The Uninvited Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “Technically, I wasn’t running. Anyhoo, the stories cut out of the newspapers were all about a fatal hit-and-run accident eleven years ago in New Haven.” Drew blew on his coffee before taking a sip.

  “Terrible thing. A fifty-eight-year-old woman was crossing Church Street and was struck by a dark sedan. There were only a couple of witnesses, but they couldn’t provide much detail. The driver never stopped, and the woman died right there on the road,” Jane said.

  Hope drank her coffee and considered what Drew and Jane had just said. The dots were finally connecting. “That woman was Peaches’ mother.”

  Drew nodded enthusiastically. “Mary Beth McCoy. The detective on the case was Matt Royson, who is now a criminal defense attorney.” He broke off a piece of his muffin and popped it into his mouth.

  Hope pulled out her composition notebook and pen from her purse. It barely fit, but she didn’t want to be without it. She opened it and flipped to an empty page.

  “So, what do we know so far? Peaches’ mother was killed by a hit-and-run driver. The lead detective on the case is now a lawyer, and Peaches was apparently in contact with him because we found his card in her address book. She was also texting him the day she died. She cut out articles about the accident from the newspapers. Then she went to an event she wasn’t invited to and was murdered there.” Hope jotted down those notes as they came to her.

  “Quite a puzzle.” Jane snatched a piece of Drew’s muffin.

  “Hey,” Drew exclaimed.

  Jane smiled as she chewed.

  Drew returned his attention to Hope. “We’re missing something.”

  “Yes. We’re missing something. It has to be . . . do you think it’s possible the driver of that car eleven years ago was at the garden tour?” Hope asked.

  Drew straightened up and his eyes widened. “I think you’re on to something.”

  “Yet, nobody knew she was going to show up. Back to square one. This is so frustrating. We have information, but it doesn’t seem to fit together.” Hope let out a sigh and put her pen down. She sipped her coffee and thought. She was so close to an answer, but nothing made sense, nothing went together. All the pieces of the puzzle were right in front of her, yet a piece or two seemed to be missing. She just needed to find those pieces to complete the puzzle.

  “Complete. Finish. That’s it,” Hope murmured.

  “What did you say, dear?” Jane asked.

  Hope looked up from her notebook. “Closure. Gilbert told me Peaches had finally found closure in her mother’s death. How do you find closure in a cold case?”

  “By finding the person responsible.” Jane wiped her hands with a napkin. She’d eaten the remaining half of Drew’s muffin.

  Hope’s eyes widened and she pointed her index finger at Jane. “Exactly. Peaches found out who the driver of that car was.”

  “And the driver found out she knew,” Drew surmised.

  “So he or she killed Peaches to keep the secret,” Jane said.

  Hope nodded with excitement. They were right. “Now we just have to find out who that person is.”

  “This person seemed intent on keeping his or her identity a secret, hence murdering two people to do just that,” Jane said.

  “I’ll do some more research on the hit-and-run,” Drew said.

  “We need to take a step back and look at everything we know. Let our subconscious do its job,” Jane suggested.

  “I wish Detective Reid would follow your advice. He seems determined to make sure Claire goes to prison for the murders. I mean, if none of this is clear to us, how could it possibly be clear to him? The man has tunnel vision.” Hope raised her cup for another sip.

  Drew cleared his throat and gestured for Hope to turn around. He was trying to tell her something.

  “He’s behind me, isn’t he?” she whispered.

  Drew and Jane nodded in unison.

  Hope looked over her shoulder. The detective was standing there with a smirk and a large coffee cup. She quickly closed her notebook and slipped it back into her purse.

  “Good morning. It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He lifted his cup and took a sip.

  “Yes, it is,” Jane said.

  “I hope the three of you aren’t still investigating the murders. Our police station has small accommodations, and I’d hate to arrest all three of you for interfering in official police business. You might feel cramped.”

  “Thank you for your concern. However, we’re just having a friendly conversation about what a beautiful day it is and what our plans are.” Hope doubted Detective Reid wanted to hear the actual details of their discussion. Though he probably heard her last comments about the investigation. She cringed inwardly.

