“I’m sorry. I should be paying more attention to where I’m walking.” Hope’s sympathy for Ethan skyrocketed. It seemed Maretta was in a particularly bad mood. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? A little warmer than yesterday.”
“Yes, yes, yes. Beautiful day indeed. I don’t have time to chitchat. First, I had to deal with the broken furnace at the school this morning. It’s working now, and school is opening in an hour. Now I have an appointment with Chief Cahill, and I don’t want to be late. I hope your visit here hasn’t set him back either.” She nodded in the direction of the police department’s entrance.
So much for pleasant conversation.
Before Hope could respond, Maretta’s body jerked, making Hope jump. She looked over Maretta’s shoulder and saw three boys high-fiving each other.
“What on earth?” Maretta swung around to face the boys, and the back of her coat was covered with snow. “I see you, Billy Teager! Who are your hooligan friends?”
The boys responded with a chorus of hearty laughter and then took off running.
“This is outrageous!” Maretta turned back to Hope. She huffed. “I’ll have to see what the chief will do about this blatant assault.” She walked around Hope.
“Maretta, don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit?”
Maretta arched a thin eyebrow. She apparently went heavy with her tweezers. “You condone such behavior?”
“No, they shouldn’t have thrown all those snowballs at you, but they’re kids. I don’t think the police need to be brought into this.”
Maretta looked off in the distance for a moment and then met Hope’s gaze. She nodded slowly, as if she were considering options. “Perhaps you’re right.”
Hope’s eyes narrowed. What was Maretta saying? Was she agreeing with Hope? There was a first time for everything.
“This may not be a police matter. Rather, something I should take care of as mayor.”
Oh, boy. Hope sensed Maretta wasn’t agreeing with her. No, instead, Maretta’s brain was churning with another thought. A part of Hope was curious to find out what Maretta was thinking while another part was scared.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ll introduce a ban on snowball throwing.”
“No, no, Maretta, no. You can’t do that.”
“Watch me.” Maretta’s tone was severe, leaving Hope to believe she’d do what she said. Ban snowball throwing? A stupid idea on so many levels. Maretta turned and walked along the path to the building’s entrance.
“She’s out of her mind,” Hope muttered as she swiveled around on the sidewalk. Billy Teager was an energetic kid with a mischievous streak, and he was also her nephew’s friend. Thank goodness Logan hadn’t been in the group of snowball throwers.
She was about to send Ethan a text warning him of Maretta’s sour mood, but an SOS text from Claire stopped her.
Need help. Now!
What on earth was going on at the shop? She dropped her phone back into her purse. Her trip to the library would have to wait.
* * *
“Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been waiting.” Claire, dressed in her coat, stepped out from behind the sales counter. At the table, she lifted the canvas tote bag filled with swatches and her supplies. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Hope raised her palm to slow her sister down. “Wait. What’s going on?”
“My walk-through at the Landon house got rescheduled to now.” She raised her arm and pushed back her coat sleeve to look at her watch. “I’m barely going to make it on time. I have to go.”
Hope joined her sister at the table. “If you’re leaving, why did you ask me to come over?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“You want me to watch the shop while you’re out?”
“Thank you!” Claire hurried to the door.
“I’m not offering. I have work to do. I can’t babysit your shop. Close for a few hours.”
“And risk losing business or confuse my customers with erratic shop hours? I can’t do that.”
“Well, I can’t stay.”
“But you will, because you’re my sister and you’d do anything for me. Besides, you can do all your work on your phone. Isn’t that the beauty of being self-employed with an online business? You can work remotely anywhere, anytime. Thanks!” Claire didn’t wait for Hope to respond. She hustled out of the shop and didn’t look back.
How . . . ? What . . . ? Hope snapped out of her stupor and hurried to the door, but she was too late. Claire was long gone. She’d had her getaway all planned. Even parked her Mercedes in front of the shop.
Darn.
Hope counted to ten. And then added another ten.
“This is why I told her not to open a store. But did she listen? Nooo.” Great. She was talking to herself.
She shrugged out of her jacket and draped it on the back of the chair along with her purse. She rested a hand on her hip and looked around the shop.
Her gaze landed on the tufted bench. Its pretty teal color would brighten any gray day. Too bad she didn’t have a spot for it in her house. Her entry foyer had a coat closet, but not enough space for the bench. But she did have room for the hand-painted yellow, honeycomb-patterned vase.
Babysitting the store was going to be expensive on her end. Before she reached for the vase, the door opened and Drew burst in.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Shoot. She’d forgotten to call him first thing about Norrie’s story on Joyce.
“Drew, I’m so sorry. I meant to call you this morning before you left for work, but I got busy. . . . I had an email from a PR firm I needed to reply to ASAP and then I totally forgot. I’m really sorry.”
“What about last night? Why didn’t you tell me then that Norrie was already working on the same story idea?”
“I tried, but you wouldn’t listen, and then you left so quickly.”
“So, it’s my fault?”
“No, I didn’t mean . . . no, it’s not your fault.” There was going to be no winning this argument. No matter what she said to defend herself, Drew would twist it around. He always did. There was only one way to try to keep the situation from escalating. “I like your hat.” She prayed the compliment of his brown, faux shearling trapper hat would turn his mood around.
