’s hold. She reached for the tray and lifted it.

  “I won’t touch anything. I just want a look around.” Hope had no idea what she’d be looking for, and her stomach did a flip-flop at the thought of stepping back into that room. Would going back in there be such a good idea?

  “I guess it would be okay. Please be sure not to disturb anything. He’s very particular about his space.” Audrey turned and walked out of the room.

  “What are you up to? Snooping around people’s homes? Did Jane put you up to this? She wrote a handful of murder mysteries back in the day and since then she’s been looking high and low for trouble. Now she’s gotten you involved in a murder investigation,” Meg said in a low voice.

  “Jane hasn’t gotten me into anything. Would you like to join me?”

  “No. I’ll be in the kitchen with Audrey.” Meg turned and marched out of the living room.

  Hope grabbed her purse and jacket, then headed to the study. When she reached the closed door, she hesitated before twisting the doorknob and pushing the six-paneled oak door open. She stared into the generous-sized room that had a magnificent view of the gardens through the double French doors. The expanse of lawn and meandering stone walls drew Hope into the room before she realized she was standing in the exact same spot where she’d found Peaches’ body. A cold chill zipped through her body as the memory of the crime scene flashed in her mind. Quickly, she sidestepped to distance herself from the area.

  She looked around the room. Dark leather furniture filled the room and a chair showed wear on the arms. There was a well-used ottoman, positioned across from the flat-screen television over the fireplace. Harrison probably spent a lot of time in the room. Would he continue to do so now that a murder had occurred in there?

  Don’t focus on the murder. Look for something that could lead to the killer.

  Hope dropped down onto the ottoman and looked around. Brass lamps, an intricately carved chess table ready for a match, an ivory-colored storage box tucked into a corner with a stack of newspapers on top, framed photographs scattered throughout the room. Hope didn’t know what she expected to find. The police had searched the room thoroughly, and any evidence left by the killer had been collected by the police.

  Hope tilted her head and stared at the French doors. Closed that day, she remembered they were open when she found Peaches McCoy’s body. Peaches could have been surprised by someone entering the room from the garden. The whole day revolved around the garden, so no one would have looked suspicious walking around outside or even entering the study. She stood and crossed the room to the doors and pulled one open. Someone could have easily picked up a rock from the yard, slipped into the room behind Peaches, hit her on the head, and then rejoined the other guests like nothing had happened.

  A chill snaked its way through Hope’s body. Just imagining the coldness of such an act made the hairs on her arms stand up. How could anyone be so horrible? She stepped out onto the patio. The sun had parted the clouds, and brightness filled the early-afternoon sky. The possibility that the day could turn out nice made her smile. Perhaps the day would be better than the previous ones.

  “You think the killer entered the study from out here, too.”

  Hope jumped, startled by Jane’s appearance from around the boxwood hedge.

  “Jane. What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see Audrey.”

  “Does she know you’re here?”

  “She will. Once I ring the doorbell. I just wanted to take a look around first. So, I take it you searched the study?”

  “I didn’t search anything. I just looked around.”

  Jane smiled. “If you say so, dear. And what did you find when you looked around?”

  A loud bark caught her attention and Bigelow trotted toward them. His tail wagged playfully, and his big brown eyes were filled with mischief.

  “What are you two doing out here?”

  Hope looked up. Harrison stood a few feet away. He wore a jacket over a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt. He’d traded his fine Italian leather shoes for brown work boots. And he held a chainsaw.

  Bigelow darted over to his owner, his tail still wagging feverishly.

  Harrison ignored the dog. “Checking on Audrey?”

  “Yes, I am. I also brought over an apple crumb cake.” She’d known Harrison for years, so why did every fiber in her body scream “run”?

  He must have noticed her intense and nervous stare at the chainsaw. “Some large branches came down last night. They needed to be cut and chipped.”

  Chipped? Hope recalled a murder several years ago in another town involving a husband, a wife, and a wood chipper. Why on earth did she think coming back to her home state would be safer than living in New York City?

  Harrison set the tool down and pulled off his work gloves.

  She breathed a small sigh of relief.

  “We’re both worried about Audrey,” Hope said.

  “She’s a strong woman. She’ll be fine,” Harrison assured them.

  “She has no idea why Peaches came over here the other day. Do you know why she did?” Jane asked.

  Harrison crossed his arms over his chest. His steely gray eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched. “You didn’t come over here to check on Audrey. You’re here because Claire is the number one suspect in Peaches’ murder.”