  “That’s correct, Detective. I have to get back to the Inn,” Jane said.

  “I have an interview lined up over at the middle school about the Spring Fling dance.” Drew pulled back his empty plate from Jane and pouted.

  Detective Reid nodded, seemingly pleased by their plans. “And what about you, Ms. Early? What will you be up to today?”

  Hope locked onto his gaze. “I’ll be meeting with a lawyer.”

  * * *

  For the past two years Hope had had the task of meeting with various attorneys, due to her divorce, expanding her blog into a full-fledged business, and buying her new home. She’d signed her name on countless legal documents, written obscenely large checks, and gotten on a first-name basis with several legal secretaries. However, none of those secretaries were as friendly as the one in Matthew Roydon’s office.

  “You were cheated. You should have won The Sweet Taste of Success. That marble cheesecake you made had me drooling,” Stacey, the energetic secretary, said from behind her desk.

  “That’s very kind of you to say.” With any luck, engaging in pleasant small talk with her new friend would get her into Roydon’s office just a few feet away.

  “Tell me, just between us, was Olivia Dunn really such a diva?” Stacey’s blue eyes were wide with curiosity. Everyone loved gossip and behind-the-scenes tidbits.

  Hope considered for a moment before answering. She’d learned quickly during her time in the spotlight that a few ill-chosen words could become a viral sound bite in a heartbeat.

  “Olivia had her moments. You know, it’s a very stressful situation to be in. I’m sure someone else on the show believed I had diva moments.” Luckily Hope’s meltdowns weren’t caught on camera, unlike the winner of The Sweet Taste of Success.

  Lauren Temple had many meltdowns and the producers ate up her drama. She knew how to command attention just as well as she knew how to proof bread dough.

  Stacey shook her head. “You were one of the best bakers on the show. Milton was awesome, too. But that Lauren chick sure knew how to work the camera and the judges. No one stood a chance against her. If she ever decided to change careers, she should be a trial lawyer.”

  Hope laughed. She could envision Lauren doing battle with a prosecutor and charming the jury. “That sounds perfect for her.”

  “I’m sorry. Here I am talking your head off about your show, and you’re here to see Mr. Roydon. Lucky for you, his trial got postponed so he’s available. Let me tell him you’re here.” Stacey disappeared into the back office and returned a few moments later. She led Hope into the lawyer’s office.

  “Good afternoon, Ms. Early.” Matthew Roydon came around from behind his desk. Over six feet tall, he had intense caramel eyes and broad shoulders that filled out his tailored suit nicely.

  “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” Hope took the seat Mr. Roydon gestured to in front of his impressive desk. Could she get the ex-cop turned lawyer to cooperate with her? Seated, she inhaled a deep breath to calm the butterflies flittering around in her stomach. The worst he could do was ask her to leave. Right?

  “What can I do for you?” Mr. Roydon returned to his tall leather chair and rested his forearms on the desk.

  “I’m here about Peaches McCoy,” Hope sai
d.

  Mr. Roydon leaned back. “I’m not sure how I can assist you.”

  “You are aware she was murdered.”

  “I am.” Mr. Roydon’s facial expression didn’t change. There was no sign of grief or sadness. He had a good poker face, which Hope guessed came in handy at trial.

  “Were you representing her in a criminal matter?”

  “I’m unable to answer that question.”

  Hope nodded. Darn attorney-client privilege. It was time to move on to her second theory.

  “You were the detective on her mother’s case eleven years ago.”

  “Where are you going with this, Ms. Early?”

  Hope shifted in her seat. Those butterflies that fluttered earlier were swirling around violently in her stomach like a tornado. She wasn’t in an acquaintance’s home asking questions, she was sitting in a lawyer’s office asking about a cold case he couldn’t close. She’d definitely upped the ante in her amateur sleuthing.

  “I think there’s a chance her mother’s death had something to do with her murder. Peaches was texting you the day she died.”

  His brows arched as he leaned forward. “How do you know that?”

