After cracking a dozen eggs, Hope whisked them vigorously, adding pinches of salt and a couple cracks of pepper from Claire’s ginormous pepper mill. She then added a handful of chopped herbs. Once the eggs were beaten, she tore apart the loaf of bread.
“Ms. Early, what are you doing here?” a familiar deep voice said.
Hope looked over her shoulder. Her eyes bulged. What was Matt Roydon doing in Claire’s kitchen? After the shock faded, she realized he was Claire’s lawyer.
She set the loaf of bread down and grabbed a towel to wipe her hands. “I’m Claire’s sister. I came over to make breakfast for my family. Are you her lawyer?”
He nodded. “I was retained by your brother-in-law. Thank you for giving him my card.”
“I didn’t.” She studied Mr. Roydon. He looked competent. Hope recalled the diplomas on his office wall, but she didn’t look close enough to see where he graduated from. At the time, she was a little distracted by his charming smile.
“Is my sister aware you were acquainted with Peaches?” She wasn’t sure if there was some kind of conflict of interest since he knew one of the murder victims.
He grinned. Now he looked a little sexy. She needed him to look competent. Competent wasn’t distracting.
“I disclosed my history with Peaches. I don’t expect there to be any complications.”
“Good.” Satisfied he was transparent with her sister, Hope returned to putting together the egg casserole. She spread the large chunks of bread in the baking dish.
He moved farther into the room, closer to Hope. “I’m glad I have your approval. And you can call me Matt.”
She glanced up. His grin had expanded into a charming smile, and his caramel eyes were a touch warmer than they had been the day before when they first met.
“I’m curious about how you plan on getting the charges dismissed.” Hope lifted the mixing bowl and poured the egg mixture over the bread. She scraped the bowl until it was clean and then she set it in the sink. She sprinkled more herbs on top, lifted the dish, and scooted over to the oven.
“Let me.” Matt opened the oven door.
“Thanks.” Hope slid the dish onto the rack. She closed the door, set the timer, and returned to the counter to clean up. “So when you do you think you’ll get those charges dismissed?”
“It’s not that simple.”
“She’s innocent. She didn’t murder anyone.”
“I have a private investigator that works for me. I’m bringing him in on this.”
Hope wiped down the counter with a sponge. “I have a theory.”
He cocked his head sideways. “You do?”
“Yes, I do. There’s no statute of limitations on murder, is there?”
Matt shook his head. His sandy blond hair was thick and neatly trimmed. His tailored gray blazer fit him perfectly, accentuating his masculine curves—broad shoulders, lean mid-section, and muscled arms. Why couldn’t her brother-in-law have hired a paunchy, middle-aged lawyer? “No, there isn’t.”
“Just what I thought. I believe the person who killed Mary Beth McCoy was present at the garden tour and killed Peaches because he or she was worried what Peaches knew and would tell the police.”
“I seem to recall you’re a lifestyle and food blogger. Mostly food, though.”
Hope tossed the sponge in the sink. “Yes, I am.”
“Then perhaps you should focus on that and leave your sister’s case to me and my professional investigator.”
“Well, so far this murder investigation has been left to presumably the ultimate in investigators, the police, and somehow my sister was arrested. I know I’m not a professional, but I believe my theory is plausible, and the police should look into it.” Hope opened a deep drawer and pulled out a handful of coffee pods. She dropped them into a basket and set it on the island.
“You’re correct. You’re not a professional investigator.”
Hope ignored Matt’s reaffirmation of what she wasn’t as she set four coffee mugs next to the basket. She knew her capabilities and limitations and how far she was willing to go to prove her sister innocent. “There is also another theory.”
“Do tell.”
Hope glanced up and saw the look of amusement on Matt’s face. She stifled her irritation because she needed his cooperation. “It’s possible Peaches was caught up in some kind of illegal real estate dealings.”
“Please, Hope, stop.”
“Stop? No! My sister’s future is on the line. There are other theories beside professional jealousy.”
