“Of course he is.” Hope stood to refill her coffee cup and reached for the milk. After adding more than a drop—unlike her sister, she didn’t like her coffee dark—she returned the carton to the refrigerator. She closed the stainless-steel door. “What brings you by so early?”
“I never got the chance to properly thank you for staying at the shop while I went over to the Landon House. I appreciate your help.”
When Claire had returned, there were three customers browsing, and Hope was ringing up a sale for a fourth. Hope had been in a hurry to leave because she had to get ready for her blogging class, and since then, they hadn’t had the chance to catch up.
“Thank you. Just make sure it’s not a regular habit.” Hope took her cup back to the table, and Bigelow followed. He lay down beside her feet.
“You didn’t answer my question. What can’t you find?” Claire asked as she approached the table. She noticed Princess, who’d curled up on the chair rather than leap up onto the table. “It’s like they own the place.” Claire pulled out another chair and sat.
“They live here.” Hope didn’t want to answer the question about what she was looking for because she didn’t want a lecture. But it seemed Claire wouldn’t let go of the topic. “My charm bracelet. It’s missing.” Claire went to say something, but Hope cut her off. “Don’t say it.”
Claire looked offended. “Say what? Say Iva has always been a thief? Say you should have never hired her?”
“Exactly.”
“I’d be gloating if I said those things. I was simply going to ask if you’d let Iva into the house recently.”
“You know I have. She’s been painting inside.”
Claire lifted the cup to her lips and took a drink. She didn’t say a word, though the look in her eyes didn’t leave Hope any doubt of what her sister was thinking. Someone had accused Iva of stealing from the homeowners she’d cleaned for. One of those homeowners was Claire. Though there wasn’t any proof Iva had stolen.
Hope wanted to change the subject. Fast. She had the perfect topic.
“You texted me your thanks last night. What’s the real reason you’re here?”
Claire set her cup on the table. “You know how much I dislike gossip.”
“Since when?”
“Not funny.” She traced the rim of her cup with her index finger. “Anyway, last night when I was closing the shop, Devon was outside. She was on her phone, and she got pretty loud. Devon said she had no intention of leaving Jefferson until she finds the person responsible for her mother’s disappearance.”
Hope took a long drink of her coffee. Devon had said those same words to Hope. She wondered who Devon had been talking to on the phone. Possibly, Felice. A disagreement with a sibling could cause raised voices. Lord knows, Hope and Claire had had their share of arguments over the years.
“She could have been talking to her sister. I don’t think Felice wanted Devon to come back and stir up the past.” Hope didn’t want to share everything Devon had said, and she certainly didn’t want to tell Claire about Devon’s request for her help. Hope still hadn’t decided yet.
Claire shrugged. “Could be. I’m worried about her. I have a feeling she’ll be hurt no matter what the outcome is.”
“If it was us and Mom disappeared, wouldn’t we both risk being hurt to find out the truth?”
“I don’t like thinking . . . yes, I see your point. We would risk anything. You were close to Devon back in school; can you talk to her? Make sure she’s okay?”
“I will.” Hope had to give Devon an answer anyway. “Let me finish some work, and then I’ll call her.”
Claire looked relieved. “Thanks. I should get going. I have to open the shop. Call me after you talk to her.” She stood and grabbed her purse on the way out of the kitchen.
Hope heard the back door close, and so did Bigelow. He stood up and stretched. Then he looked at Hope with those big, loving eyes. She knew what he wanted. He wanted to go for another walk.
“We already took our morning stroll.” She’d learned early on not to say the word “walk” unless she wanted to go on one. While his manners had been so-so, his understanding of certain words was excellent. “You’re supposed to be napping now.”
His gaze intensified.
“How about I give you a cookie, and then you go take your nap?”
His ears perked up. “Cookie.” See, another word he understood.
She went to the container on the counter where she kept the peanut butter cookies, aka bribes, she baked for him. He trotted over and sat.