“Thank you. It was a Christmas gift from my sister.” His rigid stance and clipped words told Hope his mood hadn’t shifted one iota. He was still angry with her.
“She’s always had good taste. Guess it runs in the family.” Sure, Hope was laying it on thick, but she had no choice.
“Don’t try to butter me up. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was going into my editor’s office to pitch a story he’d already heard? And from all people, Norrie?” Drew shoved his hands into his pants pockets and lowered his chin.
“I can’t imagine it was a pleasant thing.”
He shook his head. “No. She wasted no time in telling me about how she plans to write the story and how she’s certain it’ll get picked up on the wire service, thanks to the podcast.” Drew trudged over to the table and dropped onto a chair.
Hope pulled out the other chair and sat, careful not to let her jacket or purse fall.
“She might be writing the story but remember, it’s you who knows Devon. We all went to school together. We were friends.”
Drew perked up. He made eye contact with her. And it wasn’t the stink eye now. “You’re right. I can use the connection to get Devon to talk to me.”
Crisis averted.
Drew jumped to his feet. “She’s living upstairs. I’ll go see if she’s home now. I can get the interview and write it up before Norrie realizes what happened. My editor won’t care who got the story as long as he gets one for the front page.”
Hope let out a whoosh of tension as her body relaxed. Drew had a new plan. More importantly, he wasn’t upset with her any longer. She glanced upward and said a silent thank-you to whatever power helped her.<
br />
Outside the window, she saw someone approaching the door. It looked like it was time for her to play shopkeeper.
“Where’s Claire?” Drew finally asked.
“You just now realized she’s not here?”
He shrugged. “I was preoccupied by my career tanking.”
The door opened, and Devon entered. Talk about perfect timing. Hope stood. “Good morning, Devon. What brings you by?”
“I’m looking for Claire.” The door closed behind Devon as she stepped farther into the shop. She pulled a tissue from her jacket’s pocket and wiped her nose. “I forgot how cold it gets here.” She returned the crumpled tissue to her pocket.
“Claire’s out at an appointment. Is there something I can help you with?” Hope asked.
“The light bulb in the hallway is out, and the landlord said Claire could contact the handyman if anything needed to be fixed.”
“Hi, Devon. I don’t know if you remember me. I’m Drew Adams.” Drew extended his hand to Devon.
Leave it to Drew to jump into the middle of a conversation when there was a story at stake.
“I’m sure Devon remembers you,” Hope said.
A flicker of recognition flashed in Devon’s eyes. She reached out and pulled him in for a hug. “Of course I do. So glad to see you!”
Drew gave Hope a thumbs-up, and he smiled.
“How have you been? You were the editor of the high school newspaper. What are you doing now?” Devon let go of Drew and stepped back.
“I’m a reporter with the Gazette. And I’d love to interview you about your podcast and your investigation into your mom’s disappearance.”
“Another reporter has already contacted me. Norrie Jennings, I think her name is.”
Drew’s mood darkened again. Oh, boy.
“I haven’t called her back. To be honest, I’m not sure how I feel about an interview. I’m not back here to promote my podcast. It’s not a business, like Hope’s blog. More like a passion project. Though it may be nice to talk about it and my mom.” She was quiet for a moment, putting Hope’s nerves on edge. She didn’t want to live through the fallout if Devon turned down Drew’s request. “Let’s do the interview. I’ll let the other reporter know I’m going with you, my old friend.”
“Great!” Drew exchanged cell phone numbers with Devon.
“Hope, I was thinking we could have dinner if you’re not busy tonight. Nothing fancy; I’m not a famous food blogger like you. I thought it would be nice to catch up.”
“I’d love to, but I have my blogging class this evening at the library.”
“How about after the class? Stop by for tea and dessert. I open a mean package of cookies.” Devon chuckled. “Drew, please come too if you’re free.”
“Thanks, but I have a committee meeting to attend tonight, and I have to write up the article when I get back home. Can I get a rain check?”
“Definitely. So, Hope? Are we on for later tonight?” Devon asked.
“Yes. It sounds wonderful. See you later.” Hope walked Devon to the door and closed it tightly to keep out the cold air. Drew came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “You got your exclusive interview with Devon.”
Drew rested his head on her shoulder. “I did. Norrie will be reading my interview and weeping because I’ll be back on the front page.”
“Yes, you will.” And Hope was out of the doghouse.
Chapter Five
Hope stood in front of her class of eager bloggers-to-be, all waiting to absorb the information she had to share, notebooks opened, tablets powered on. She welcomed them, gave them a brief overview of the course, and shared her journey from magazine editor to full-time blogger. Then it was time to get down to work.
She began with how to choose a topic to blog about. Some of the students had a broad idea, while others had niched down to a very specific subject matter such as crocheting or nature photography.
“We’ve covered choosing the topic for your blog. Now let’s talk about choosing a domain name. The name of your website. I chose mine, Hope at Home, because I knew while the focus of my blog would be primarily food, I would include DIY projects, household tips, and other content regarding my home. I wanted a name that would be broad enough, yet still be easy to remember.”
