“I need a notepad.” Jane looked around the room.
“In my nightstand.” Hope pointed.
“My sleuth, Barbara Neill, always used a stenography pad.” Jane pulled opened the nightstand drawer and retrieved a pad and pen.
“I’ve talked to several people. Including you.”
Jane laughed. “I can assure you I didn’t kill anyone other than on paper.”
“Shut up! Jane is a suspect now?” Drew exclaimed from the doorway. He scooted into the room and discarded a vase of flowers onto the bureau.
“I most certainly am not,” Jane said firmly.
“I smell cinnamon toast.” Drew followed the scent to Hope’s bed and snatched a slice. “I didn’t have breakfast. You won’t believe the morning I had.”
“Really?” Hope glared at Drew. For once her drama would trump his. “I was run off a road, so I win.”
Drew shrugged. “I guess.”
“Now, who have you spoken to since the first murder?” Jane settled on a chair, ready to take notes.
The bedroom was sparsely furnished with just the basics—triple dresser, wingback chair, and a bed—and Hope expected it to stay that way until the first floor was fully remodeled. While she waited to upgrade her bedroom, she had indulged in a queen-sized bed and luxurious bedding. Beneath her six-hundred-thread-count sheets was a down featherbed that welcomed her tired body every night. Her European down pillows were like laying her head on a cloud. She’d created the perfect spot to collapse in.
“I’m not sure my mind is clear enough to make any list.”
“Do your best,” Jane encouraged.
Hope took another drink of tea. “Maretta, Alfred, Audrey, Elaine, Harrison, Claire, Sally, Meg, Amy at Alfred’s office, Kent, and Wallace.”
“Wallace Green, the owner of Green Landscaping?” Drew snatched the last slice of toast.
“I made that for Hope’s breakfast, not yours,” Jane scolded.
When Drew finished chewing, he flashed a sheepish grin. “Sorry.”
Jane returned her attention to Hope “Why did you speak with him?”
“Meg said she saw Peaches in a serious conversation the day before her murder at Village Square. So I went over there after I left Elaine’s to see if they had any video footage so I could see who he was. I ran into Wallace because he was working there and he said there is video at the shopping center, but he doubted I would get to see any of it.”
“The police would be able to get access to the video.” Drew stretched out along the foot of the bed and propped his head up with one bent arm.
“That’s what Detective Reid said when I ran into him at Village Square, and he doesn’t think it’s significant.”
“How absurd. Everything is significant.” Jane jotted down some notes.
“My head is throbbing.” Hope shifted again, trying to get comfortable, but she suspected it would be days before she’d be comfortable again. Her gaze drifted to the vase of flowers on the dresser. Creamy roses, pink daisies, and peach alstroemeria, with white larkspur and assorted greens, completed the breathtaking arrangement. She smiled.
“Those flowers are beautiful. Who are they from?” she asked.
“Let’s find out.” Drew dashed over to the vase and plucked out the gift card. He came back to the bed and handed the envelope to Hope. “I’m dying to know.”
Hope opened the envelope and pulled out the gift card. “Get Well Soon, Your Friend Always, Audrey.” She held the small card to her chest and fought back the tears that threatened to burst like a dam. She wasn’t sure how much damage she’d done to their friendship when she visited the other day. The fact the card wasn’t also signed by Harrison didn’t escape Hope’s notice. She doubted he would be as forgiving or understanding as Audrey.
“That was very thoughtful of her,” Jane said.
“Especially after what happened the other day.” Hope slipped the card back into the envelope.
“What happened the other day?” Ethan asked from the doorway.
Jane and Drew’s heads swung around to the door, while Hope wanted to slide under the covers, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. It wouldn’t move an inch.
“Is there something you need to tell me?” Ethan moved into the room, filling the space in a way Hope hadn’t expected. A healthy dose of masculine energy radiated from him, putting all her senses on alert. Too exhausted and sore to act on her awareness, she tugged her coverlet up closer to her shoulders. The signal she needed to rest should be clear. Right?
