Chapter Nine
Getting Bigelow’s harness on was no easy feat for Hope. Her energetic pup was doing his happy dance because he was going out for a walk.
“Come on, sweetie, stay still.” She almost had the leash attached, but whatever Bigelow heard her say had him licking her face, which made her giggle, thus making the whole process longer. But she didn’t care; the laugh was very much welcome. She returned the kiss on his forehead and, steadying him for that second, she managed to get on his harness. Phew!
She’d returned home thirty minutes earlier, put away her groceries, and then got the French onion soup started—peeling and slicing onions and then sautéing them in her multicooker.
Once they were a deep golden color, she added the rest of the ingredients and switched to the slow cooker setting. Hope loved when her appliances were versatile and efficient.
By the time she finished, the clouds had parted, allowing the sun to peek out and making for a more delightful afternoon. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and Hope was grateful for the small ray of sunshine. And for the chance to get Bigelow out for another walk. He had a lot of energy. Walks were a good way for him to expend as much of it as possible.
She zipped up her jacket, and Bigelow stood by the door, looking up at the knob with anticipation. Hope opened the door, and Bigelow hurried out, pulling on the leash. He knew better and she gave a tug, signaling to him to slow down. His head dropped a little, and so did his speed.
On the patio, they found Poppy perched on a patio chair. Hope had put away all the outdoor furniture except for this one chair because the Rhode Island Red hen liked to sit there to be close to the house.
“Hello, Poppy.” Hope walked to the bird with Bigelow by her side. He always behaved well around the chickens. She had expected him to chase them, but he never did. Rather, he slid into the role of protector. Having a dog around the chickens helped keep predators away.
Poppy tilted her head and looked at Hope with her beady little eyes. The bird’s rust-colored feathers and curious personality endeared her to Hope. However, her inquisitiveness had her entering the house on more than one occasion. Bigelow hadn’t minded, but Princess wasn’t pleased by the interloper. Hope was amazed by how daring the hen was, walking in like she owned the place.
“Don’t stay out too long. It’s cold.” Hope gave a stroke to the bird’s back and Poppy replied with a “buh-rup” vocalization as she stretched out her wings and settled back down.
Hope and Bigelow set off on their walk. She’d dressed him in a plaid wool coat. He wasn’t thrilled the first time she’d put the coat on him, but he got over it. Now he tolerated the coat, and she appreciated it.
She’d changed into her running clothes, though she wasn’t going to run. She wanted to be comfy, and the layers also kept her warm. Her gloved hand kept a tight hold on the leash, and she led Bigelow out onto the road.
The wind had picked up again. The bare tree branches swayed side to side. The spot of sun she saw before heading out was still up there, but it wasn’t doing much to warm the day. Bigelow didn’t seem to mind one bit. He was in his glory. His ears flapped as his body moved swiftly along the road. His head was high, and Hope could swear he was smiling. So what if she was a little cold? He was having fun.
The little guy didn’t have a care in the world. Well, except maybe for Princess. Hope had caught her taking a swipe with claws extended at Bigelow’s nose the other night. It seemed they were still working out their boundaries.
Which reminded Hope that she had something to work out with Iva.
She groaned. If it weren’t for Bigelow, Hope would have stopped in her tracks. The weight of having to talk to Iva about her missing charm bracelet came crashing down on her shoulders, making each step forward feel more like slogging through quicksand than walking along the snowy road.
She realized she’d been using the blogging class and what was going on with Devon to avoid sitting down with Iva and having an honest conversation. During her time as a magazine editor, she’d mentored editorial assistants, helped them find their voices so as not to be overlooked for assignments and promotions. Speaking to Iva about the missing bracelet should have been easy for her to do. Sure, she expected it would be awkward, but she’d had the unpleasant task of firing employees before. And she wasn’t even going to fire Iva. Well, if Iva stole the bracelet, she’d have to be fired. If she didn’t, then Iva would think Hope didn’t trust her. And it would wreck the friendly relationship they were developing after all this time. And Iva wouldn’t like her.
