Three Widows and a Corpse

by Debra Sennefelder

  “What about her? When we went through the paperwork, we came across the divorce documents and discovered the divorce wasn’t finalized. She thought everything was taken care of. Mom had been a little preoccupied with her pregnancy. She told me it was difficult.”

  “Your mother told me she didn’t know where Lionel was. Did you tell her when the news broke about his arrest?”

  “Yes, and I regret it now.” Kitty’s head hung low.

  “If your mother didn’t kill Lionel, she has nothing to worry about.”

  “Easy for you to say. This morning, a reporter showed up at my apartment and I’ve read articles online. Once word gets out I’m Lionel Whitcomb’s biological daughter, it will turn my life upside down, and for what reason?”

  “Finding justice.”

  “Do you hear yourself?” Kitty threw up her hands in the air. “I’m expected to sacrifice my privacy so Lionel Whitcomb’s killer can be found? From what I’ve learned about the man, he got what he deserved.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  Kitty lowered her arms. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

  “You need to be careful of what you say. The police are looking at everyone. Words matter.”

  “What matters is my mother!”

  Hope winced. She understood the emotional roller coaster Kitty was on. Her biological father had been murdered and her mother was a suspect. But lashing out at Hope wasn’t going to help the situation. Nor was Hope reacting to Kitty’s outburst.

  “I’d like to help you.” The teakettle whistled, and Hope filled both mugs with water and dropped a tea bag in each. Tea always made things better. At least that was what Jane always said.

  Kitty huffed. “Thanks, but I have friends.”

  “Of course you do.” Hope set a carton of milk on the island and retrieved the sugar bowl and a bottle of local honey. “If you came here to yell at me for not minding my business, you’re all set. You can leave.” Hope stirred milk into her tea and walked to the table. Compassion wasn’t working with the younger woman, so Hope needed to find another tactic.

  Kitty added a hefty spoonful of sugar into her tea and a splash of milk and then followed Hope. She plopped onto a chair. She drank her tea without looking at Hope and then glanced up. “To be honest, I’m not sure why I came. I’m scared.”

  “I understand. Why did your mother come to Jefferson? What did she want from Lionel?”

  “A divorce. She didn’t want him back.”

  “Why not have a lawyer contact him?”

  “She wanted to see him. Face-to-face. She wanted answers. To find out why he decided he didn’t want to be married to her anymore.”

  “Closure?”

  Kitty gave a half shrug. “Something like that.”

  “Your mom will have to answer questions from the police, and so will you.”

  “What if I say the wrong thing? I don’t want to get my mom in trouble.” Kitty’s chin trembled and her eyes watered.

  Hope reached out and covered Kitty’s hand with hers. “If she’s innocent, you don’t have to worry.”

  “If?” Kitty cocked her head sideways. “She is innocent.”

  Hope was about to say something, but she heard the mudroom door open. Tension crept up her neck. Shoot. She’d forgotten to lock it after she took Bigelow out to Gilbert. She pulled back her hand. Her heart pounded against her chest and her palms grew sweaty. Footsteps approached.

  “What is he doing here?” Kitty hissed, pushing back her chair from the table.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What’s she doing here?” Drew came to a halt in reaction to Kitty’s outburst. He sounded confused, but Hope recognized the glimmer in his baby blues. The accidental run-in with Kitty thrilled him.

  “You know him?” Kitty’s eyebrows lowered and pinched together. “I don’t believe this. You’re both trying to railroad my mother.”

  “I’m not trying to railroad her. I’m a reporter. I report facts.” Drew stepped farther into the kitchen. He opened the front flap of his messenger bag and pulled out a recorder.

  “Like hell you are!” Kitty stood and stomped to the island. She grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

  “Would you like to make a statement on the record?” Drew switched on the device.

  Hope gave him an I-can’t-believe-you’re-doing-this look and, as usual, he ignored her.

  “Here’s a fact for you. My mother is innocent. She couldn’t have killed Lionel. She doesn’t own a gun. But I bet he had one, and I bet his current wife used it to kill him.” Kitty’s face shifted from anger to frustration, and she let out a loud huff. She stormed out, and a moment later, the front door slammed shut.