“Good boy! Here you go. Enjoy.” She handed him the bone-shaped cookies, and he trotted to his bed in the corner of the family room, crunched it, and ate every single crumb.
Meanwhile, she grabbed a filled, reusable bottle of water from the refrigerator before returning to the table. Princess was still curled up and snoring. Lucky cat.
Back in her seat, Hope checked the weather forecast for the hundredth time. The likelihood of snow in Connecticut on her and Ethan’s weekend getaway had increased to forty percent. Snow was guaranteed up in Vermont, but it was the local weather that concerned her. If a snowstorm hit, Ethan would feel obligated to stay in town. While she admired his dedication and his commitment to the citizens of Jefferson, she also wanted a break and some alone time with him.
She closed the browser so she could get back to work and reached for her water. She transitioned from coffee to water early in the morning. As much as she loved coffee, she didn’t want to overcaffeinate. She set her fingers on the keyboard, and her gaze landed on her bare wrist again. Was Claire right about what happened to the piece of jewelry?
Maybe it was a coincidence the bracelet had disappeared at the same time she’d had Iva inside the house working.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Would Iva really steal from her? There was only one way to find out. She had to speak to Iva about the incident in the most diplomatic way possible so as not to come off accusing the woman of stealing.
She leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. Was there a way to tactfully ask someone if they stole your jewelry? She uncrossed her arms and reached for the keyboard. Time to do an internet search.
Scrolling down a list of search results for how to talk to an employee about theft, Hope stopped when her phone blared “Girls Just Want To Have Fun,” her sister’s ringtone. She reached for the phone and accepted the call.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t called Devon yet.” Hope minimized the computer screen, and up popped her screensaver, a photo of her and Ethan. She smiled. They’d snapped the photo during a hike. He was tall with broad shoulders, dark hair, and a strong jaw. She was a few inches shorter, with shoulder-length dark brown hair and a lighter complexion. In her humble opinion, they made a cute couple. Her smile broadened.
“Forget about calling her. I think something is wrong. I’m at her apartment door now, and it’s open, and I looked inside. It looks like someone has searched the place. I don’t think she’s home.”
“What? Why are you up there?”
“I wanted to check on her. Hope, I think something may have happened to her.”
“Don’t go in! Go back to the shop, and I’ll be right over.” Hope shot up from the chair, startling Bigelow with her quick movement. She mumbled a reassurance to him that everything was fine, but his eyes were filled with concern as he raised to all fours and rushed toward her. Maybe having a dog with her wasn’t a bad idea. She tapped her leg for him to follow.
In the mudroom, she slipped on his coat and then harnessed him. With Bigelow all set to go outside, she shrugged into her coat. She slipped the phone into her purse and took out her key fob. They stepped outside, and she pulled the door shut behind them. Together, they raced to the garage. Bigelow seemed to think they were going on an adventure. But the pit growing in her stomach told Hope otherwise.
Chapter Six
Hope and Bigelow arrived at Staged with Style in record time. She usually didn’t speed
, but under the circumstances, she made an exception. Even though Claire wasn’t in any danger, Hope’s protective instinct had kicked into high gear. Devon’s angry phone call last night, her apartment door left open, and the place appearing to have been searched. It was all unsettling, and Hope didn’t want Claire there by herself.
“Why did you bring him?” Claire pulled the shop’s door closed behind her. She’d been peering out the shop’s window when Hope arrived.
“Protection.” Hope patted Bigelow’s back. He was small but mighty. Not too long ago, he’d leaped into action when Hope’s life was at risk, and she was grateful he was there at the time. He may not have been large or muscled, but he wouldn’t let anyone hurt her.
She stepped toward the door that opened to the vestibule, and the three of them ascended the staircase. Bigelow’s toenails tapped on the creaky old wooden steps, and when he reached the landing, he lifted his nose and sniffed.
“What’s he doing?” Claire asked.
“Smelling.”