“Let me do my job.”
“Can you at least confirm you weren’t representing Peaches in a criminal case?”
“If it will get you to stop playing detective, I will confirm I was not representing Peaches in a criminal matter.”
Hope smiled. “Thank you. Now we can focus on my first theory, that the hit-and-run driver eleven years ago may have killed Peaches.”
“The police have completed their investigation. As far as they’re concerned, they’ve found their murderer.”
Hope gasped. Hearing those words spoken about Claire stung. “Ethan doesn’t believe Claire is the killer.”
Matt arched his brows. “Chief Ethan Cahill told you that? When?”
“Last night.”
“Are you and Chief Cahill involved?”
“No. No . . . Not like you’re suggesting.”
“But he was at your house last night and confided in you.”
“I’m not involved with anyone. We’re friends. That’s all.” A heat surge shot through her body, and she had no doubt her cheeks were red from embarrassment. Matt was a trained detective and criminal defense attorney. Surely he could tell when someone wasn’t being completely honest. While she and Ethan weren’t romantically involved, they were close. At the moment, she didn’t know how to label their relationship. Could there even be hope for a romance if Claire was prosecuted and found guilty of the murders?
“Hope? Did I lose you?”
“What? I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
“I understand you want to help Claire, but for her sake, I strongly suggest you stay out of this. There’s a chance you could do more harm than good. She needs your support. She needs her sister and her family around her. Let me do my job.”
Hope was speechless. Sure, she and Claire were different as night and day in some ways, but they always had each other’s back. So sitting on the sidelines and doing nothing wasn’t possible.
“I don’t think I can do what you’re asking, Matt.”
“Please do,” Claire said.
Hope looked past Matt. Claire was standing in the doorway. She was dressed impeccably in a coral dress and nude pumps. Her makeup was applied flawlessly, and her hair was pulled back in a neat bun. Being arrested, fingerprinted, and arraigned hadn’t dampened her fashion sense.
“What?” Hope was completely confused by the shift in strategy.
Claire walked to Hope and took her hands. “Matt’s right. There’s a chance any further snooping could be damaging to my defense.”
“You want me to do nothing to help you?”
“Please don’t twist my words around. I’m the big sister, and I’m telling you to stop investigating. Do you understand?”
Hope hated when Claire pulled the big sister routine. All her life Claire used that line when she wanted to get her way.
“If that’s what you want.” Given the serious looks on both their faces, Hope didn’t feel she had a choice. She’d do her best to follow their instructions.
“Thank you.” Claire hugged Hope. “You know, he’s single,” she whispered in Hope’s ear.
“Glad we’re all on the same page,” Matt said with a hint of satisfaction.
Claire let go of Hope and focused her attention on Matt. “Please stay for breakfast. We have plenty of food.”
“I appreciate the invitation. I’d love to stay.” Matt unbuttoned his blazer and loosened his tie.
“Hope i
s an excellent cook,” Claire said to Matt.
Hope caught the glint in Claire’s eyes. Even though she was facing murder charges, she was playing matchmaker for her little sister.
* * *
“Come on, get in,” Drew shouted, waving to Hope as she dashed down the front steps of her porch.
She hurried to the waiting car and slid into the passenger seat.
“Are you sure about this?” Hope had returned home from Claire’s an hour earlier when Drew called to let her know he’d tracked down one of the witnesses of Mary Beth McCoy’s hit-and-run. Drew spent the night before poring through articles about the accident and got a name and an address. It was a long shot, but maybe the woman recalled something from the night of the accident.
“Yes. Cora Mason saw the accident. Are you sure you want to do this? Remember what you were told?”
Hope thought for a moment. Earlier she was told to stay out of the investigation by her sister and her lawyer. She should do that, especially since there was a risk of hurting Claire’s case. But what if Cora Mason knew something that could shed light on the person responsible for Mary Beth’s death and there really was a connection between the hit-and-run and the two murders Claire was accused of? Hope had to take that chance. She just had to be careful.