There it was.
The one thing Hope wished she could change about herself: her need to be liked. She was sure it was the reason she’d learned to cook at a young age. You made people food, and they loved you.
Claire, on the other hand, hadn’t cared if people liked her. She had no interest in feeding people. She had no deep-seated need to see their faces light up when they were presented the most perfect cookie. Nope. Not her.
Bigelow jerked on the leash and yowled. It was a unique sound, between a bark and a howl, and it had a lyrical ring to it. Albeit, a very loud lyrical ring. Hope happily pushed aside her thoughts about talking to Iva and about her own flaws to see what was causing her pup’s excitement.
She should have known. Gilbert was approaching with Buddy tugging on a leash, his tail wagging.
“Good afternoon, Hope.” Gilbert reached out to Bigelow, but he was too busy greeting Buddy to pay the older man any attention. “Brisk day for a walk.”
“It certainly is.” A chill wiggled through Hope. It was time to head inside and give the soup a taste test.
“I heard about Devon. It’s such a shame. I remember her as a little girl.” He stared down at Buddy and stroked the dog’s head. He lifted his gaze back up to Hope. “She and her sister would come to the house every year selling cookies. Mitzi always chastised me for ordering too many boxes of Thin Mints.” Gilbert chuckled.
“I saw Felice this morning. The whole situation breaks my heart.”
Gilbert nodded in agreement. “I worked with Greg for years before he moved on to a new company. You know, he was a born salesman. He had the gift of gab, but he also had what my mother called a restless soul.”
Hope’s interest was piqued. She hadn’t known Gilbert and Greg worked together.
“How so?”
Buddy sat while his owner pushed back his wool cap and then shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Hope sensed it would be a long story. Gilbert could chat for hours on end.
“He never seemed to fit into the family-man role. He’d prefer to travel than attend his kids’ sports games or go cut down a Christmas tree with his family. He loved traveling so much, he turned down a promotion that came with regular hours and no travel. That’s when he left for the other company.”
It sounded like Greg had a bit of wanderlust. Hope couldn’t help but wonder if he had wanted his freedom so much that he killed his wife and disposed of her body, never to be found.
“Everything okay, Hope? You have a funny look on your face.”
“Yeah, everything is fine. I remembered I needed to add something to my to-do list,” she lied. She couldn’t very well tell him what she was really thinking about.
Gilbert chuckled again. “You never slow down, do you? Well, I’d better give Buddy his walk.” He looked down at Bigelow, who looked expectantly up at him. “Why don’t I take Bigelow with us?”
“Thanks, but we’re just coming back.”
Bigelow looked up at Hope. Calling her out on what she deemed a decent walk. Up and down their street? Sure, it wasn’t their longest walk ever, but it was all she had time for.
“He looks like he’s up for a little more, aren’t you, boy?” Gilbert’s question had Bigelow’s head tilting and his eyes widening. He was practically nodding.
“I’m sure he’d love to go, but I’m heading out.” Hope had it all planned. The soup would continue to cook in the slow cooker, giving her time to visit Donna before supper. See, that was why she loved multifunctional appliances.
“No problem. I’ll keep Bigelow with us until you get back. Come over when you get home.” Gilbert reached out and took Bigelow’s leash.
“Thanks.” Hope gave Bigelow a kiss on the head and hurried back to her house.
Inside, she checked the soup. She spooned out some broth and a sliver of onion and gave it a taste. It needed a little more pepper. She added a pinch of black pepper before she returned the lid to the pot. Up next was the crust for her rustic apple pie.
She gathered a stainless-steel bowl, the dry ingredients, and measuring spoons. She’d been making the same pie crust recipe since she was a little girl, so she had it memorized.
Within minutes, she had the dough formed into a flattened disc and wrapped in plastic wrap to set in the refrigerator.