“Like for a dead body?”
Hope shrugged. “Canines have a more acute sense of smell than we do. So who knows what he’s smelling now?”
“God, I hope Devon wasn’t murdered here. Do you have any idea how hard it is to rent or sell a property where there’s been a murder?”
Hope looked over her shoulder. “Actually, I do. Remember that house I was almost killed in? It’s still on the market. And I’d think we should be more concerned about Devon than the rental future of this property.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
“Did you hear anything this morning?”
“No. Since she moved in, I’ve heard her moving around sometimes, but nothing today.”
The apartment door was ajar, and there was no sound coming from inside the tiny apartment. Hope stretched out her hand and pushed the door open wider. She immediately pulled her hand back. Fingerprints. While she hoped this was all a big misunderstanding, that Devon was safe somewhere, running an errand, she could be stepping into a crime scene.
A messy crime scene.
If someone hadn’t searched the apartment, Devon must have been in a frenzy looking for something. Hope could identify with that. She’d spent last night turning her own house upside down looking for her missing charm bracelet. Anything to avoid having to ask Iva about it.
Sofa cushions and pillows were tossed on the wood floor, the area rug was scrunched up, and the dining chairs were strewn across the small eating area. Even the kitchen cabinets were open, and canned items were on the floor. The other evening, everything had been tidy and orderly. Even the piles of research on the table had had some order to them, though Hope would have preferred neatly arranged filed folders hung in a desktop file container. Now there was nothing to organize. All the research was gone. The bulletin board was empty.
“Devon! Are you home? It’s Hope and Claire!”
Bigelow barked. Hope guessed he didn’t want to be left out.
“No answer, just like before. I have a terrible feeling about this.” Claire had followed her to the table. “Isn’t this breaking and entering?”
“No. It’s just entering. Don’t touch anything.” It was a reminder for herself. Touching the door was a rookie mistake. Hope should have known better. She headed to the bedroom with Bigelow. The bed was made, but Devon wasn’t in there. She returned to the living area.
“What was this for?” Claire was looking at the bulletin board, which now lay flat on the table. The pushpins that held the newspaper articles and photographs were scattered over the board and table. It looked like somebody had ripped those documents away in a hurry.
“Devon’s research. Newspaper articles, photos, police interviews. Devon is thorough.”
Claire fingered the heart charm on her necklace. “I don’t remember the newspaper articles. What I remember is the six o’clock news and a photo of Joyce up on the screen.” She swallowed. “It terrified me. I thought Mom would disappear next.”
Hope wrapped her arm around her sister’s shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze. “Me too.” They stood silent for a moment until Hope let go of Claire. “We have to figure out what’s going on here.”
Claire nodded. “If Devon is right about someone abducting her mother and that person is still here in Jefferson, I think he or she wouldn’t want her to be revisiting the past.”
“You’re right. You know, the more I’ve thought about it the past few days, the more I agree with Devon. I don’t think Joyce walked out on her family.”
“But if I remember correctly, there wasn’t any sign of a struggle or a crime at the Markham house. Unlike here.” Claire looked around the apartment.
“It could have been someone Joyce knew and wasn’t afraid of. Maybe that person lured her out of the house under false pretenses.”
“Doesn’t sound like she had anything more concrete than the police had.”
“I know. I think that’s why Devon asked for my help.”
Claire gave Hope their mother’s look. The one when the two girls knew they’d been caught by their mom, who was waiting for an explanation before sentencing them to an unbearable punishment. Hope hated that look.
“Help with what, Hope? Finding the person who probably kidnapped and murdered Devon’s mother? And now she’s . . . we don’t know where she is, but someone ransacked her apartment. Tell me you aren’t considering it.”
Hope lowered her gaze, and that’s when she saw Drew’s business card peeking out from beneath the bulletin board. She pulled out her phone from her purse and called him. He picked up on the third ring.
“Hey, have you talked to Devon recently?” Hope asked.