“I’m sure.”
“Okay. I’ve programmed the address in my GPS, so let’s get going.” Drew pulled out of Hope’s driveway and, within minutes, they were on the highway leading to Norwalk, a city along the Long Island Sound. Traffic was heavy in some spots, but they arrived at Cora Mason’s home in good time.
The two-story brick colonial had a small fenced yard and a straight row of daffodils just about to bloom. Hope exited the car, and, with Drew behind her, they approached the front gate and unlatched it.
“Let me do all the talking. I have years of experience getting information out of people.” Drew dashed around Hope on the short concrete path to the porch and jogged up the four steps.
“Okay.”
“Miss Mason may be reluctant at first, but I’ll get what we need.” Drew pressed the doorbell.
“Okay.” Hope joined Drew on the porch.
Heavy footsteps approached the other side of the door before it swung open and a large, older woman appeared in a bright orange velour jogging set. Her dark red hair was set in a messy updo and her lips were a deep shade of burgundy.
“What can I do you for?” the woman asked in a husky voice.
“My name is Drew Adams. I’m a reporter for North Country Gazette. I’m here to ask you about the hit-and-run accident you witnessed eleven years ago. Mary Beth McCoy was killed in that accident.”
“Reporter? What the hell does a reporter want to know about that for? It happened so long ago.” The woman’s gaze drifted to Hope. “Wait a second, you’re that baking woman from television. A Sweet . . . Sweet taste . . . Wait, it’ll come to me.” She snapped her fingers.
Hope stepped forward and extended her hand. “I am Hope Early. I was on The Sweet Taste of Success.”
Cora Mason’s face lit up. “That’s right, honey. That’s who you are. I loved your scones. I printed the recipe and made them. Delish. Come, come inside.” She grabbed Hope’s arm and led her inside. “You can come too, reporter. Shut the door.”
Hope tossed a glance over her shoulder to Drew. She did her best to suppress the smile that tugged on her lips. Drew might have had years of experience in interviewing people, but she had been on reality television. It was about time it actually paid off.
Cora led them to the living room, which was brightly furnished and had a large picture window with a view of the main road. A well-worn recliner was angled in front of the television and a fern hung from the ceiling.
“Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable.” Cora gestured for them to sit on the sofa while she settled into the recliner. “Awful thing that happened back then. The woman was just crossing the street and then bam! Just like that.” She slapped her hands together. “She was roadkill.”
Hope cleared her throat at Cora Mason’s bad choice of words. “Can you tell us if you saw the driver?”
“Nah. It was too dark. All I saw were the headlights. Why are you asking? You knew that woman?” Cora asked.
“No, I didn’t. I knew her daughter. She was killed a few days ago.” Hope tried not to be disappointed, but it was understandable the incident was a blur to Cora. “Her daughter’s name was Peaches McCoy. Did she ever contact you?”
Cora shook her head. “No, you two are the only ones who have asked about that night since it happened.” Her attention drifted to Drew. “Those are some nice kicks.” Cora gestured to his sneakers.
Drew beamed. “Thanks. Just got them.” He stared at his platinum and light gray running shoes.
“Not worried they’ll get dirty?”
“By the time they get dirty, it’ll be time to replace them.”
“Wait a minute.” Cora straightened. “Wait one darn minute. Running shoes. That’s right. I forgot all about them. Yeah, that’s what I saw.”
“What did you see?” Hope asked.
“White sneakers. I was far away and it was dark, so I couldn’t tell you who got out of the car, but the person was wearing white sneakers,” Cora said.
“The driver got out of the car?” Drew asked.
“Sure did. Got out, walked to the lady on the road, bent down to check on her, then ran back to the car and drove off. It happened so fast. But the person wore white sneakers. Gosh, I can’t believe I forgot that.” Cora smiled proudly.
Hope looked at Drew and sensed the look on his face was a reflection of hers. Neither was pleased or disappointed. What Cora told them was something. It just wasn’t enough to find the person responsible for Mary Beth’s death.
