“The bedroom is cleared out and now this area. I just have the kitchen to pack up and a few things in the living room. Then I’ll have a moving company come and move the furniture out.”
“Let me know when you want to pack up the kitchen. I’ll be here.”
“Thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.” Hope pulled out her planner from her purse and wrote her information on a sheet of paper and handed it to Vera. “Anytime. I mean it.”
Vera took the sheet of paper and nodded.
Hope left the carriage house and headed to the street, where she found Claire exiting Maretta’s house.
“I’m ready to go,” Hope told her sister.
“What were you doing out there?” Claire tied the belt around her trench coat.
“Helping Vanessa’s sister pack up things.”
“She’s here? That’s so sad.” Claire tucked her clutch under her arm and started walking.
“It was.” Hope followed her sister.
“Where is she staying?”
“At the Inn. Maybe I should invite her to dinner. She probably hasn’t had a home-cooked meal in days.”
“You’re probably right. That would be a nice gesture. It must be hard for her being here all alone,” Claire’s voice was low and serious with a hint of sympathy.
“You know, Vera couldn’t find Vanessa’s laptop. She always had it with her.”
“Perhaps the killer took it.”
“That’s what I was thinking. But why? What could have been on the laptop worth killing for? And how is this all connected to Peaches’ murder?” The more Hope investigated, the more questions kept popping up. She’d love at least one solid answer. Just one.
“Hey, you!” a loud voice bellowed.
Hope glanced over her shoulder and saw Lionel Whitcomb coming at them, pointing a stubby finger in their direction.
“What’s his problem?” Claire asked.
“My guess is his problem is me,” Hope said.
“Listen, lady, I have something to tell you.” Lionel came to a stop. He was dressed in a bad-fitting jacket that pulled at the shoulder seams. His prominent belly stuck out, straining his shirt buttons. His thinning brown hair was combed over in an attempt to cover his balding scalp. His dark eyes, covered by a thick, bushy unibrow, were fixed on her. The man needed a good waxing. And a lesson in manners.
“My sister has a name, Lionel.” Claire rested a hand on her hip.
Lionel shot a warning look to Claire. “I’m not talking to you.”
“And we’re not talking to you.” Hope moved to step away. He might treat his wife and colleagues rudely, but she wasn’t going to stand for it.
“Hey, I’m not done with you,” he shouted.
“Lionel, there’s no reason to raise your voice when speaking with us,” Claire said. Her sister had used the even-toned, professional voice she’d honed in her years of real estate. More than once Claire had to talk a buyer or seller down off a ledge.
Lionel barely looked at Claire, but he clearly ignored her advice. “You came into my house under false pretenses, looking for dirt to soil my good reputation.”
“I’m just looking for the truth,” Hope said.
Lionel’s sagging cheeks puffed out, and Hope was certain that if she looked close enough, she could see steam coming out of his hairy ears.
“You can’t handle the truth,” he said.
“What would that be?” Hope stepped forward, staring at the schoolyard bully.
“Your sister killed Peaches and then offed Vanessa because she knew about the murder.” Lionel seemed to have solved the murder all nice and tidy.
“I did no such thing,” Claire protested.
“Why would Claire kill Peaches?” Hope asked.
“To get the listing. She’s been begging me for months for the listing. But she didn’t have the chops to handle a deal as big as my development.”
“I do so have the chops. And to be honest, I wouldn’t take your listing now even if you begged me,” Claire said.
“If you two don’t stay out of my business, you’ll be begging me when I’m done with you,” Lionel warned.
“Where were you when Peaches was murdered?” Hope asked.
Lionel’s face scrunched up, and his eyes bulged with fury. “What did I just say to you?”
“Where was your wife on the nights of the murders? And who were you talking with on the telephone when I was at your house? Who were you referring to when you said, ‘She’s got nothing. We’re good.’ Who were you talking to?”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve, lady.”
Claire tugged on Hope’s coat sleeve. “Stop poking the bear.”
Hope shrugged off her sister’s hold. Lionel was becoming unhinged. Causing a scene on the street in the middle of the day. What didn’t he want Hope to find out? Was he covering for Elaine? No, he didn’t seem the type of man who would stand by his wife. He was more the type who would cut his losses and dump any liabilities as fast as he could. Maybe Peaches became a liability for him and he killed her.
“No alibis for either of you? Or, are you each other’s alibis?” Hope asked.
“I’m warning you!”
Hope spun around, pulling Claire with her, and walked away. She raised a waving hand to signal she was done with him. He had a bad temper, and it was possible Peaches had crossed him in their business dealings or she could have pushed for more money. Hope had to find out where he was when both murders occurred.
Chapter Twenty-one
“You’re quiet. What’s wrong?” Hope eased deeper into the heated passenger seat of Claire’s car. Her rental SUV came with the bare minimums and while she never considered herself a materialistic person, she did miss the few added luxuries her damaged vehicle had, like heated seats.
Claire made a noncommittal sound. She looked pensive when Hope expected her to look outraged at the scene Lionel Whitcomb just caused. Claire wasn’t a pushover and, like Hope, she didn’t suffer fools. So, what was up?