  Hope and Drew stared at each other, digesting the unpleasant scene that had just played out. Drew returned his recorder to his bag.

  “Lionel didn’t have a gun permit.” Drew pointed to the kettle. “Tea?”

  Hope nodded, and he draped his bag on the back of a chair and went to the stovetop. He prepared a cup of Earl Grey.

  “He still could have had a gun. Has the weapon been found yet?”

  “No. What was Kitty doing here?” Drew added milk to his cup and then discarded the tea bag.

  “She’s scared and feeling alone. Her dad died last year and now all she has is her mother. Who’s now a murder suspect. And who threatened me earlier at the inn.”

  Drew’s eyes widened and he scurried back to the table. “The inn? What were you doing there? Never mind.” He waved his fingers. “Fast forward to the threatening part. Leave nothing out.”

  “Don’t get too excited. It wasn’t a threat of physical violence. She threatened to have her lawyer drag me through the mud. I believe her exact words were, and I quote ‘I’ll make your life a living hell,’ end quote.” Hope cupped her mug and took a drink.

  “Why? Now, I need more details.”

  “Jane had called with a dire SOS. All three widows were at it again in the lobby. I got Claire to drive me over. After they broke up, I talked to Miranda. I used the opportunity to ask her about Kitty.”

  Drew slumped. “Hope, this is my story. You can’t go around town blabbing my leads.”

  “I did no such thing. Besides, what’s important is finding the killer, not a byline.”

  Drew gasped. “It’s amazing you can be so cavalier about someone else’s career when your own is hanging on by a thread.”

  Hope stiffened. “What are you talking about?”

  Drew flashed an oh-come-on look.

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen those comments about your surge in followers. People don’t like it when you buy followers. You have a lot of unhappy peeps.”

  “I didn’t buy followers and I didn’t blab your lead all around town.”

  “I’m saying it’s more than just a byline. It’s my career. But I also want to see the killer caught and brought to justice.”

  They drank their tea in an uncomfortable silence. In hindsight, Hope saw his point of view about her conversation with Miranda. He was also right about her followers, and she needed to figure out what had happened. Great, another mystery to solve.

  “There’s still pie left. Would you like a slice?” Hope asked, her way of extending an olive branch to her best friend.

  Drew set down his mug. The pout on his face lessened. “Any ice cream?”

  Hope nodded and went to stand, but Drew held out his hand.

  “I’ll get it for us. You stay where you are.”

  Hope eased back onto the chair while Drew went to the refrigerator.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “Me too. It was a kinda cheap shot. Your followers know you’d never do something so disreputable.”

  She traced the rim of her mug with her forefinger. “I’ve worked too hard to do anything to screw up my relationship with my followers.”

  Drew bustled in the kitchen, gathering utensils, plates, and the pie from the refrigerator. With them all set out on the island, he pull
ed open the freezer drawer for the ice cream. Hope had made three flavors the other night—vanilla, chocolate, and peach.

  Hope craned her neck to check on Drew. He wasn’t using a scoop for the ice cream. Instead, he was using a tablespoon. The scoop was in the drawer beneath the day-to-day flatware. She struggled not to say anything. After all, he was helping. With both slices topped with a generous amount of vanilla ice cream, her mouth watered. She hadn’t been hungry since breakfast, but now all she could think about was diving into the large slice of pie covered with ice cream.

  Drew set the ice cream container back into the freezer and then carried the plates to the table. “What are you going to do about Miranda’s threat?”

  She’d gotten over the whole scoop issue and lifted her fork. “There’s nothing I can do. Besides, I doubt she’ll pursue any legal action because she doesn’t have a case.” The freshness of the apples, along with the sweetness of the brown sugar and the pop of cinnamon and the creaminess of the ice cream, mingled in Hope’s mouth and she was in heaven. All thoughts about Miranda, Kitty, and her followers faded as she broke off another piece of pie.