She did a quick cleanup before calling Donna, who was pleased to hear from Hope and even more pleased by the offer of homemade broccoli and spinach soup. They agreed on a time, and Hope went upstairs to change clothes. She opted for a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. It took a few minutes to pack up the soup and a loaf of sourdough bread and then she was off to drive across town. Hopefully, Donna would be able to shed some light on why she believed Greg was responsible for his wife’s disappearance.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Donna Wilcox swept Hope into her downsized home. It was a far cry from the massive, two-story Colonial she once lived in with her family. Her shoulder-length gray hair was gathered in a ponytail, and she wore a pair of lounge pants and a coordinating top. Donna looked like she was enjoying a relaxing afternoon.
“I’m glad you thought of me. Now I don’t have to worry about what to make for dinner. Come on, let’s go into the kitchen.”
“I always end up with so much food after recipe testing and cooking for videos.” Hope followed Donna into the cheerful kitchen.
Decorated with splashes of yellow and warm reds, the room had a French country flair to it. Especially the two white counter-height stools at the peninsula. Their turned legs and weathered finish were a nice touch to the elegant yet comfortable room.
Hope set the basket on the peninsula and then removed her jacket. She set it along with her purse on a stool.
“Would you like coffee? I also have flavored waters.”
“Water, please.” Hope took the soup container and the loaf of bread out of the basket. Every time she carried the basket with food in it, she felt like Little Red Riding Hood minus the wolf. “I love your kitchen.”
“Thank you.” Donna set the glass of water in front of Hope. Pushed aside on the countertop were the newspaper’s crossword puzzle, a pen, and a pair of reading glasses.
“You do the crossword puzzle in pen? Impressive.” And so neat. Even in those small boxes, Donna’s handwriting was immaculate.
Donna shrugged. “Don’t be too impressed. I have my phone beside me when I do the puzzle. Google is a wonderful thing.”
Hope sipped her water. She wasn’t sure how she felt about robust search engines. It would have been nice if they forgot about her ill-fated attempt to win The Sweet Taste of Success, her messy divorce, and her recent encounters with a few murderers. Then again, those same search engines helped her build her business.
“This soup looks so vibrant and healthy.” Donna took the container to the refrigerator. “Having extra food must be a yummy perk for you.”
“It is. And I love sharing it all.”
“I’m happy to receive anytime you want to share.” Donna rested her hands on the edge of the peninsula’s countertop. In her midsixties, she had the expected signs of aging around her full face: deep creases across her forehead and a web of tiny lines around her alert eyes. But what she had that wasn’t typical was a boundless amount of energy. She had an enormous amount of oomph that propelled her into a fulfilling second act as a patient advocate and an entrepreneur.
She’d turned her hobby of calligraphy into a small business and expanded to teaching others how to do it. Between juggling her job and side hustle, Donna was a member of Jefferson’s Planning and Zoning Committee. She was an inspiration to Hope that it was never too late to start over again.
“I ran into Jane earlier. She mentioned your plan to start a scholarship fund in Devon’s name.”
Donna swallowed her drink of water. “The response has been overwhelmingly positive, so I think it will happen. I’ve spoken to Felice about it, and she’s given her blessing. The high school is also on board with awarding the scholarship for writing.” She’d definitely been busy. Big or small, there wasn’t a fund-raiser she couldn’t make successful. “It seems like yesterday when I got the call about Joyce being gone. You never think it will happen to someone you know.”
“Who called to tell you about Joyce?”
“Shirley. I was back here in Jefferson, visiting my mother-in-law. In fact, Joyce and I were supposed to meet for brunch at the diner that morning.”
“What happened?”
“I got there first, like usual, and waited. She didn’t show up and I was a little irritated. My visit here was only for a few days and I really wanted to see her. Finally, I left and drove past her house, but I didn’t see her car parked in the driveway. I figured either she forgot, or she had to run a last-minute errand for one of the girls. Then, the next morning, I got the call from Shirley. As soon as I hung up with her, I called your mother. Back then, we didn’t have cell phones, and there were no texting groups. Oh, gosh, how I hate getting caught up in those.”