  Hope bit back her irritation at how casually he tossed around the accusation. “My sister didn’t kill anyone.”

  “And you two think what? That either I or Audrey killed them?”

  “You both can’
t be ruled out as suspects. Audrey was here at the time, and you could have easily returned through this door to murder Peaches.” Jane gestured to the French doors.

  Harrison uncrossed his arms and took a step forward. He pointed his index finger at Jane. “Listen to me, you old busybody—”

  Hope sidestepped, putting herself between Jane and Harrison. “It seems odd Peaches would have been in your study. And the room looked like it had been searched. Like someone was looking for something. What could that have been?” Hope kept her position and didn’t back down.

  “I would have thought Chief Cahill would have warned you to stay out of this.” Harrison unfolded his arms, reached down, and picked up the chainsaw.

  “I’m just trying to find the truth.”

  “Then talk to your sister and ask her to confess so we can all get on with our lives.” He took a few steps forward before he stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Come on, Bigelow.”

  The dog obeyed and trotted away with his master. For a second time, Hope had been dismissed by Harrison.

  “It appears Harrison is a bit rattled. He’s hiding something,” Jane said.

  Hope looked over her shoulder at what, on the outside, appeared to be a doting elderly woman engaged in activities like gardening and knitting. But Hope knew better. “Why? Because he’s angry we’re snooping around his house and practically accused him and his wife of murder?”

  Jane waved away that notion. “Because we’re getting close to something. You’re doing a fine job, dear.”

  “Do you want a ride home?” Hope began walking around the side of the house, toward the driveway, with Jane beside her.

  “No, thank you. Sally dropped me off and will pick me up when she’s done with her errands for the Inn.”

  “You’re still going inside?”

  “Of course, dear. I came to check on Audrey and I intend to.” Jane turned and strolled along the grass to the front door.

  Hope pulled open her car door and slid onto the driver’s seat. She fished her keys out of her purse and started the ignition. Before she shifted the car into gear, she lowered the window and stared at the beautiful Federal-period house for a moment. Hope had spent so much time there over the years. So how come she really didn’t know the two people who lived there?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Rice pilaf? That sounds so fancy to make. It’s really easy to make?” Elaine snapped the thin spaghetti into thirds. Her pile of bracelets jingled on her wrist as she sprinkled the broken spaghetti into the pan. She’d donned a pink cupcake-print apron over her body-skimming red sheath dress and provided one for Hope, too.

  “It’s very easy and it’s one of those recipes that will become your go-to.” Hope cracked several eggs into a deep dish in preparation for the Parmesan chicken recipe.

  Elaine paused. “I never thought I’d have a go-to recipe. I mean, I have my go-to shoes.” She glanced at her four-inch-plus platform nude pumps. She elongated one leg, pointing her foot. “These are perfect for every occasion.”

  Hope eyed her student’s ridiculously high-heeled shoes. “Good to know.”

  “Okay, what’s next? The rice pilaf is all set. What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to prepare the Parmesan chicken. This is a way to kick up a regular chicken cutlet. Take the wedge of Parmesan cheese and grate it. Use the box grater.”

  Hope saw the confusion on Elaine’s face, so she pointed to the stainless four-sided grater. “Just run the wedge of cheese up and down on the side.”

  Elaine flashed a grateful smile as she reached forward to grab the grater, unwrapped the wedge of cheese, and proceeded to grate a pile of cheese.

  “You’re doing a good job.” Hope whisked the eggs with salt, black pepper, and a dash of red pepper flakes.

  “This really isn’t hard. Where did you learn to cook?”

  “My mom, mostly. Then I experimented a lot. I was either in the kitchen or at the library.”

  “It’s nice your mom took time to teach you how to cook. I bet she did a lot with you and your sister.”

  Hope nodded. Her mom loved cooking and had a recipe box stuffed with cards. Most were creased, stained, or marked up. One day Hope planned to create a cookbook from those beloved recipes. That was, if she could ever pry the recipe box from her mom’s hands. “She did. Your mom didn’t cook?”

  Elaine shrugged as she set the box grater to the side. She had a billowy pile of cheese in front of her. “She cooked. But there were a lot of frozen meals and boxed mac and cheese. She worked so many jobs. She really didn’t have time to cook.”

  Hope looked at Elaine. Sadness clouded her bright eyes. Hope knew very little about Elaine. She sensed Elaine didn’t have a happy childhood. Given what she’d seen since moving back to Jefferson, she guessed Elaine didn’t have a lot of girlfriends. And she doubted Elaine ever adhered to the number one rule of the girlfriend code—never go after another friend’s man.

