“She’s running errands,” Elaine answered.
“When she gets back, have her clean up this mess. And get her the hell out of here.” Lionel waved his hand at Hope.
Elaine stepped away from Hope, putting a wide distance between them. “Why? What’s wrong, honey-poo?”
Lionel took a step forward. “She’s not here to teach you to cook. She’s here to snoop. She was over at the Blooms’ house, where she was snooping around. She’s trying to clear her sister, and she’ll obviously do anything to do that.”
Elaine’s head swung around to Hope. Her eyes were wide with confusion. “You were?”
“I was there, but I wasn’t snooping.”
“Going through the rooms of people’s homes you have no business in is snooping. And I found her skulking outside my office just now.”
“You said you had to go to the bathroom. You lied to me? You used me?” Elaine asked.
“I told you, the women of this town don’t want to be your friends. I warned you. Now you see I’m right. Now get her out of here!” Lionel turned to leave the kitchen.
“Who were you talking to? Was it Harrison?” Hope prayed that the show of Lionel’s temper was about as far as he’d take it.
Lionel stopped and turned to face her. His cheeks puffed out, and his glare hit her hard. Maybe she hadn’t seen the full extent of his temper. But since she’d already gone that far, there was no turning back.
“You said, ‘There’s nothing for anyone to find out.’ What were you talking about?” Hope asked.
Lionel’s jaw clenched and blotchy redness spread from his neck to his face. Was he going to have a heart attack? Stroke? Would she need to call 911?
“Get her out of here!” Lionel shouted.
No heart attack. No stroke. Just an order.
“Now!” Lionel turned again and stormed out of the kitchen.
Elaine walked over to the table and snatched up Hope’s jacket and purse. “I’ll take back my apron,” Elaine said in a cool tone.
Hope’s head lowered. This wasn’t the way she wanted their cooking lesson to end. She untied the apron and then took it off. She handed the apron to Elaine in exchange for her jacket and purse.
“I wasn’t snooping, I swear. This is all a big mistake. But, I did overhear a part of his conversation. Why is he so worried about someone finding out something?” Hope’s mind raced with the possibilities. Murder, of course, or maybe there were some shady dealings with his development. If there were shady dealings, maybe that got Peaches killed. Either by Lionel or someone else. “How much do you know about your husband’s business?”
Elaine shook her head. “I thought you were different. I thought I’d finally found a friend.” Elaine’s lips quivered and tears welled in her eyes.
“You did. I mean, I’d like to be your friend. And as a friend, I want to help you.”
“By suspecting my husband of murder? Friends don’t suspect friends of murder. You can leave out the back door.” Elaine spun around and stomped out of the kitchen.
Hope exited the house and headed to her vehicle as fast as she could. Settled behind the steering wheel, she inhaled a deep breath. Then she slammed her palms down on the steering wheel.
She wasn’t solving the murders, she was alienating people. That wasn’t what she envisioned when she made the decision to return home. She glanced over at the passenger seat, where her trusty composition notebook sat. Maybe it was time to toss the notebook and her amateur sleuthing. She had a blog that needed her attention, sponsors she needed to write posts for, and chocolate chip cookie recipes still to be tested. Her time was better spent working rather than sleuthing.
As she backed her vehicle out of the Whitcombs’ driveway, her cell phone rang. She commanded her SUV’s communication system to answer the call from Claire.
“You won’t believe this. Logan got suspended from school today. He got into a fight with another kid who said something about the murders.”
Hope’s heart sank. Her nephew was a good kid, who didn’t get into trouble. He was just defending his mother.
“There’s nothing that can be worked out?”
“No. The school has a zero-tolerance policy. I have to call Andy and tell him. He’s going to flip. This is now affecting my children.” Her voice was strained with worry.
“Where are you?”
“I just arrived at a new listing on Sugar Tree Road. I’m doing a walk-through. Why don’t you meet me at my house in an hour?”
“Sounds good. See you then.” Hope disconnected the call and arrived at a stop sign. She had every intention of going straight, to head home, a few minutes ago. Now, she needed to follow up on what Meg had shared about seeing Peaches with a man the day before her murder. The blog post she had to write could wait. Her sister needed her.
* * *
Hope parked her vehicle in a space of the Village Square shopping center. The stretch of retail space and professional offices was a hub of activity midday and on Saturdays for errands and appointments. The Village Square housed small retailers such as a dry cleaner, a deli, and a shoe repair shop, along with accounting and law offices. As she exited her SUV, she noticed a pickup truck angled beside one of the dividers and saw Wallace Green, the owner of Green Landscaping, mulching the divider. Everywhere she looked in town, people were getting ready for spring flowers. Within a few weeks, bright, cheerful flowers would be blooming all along the parking-lot divider, which reminded her she needed to start spending more time outside. Otherwise, her garden beds would be overtaken by weeds.
She slung her purse over her shoulder, closed the car door, and walked toward Wallace. “Hi, Wallace.” She waved.
Wallace looked up from the mulch pile he was spreading evenly over the garden bed.