  “That’s not important. Do you know why she would cut out articles about her mother’s fatal accident from newspapers?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Do you know Lionel Whitcomb?”

  “What exactly is it you do, Ms. Early?” he asked pointedly.

  “I’m a blogger.”

  “Crime blogger?”

  Hope shook her head. “No, lifestyle and food blogger. I mostly blog about food. Recipes, entertaining tips, things like that.” Whatever credibility she had when she walked into the office was now gone. Most people didn’t understand blogging and thought it only a hobby for people who were tech geeks, anti-social, or bored.

  Mr. Roydon pushed back his chair and stood, which confirmed Hope’s fear. “I’m sorry. I really am busy. I don’t have time for your fishing expedition.”

  Hope shimmied to the edge of her seat. She wasn’t going to be thrown out of his office, not when she knew he had some information that could ultimately help Claire. She just needed to convince him to share that information.

  “I really think there’s a connection. Is there anything you can tell me about Mrs. McCoy’s murder eleven years ago?”

  “It is officially a cold case with no active leads.”

  “How does a woman get run down on a busy street and nobody sees the driver?”

  Mr. Roydon shrugged. “Good question.” He moved back to his chair and sat down. Hope sensed his reluctance to talk, but it appeared he would. “It was very late. Mrs. McCoy was on her way home from her cleaning job at a medical practice. There weren’t cameras everywhere like now. How does any of this concern you?” His voice softened, and his gaze on her was no longer suspicious. He looked genuinely concerned.

  Hope took a deep breath. It felt like a heavy weight was lifted from her shoulders. She wasn’t being tossed out and maybe she could get some answers.

  “My sister is suspected in Peaches’ murder and possibly in a second murder.”

  Mr. Roydon nodded. “I heard about another woman being murdered.”

  “Did Peaches ever mention Vanessa Jordan’s name to you?”

  “No, not that I recall.”

  “Vanessa was my assistant, and she was present the day Peaches was murdered. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that those murders are connected, and the police are focused on my sister.”

  Mr. Roydon leaned forward again and clasped his hands on his desk. “It sounds like your sister needs an attorney more than she needs a sister investigating on her own.”

  “Point taken,” Hope agreed.

  “But I have a feeling you’re not the type of person who can sit around and do nothing. You have to do something. Am I right?” His gaze fixed on her with precision.

  Hope cleared her throat to buy time so the tingly, warm feeling shooting through her body had time to settle down. She blinked to break their eye contact. “Yes . . . yes, you’re right.”

  Mr. Roydon tipped his head before he plucked a business card out of the holder, then stood and walked around his desk. “Peaches and I kept in contact over the years. There are some cases a cop can’t let go of, and her mother’s case was that one for me. Mrs. McCoy was a nice lady who worked hard to keep a roof over her daughter’s head. She deserves justice.”

  “Did you meet with Peaches in Jefferson the day before her murder?”

  “Ms. Early, you shouldn’t be investigating real crimes.”

  Hope ignored his warning. He wasn’t the first to caution her, and she doubted he would be the last. “I think Peaches was looking for justice for her mother.”

  “In Jefferson?”

  Hope nodded. “It’s possible.”

  “But unlikely. If the police couldn’t track down the driver of the car, I doubt Peaches could have.” He handed Hope his business card. “Just in case your sister needs to hire an attorney. Or if you find yourself in trouble for interfering in a police investigation.” He grinned before pushing away from his desk. “It was a pleasure meeting you. Have a nice day, Ms. Early.” He flashed a smile, no doubt the same smile he used on jurors to win a lot of cases.

  Hope stood, a little dazed by the abrupt ending of their conversation, but he must have a lot of work to do and she did show up without an appointment. She walked to the opened door and exited with a soft, “Thank you for your time.”

  As the door close behind her, she remembered Mr. Roydon wasn’t the only person with a lot of work to do. With Vanessa gone, Hope was behind on everything, and chasing leads that were dead ends weren’t helping with her to-do list.

  “Did Mr. Roydon speak with you about the retainer?” Stacey asked as Hope walked out into the reception area.