Hope nodded in agreement. There was nothing worse than getting trapped into a conversation you cared nothing about. She’d yet to find a way to exit gracefully without offending someone. It was like a modern-day hostage situation.
“Devon told me she’d found evidence her father was having an affair at the time Joyce vanished,” Hope said.
Donna pushed aside her glass and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the countertop.
“I’m not surprised one bit. After I moved, Joyce and I kept in contact. We talked at least once a week. Joyce wasn’t happy, so I doubt Greg was.”
“Unhappy in their marriage?”
“I can’t speak to Greg’s feelings because I didn’t know him well. Though if the wife’s not happy, how can the husband be? Anyway, Joyce wanted more out of life. I know it was only twenty years ago, but things were different for women like Joyce.”
“How so?”
“She was in her forties, married, with teenagers and no real career experience. She worked as a secretary, and most people would have thought it was enough. Joyce hadn’t thought so. She wanted to be a real estate agent, the person closing the deal and cashing the commission check.”
“Sounds like she was ambitious.”
Donna straightened and lifted her water glass. “Today she’d have more options. Look at you. You started a blog, and you’re earning a living from it. We couldn’t imagine such a thing back then. Today, women have so many options. We don’t have to settle.”
“Do you think Joyce was so unhappy she left on her own?”
“No. She wouldn’t have done such a thing. Joyce was looking forward to going back to school for a real estate license. She’d talked to Alfred about changing jobs at the agency. Plus, she had her daughters.” Donna gave a deep, weighted sigh.
“What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure if becoming an agent would have made Joyce happy. I think there was such a profound emptiness in her that a new job and money couldn’t fix it. Maybe that’s why she flirted so much.” Donna straightened up and topped off her glass with more water.
“Flirted?” Hope recalled Maretta saying the same thing and suggested Joyce had gotten into a compromising position. So maybe it wasn’t just Maretta’s imagination or idle gossip, as Hope had thought.
“Oh, yes. Joyce was a big-time flirt. My guess is the attention she got from flirting made her feel better; well, at least momentarily. Like a self-esteem boost.”
This was all news for Hope. She hadn’t heard about Joyce’s flirtatious nature before that day. If her mother knew, she’d kept it to herself.
“I don’t believe the girls were aware of their mom’s flirting. She saved it for grown-up parties. Let me tell you, Greg didn’t like it. One time he dragged Joyce out of the room, and we could hear his raised voice. They returned to the party, but the incident was a downer.”
“She was looking to make him jealous?”
Donna shrugged. “I knew Joyce very well. She never cheated on him. Never.”
“Devon mentioned her mom got a black rose tattoo. Do you know why she did it? Did she ever say anything about it?”
“All I know is, it was on a whim. She didn’t plan on getting one. It was so unlike her. But, hey, guys get close to their midlife, they do crazy things—buy useless sports cars, marry younger women. Women can have those impulses too. I guess getting a tattoo isn’t the worst thing she could have done.”
Hope glanced at the wall clock. If she wanted to bake the apple pie to have for dessert tonight, she needed to get home.
“I should get going. Let me know what you need for the scholarship.”
“I can always count on you. Thanks again for the food.”
Hope put on her jacket before grabbing her purse and basket. She followed Donna to the front door and said goodbye. The day was growing darker and colder. Inside her Explorer, she blasted the heat and then backed out of the driveway.
On the drive home, Hope couldn’t help but wonder how, with all the research Devon had done, she didn’t know about her mother’s flirtatious side. It had been evident to other people. Maybe people wanted to spare Devon’s feelings and withheld that from her. Or maybe Devon had known but chosen not to say anything about it to Hope.
Yet she had no problem in telling the whole podcasting world her father had cheated on Joyce.
