Like today.
Devon was the story.
A man’s voice shouting instructions distracted Hope from thinking about the possibility that Devon was in the car when it went off the road and didn’t survive the accident.
She couldn’t think like that. At least not yet.
She came around to the front of Drew’s car and shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. A pit of coldness settled in her stomach. It wasn’t the kind of coldness that could be warmed up, like adding another layer to her jacket. No, the coldness inside her just sat there, expanding with every minute that passed, and it hurt.
The strobe lights on the rescue vehicles lit up the gray morning, and the constant sounds of radios squawking with what sounded like garbled conversations disturbed the usual quietness of the wooded area.
“Come on! Keep moving!” A uniformed police officer, bundled up in layers and a thick hat, directed traffic on the now one-lane road. The cars passing by moved at a slow speed so the drivers could get a glimpse of what was happening. Human nature at its finest.
Amid the controlled chaos of the scene, Hope spotted Drew walking back toward her, and Ethan was beside him.
Ethan’s jaw was set and his shoulders were squared. He was in full cop mode. If Hope didn’t know better, she would have been nervous.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
Ouch. He was channeling Detective Reid.
She tried not to take his abruptness or tone personally. He was the police chief and on the scene of an accident. He didn’t have time for chitchat. Not even a simple hello to his girlfriend.
“I was with Drew when he got the tip someone found Devon’s car.” She raised to her tippy toes to see over Ethan’s shoulders. He was blocking her view of the scene.
“Why did you bring her?” Ethan asked Drew.
“Do you really think I could have stopped her?” He gave Hope a double take and shrugged as he mouthed, Sorry. He looked back at Ethan. “Who found the car?” He had his cell phone out and tapped on the recording app.
“Jimmy Lightfoot. He was out walking his dog when the dog broke free from the leash and wandered into that area.” Ethan turned and pointed up ahead, where there was a break in the fencing. “He spotted the car when he was getting his dog out of there and called us.”
“Is he still here?” Drew did a full 360 turn, scanning the scene.
“He’s finishing up his statement.” Ethan turned his attention to Hope. “I wish you hadn’t come with Drew.” His stern look softened, as did his tone.
“I won’t get in the way.” Hope folded her arms over her chest. Drew was right; she wasn’t dressed for the weather, at least not for standing in place.
“I didn’t think you would.” Ethan looked back to where the first responders were working. Several had huddled at the break in the fence where it looked like the car hit before plummeting down the hillside. He looked back at Hope and held her gaze for a solemn moment before he cast his eyes downward.
Hope gasped. “Devon’s in the car, isn’t she?”
He closed the small gap between them and touched her arm. “I’m sorry, but I can’t confirm the identity of the victim at this time. Not until the next of kin has been notified.”
Hope’s hand covered her mouth. Devon was dead. She was certain of it.
“They’re bringing up the body now. Are you going to be okay?”
Hope stared at him for what seemed like a lifetime. Everything went still around her. Around them. And silent. She wanted to cry, to scream, to wake up from this nightmare. But she couldn’t. It wasn’t a dream, it was real. Devon was dead. She fought back the tears. She couldn’t cry. Not then. Ethan and Drew had work to do. They didn’t have time to console her. She wanted them to do their jobs and not worry about her.
She dipped her head to compose herself and then looked back up. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. Go back to your officers.”
“Wait, before you do. Can you tell me if the victim’s death was a result of the accident?” Drew asked.
“At this time, I can’t comment. There will be an autopsy to determine the cause of death,” Ethan said. “Also, under no circumstances are you to reveal the victim’s identity.”
“Of course not. No way I want to be responsible for a family member learning about a loved one’s death via my article. Can you tell me if there was any sign there was foul play involved?” Drew asked.
“Again, I can’t comment at this time. We’ll do a full investigation and then release our findings,” Ethan said.
“Chief!” an officer from the section of the broken fence called out.
Ethan raised his hand to acknowledge he heard. He took a step closer to Hope. “I have to go. There’s nothing out here for you to do or see. Go back in the car. You’re shivering. I’ll call you later.” He squeezed her arm before turning away and walking toward his officer.
Hope opened her mouth to protest but didn’t say a word. How could she argue with him? He was right. Maybe it would have been better if she’d stayed at the coffee shop with Jane.
“I’ll be a few more minutes.” Drew followed Ethan and then changed course. Hope saw that he’d spotted Jimmy Lightfoot on the other side of the road. He wasted no time in getting his exclusive interview. She scanned the scene, and everything seemed to go into slow motion, and the shouts from the first responders seemed to fade as the body bag came into view.
Hope’s stomach somersaulted, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth to stifle her cry.
What happened on Hargate Hill? How long had Devon been in that ditch? Was she alive when her car careened through the fencing? The questions repeated until they became a never-ending loop in her head.
She looked away, refusing to look back at the disturbing scene. She leaned against the driver’s side of the car. The body was out of view. A few minutes later, Drew joined her, and nudged her with his shoulder.
“You okay?” he asked, concern filled his voice. “It’s okay if you’re not. She was a friend.”