“I have to tidy up the kitchen.” Jane scooted out of the room.
“I’ll help.” Drew left, right on Jane’s heels.
Ethan stepped forward and hesitated for a moment before he sat on the edge of Hope’s bed. Once he’d settled, her head spun. Maybe it was his closeness to her; maybe it was the intimacy of him being on her bed. Or maybe it was just the pain medication. That seemed to be the reasonable explanation.
“I believe your accident is related to the murders. I think you’re making someone very nervous,” Ethan said.
“That’s what Jane thinks, too.”
Ethan’s dark eyes lightened a touch, and his façade of control and toughness vanished. He reached out and caressed her cheek. “I didn’t mean what I said the other day to come off as an order. I just don’t want you to be my next murder investigation.”
Tears welled up in Hope’s eyes again, and feelings that hadn’t been stirred since falling head over heels in love years ago with Tim choked her, leaving her unable to speak.
He leaned into her. “So, what happened at Audrey’s house?”
“I, I’ll tell you. I promise. But right now, I need to sleep some more. I’m sorry.” Her heart raced, and she could barely catch her breath because his lips were just a taste away. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would he be gentle or would he be hungry? Before she could decide, his cell phone buzzed, interrupting their moment. She fell back into her pillows, wondering if she kissed him, would he kiss her back?
“Chief Cahill.” He stood and walked toward the window.
Hope’s head throbbed. Apparently her muscles and bones wanted a little more company in hurting. It must be time for another pill. She reached over to the nightstand to grab the bottle. Before she’d swallowed the pill in the palm of her hand, she weighed the consequences of becoming more under the influence.
She had been just about to kiss Ethan. What would be next? Stripping?
Oh, God, she hoped not as she downed the pill.
“I have to go.” Ethan replaced his cell phone in its holder on his belt. “I trust you’ll stay out of trouble. Get some rest.” He kissed her gently on the forehead before walking out of the room.
Crisis averted. There’d be no locking lips with Ethan. As she heard the bedroom door close, she snuggled under the covers and let the pain medication do its thing. Her heavy eyelids closed, and she drifted off to sleep. Her sleep was busy with the sounds of tires screeching on the road, flashes of bright lights, and the bodies of Peaches and Vanessa. Eventually her exhaustion triumphed over her nightmares, and when her eyes opened again, she squinted at the clock on her nightstand. It was dinnertime. She had to stop sleeping so much. With her covers loosened, Hope pulled her body upright. She leaned over and switched on the lamp, which cast a soft light. She glanced out the windows. The sun was setting. Where had the day gone? A change in venue was in order. She pulled the covers off completely and swung her legs over the side of the bed. So far, so good. She slid into her slippers and reached for her robe. Standing up, she realized taking a walk might not be such a good idea. Her legs wobbled. They felt like wet noodles. She couldn’t help wondering if she’d ever feel good again. A piece of paper on the nightstand caught her attention. Jane had left her a note. She and Sally had gone out to run an errand and would be back to prepare supper. She set the note back down and headed for the door. By the time she reached the hallway, she felt like she was a year older. Hec
k, she’d be celebrating the big five-O by the time she made it down to the kitchen if her pace didn’t pick up.
Forget the big five-O. By the time she reached the kitchen, she’d come to the conclusion her body felt like it was the big seven-O. At the bottom of the stairs, she had to pause for a moment. How could she be exhausted after sleeping the day away?
Evening had fallen with a heavy dose of wind. Spring storms were unpredictable, and any moment she could lose power. The windows were rattled by strong gusts, and the eerie high-pitched whistling sound swift winds made filled the night air. If she was an easily scared person, she’d check for dial tones and carry around her chef’s knife just in case.
Even though she’d dismissed Jane’s earlier suggestion that the car accident was really a murder attempt, she had second thoughts now.
Had she really spoken to the killer since the day of the garden tour? Did the murderer know she was trying to uncover him or her? If only she could tell the murderer how little she knew, it would save so much time and energy for everyone.