“How do we know the name we want for our blog is available?” Gail Graves sat in the front row and feverishly jotted down notes while Hope talked. She’d asked the most questions and impressed Hope that she was serious about blogging.
“Let’s check one now.” Hope had her AV set up, and at her laptop’s keyboard, she navigated to the service she used to host her website. “You’ll check here. Let’s say you want to name your website Hope at Home.” She typed the words. “The message the domain name has been taken comes up. You should have several options in mind.”
Shirley Phelan’s hand shot up. “What if the name I really want is taken? Can I buy it from the person who owns it?”
“You can. However, some domain names will be outrageously expensive. My advice is to have options and not have your heart set on any one name.”
For the next sixty minutes, Hope covered choosing a blogging platform. There were two main ones, and she gave all the pros and cons. She then finished the class with a tutorial on how to select the company to host the blog.
The students had many questions, a reminder she needed to break down the information into even smaller chunks. She was, after all, talking to beginners.
When she wrapped up her presentation, she handed out a checklist that covered everything she’d talked about. Each student expressed their gratitude for the cheat sheet. She took a few minutes to review the homework assignment. There were a couple of groans, but they were in good fun, and it made her feel like a real teacher.
Hope gathered her notes as her students filed out of the room. They all said good night to her when they passed by her table. She reminded them to do their assignment for the next class.
“Platform, hosting, framework. I think I have it all straight.” Gail stopped at the table, holding her notebook against her chest. She was the same age as Hope but had a few more creases around her eyes, and her dull black hair had gray roots.
“I know it’s confusing. The best way to think about it is that the framework is the construction of your blog; it’s what everyone will see. The platform is like what building you live in. The hosting is the service you use to get your information out to the masses. Take it one step at a time and you’ll be fine.”
Hope slipped her computer into its protective case and then into her tote bag. All in all, it was a good class. Her nerves had settled once she began talking about how she started blogging and never returned.
“You make it sound so simple.” Shirley Phelan arrived at Gail’s side. In her midsixties, Shirley was retired, but had too much energy to sit around and do nothing. Her daughter, Amy, was a friend of Hope and complained her mother needed a hobby because she was spending too much time trying to fix Amy up. Hope felt Amy’s pain. It wasn’t her mom who was the self-appointed matchmaker in the Early family, it had been Claire.
“Once you get the hang of it, I promise it’s simple.” Hope zipped her tote closed after adding her notes inside. She reached for her coat.
Shirley nodded. “Too bad life can’t be simple. I heard Devon is back in town.”
There it was: the gossip train chugging full steam ahead. Hope wondered who’d tipped Shirley off.
“I wonder why Felice didn’t tell me Devon was coming back.” Gail looked put out. Since high school, she and Felice had been close. Practically inseparable back then. “It’s all over town. She’s renting the apartment above Claire’s shop.”
“I hope she’s come back to make things right with her sister. What happened to their family is tragic, but they’re still family,” Shirley said.
“I don’t think we’re in a position to judge how any of them reacted to Joyce’s disappearance.” Hope shrugged into her coat and
pulled out her gloves from the pockets.
“It would be nice if they repaired the rift between them.” Gail started for the doorway. “I know Felice has missed her sister. I’ve heard something about a podcast Devon has.”
“It’s about unsolved cases of missing women. I listened to some of it last night.” Hope reached the doorway with Shirley next to her.
“Oh, good Lord. Has she come back after all these years to dredge up the past?” Shirley halted. She looked worried. “Nothing good will come of it. Mark my words.”
“If there’s a chance she can find out what happened to her mother, you don’t think that’s good?” Hope asked.
Shirley shook her head. “I spent weeks, months wondering what on earth came of my friend. I cried so many nights because my thoughts always drifted to the worst-case scenario. But as the years passed, those dark thoughts faded. Now I remember her as the loving wife, mother, and friend she was. I don’t want to go back to that dark time again.” She lurched forward and hurried out of the room.
Hope and Gail exchanged a look. Hope couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Shirley so agitated.
“I feel sorry for her. She lost a friend.” Gail’s sympathetic voice matched the look on her face. “I couldn’t imagine losing a close friend as she did.”
“Neither can I. But I can’t imagine living with not knowing what really happened. Come on, let’s go.” Hope flicked off the light switch as she and Gail passed over the threshold into the hall. The never knowing, the unanswered questions would haunt Hope if she were in Shirley’s shoes. If Drew suddenly disappeared, she’d be scared for him and unrelenting in trying to find out what happened to him. So, why didn’t Shirley want Devon to find answers to what had happened to Joyce?
Hope followed Gail out of the library’s parking lot. Gail turned, heading toward her house, a quick drive from Main Street, while Hope drove to Staged with Style to have a cup of tea with Devon.
Hope parked her Explorer in a shared lot behind Claire’s shop. She grabbed her purse and a container of Double Chocolate Oatmeal cookies. She felt her and Devon’s long-overdue get-together was too special for store-bought cookies. With the container in hand, she pushed open the door and stepped out.
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 6