They said their good-byes to Cora, who insisted on a photograph with Hope for her Facebook page before they left.
“Want to head back home?” Drew asked as they approached his car.
“Sounds good.” Hope’s phone buzzed and she pulled it out of her purse. She saw Corey’s name and sighed. “What is it?”
“Heard what happened with your sister. I’m sorry for your troubles.” He almost sounded sincere.
“Thank you,” Hope said cautiously.
“I was thinking we could do a mini-series focused around you and your sister getting ready for trial.”
“What? I’m not going to be a part of that. Don’t you have any boundaries?”
“I work in reality television, what do you think?” Corey snorted.
“Ugh. Not interested. Good-bye.” Hope returned her phone to her purse.
“What did he want?” Drew asked after sliding into the car on the driver’s side.
“A reality show revolving around prepping for Claire’s trial.”
“May not be a bad idea. You could gain some sympathy.”
“You, too? I’m surrounded by crazy. Look, Claire isn’t going to trial because she’s not the killer.”
“That’s right. Claire would never wear white sneakers.”
Hope laughed. Her sister had a very detailed list of fashion-don’ts and she adhered to that list. White sneakers weren’t her thing. Shoes. In a flash, she saw the black boot that skimmed her head after she’d fallen to the floor in her kitchen and her assailant walked by her. The boot was familiar. But why?
Chapter Twenty-seven
Two aspirins and a cold compress didn’t help Hope’s headache, which she realized was a result of not eating since breakfast. With little appetite, she grabbed a granola bar, then settled at the table with her composition notebook to record her notes.
On a blank sheet of paper, she wrote white sneakers on driver on one line.
Cora Mason had recalled the driver of the car, gender unknown, wore those sneakers. The hit-and-run occurred late at night, so wearing a pair of sneakers seemed odd. Maybe the person wasn’t only a bad driver with no conscience but also had bad fashion sense.
Hope took a bite of th
e granola bar and chewed. She studied the note, and her mind wandered to her conversation with Betsy Callahan. She recalled what Betsy said about Peaches suddenly joining a gym.
On the next line, Hope wrote “unexpected gym membership.”
She stared at the two lines, hoping the driver’s name would suddenly appear, like it was some magical word game. No such luck. She finished her granola bar and got up to get a glass of water. When she returned to her seat, she looked at the two lines again. They were connected somehow.
She drew a curved arrow from the first line to the second line and then a curved line from the second line to the first. “Who wears sneakers?” Ah-ha!
“Someone who works out at the gym.” Hope was willing to bet her fancy stand mixer that the gym Peaches joined was located near the location of the hit-and-run. Peaches was looking for the driver. Hope grabbed her phone and texted Drew. His research skills were far beyond hers, and he could find out if there was a gym in the area of the hit-and-run eleven years ago a lot faster than if she tried. He replied with a simple “NP.”
While she waited for Drew to get back to her, she finished making the invitations to her housewarming party. She still had to work on the menu and the decorations. As she addressed the envelopes, a pang of guilt hit her. With two murders and her sister arrested and out on bail, should she really be planning a party? It seemed so frivolous, but, on the other hand, they all needed a distraction. Decision made. She would go forward with her party.
She heard the notification ring on her phone and found a new text message, but it wasn’t from Drew. It was from Audrey. While Drew kept his texts short and sweet, Audrey wrote epic text messages. Audrey had decided to step down as president of the Society to Protect Jefferson and was pulling together a last-minute meeting of the group, and she wanted Hope there as moral support. Surprised by her friend’s sudden decision, Hope didn’t hesitate to reply she’d be right over.
When Hope arrived at Audrey’s house, the driveway was packed with cars. It appeared most of the membership of TSPJ had showed up for the announcement. Sally’s car was there, which meant Jane was there and she could fill her in on the visit to Cora Mason. As Hope approached the front door, she was joined by Drew.
The Uninvited Corpse Page 23