  “Huh? Oh, no, I’m not retaining Mr. Roydon. Actually, I don’t need a lawyer. I wanted to ask him about Peaches McCoy.” Hope hitched her purse over her shoulder. If her luck turned around, she wouldn’t hit traffic on the drive back to Jefferson.

  “You knew Peaches?” Stacey stood and walked around her desk.

  “Yes. Actually, I found her . . .”

  Stacey’s shocked look told Hope nothing more needed to be said. Stacey appeared to be a sharp gal, so she was able to fill in the blanks.

  “How horrible. I can’t imagine.” Stacey moved over to the small waiting area that consisted of a sofa and coffee table. She straightened the stacks of magazines sprawled out on the table.

  “Did you ever meet Peaches?”

  Stacey nodded. “Sure. She came in here a lot. She had a connection with Mr. Roydon. You know he was a detective who worked her mother’s case. It’s cold. No leads. No nothing.”

  “There were no suspects?”

  “I don’t think so. Mr. Roydon hates unanswered questions. I can tell you Mrs. McCoy’s death eats at him. For a while, Peaches seemed to be doing better. You know, she’d moved on with her life and built a successful career. Then out of the blue she packed up and moved to Jefferson. She left the real estate team she’d built from the ground up to start all over. It didn’t make sense.”

  “She never said why she made such a big change in her life?” Hope asked.

  “No, guess it will remain a mystery. At least for us. She was really close to one other agent. Betsy . . . Betsy Callahan. That’s her name. She was the first agent to join Peaches on her team. I hope the police find her killer. It would be a shame to have both murders unsolved.” The telephone rang, and Stacey excused herself.

  Hope agreed. And if she had anything to do with it, the murders wouldn’t remain a mystery. She’d see to that.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  After an online search for real estate agent Betsy Callahan, Hope entered a spacious two-bedroom penthouse overlooking Long Island Sound and spied Peaches McCoy’s protégée. Hope recognized her from the photograph on the sign in the lobby, announcing the o
pen house. A handsome woman, Betsy worked the room like the pro she was. She exuded the same confidence Peaches had and made small talk easily with strangers. Betsy glanced over and spotted Hope.

  Like a predator zeroing on its prey, she disengaged from the small group of people that surrounded her. They dispersed into various areas of the apartment, while Betsy made her way to Hope with stealth precision.

  The impeccably polished woman extended her hand to Hope and dove right into her opening pitch. “Welcome to the Bayview and its crown jewel. I’m Betsy Callahan, and this is fourteen hundred square feet of luxe living with magnificent views and a private terrace. Full amenities included.”

  “It certainly is breathtaking.” Hope removed her hand from Betsy’s firm grip. “Actually, I’m not in the market. I’ve just purchased a new home.”

  “Oh,” Betsy’s hopeful expression soured as she took back her hand. “Well, then how can I help you?” She glanced over her shoulder, no doubt checking to see if any of the potential buyers needed her assistance to write up an offer.

  “I’m here to speak to you about Peaches McCoy,” Hope said. “She was murdered a few days ago.”

  “Yes, I know. I was shocked when I heard.”

  “I’m hoping you can help me.”

  “Who are you?” Betsy’s voice tightened with irritation.

  “Hope Early. I knew Peaches.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. She did have a nodding acquaintance with the late real estate agent. “I have reason to believe her death is connected to her mother’s fatal hit-and-run eleven years ago.”

  “Seriously? Look, I’m a little busy here. So, if you don’t mind—”

  “Oh. My. Goodness. Hope Early!” a high-pitched voice called out from across the well-staged living room.

  Hope lifted her head and saw a tall woman clad in animal print from head to toe and blinged out from her earlobes to her slender fingers. She rushed over to Hope and grabbed her hand and pumped it sharply.

  “It’s really you. I can’t believe it. You were my favorite on that show. I can’t believe I’m meeting a celebrity. Do you live in this building? Oh. My. Goodness. If I buy this apartment, could I be living next to a celebrity?”