“Hi, Hope. I’m trying to get this down before we get another downpour.” He grinned. Deep lines creased around his brown eyes. He was dressed for a day of yard work in dirt-stained khakis, a polo shirt, and a baseball cap with his company’s name.
“Good luck. I just heard on the radio it’s supposed to be another bad storm coming through.”
“We do need the rain, just not all at once. What brings you here? Getting some lunch?” He glanced toward the deli.
“No, I’m looking for information.” Hope’s plan was to speak to a shop owner and get the telephone number of the management company of the shopping center. “Maybe you can help me.”
“Sure, what do you need?”
“The name and telephone number of the management company of this property.”
“Thinking about opening a store? There are a few vacancies.” Wallace tossed down another shovelful of mulch from the back of his truck.
“No. I wanted to find out if there is video of the parking lot. You know, like surveillance video.”
“Cameras are everywhere. Look, on all of those posts are cameras.” He pointed upward.
Hope’s gaze followed and she saw them. Some good news, finally. “Perfect.”
“Why are you interested in them?”
“I want to see if I can look at the footage from a few days ago.”
“Hope, I don’t know what you’re up to, but does it have to do with the murders? I’ve been hearing things about Claire.”
Of course he had been. “She didn’t do anything.” Hope heard her defensive tone and immediately regretted it. She’d already alienated enough people for one day and she didn’t want to add Wallace to that list.
Wallace gave her a sympathetic look. “I believe you. But I doubt the management company will hand over any video to you. It’s a police matter. You should tell them about whatever theory you have.”
“You’re right. Thanks.” Hope couldn’t argue with Wallace. He had a point. The police should be tracking down the lead. Well, she thought it was a lead. Would Detective Reid agree with her? She doubted he would. Glancing over Wallace’s shoulder, she saw her opportunity to find out. Detective Reid was exiting the deli. “Have a good afterno
on.” She broke away to cross the parking lot.
“Oh, those cookies you baked for the library’s sale were awesome. I told Beth to get the recipes from your blog,” Wallace called out as she stepped up on to the sidewalk and approached Detective Reid.
“Ms. Early, I suppose you’re not here to get lunch,” Detective Reid said.
“No, I’m not. I have come across some information that may be helpful in finding the person who killed Peaches and most likely killed Vanessa.”
“What would that be?”
“Peaches was seen the day before her murder having what appeared to be a serious conversation with a man here.”
He arched a brow, but he didn’t look the least bit curious about her new lead. “That’s it?”
“Yes. I know it’s not a smoking gun, but it’s something. Right?”
“Not really. Ms. McCoy was a real estate agent, and I’m sure during the course of her workday she had many serious conversations. It doesn’t mean the man she spoke with killed her.”
“So you won’t follow up?”
“Do you know who the man was?”
Hope shook her head. She didn’t.
“How did you come across this information?”
“Someone mentioned it to me.”
“Does that person know who he is?”
“No. But surely you can watch the video from the cameras,” she said pointed to the posts.
“Ms. Early, I believe I cautioned you against investigating on your own.”
“You told me to bring any information I had to you directly. And that’s what I’m doing.” So there.
“Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not. I’m telling you what I learned, and I expect you to do your job and investigate any and all leads that could expose the killer of Peaches and Vanessa.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“You work for this town, Detective Reid.” Hope spun around and walked briskly to her vehicle. The man was infuriating. He held Claire’s future in his hands. She had to find a way to get him to look beyond Claire as a suspect. Since he wouldn’t listen to her suggestions, she had no choice but to find evidence. Which meant she needed to find the man Peaches was talking to the day before her murder.
* * *
As Hope turned her vehicle onto Sterling Road, raindrops began falling. The cloudy then sunny day had turned cloudy again, and another round of heavy rain was due to start at any moment. By the time Hope reached High Ridge Road, the gentle rain had turned fierce, leaving the blacktop slippery and her windshield wipers working overtime.
Born and raised in Connecticut, she was no stranger to bad weather—snow, sleet, and rain—but High Ridge Road rattled the most experienced, confident driver. The barely two-lane-wide road was hugged tightly on one side by a towering wall of rock, while the other side was edged by a guardrail and a forest of maples, spruces, and balsam firs.
As if the worsening conditions weren’t bad enough, her cell phone rang and the caller was identified. Corey Lucas.
“What is it, Corey?”
“I’ve left how many messages for you?”
“I didn’t count them. Look, I’m busy here, so if you can get to the point, I would greatly appreciate it.”
“There’s a new reality . . . it starts taping . . . casting . . .” His voice faded in and out. “Audition tapes are being viewed now so . . . yeah, yeah. I want two of those shirts . . .” His voice faded again. “Sorry, I’m at Barney’s.”
Barney’s? Hope rolled her eyes, which wasn’t a smart thing to do while driving in a storm. She needed to get off the phone before she either drove off the road or said something to Corey she’d regret.
“I’m not interested in doing another reality show.” She negotiated a curve in the road.
“The show is focused around . . .” The line went silent.
“Corey?”
Dead silence. She’d hit the spot on the road where there was no signal.
