Chapter Fourteen
The lower-level door slammed shut, startling Hope as she entered the library. She’d been jumpy since her encounter with Oliver earlier in the day. She scolded herself for the hundredth time. There was nothing to be nervous about. Oliver had to have known she’d tell Ethan what happened, and he’d be foolish to confront her again.
No, there was nothing to worry about.
She walked along the hallway to the elevator. The path was lit, but eerily quiet after hours. Her footsteps were the only sound as she passed by the children’s reading room and the locked storage room.
She arrived at the elevator and pressed the Up button. While she waited, she diverted her worrisome thoughts to one a little more pleasant.
On her drive over to the library, Elaine had called her to tell her she wouldn’t be attending class because something better came up—a date. She’d gushed about Mr. Money Manager and his summer house on Martha’s Vineyard. It looked like the widow wasn’t wasting time in finding husband number five. Hope had done her best to hide the fact that she wasn’t disappointed her last-minute student would be absent. But it was harder to keep irritation in check when Elaine said they’d have to get together and go over the lessons, so she didn’t miss out on anything. Then it was “Toodles,” and she was gone.
Hope wasn’t going to lie. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
The elevator dinged, and the door slid open. The sound and door action snapped Hope out of her thoughts about her unpleasant run-in with Oliver and the earrings Zach had given her at the shop. She’d been distracted, so she was surprised to see someone in the elevator. That weight she felt earlier pressing on her shoulders was back, tenfold.
“Good evening, Maretta.” Hope stepped aside to allow the mayor to exit into the hall.
“Hardly.” Maretta exited with her perpetual scowl firmly in place. “I suppose you’re here for your blogging class.”
“Yes, it starts in fifteen minutes.” Hope entered the elevator. “Well, have a good night.”
“Easier said than done.”
Oh, boy.
“There is something I’d like you to do,” Maretta said.
“There is?” It was a question Hope dreaded an answer to, but she had to ask. Hope held the elevator door from closing.
“Tell your sister to control her son. He’s circulating a petition against my proposal to ban snowball throwing. It’s unsuitable for a child to get involved in adult matters.”
“For what it’s worth, I think it’s ludicrous to ban something like throwing snowballs. It seems to me Logan is acting more mature than you.” Hope pressed the lobby button.
Maretta was about to say something, but Hope cut her off as the door slid shut. “Toodles,” she said, giving a little wave.
Hope leaned back against the wall. Who knew channeling Elaine would feel so good?
She opened her eyes as the elevator stopped and the door slid open to the silent hall. The meeting room was a short walk past the new display of spring gardening books. Her mind drifted briefly to warmer days and shorter nights and blooming garden beds. When she entered the room and flicked on the lights, she had been in a dreamy mood. That ended abruptly.
Her mouth gaped open at the sight in front of her.
She inched into the room, closer to the whiteboard, to get a better look at the message written across it.
Coldness lodged in her belly, and her gaze darted around the room.
There was no one else there.
Only her and the warning.
Stay out of the past.
* * *
Hope had done her best to push past the distraction of the menacing message so she could continue with the class. Luckily, the topic for the evening was promotion and marketing. She easily lost herself in talking about likes, follows, reach, and content marketing. Before she knew it, class was over and she was headed home.
But now, in her quiet house, with no distractions, her mind churned with questions despite her best efforts to squelch them. The top question she continued to ruminate over was whether Oliver had sneaked into the library and written the message, or had Maretta? Oliver had motive, but Maretta had opportunity.
She had opted not to call Ethan to tell him about the warning on the whiteboard. What could he have possibly done other than delay the class and tell her to be careful?
But she had to tell him. And she would.
By the time she climbed into bed, it was well after midnight and she believed she was tired enough to fall asleep. She was wrong. All she could think about snuggled under her down comforter was Devon’s podcast and where she had been before the car accident.
Devon had visited the retired detective who handled her mother’s case twenty years ago. Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Hope made the decision to retrace Devon’s last known activity and that meant a trip to Milford to talk to the retired cop.
* * *
The next morning, Hope woke groggy from yet another poor night’s sleep. She resisted the temptation to pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. But Bigelow would have no part in that. He nudged her to get up.
It never failed. As soon as he heard her alarm clock go off, he moved from the foot of the bed where he slept to her pillows so he’d be the first thing she saw when she woke.
“You know you’re pushy, right?” She patted the dog on the head and got a good morning kiss before she tossed off her covers. She yawned and stretched while Bigelow jumped off the bed. “Go on, I’ll be down in a minute.”
Bigelow seemed to understand and trotted out of the room, his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. Traditional oak flooring ran throughout the second floor. And just like downstairs, it all needed to be refinished. A massive project for another day.