  “Listen to me, rambling on.” Elaine dipped her head, breaking eye contact while she wiped her hand on a towel. “What’s next?”

  “We have a salad to make, plus dressing.” Hope grabbed a large bowl from the counter behind them. She was in awe of the space Elaine had in her kitchen. Dark walnut cabinets were topped with slabs of gold-flecked white marble, while three square pendants hung over the massive island topped with soapstone. Luxuries such as a dedicated beverage center, dual dishwashers, and a huge glass-front refrigerator indicated money was no object when the kitchen was designed. Too bad the room wasn’t used to its fullest potential. For the next twenty minutes, Hope guided Elaine through the recipes and, to her surprise, Elaine adapted quickly to cooking. While Hope tried to concentrate on the food, her mind was busy thinking about the murders and the plan she and Jane had cooked up. The big question was, how on earth was she going to do it? She couldn’t possibly search Elaine’s house. First, the place was gigantic, and it would take hours to go from room to room. Second, her search of Harrison’s office ended up with an unfriendly encounter with him. Third, much to her surprise, she was having a good time with Elaine, and the last thing she wanted to do was to ruin that.

  No, she wasn’t going to snoop through Elaine’s home.

  “It seems like we’re doing well. Is there a restroom close by?” Hope asked.

  “Down the hall.” Elaine pointed in the direction of the swinging kitchen door. “You passed it on the way in here. Want me to show you?”

  “No, I think I can manage.” Hope didn’t recall a bathroom but then there were a lot of doors in the mini-mansion. She walked out of the kitchen and stood for a moment in the hallway. The highly polished cherrywood floor laid out in front of her led down a hall with numerous doors, some open, some closed. She proceeded down the hall in hopes of coming across the bathroom.

  She grasped the knob of one door and gently opened it, then peered inside. A sitting room.

  She closed the door and continued down the hall.

  She grasped another knob and pushed open the door. She peered in. A den. She closed the door and continued down the hall.

  Gosh, the place needed one of those mall maps, the one that points to a location and says, “You’re here,” with other areas color-coded.

  She heard a deep voice ahead and followed until she came across a partially opened door.

  “No, there’s nothing for anyone to find out.” The voice belonged to Lionel.

  She was surprised to find him home in the middle of the day. Elaine hadn’t mentioned he was there. But then again, the place was so big he could have easily entered without Elaine knowing. Just like he could have done at Audrey’s house the day of the garden tour.

  “Look, she’s got nothing. We’re good.”

  Hope edged closer to the opening. Who was Lionel talking to? What was he talking about and who was the “she” he was referring to?

  “Look, Peaches got herself killed. She was up to something,” Lionel said.

  Cyndi Lauper’s “Gi
rls Just Want to Have Fun” blared.

  Claire’s ringtone.

  Shoot.

  “What the hell is that noise?” Lionel asked.

  Hope pulled the phone out of the back pocket of her pants to shut it off, but she fumbled and it slipped out of her hands and landed on the floor.

  Double shoot.

  She quickly bent down to grab her phone. The study door swung open. She glanced up, with the phone in her hand.

  Lionel was glaring down on her. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m sorry. I dropped my phone. I, I was on my way to the bathroom.”

  “It’s at the other side of the house,” he snapped.

  “I guess I got lost. I’m sorry I disturbed you.” She turned and dashed away.

  But Lionel’s heavy footsteps left no doubt he was right behind her and beyond angry at her eavesdropping. She pushed open the swinging door, hoping to find refuge with her cooking student. Never in a million years did she ever believe she’d be happy to see Elaine.

  “There you are. I thought you got lost. This house is so huge.” Elaine flipped over the chicken cutlets with a tong. “Look how golden brown they are.” She beamed with pride.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess I did.” Hope darted around the island and joined Elaine.

  The kitchen door swung open with force and Lionel burst into the room. “What the hell is she doing here?” He pointed a stubby finger at Hope. His breath was labored from chasing Hope. The fifty-something man had a receding hairline and a deep scowl on his tanned face. His shirttails were pulled out of his waistband, while his large belly pulled at the buttons of his shirt, and rolled-up sleeves revealed thick hairy forearms and an ostentatious watch. He looked more like a used-car salesman than a successful businessman.

  “She’s giving me a cooking lesson. Look, I made Parmesan chicken and—”

  “What the hell do you need a cooking lesson for? I pay Muriel to cook and clean.” His gaze darted around the kitchen. “Where the hell is Muriel?”