“We were. Though we hadn’t seen each other since high school. Maybe ‘friend’ isn’t the right word.” Hope looked at Drew. They’d gone through life’s ups and downs, like her divorce and very public loss on The Sweet Taste of Success, and her first-ever recipe video going viral. They were friends. Best friends for life.
“Maybe not. Still, you and Devon were friends in high school. You had a connection with her. I can’t imagine being here is easy for you.”
“What about you? You were friends with her too, back then.”
Drew wrapped his arm around Hope’s shoulders and pulled her close to him. “I’m here doing my job. I’m a professional. I have to be emotionally detached.”
“I see. So, what does your emotionally detached, professional brain tell you about all this?”
“That’s easy. I suspect this wasn’t a simple accident.”
“Exactly what I’m thinking. I mean, it’s too much of a coincidence Devon shows up here to find out what happened to her mother and then disappears the day she’s supposed to talk to the retired detective and then she’s found dead in a car accident.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Neither do I.” Hope pulled away from Drew and the car. She walked to the hood. “I think someone staged this to look like an accident.” She looked over her shoulder. “I think someone murdered Devon.”
Drew opened his mouth to say something and then clamped it shut, his lips thinning into a grim line. Hope followed his gaze. Approaching from the other direction was Norrie Jennings.
“Oh. No. She’s not going to steal my story.” Drew’s voice went up a notch, and he stood up straight.
“I thought you were in a professional, emotionally detached mode?”
“Not when it comes to her.” He lunged forward, but Hope grabbed his arm. He glowered at her.
“Drew, you have your quotes and your photographs. You need to get back to the office and wri
te up your article before she writes hers. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Drew was standing firm.
Hope tugged his arm. Still no movement on his part. She pulled, harder, and it yielded to him caving and walking back to the driver’s side.
Behind the wheel, he navigated his car through a four-point U-turn and then drove back to town. Hope welcomed the heated seats and nestled her head in the soft, leather headrest. By the time she’d get dropped off at her house, she expected to be thawed out.
“We need to find out if Devon made it to Milford to speak with the retired detective. Can you check?” The warmth from the seat spread throughout Hope’s body, chasing away the cold that clung to her.
“I can. I’d love to get my hands on her research notes. I wonder if she had copies or saved them to the cloud? Maybe Felice knows?”
“Felice! She’ll be devastated when she finds out what happened.” Hope’s heart broke, thinking about the news Felice would soon be receiving. “Who’s going to tell her?”
“Ethan was heading over to Felice’s house with another officer.”
Knowing Ethan would be the one delivering the devastating news gave Hope some comfort. He’d be gentle, compassionate, and would stay if Felice needed him to.
She swiveled her head and looked at Drew.
“She asked me to help her. Maybe if I had said yes right away . . .” Her throat choked with emotion.
“Hey, don’t do that to yourself. You’re not in any way responsible for what happened. Who knows, if you had said yes, we could be pulling your body out of a ditch.” Hope knew his words were supposed to be supportive, but they painted a gruesome picture instead. He must have caught her grimace. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get all dark on you. But you know what I mean.”
“I do.” Hope shifted her gaze back to the road ahead. “I can’t shake the feeling I let her down.”
“Oh, boy. You’re not thinking of doing what I think you’re thinking of doing, are you?”
Hope huffed. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing. Devon was murdered.”
“We don’t know for certain.” He flicked on his turn signal. “Look at me being the sensible one. Not leaping before the facts are in.”
“Yeah, didn’t think it was possible,” Hope quipped.
“Hey! I have feelings, you know.”
She stretched out her hand and rubbed Drew’s arm. “I do know. So, are you going to help me?”
Drew eased his car to a full stop at an intersection and waited for the pickup truck coming from the other direction to drive through before pressing on the accelerator.
“Like you even have to ask. Let’s find out what happened to Devon and her mother.”
Chapter Eight
“You’re doing great, Hope.” Josie gave a thumbs-up from her spot beside the tripod. A camera and external microphone were attached to the tripod placed in front of the island.
Hope checked her watch one more time. It was almost time to go. But first things first.
Even though it was a Sunday, one more segment of the Broccoli-Spinach Soup recipe needed to be filmed. Being self-employed meant Hope worked long hours and on weekends. But she hadn’t expected her assistant to work.
Josie had arrived an hour ago and gotten right to work. Luckily, her schedule was flexible, and she had no plans for the day.
“You nailed the intro. Ready for the outro?” Josie looked at her boss expectantly.
As soon as the outro was filmed, the recap of the recipe video, Hope would be off to visit Felice and pay her condolences. She hated those visits and felt she’d made too many of them, in her estimation. So she tried to celebrate the person’s life instead of dwelling on the death, and it helped ease the grief and heartache. But not by much. While filming the soup recipe, all the things she’d liked about Devon in high school ran through her mind. She wanted to cling to those memories and not the fresh one of the accident scene the day before.
Hope cleared her throat, relaxed her shoulders, and looked at the camera. “I’m ready.”
A moment ago, she’d wanted to cry, but looking to the camera gave her a jolt of fortification she desperately needed. Beyond the camera lens were her faithful followers, who read her blog every day and watched her new videos when she uploaded them. The last thing she wanted to do was to let them down.