She found an ounce of energy and got to the kitchen island. Not sure when the Merrifields left, she didn’t know when they’d return, so brewing a pot of coffee crossed her mind. She weighed those consequences. The worst would have Jane chiding her for drinking coffee while she recuperated. Heck, she’d been run off the road by a murderer, so what was a lecture or two?
With freshly ground hazelnut coffee brewing, she retrieved her cell phone from her purse and checked her messages. Her friends and out-of-state family members were checking in on her. And, of course, there was Corey. He sent his well wishes with instructions to call him. She scrolled past his message to scan a few more before she set the phone down. At some point she’d reply to everyone, but now she just wanted coffee. She glanced over at the coffeepot. She had a few more minutes before the coffee would be ready, so she moved over to the table. She needed to rest. The Gazette newspaper was unfolded and sprawled out on the table. An article recounting her accident graced the front page. “Way to go, Hope.” She skimmed the article, looking to fill in the gaps of her fuzzy memory. There were statements from the police and a “no comment” from the hospital on her condition at the time she was brought by ambulance to the emergency room. There was also information on the van that forced her off the road. The white van was found abandoned a few miles away from the accident scene, and it belonged to Wallace Green. She looked up from the newspaper. Could it have been just a coincidence that right after she spoke to Wallace about looking for video footage of Peaches the day before her murder that she was run off the road by a van owned by Wallace? She grabbed her cell phone and scrolled through her voice mails, she’d seen one from Wallace.
Hey, Hope, I just heard about the accident. Hope you’re doing okay. Can’t believe one of my vans was stolen. Take care. Talk soon.
After listening to the message and hearing the genuine concern in his voice, she doubted he drove her off the road. And according to the article, the van was stolen from his home, where he ran his business from. There were no leads on who stole the van or how it was taken from the driveway.
Hope set her phone down and gathered and folded the newspaper.
Why would someone steal one of Wallace’s vans? Why risk being seen at his home, where his wife took care of the administrative work and his guys were coming and going all day? Maybe it was his wife? Hope shook her head. Now she was being silly. The Greens weren’t murderers.
A creak in the wood floor behind her startled Hope. She began to turn, to look over her shoulder, but before she could move, a gloved hand clapped over her mouth. She struggled against the grip, her eyes watering with pain and fear. A tiny gap in the glove let in some air and she screamed but knew no one could hear her as she was yanked off the chair.
Chapter Eighteen
Hope’s chair crashed onto the floor as her body, too sluggish from medication to fight back, was dragged across the kitchen. Panic welled. She couldn’t breathe.
Struggling, she freed her right elbow and jammed it into the intruder’s stomach. The hold on her was momentarily loosened. Hope took the opportunity to break free.
She lunged forward. The intruder grabbed her by her hair so hard Hope thought she’d been scalped. Again, the heavy hand pulled her back.
Pain raged. No matter how much she hurt, she had to fight to escape.
She tamped down her fear. She needed to think. To come up with a getaway plan. She wouldn’t end up like Peaches or Vanessa.
In a split second, from somewhere buried in her mind, she remembered a self-defense expert’s advice. Drop down. The intruder wouldn’t expect her to fall. On the floor, she’d have more leverage, even if only for a split second.
It had to work.
She inhaled a deep breath and braced her body for an onslaught of agony. She softened her knees and dropped to the floor.
Her body hit the pumpkin pine floor. Hard.
She heard voices.
Sally and Jane were back.
Oh, God, would they be hurt?
Her attacker froze. He. She. Whoever. Must have heard them also. Hope tried to lift her body up, but she didn’t have the strength. Black boots stepped over her and a heel skimmed the side of her head.
In a flash, the intruder was out the back door.
Hope struggled to rise and heard Jane and Sally’s simultaneous gasps as they entered the kitchen from the hall.
“What happened? Did you fall?” Sally rushed to Hope’s side to assist her up.
“You should have stayed in bed,” Jane scolded as she dropped her purse on the table.