Had Devon idealized her mother too much? Too much so it left her vulnerable and unprepared to recognize a threat when it was presented to her? Like the person responsible for her death. The more Hope was learning, the more convinced she was that Devon’s death wasn’t the result of an accident.
* * *
Hope drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the red light to change. While she sat tight, her eyes narrowed on the street sign up ahead. Forest Trail.
Oliver Marchant’s street.
The light changed and she drove through the intersection. Careful not to accelerate too fast on the slippery road.
She was approaching the turn for Oliver’s street. Her checkbook was in her purse, and it would only take a few minutes to swing by to pay him for his recent plowing services.
Even though there was no one behind her, she flicked on the blinker and made the right turn. She traveled along the road past charming Cape Cods all nestled in for the winter surrounded by thick blankets of snow. Up ahead, there was the turnoff for Oliver’s driveway, and she eased her vehicle over the unpaved strip of earth toward his house.
A bump jostled her, and she tightened her already death grip on the steering wheel.
The one-story home set on a stone foundation came into view. And it wasn’t the prettiest view. The house’s cedar shakes were in disrepair, discolored and damaged. They looked like they’d seen one too many winters. Taking care of his house hadn’t seemed to be a priority for Oliver.
The plow truck wasn’t in sight. She guessed it must have been parked in the garage, which was in the same condition as the house.
She wondered if Joyce had felt uneasy around Oliver because she flirted and he misinterpreted the signals, leading to a “compromising position,” as Maretta put it.
Hope exited her vehicle with her purse and walked to the oversize deck attached to the front of the house. It was an unusual spot for the poorly built structure, but she figured he didn’t have much of a backyard on the sloping property.
She climbed the two rickety steps and carefully treaded across to the front door. A solid slab of wood, function clearly winning out over decoration, wasn’t exactly welcoming. Neither was the mat. Maybe Oliver thought the “Come Back with a Warrant” welcome mat was a cute decoration.
Ignoring the so-called greeting, she knocked on the door and waited. When there was no response, she shuffled over to the window and peered in, cupping her hands around her face.
With no drapes or blinds impeding her view, what she could see inside was a typical bachelor pad. A big screen television and a leather sectional with cup holders in the arms dominated the room. Smack in the middle was a square coffee table covered with sports magazines.
A tap on her shoulder sent her jumping. She spun around, expecting to see that Oliver had snuck up on her.
“Drew!” Her hand rested over her thumping heart. “You scared the daylights out of me. What are you doing here?”
“Why are you skulking around?” He stepped back and grinned.
“I’m not skulking. I came here to pay Oliver for his services. Now it’s your turn. Why are you here?”
“I’m here to interview him. You haven’t heard? He was out plowing and found a stray dog with a litter of puppies. He rescued them and took them to the shelter. Human-interest story. It’ll sell a bunch of newspapers.”
“Aww, that’s sweet.” Her racing heart calmed down and began to melt at the thought of a bunch of rescued puppies. Then another thought shoved the first one away. Would a man who rescued a mama dog and her pups have anything to do with a woman’s disappearance? “So, where’s Oliver?”
Drew shrugged. “Not sure. Guess he’s running late.”
“Where’s your car?” Hers was the only one parked on the gravel pad.
“Back by his other garage. He said to meet him there; it’s where he parks his plow truck. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. It’s freakin’ cold.” As if right on cue, fluffy snowflakes started to fall. “And now it’s snowing.”
“That I did hear. And it’s supposed to turn to sleet and ice.” Hope shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
“You still haven’t told me the real reason you’re here, and don’t say it’s only to pay your bill. Spill, sistah.”
“Fine. I wanted to talk to him about Joyce’s disappearance.” Hope looked over Drew’s shoulder to make sure they were alone. “Devon said her mom felt uncomfortable around Oliver and I’m hearing now that she flirted a lot. Maybe he got the wrong message from her.”
“You think he made a pass, she rejected it, and he killed her?”