With that kick in the pants, the smile she’d been struggling for eased onto her lips and the words came to her.
“All right, my friends, there you have my Broccoli-Spinach Soup. It’s perfect for a cold, wintry day. The recipe is easy, and you’ll find a link for it on my blog. Also, don’t forget to share a photo with me on social media when you make the soup. Be sure to tag Hope at Home. I love to see your success in the kitchen.”
Hope held her smile for another beat, and then Josie clicked off the camera and microphone. “Great job, boss. I’ll edit the video and schedule it to go live when the post goes up.” She stepped away from the camera and walked to the table, where her laptop was open.
“You’ll also create the pin image?” Hope at Home had a presence on all social media platforms, and juggling all those outlets was another reason she’d hired Josie.
“Of course.” Seated, Josie looked over the top of her computer. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to drive you over there?”
Hope ladled the soup into large containers. She planned to take the soup, along with a loaf of her sourdough bread to Felice’s house. She’d already prepared a salad, and it was in the refrigerator to go along with the soup.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m doing okay. A lot better than Felice, I’m guessing. It’s not going to be easy. From what Devon told me, her sister wasn’t thrilled with the reason she returned home. And now this.” Hope wiped the containers with a paper towel.
“I don’t understand. If it were me, I’d want to know what happened to my mother. But I guess families are complicated.” Josie returned her attention to the keyboard and typed. “Did you find your charm bracelet?”
Hope groaned. With everything that had happened, she’d forgotten about her bracelet. And about the talk she had to have with Iva.
“I take it you haven’t,” Josie said with a sympathetic smile.
Hope put the two containers into the refrigerator, then dashed upstairs to change into more appropriate clothes for a condolence call. Maybe later she could think about how to approach the delicate subject with Iva. Or she could conduct one more, in-depth search for the bracelet. But in light of Devon’s death, it seemed like such a minor loss. Yes, she could delay that uncomfortable talk for a little longer.
* * *
Hope grabbed the basket’s handle and removed it from the Explorer’s cargo space. She stepped back as the cargo door closed and looked upward. Big puffs of gray hung overhead, making for another glum day. She walked around her vehicle, and when she reached the brick path to the front door of Felice’s house, she stopped.
A sadness reverberated off the Victorian home. From its drawn curtains to its quietude, it was as if the house was prepared for somber visits.
Before Hope pressed the doorbell, the door swung open and Felice pulled her into an embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” Felice’s voice was thick with emotion.
“I’m very sorry for your loss.” Tears pricked Hope’s eyes and she squeezed them shut. She wouldn’t cry again.
“I can’t believe this has happened. I don’t understand it.” Felice let go and gestured for Hope to enter the house. She closed the door. She was well under forty, so Felice’s long, silver hair was a product of visits to the hair salon. She’d joined the granny-gray hair trend, and with her mid-toned complexion and dark eyes, the hair color worked for her. “You brought food? How thoughtful of you.”
Hope lifted the basket. “I did. Soup with sourdough bread and salad.”
Felice covered her heart with her hand. “I don’t know how I’d be getting through this without my famil
y and friends.” She reached for the basket. “Let me put this in the kitchen. I’ll be right back. Go on in the living room.” She walked past Hope and disappeared down the hall.
Hope entered the spacious room with an arched ceiling and a working fireplace. The warmth from the fire felt good, and its crackling sound was comforting. She shrugged out of her coat and set it, along with her purse, on the sofa. She crossed the polished wood floor to the fireplace and held out her hands to warm up.
“I thought you might like a cup of coffee.” Felice entered the room carrying two mugs and handed one to Hope. She then took her mug to the sofa and sat. She tucked her bare feet under her legs and sipped her coffee.
“How are you doing?” Hope joined Felice. Seated, she took a drink of coffee.
“I think I’m still numb. Ethan told me about the accident and finding Devon’s body, but I don’t think it’s sunk in yet.”
“You’re not alone here, are you?”
Felice shook her head. “No, Patrick’s here. He’s in the kitchen, making calls.”
Hope had only met Felice’s husband a few times over the years. He seemed nice. After college, he’d moved to the area to teach music at a private school in Litchfield.
Felice took a drink before setting the mug on the coffee table. “Devon told me she talked to you. I’m sure she told you I was against her reopening our mother’s case.”
“She did. If you don’t mind me asking, why were you against it?”
Felice’s lips quivered. “I didn’t want to relive the pain all over again. The day I came home from school, I expected Mom to have been back from work. She wasn’t.” Her voice trembled and her gaze flickered away for a moment. “Dad called the office and found out she hadn’t shown up for work. Realizing something bad went down was the most painful thing I’d ever experienced.”
“Reliving it through the podcast and having the media attention on it would open wounds you’d already started to heal,” Hope said.
“Exactly. Now it sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”
Hope reached for a coaster on the coffee table and set down her mug. She scooted closer to Felice and took hold of her hands. “No. Not at all. You needed to protect yourself. Devon was your sister. She understood.”
The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Page 11