“And why is the back door open?” Sally asked.
“Why did you come downstairs?” Jane asked.
The rapid fire of questions dizzied Hope even more. She needed to catch her breath before she could answer them.
“I didn’t fall.”
“Well, then, how did you end up on the floor?” Sally settled Hope on a chair at the table.
“Someone . . . someone was here. I don’t know who it was. I was grabbed and dragged.” Hope wrapped her arms around her torso to steady her shaking body.
“What?” both Merrifield women blurted out in unison.
“I was sitting right there,” Hope pointed to the toppled-over chair.
Sally walked around to the other side of the table and lifted the chair up and pushed it in under the table. “Maybe now you’ll keep your doors locked.”
“The murderer was here,” Jane said.
“What makes you think it was the murderer? It could have been a crazy fan. Situations like that happen when you’re on television and write about your life every single day.” Sally walked over to the counter to retrieve the cordless phone.
“Do you have a stalker?” Jane asked.
Hope tried to shrug, but it hurt too much.
“This is Sally Merrifield,” she said into the phone. “There’s been a break-in at Hope Early’s house.”
Stalker. Intruder. Murderer. It didn’t matter which label applied to the person who’d just broken into Hope’s home. She looked at her hands. They trembled. The wave of shock and surprise from being grabbed still spun in her head. She still felt the forceful grip the person had on her. The attack happened so fast. Just like the car accident. Drowsy with medication, she couldn’t tell if the person was male or female. The description she would give to the police would be sketchy, at best. She wasn’t concerned with the person’s height or girth. She just wanted to get away. Now she wanted to rest her aching body, but her nerves wouldn’t allow her.
Sally moved to the window and looked out while she continued to talk to the 911 operator.
“I don’t think it was a stalker. I think it was the murderer. He didn’t accomplish what he set out to do on the road so he or she came here to finish it.” Jane spoke calmly, as if she were discussing a plot for a novel.
“You’re not making me feel very good right now,” Hope said.
Jane patted Hop
e’s hand. “I’m sorry, dear. I get carried away, but this is so intriguing. Believe that I never, ever want to see you hurt. This is getting far too dangerous. The murderer has been in your house. God only knows what might have happened if we hadn’t arrived when we did.”
“Still not making me feel better.”
Jane shook her head in frustration. “Sally is much better at this stuff than I am.”
Hope raised a questioning eyebrow. Even that hurt.
The back door swung open and Drew entered.
Jane’s head lifted. “No! Fingerprints!”
Drew looked at the doorknob in confusion and then back to Jane. “What are you talking about?”
“He wore gloves,” Hope told Jane.
“The police are on their way.” Sally joined Hope and Jane at the table and set the phone down.
“Police?” Drew’s pale green eyes bulged. “Someone tell me what happened.”
Jane let go of Hope’s hand. “The murderer broke in and attacked Hope.”
“We don’t know it was the murderer,” Sally corrected. “It could have been a stalker or just a burglar.”
“Oh. My. God. Are you okay?” Drew rushed to Hope’s side.
“I think so. Hard to tell. I’m so sore from the car accident.”
“Hazelnut? I smell hazelnut. You made coffee, Hope?” Jane frowned. She stood and walked over to the coffeemaker. “What did I tell you about drinking tea while you recuperate?”
Sally stood and walked over to her sister-in-law. “Jane, someone just tried to kill her. If she wants to drink coffee, let her have coffee.”
“I can’t believe this. I’m so glad you weren’t hurt or worse.” Drew rubbed Hope’s arm absently and a slight smile curled. “You know what this means?”
“She’s in danger,” Jane replied.
Drew hesitated for a moment. “Yes. She is.”
Hope narrowed her gaze on him. “You’re thinking about a story.”
Drew hung his head in shame. “I was.”
Sirens wailed outside.
“The police are here,” Sally said.
“I shouldn’t put a story before you.” Drew lifted his head and took Jane’s abandoned seat. “But this is just too irresistible.”
The Uninvited Corpse Page 15