Hope shrugged. “It’s possible. It happens all the time. Well, not the killing part. But misunderstandings do happen.” She also knew her theory was complete conjecture and would never hold up in court. Heck, forget about court. It wouldn’t hold up with Ethan or Reid. Neither one would act on her theory.
That was why she needed something more concrete.
“He does live in the perfect location to dump a body. His acreage goes way back behind his second garage.”
She tilted her head and stared at the one-bay garage. “Why does he need two?”
“He stores his work vehicles in the back one.”
“Then it means he has nonwork vehicles. I’ve never seen him in anything but the pickup truck he plows with. Have you?”
Drew’s gaze shifted to the small garage. “No.”
“Then what is he keeping in there?” She pointed to the building, just feet away from them.
Drew angled himself so he had a full view of the structure. “Maybe a twenty-year-old corpse?”
His question sent a shudder down Hope’s spine. Was it possible Joyce’s remains had been hidden away all those years inside a garage not too far from her home?
“Looks like there’s only one way to find out.” Hope pushed off, crossing the deck without any concern for her safety. If a board broke, then so be it. She was too eager to see what was inside the garage. She hurried down the deck steps and kept the same speed to reach the double-door entry of the garage.
“Are we going to break in?” Drew came up beside Hope and gestured to the padlock on the doors.
“I don’t think so.” Not deterred, Hope stepped to her right and looked down at the side of the building. Determined to get a look inside, she plodded through knee-high snow to reach the window. The coldness of the snow seeped through her jeans, but she didn’t let it stop her.
On her tippy toes, she tried to get a look inside. Years’ worth of dirt and grime obstructed her view into the building.
“What do you see?”
“Not much. How hard is it to clean a window?”
She was able to see a shelving unit filled with paint cans, rollers, and other DIY supplies. A workbench stretched the length of the back of the garage and was covered with hand tools and discarded rags. In the center of the space was a collection of snow blowers, all different sizes, but what drew Hope’s curiosity was a drop cloth draped over something long.
“Let me look.” Drew nudged her out of the way so he could peer in the window. “A workshop. No wonder it’s locked.”
“Do you see the drop cloth? What’s it covering?”
“Dunno.” Drew pressed his nose against the glass. “You think it’s a skeleton?”
“I wonder how tall Joyce was.”
“What’s going on here?”
Hope jumped, again, at an unexpected voice. She turned and found Oliver standing at the front corner of the garage with a pile of firewood in his arms. Despite being in his late sixties, he was still strong enough to carry all that wood. Twenty years ago, he easily could have been strong enough to dispose of a body.
Drew stepped back from the window. “Oh, hi, Oliver. We were looking for you.”
“You thought I locked myself in there?” Oliver asked.
Busted.
Drew laughed. It was a nervous laugh Hope had heard before. They were caught snooping. But Hope was curious to hear Drew’s answer.
“No, no . . . you know, if now isn’t a good time, we can reschedule.” Not much of an explanation. Drew trudged toward Oliver and then dusted the snow off his legs.
“Nah, it’s good. Might as well do it now, before the next round of snow and sleet hit. I just needed some more wood for the stove. Looks like I lost track of time. Now what about you, Hope? What brings you by?”
Drew cocked his head sideways. He was waiting for her answer. And she knew he was thinking the same thing she was just a moment ago. He was curious to hear her explanation.
“I was on my way home when I realized I was passing by your house, so I figured I might as well drop off your check. It’ll save me a stamp.” She slogged through the snow to reach both men. And then she whipped out her checkbook and pen. She saw Oliver smile, so it looked like he believed her story.
“They keep raising the prices on those things. Remember when they were under thirty cents?” He walked to the deck and set down the firewood.
“I certainly do. What was the price twenty years ago?” Hope followed Oliver with Drew beside her.
Yeah, real smooth, Hope.
Drew shot her a questioning look and she waved it away.
She didn’t dwell on her not-too-subtle reference to the time period when Joyce disappeared. She wrote the payment and signed her name.