“Yesterday. We started her interview. I’ve been trying to schedule the rest of it, but she hasn’t returned my call.”
“After you met with her yesterday, do you know where she went?”
“She mentioned her next stop was to talk to the detective who worked Joyce’s case. He’s retired and living in Milford now. What’s going on?”
“Not sure. Thanks.” Hope ended the call. She looked at Claire. “We need to call Ethan. First, let’s get out of here.” The apartment was giving her the willies. She shepherded her sister and Bigelow out to the hall and down the stairs.
The good news was Ethan answered her call. The bad news was, he was on his way into another meeting with the mayor and the town’s attorney. The really bad news was, he sent Detective Sam Reid to check out Devon’s apartment.
Detective Reid wasn’t fond of Hope’s amateur sleuthing adventures. He’d made it abundantly clear she had no business poking her nose into police matters. He also never let the fact that she had a personal relationship with Ethan stop him from threatening to arrest her for interfering with a police investigation. Several times in fact. And now here he was.
Why couldn’t Ethan have sent a patrol officer?
“I can see why you’re concerned.” Detective Reid stepped out of the apartment into the hallway where Hope, Claire, and Bigelow waited. He pulled the door closed. “Mrs. Dixon, did you hear anything this morning from up here?”
“No. Nothing. It looks like someone searched the apartment. Do you think it’s connected to her mother’s disappearance?” Claire asked.
“I’m unable to speculate at this time. For all we know, Ms. Markham could have left early this morning before you opened the shop, and she didn’t securely close the door.” Reid towered over Hope and Claire. His thin frame, courtesy of marathon running, was covered in a black trench coat. The unbuttoned coat revealed a dark gray turtleneck over black trousers and gave a glimpse of his badge attached to his belt.
“What about the mess inside?” Hope stood beside her sister, and Bigelow was seated, pressed against her leg. He’d positioned himself between her and the detective. Few things ignited the dog’s ire, but Reid was one of them.
Reid shrugged. “A simple explanation could be that she’s messy.”
“That’s not messy!” Hope p
ointed to the apartment door. “I was in there two nights ago, and other than paperwork cluttering the table, there wasn’t any mess. No, Devon didn’t do that. What about all her missing research?”
“She could have taken it with her. Why were you here the other night?” Reid pulled out a small black notepad from his coat’s interior pocket, along with a pen. He flipped the notepad open to a blank sheet of paper.
“To catch up. Devon asked me to come over after my blogging class at the library.” Hope watched the detective jot down what she’d said.
“I heard about the class.” Reid looked up from his notepad.
“It was the first class, and I think it went well. There were a lot of questions, and I think the students were confused when I talked about platforms hosting—”
“I don’t think he’s interested in your class,” Claire said.
“Right. Sorry. Back to Devon.”
“Thank you, Miss Early.” A rare smiled appeared on his lips. His sharp facial features usually didn’t reveal what he was thinking. So, seeing something like a smile was indeed surprising.
“Devon wanted to catch up.” And to ask her to help with her investigation. But she decided not to share that part until her sister poked her in the side with her elbow. “Ouch.” She glared at Claire.
“Tell him or I will.”
“Tell me what?” Reid asked.
Hope gave her sister a I-will-not-forget-this look. “Devon asked for my help with her investigation of her mother’s case.”
“She did, did she?” Reid smirked. “And what was your answer, Ms. Early?”
“I didn’t give her an answer.”
“Why not? It should have been a big, fat no,” Claire said.
“I know what you think.” Hope turned her attention back to the detective.
“Do you? What am I thinking now?” Claire’s tone was aggravated.
Reid cleared his throat, interrupting the squabble.
“Sorry.” Hope glared one more time at Claire. “I called Drew, and he said he met with Devon yesterday. He’s writing a story about her podcast. After their meeting, she told him she would talk to the detective who handled her mother’s case. He’s retired now.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 8