  “I wonder if the truth got Lionel killed.” Drew took a bite of his pie.

  “The truth about Kitty or the truth about his other wives?”

  “Or the truth about his business relationship with Rupert.”

  “Have you spoken to him?”

  “No. He’s not giving interviews. I wish I had a way to get inside the business. A contact. But no one is talking.”

  “I think I have a way. Can you get my phone for me?” Hope twisted on her chair and pointed to the coffee table. “It’s over there.”

  Drew stood. “What are you thinking?” He dashed to retrieve the phone. “You’re not planning on keeping me in the dark, are you?” He handed the phone to Hope.

  “Don’t be paranoid.” She swiped on her phone and opened her text messages. She’d added Billie’s contact information from her business card when she got home from Elaine’s house. “At the reception after Lionel’s funeral, I met Billie Tomlinson. She works as the executive assistant at Rupert and Lionel’s company. She told me there was a lot of tension between the two men.” Hope typed a text.

  “What did you text her?”

  “There’s a position open at the publishing company. It might interest her. I asked her if she wants to meet to discuss it.”

  Drew nodded. “Nice.” He glanced at the wall clock. “I gotta get going. I’m meeting Matt at the gym. And I’m also trying to connect with the wife of that cop from Rye Mill. Phone tag. I hate it. Let me know what happens with Billie.” He stood and took his empty plate and fork to the dishwasher. “Do you need anything before I go?”

  “I’m not an invalid. I can get around. Go. I’m fine.” Hope shooed him out the door and then finished her pie in blissful peace. By the time she finished and was taking her plate to the dishwasher, she received a text back from Billie. A few more exchanges and they’d agreed to meet tomorrow afternoon.

  Hope hesitated before opening the dishwasher door. Another slice of pie or not? Decisions, decisions. She limped to the island and cut another slice of pie and topped it with a heaping amount of ice cream, using a scoop. She used her bruised ankle as justification. Someone injured her and comfort food, like pie and ice cream, was a big part of the emotional healing process.

  Yeah, she laughed after she shared her reasoning with Princess, who remained neutral on the topic.

  She’d finished cleaning up the kitchen minutes before Bigelow returned home both hungry and tired. After he ate, he jumped on the sofa in the family room and dozed off. When she’d first brought him home, she’d made a steadfast rule he’d be sleeping on one of the three beds she’d bought him. Then the rule became flexible to allow him to sleep on her bed at night. And, recently, he’d been curling up on the sofa. He looked comfortable and all he was doing was sleeping, so what harm could ignoring her own rule bring?

  Hope hadn’t the heart to scoot him off the sofa, so she settled down next to him. When she’d moved into the old farmhouse, she didn’t have Bigelow. He came later, when he found himself homeless. Now she had a hard time remembering what life was like before she took him in. Though she was certain it was lonely in the big house. Having him come live with her added a cheeriness to her days, a charming unpredictability, thanks to his boundless energy and a major infusion of unconditional love.

  A loud mewing, announcing Princess’s arrival, prompted Hope to turn her head toward the doorway. The pure-white cat looked poised, but Hope’s house was littered with evidence of Princess’s wicked side. What on earth would she do to a Christmas tree? The thought scared the living daylights out of Hope.

  Princess flicked her tail and sauntered into the room. She strutted over to Hope and rubbed her long body against her owner’s leg.

  From Hope’s research on cat behavior, she knew it was a sign of Princess claiming Hope as her possession. Whatever the cause, she welcomed the interaction and viewed it as Princess settling into her new home.

  Princess sashayed to the corner of the room and curled up in Bigelow’s bed. Hope looked at her dog and then back at Princess and realized Bigelow’s jumping on the sofa had started when the cat began sleeping in his bed. Poor Bigelow.

  Hope’s cell phone buzzed. She reached for the end table and grabbed the phone. The ringtone was Drew’s, and she guessed he wanted to fill her in on his workout. Last month he was into Tabata workouts, and this month was all about kickboxing.

  She tapped on the Speakerphone button. “How was your workout?”