“Twenty years ago? Who remembers?” Oliver pulled off his work gloves and accepted the check.
“So many things happened twenty years ago. Y2K. Julia Roberts won Best Actress,” Drew said.
“Who? Oh, right, the actress. Thanks, Hope. But you didn’t have to drop it off. I trust you. You’ve always paid on time.”
Drew’s cell phone rang and he excused himself to answer the call.
“I guess it’s a benefit of living in a small town and having been in business for as long as you have.”
“It has been a long time. Not always easy, but I’ve made a living. This place isn’t much.” He was at his house. “But it’s all mine.”
“You’ve earned it. You’ve worked hard. I remember when you mowed the grass for my parents. You never missed a week. Guess it’s why people always refer you to their friends. Say, didn’t you also mow the Markhams’ grass back then?”
Oliver folded the check and slipped it into the pocket of his flannel-lined plaid shirt. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Thanks again for stopping by. I appreciate it.”
“Maybe that’s how my parents ended up hiring you. My mom was friends with Joyce. She probably referred you to my mom.”
Oliver’s face clouded and he grew quiet.
“Mom always relied on word-of-mouth referrals.”
“I didn’t work for the Markhams for very long. Barely knew them.”
“No? How come?” Hope fidgeted with the straps of her purse.
“Hard to remember so far back. Thanks again for the check. You drive safe going home.” Oliver turned and climbed the steps up to the deck and picked up his firewood. “Tell Drew we’ll have to reschedule the interview.” He walked to his front door.
Hope turned and headed to her vehicle. Oliver had had a quick change of mood once she mentioned the Markhams. As she climbed into the driver’s seat, she noticed Oliver giving her a final look over his shoulder before he entered the house. Her breath caught. Was the stare supposed to be a warning?
A tapping on the passenger window forced her to shake off Oliver’s eerie gaze. She turned on the ignition so she could lower the window for Drew.
“What happened?” he asked.
“He got weird when I started talking about Joyce. He also said to reschedule the interview. Sorry.”
Drew sighed. “Me too. Do you really think he’s involved with Joyce’s and Devon’s deaths?”
“I honestly don’t know.” When she looked back at the house, Oliver was nowhere in sight. “I’d better get going. Do you want to come for dinner tonight? Claire and the kids are coming. Ethan’s bringing the girls too.”
“Sounds like fun. See you later.” If Drew was upset about losing the interview, he didn’t show it. Hope suspected he was as curious as she was about the garage and what the drop cloth covered.
Ethan’s ringtone interrupted them. “I’d better take this,” she said.
Drew gave a nod and then pulled back from the vehicle. He walked away in the direction of the second garage. She grabbed her purse from the passenger seat and fumbled inside for her phone.
She lifted the phone to her ear, all the while keeping her gaze on Oliver’s house.
“Are we still on for dinner?” Ethan asked. In the background, she heard his daughters squabbling over something she couldn’t make out.
“I’m heading home now.”
“Oh? Where are you?”
Hope cringed. Shoot! She didn’t want to lie to him, but she didn’t want to tell him what she was up to either. At least not yet.
“I stopped by Oliver’s to pay him. Claire said she’s coming for dinner with the kids.” She hoped he wouldn’t fixate on her sudden need to pay for plowing in person.
“Good. The girls enjoy spending time with Hannah . . .” Becca’s wailing drowned out the rest of what Ethan was saying. “Molly, give Izzy back to Becca.”
Izzy was Becca’s favorite doll in the whole wide world, and they were never separated. Except when her older sister snatched the doll.
“Not until she says sorry!” Molly demanded.
“I gotta go. See you in a few, babe.” The line went silent.
Hope set the phone in the console and drove to the end of the driveway. She stopped and looked in both directions for oncoming traffic. Before she pulled out onto the road, she glanced over her shoulder. Oliver’s property was secluded, a perfect place to bury a secret.