“Don’t make me pull out my cell and call Mother,” Hope warned.
Claire flicked a glance at Hope and then turned her attention back to the road. “I was just thinking about Vera. How is she doing?” Claire flicked on the turn signal and made a left onto Dorchester Road, where Peaches’ rental home was located.
The quiet road was lined with Cape Cods and ranch-style homes built in the 1950s. The front yards were neat and manicured, while the homes were well-maintained. That was the Jefferson Vanessa had told her sister about and the Jefferson that Hope grew up in. Not the Jefferson of the past few days filled with murder.
“She seems okay, but she’s probably in shock. Her sister is dead.” Hope looked at the mailboxes for the house numbers.
Peaches’ home should be coming up soon.
“Do you want me to be like Vera?” Claire’s sharpness laced through her voice.
Hope looked at her sister. The question was unexpected, and she didn’t have an answer for it.
“Planning a funeral for my sister? Packing away all of your belongings? And, what the heck would I do with those chickens?”
Hope sighed. “Nothing is going to happen to me.” An image of Claire with Hope’s feisty hen, Helga, flashed in her mind. Egg collection would become a blood sport because Helga had been known to attack with very little provocation.
“Like you weren’t run off the road or grabbed by some psycho in your kitchen?” Claire slowed as they approached the house Peaches had called home before her untimely death.
Hope opened her mouth to say something but immediately closed it. She couldn’t argue with Claire. By digging into the murders, she had put a target on herself.
“And I couldn’t forgive myself if you’re the next victim. This is getting too dangerous. I want you to stop. I’ll hire a lawyer and a private investigator so you can go back to just being my sister. My very much alive sister.”
/> Her sister’s plea hit Hope hard, leaving her a mixed bundle of emotions. She had to gather herself or else she’d sound like a blubbering fool.
“Even if I stop right this minute, I’m still a threat to the killer. He or she thinks I know something. I might as well see this through. I promise I’ll be careful.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Now, let’s go inside.” Hope stepped out of the parked car and followed Claire along the weathered brick path to the front door of the simple ranch house painted white with beige trim. Nondescript bushes served as landscape.
“Two bedrooms, one bath.” Claire unlocked the lockbox attached to the doorknob and entered.
Hope shook her head. She wasn’t renting the house, she was searching it. “What’s going to happen to all of her stuff?” Hope continued to follow her sister.
Claire shrugged. “Maybe Maretta and Alfred will take care of it like they did the funeral. What exactly are we looking for?”
Hope looked around the spacious combination living and dining room. Beige and boring. Nothing indicated a successful thirtysomething real estate agent lived there up until a few days ago. There weren’t any photographs or personal touches, nothing but beige.
“I haven’t a clue. I guess something out of the ordinary.” Hope sifted through a pile of magazines on the pale wood coffee table. The neat piles consisted of mostly interior-decorating magazines filled with tips and techniques Peaches didn’t bother to apply to her home.
“Huh. She had an interest in decorating. Though, you wouldn’t know it by looking around this place.” Claire walked into the dining area, which was a small square shape just off the kitchen.
“I’m going to check her bedroom.” Hope walked down the short hall, past the bathroom and an unfurnished spare bedroom. She found the master bedroom minimally furnished with a queen-size bed, dresser, and a full-length mirror. Peaches didn’t indulge on possessions. So what did she do with the money she earned?
“More boring.” Claire came into the room behind Hope. “Oooh, let’s look through her closet.” She dashed over to the plain wood door and opened it to reveal a stash of clothes.
“So this is where her money went?”
Claire picked through the clothes and the handbags on the top shelf in lightning speed. “Impressive.”
“What?”
“These bags are all real. There’s a small fortune tucked up on that shelf.” She pulled one open. “Since there’s no next of kin, who gets them?” She petted the luxurious hobo bag.
“They could be donated to the Village Donation Center,” Hope suggested.
Claire gasped. “Donated?”
Hope took the bag from her sister’s hold and tossed it back onto the shelf. Claire gasped again at the manhandling of the ridiculously priced handbag.
“We have work to do.” Hope shut the closet door and walked over to the dresser.
“Again, what are we looking for?”
Hope opened a few drawers. “I found her unmentionables.”
“Let’s keep it that way.”
“What’s this?” Hope pulled out a lingerie bag and gingerly opened it.
“Hmm, isn’t that interesting. Shouldn’t it be in the nightstand?” Claire peered over Hope’s shoulder.
Hope clumsily bundled the bag up and stuffed it back into the drawer.
“What? You never saw one before?”
“Yes, I’ve seen one before.” At her bridal shower Hope received a few adult toys as gag gifts.
“You’re beet red. I know what I’m getting you for Christmas,” Claire teased.
“Stop.”
“I’ll have no choice if you don’t start dating.”
Hope rolled her eyes.
“Along with some cats.”
“I’m not ready. Besides, I’m way too busy to date,” Hope said.
“Liar.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Ethan hangs around a lot at your house. You’re telling me you aren’t the least bit interested?”