  “Forget about the workout. You won’t believe what happened.” Drew’s voice had gone up in pitch, and there was noise in the background. Muffled voices and squawking radios.

  “Are you at the police department? What’s happened?” Her chest tightened and she braced for more bad news.

  “Kitty turned herself in to the police. She’s confessed to killing Lionel and Maurice.”

  Hope bolted upright. “What?” She looked at Bigelow, who had been jostled by her unexpected, quick movement. She reached out to pat his head and mouthed an apology while Drew kept talking.

  “It’s happening so fast. I will be up all night with this story. This is awesome! I’ll talk to you later. Gotta go.”

  Hope disconnected the call and tossed her phone on the coffee table without disturbing Bigelow again. Even so, he looked at her. “Kitty confessed. Wow. It looks like Reid has closed his case.”

  Bigelow lowered his head on her lap.

  “Unless Kitty lied to protect Miranda. Does Kitty really think her mother is capable of murder?”

  * * *

  Sleep had come easily last night, and for that, Hope was eternally grateful to the sleep gods. But she had no gratitude for the person calling and interrupting her slumber. She stretched out her arm and her fingers grappled for the phone on the nightstand.

  Found it.

  She lifted up the phone and brought it to her face. Her eye slits opened and then fully opened when she saw the time. Six! She was running late. Really late.

  She swiped on the phone to take Ethan’s call.

  “Good morning,” she mumbled, falling back to her luxurious down pillows. For the remodel of her old house, she’d maintained a tight budget, but she’d loosened the purse strings when it came to her bedding. After long days of work, either on the house or standing for hours cooking, she wanted to collapse in a cloud at night. She indulged in six hundred thread count sheets and a down featherbed her body molded into while her head rested on equally fluffy pillows.

  “Hey there, sleepyhead. I wanted you to know I took care of the chickens this morning.”

  “You did? Are you coming inside?” Her head fell sideways, and she stared out the window. She hadn’t gotten around to hanging curtains yet. In fact, her bedroom hadn’t been touched, other than to change out the light fixtures. Her goal was to make the master bedroom her oasis, and for that, she needed a decent bu
dget and time. For now, the queen-size bed, triple dresser, and wingback chair in desperate need of reupholstering sufficed.

  “No. I’m already at the office. There weren’t any lights on, so I figured you forgot to set your alarm. Was I right?”

  “Actually, I think I slept through it. I heard what happened last night. Kitty confessed to the murders?” Hope tapped on the Speakerphone button.

  “She confessed. Beyond that, I’m not able to comment.”

  “She was here yesterday. She was upset with me.”

  “Dare I ask why?”

  Bigelow stirred. His head lifted and his hooded eyes looked at Hope. He didn’t seem worried about waking up late. He dropped his head back down to the comforter. Not worried at all.

  “Something about making her mother look guilty. Don’t you think this seems too convenient? It’s obvious she confessed to protect her mother.”

  “I can’t have this conversation with you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is an official investigation, and I can’t discuss it with . . . a . . .”

  “With a what? A civilian?”

  “I’m sorry, Hope.”

  “I understand.” Though her understanding came with a heavy dose of frustration. There’d always be a part of his life he couldn’t discuss with her. Apprehension swept through her. At some point during her marriage to Tim, they’d stopped talking. The situation had intensified when she signed on to The Sweet Taste of Success. She couldn’t discuss her days with him—what the challenges were, how she faired in the competition, who backstabbed who.

  A coldness lodged in her belly.

  When a couple stopped talking about one topic, it made it easy to stop talking about something else and then something else until one day, you realized you weren’t talking at all.

  If Ethan couldn’t discuss his work, would the same thing happen to them as a couple eventually?

  “Hope? Are you there? Did you hear me?” Ethan asked.

  “What? Yeah . . . No. I’m sorry, I got distracted by Bigelow.”

  The dog raised his head, as if he knew she was blaming him for something he hadn’t done. Great. Now she felt doubly guilty for blaming the dog for nothing and fibbing to Ethan.