She commanded her car’s syncing system to turn off and noticed that somewhere between her phone ringing and losing the connection, the rain had turned blinding.
She eased off the accelerator. She hated that road. She hated storms.
Her wipers slashed at the rain at top speed. She considered pulling over to wait out the storm as it passed, but the road was so narrow there wasn’t a safe spot to do that. Just a few more feet until she reached the turn for Holly Lane. Surely she could make it there.
A flicker in the rearview mirror caught her attention. A white van. Another poor driver caught in the torrential storm.
Rain assaulted her windshield as the wind picked up, whipping through the tall trees. A boom of thunder shattered the silence.
“Idiot.” She approached the narrowest, steepest part of High Ridge Road. She shifted to second gear to assist her vehicle in slowing down, without the risk of hydroplaning.
The van behind her didn’t appear to slow down.
Did the driver have a death wish?
The road descended and she applied pressure to her brakes.
The van narrowed the small gap between them.
The stupid driver seemed to have a death wish—hers. The last thing anyone wanted to do on that road was speed.
“Idiot,” she shouted into the rearview mirror. Who was the driver? She couldn’t get a good look at him or her because she needed to keep her eyes on the road.
Her palms were clammy as they gripped the steering wheel tighter as she came to a tight curve. God, she would have given anything to be back on the very straight streets of Manhattan, cabbies and all.
Her heart slammed against her chest as her vehicle hugged the road around the curve. She concentrated on keeping both her breathing and the car steady. The road descended again and her eyes widened in terror as the van closed in on her vehicle.
The hit came hard.
Her vehicle jolted forward.
She screamed as her body lunged forward. Her fingers tightened around the steering wheel. She struggled to maintain control of her vehicle, but her hands weren’t strong enough to pull the wheel back straight.
Tears streamed down her face. Why was he doing this to her? Who was he?
Another hard hit came.
She lost all control.
Her car swerved to the right.
Desperate, she slammed on the brakes and pulled with all her strength to regain control of the wheel. But it was no use.
Her car crashed into the guardrail, taking out a chunk of the metal, her vehicle plunging down the embankment.
Her scream faded and everything went black.
Chapter Seventeen
Hope shifted as light penetrated her sleepy eyelids. She started to roll over until every muscle in her body screamed. Flashes of heavy rain, slippery blacktop, and a van whizzed through her mind. The pieces of her drive to meet Claire across town came together. She was intentionally driven off the road by a van. But why?
“Things a little fuzzy, dear? Completely understandable.”
Hope struggled to lift herself upright. What was Jane doing in her bedroom?
“It’s good to see you wake. I made you a cup of tea and cinnamon toast.” Jane set a tray on the bureau.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, dear. You’ve been sleeping most of the time since we got you home two days ago. Your body needed the rest.”
Hope’s forehead crinkled. Her mind was blurred with vague images of strobe lights, white coats, and cold stethoscopes. “I was in the hospital?’
“For a little bit. I think they should have kept you but you know what it’s like with insurance companies today. In and out and good luck.” Jane plumped up the pillows behind Hope and eased her charge back into them. She went for the tray and then set it over Hope’s lap.
“Why didn’t somebody wake me?”
“As I said, you needed to rest. You woke up a few times, which was good since it allowed you to take the pain pills prescribed to you. Then you
fell back to sleep every time. Don’t you remember, dear?”
“No, not really. You’ve been here all this time? I can’t believe I’ve lost two days.”
Jane smiled. “Yes. Along with Sally, and Claire has been here, too. But she has a family to take care of, so we told her we’d look after you. Now drink your tea.”
“No coffee?”
“No, dear. You’re recuperating and you need tea for that.”
Hope took a sip. It was bad enough she felt as if she belonged in a body cast, but to begin the day without coffee was beyond cruel. “How long am I supposed to recuperate for?”
“Don’t be impatient.”
“Who, me?” Hope nibbled on the toast. Her teeth even hurt. “I’m sorry I worried you.”
“The accident wasn’t your fault.”
“I guess it wasn’t.” Hope recalled how fast the van came out of nowhere. “The van was speeding.” Hope finished one slice of toast and immediately reached for a second slice. When Jane set the tray on her lap, she didn’t think she was hungry enough to eat anything. She was wrong. She was starving, and it was a good thing there were four slices of toast on the plate. But maybe six would have been better.
“That’s right. The driver intended to run you off the road and kill you.”
Hope choked on the toast. “What?”
“There, there. Are you okay? You’ve survived a murder attempt, so don’t go choking on my cinnamon toast.”
“Murder attempt?” Hope wiped her mouth with a napkin. “You really think so?”
“Peaches was murdered for a specific reason. Vanessa was killed most likely because she knew something—”
“And I was almost killed because I’m making the killer nervous.”
“Exactly.” Jane nodded her head. “The murderer in my mystery series always became sloppy and made mistakes, which ultimately led to the arrest. Think, Hope. Think.”
“About what?”
“The past few days. You’ve talked to the murderer at least once.”
A shiver shot down Hope’s spine. Had she really spoken to the killer? Was she that close to the person responsible for two deaths?
The Uninvited Corpse Page 14