Hope tilted her head. She didn’t know how she felt about Ethan. They’d been friends since high school, they went to each other’s weddings, and she’d gone to his children’s christenings. She needed friends at this point in her life, and she worried if they moved beyond being friends, something could go wrong and she could lose him. So far her choice in men hadn’t been the best.
“We’re just friends,” Hope said firmly.
Claire shook her head. “If you don’t use it, you will lose it. Mark my words.”
“Duly noted.”
Claire pointed to the closed nightstand drawer. “I wonder what’s in the nightstand.”
“A phone book? Bible?”
“Seriously? A Bible?” Claire went to the small piece of furniture and pulled open the top drawer. “A small address book.” She thumbed through it. “It’s pretty empty. Must be her personal one.” She tossed it back into the drawer and a bunch of business cards fell out, landing on the beige carpet.
“I know it’s a rental, but this house doesn’t seem like a home. Vanessa lived in a rental but it felt like a home.”
“This is interesting.” Claire scooped up the fallen cards.
“What?”
“Matthew Roydon, Criminal Defense Attorney,” Claire read from a card.
Hope snatched the card out of her sister’s hand. “Matthew Roydon. Matt.”
“So?”
“Peaches was texting someone named Matt just before she was killed. Why was she texting a lawyer?” And could he be the man Meg saw her with the day before the murder?
“What text message? How do you know?”
Hope slipped the card into her pocket. Did she finally have something that could lead her in the direction of the killer? Or at least in the direction of an answer? She glanced into the drawer. A layer of newspapers lined the drawer. She pulled them out and spread them out on the bed. They were all cut up. The newspapers looked like Swiss cheese.
“What on earth? Oh my goodness. I know what she was doing!” Claire grabbed hold of Hope’s forearm and squeezed.
“Would you let go of me?” Hope shook her arm free of Claire’s hold.
“It’s obvious. These are all cut up. She was sending ransom notes.”
“Really? Ransom notes? Who did she kidnap?”
“Well, why else would you cut newspapers up?”
“These are old newspapers.” Hope sorted through them. They were all from the Hartford area from eleven years ago. It seemed Peaches had clipped out articles by the odd shapes left in the remaining pages.
“Okay, so if she didn’t use the papers for ransom notes, maybe she used them for decoupage.”
Hope shot her sister a sideways glance. “I wonder what the articles were about.”
“Maybe they were real estate articles.”
“Possibly.” Hope gathered up all the newspapers and picked them up. Since the police had released the house and left the newspapers, they obviously didn’t consider them pertinent to the murder.
“You’re taking them?”
Hope nodded. “I think we found something.”
“What exactly did you find?” a woman’s voice said from the opposite side of the room.
Chapter Twenty-two
Hope nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of the vaguely familiar voice. She swung around and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Iva Johnson in the doorway with a plastic caddy filled with cleaning supplies in one hand and the other rested on her hip.
“We could ask you that same question,” Claire said.
“Hmmpff.” Iva lifted her chin and strode into the room. She reached the bed, dropped the caddy, and sorted through her spray bottles. “You ladies thinking about renting the place?”
“Rusty said we could have a look around. Why are you here?” Claire asked.
Iva glanced at her caddy then back up to Claire. “What does it look like? I cleaned for Ms. McCoy, and Mr. Collins asked me to keep this place n
eat until it gets rented again. So I do have a right to be here. I’m not snooping.” She yanked out one of the spray bottles. “I’m just doing my job.”
“There isn’t much to clean when no one lives in the house.”
“Regardless, I do have a few things I need to get done. I have other clients.” With her spray bottle and a cleaning cloth, Iva headed into the adjoining bathroom.
“What’s with the two of you?” Hope asked Claire.
“She does a really good job cleaning. Not only does she make spots disappear, she also works the same magic on jewelry. She’s always been sneaky, you know that.”
“Are you sure?”
“She cleaned for me a few years ago so I’m certain. Are we done here?”
“I want to ask her a couple of questions first. Give me a few minutes.” Hope didn’t know how much Iva could tell her. Or even if she would tell her anything. If Iva wasn’t above stealing from clients, then she certainly wasn’t above gossiping about them. She guessed it was worth a shot.
Claire shook her head. “Good luck. You know she hasn’t changed one bit since high school.” Her heels clicked on the hardwood floor as she exited the room.
Iva poked her head out of the bathroom. “You’re still here?”
Hope swung around.
The once-beautiful girl she knew from high school had gotten older and bitter.
“Since you worked for Peaches, you may know something that could help the police solve her murder.”
Iva stepped out of the bathroom, both hands on her hips now. “Let me get this straight. You’re trying to solve murders now? Always the overachiever. Guess some things never change. Big-time New York City magazine editor. Television celebrity. And now you’re playing detective. Guess you want to make sure the murders get pinned on someone other than your sister.”
Alcohol and pills might have stolen whatever dreams Iva had back in school, but jealousy and bitterness took away any chance she ever had at being happy. Hope didn’t want to travel down the road of defending her successes to Iva.
The Uninvited Corpse Page 18