One more big stretch and then Hope stood. She slipped into her fuzzy slippers and wrapped herself in a fleece robe on her way into the bathroom. There was a lot on her to-do list for the day. She liked to set no more than three priorities. It was her way of making sure the most important things got done.
The number one priority for the day was to tell Ethan what happened last night at the library and of her plans to visit Detective Voight. Well, it was second to stopping at The Coffee Clique.
An hour later, she had a large black coffee in hand and was making her way to the police department. There she was quickly reminded that hindsight was twenty-twenty. Perhaps she should have called him last. Her gift of coffee was welcome until Ethan found out the reason for the unexpected visit.
“I can’t believe you didn’t call me last night. Actually, I can believe it.” Ethan broke eye contact over the brim of his coffee cup to take a long drink. “What were you thinking?”
Hope was thinking she didn’t want to get into the conversation they were having now last night. Though she was pretty confident that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear. She thought reporting the threat on the whiteboard would go easier with coffee. Now, she wasn’t so sure. Caffeinating him may not have been the best thing to do.
“There was nothing you could do. Besides, everyone showed up for class.” Except Elaine. Considering what happened, she was even more grateful for the no-show student. The message had unnerved her and she’d had difficulty concentrating for the class. Having Elaine there would have added to her stress.
Ethan set the cup on his desk and lifted her cell phone. He stared at the photo of the message. “Was there anyone in the building when you arrived?”
“I ran into Maretta. She was leaving.”
“What was she doing there?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Though she asked me to do something.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“She wants me to tell Claire to rein Logan in. Maretta’s not happy he’s circulating a petition against her.”
Ethan grinned. “I’m sure she’s not. Did you see anyone else?”
She shook her head. “There wasn’t anyone near the meeting room when I arrived. Do you think it was Maretta?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “I think it’s more her style to say what she means to your face.”
“True.” Hope stood and walked around to Ethan. She took back her phone and leaned against the edge of the desk. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you last night.”
“Whoever wrote that on the board could have been waiting for you after class.” His tone softened, and concern clouded his eyes. “Look, I know you’re a big girl and you’ve been taking care of yourself your whole life, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you.”
She reached out her hand and caressed his cheek. “I know. And I appreciate it. If it makes you feel any better, I made sure to leave with Gail and Phillip Rafferty.”
“Phil’s in your class? He wants to blog?”
Hope nodded and laughed. “He’s an amateur photographer.”
“What’s so funny?”
“When Elaine showed up, he went all googly-eyed. Come to think of it, he reminds me of Alec Graves. Do you remember him? Gail’s brother?”
Ethan nodded slowly, as if he had to recall the memory. “Kind of. He was a little off back then. I remember my sister saying he was a little creepy.”
“Really? I don’t think he was creepy. I think he wore his heart on his sleeve.”
“Mr. Sensitivity?”
“Exactly. So much has changed since high school.”
“Well, you’re still as curious as you were back then. And your instincts are still spot-on.”
“They are? What are my instincts right about?”
“I can’t say too much, but what I can tell you is, Devon’s death has been ruled a homicide due to the injuries she sustained that weren’t the result of the car crash.”
“What injuries?”
“Sorry, I can’t comment any further.”
She groaned. The man could be so frustrating with all his by-the-book procedures. He was going to leave her hanging with just a snippet of information that he had to know would make her even more curious.
“Now, tell me. Is there anything I can say to change your mind about going to Milford?”
“No. I’m not breaking any laws by talking to Voight.” She’d told him of her plan to drive to the shoreline city to visit the retired detective. Because all of Devon’s research was missing, she didn’t know what the detective had told her when she talked to him before she was murdered. Of course, Hope was certain Reid had already spoken to Voight as a part of the investigation. But she’d get nothing from Reid, so she decided to do her own interview.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“But Reid might.”
“True. And he’d be wrong. You’re well within your rights to talk to the retired detective. Even though I don’t think you should.”
She leaned forward and kissed Ethan. She intended it to be a quick kiss and off she’d go, but he had other ideas. The kiss lingered, and when Hope finally pulled back, her lips were still buzzing. He cleared his throat and regained his professional composure. Good thing his office door was closed.
“I should get going.” It was a weak effort, but it was all she could summon up. She’d much rather stay and kiss him some more.
“What do you hope to find out by talking to Voight?” Ethan held on to her wrist. He wasn’t letting her go just yet.
“I don’t know. I guess I want to know how someone not too different from me can be here one day and vanish the next.”
“Babe, he’s not going to give you an answer.”
She nodded. “Probably not. You need to get back to work. I promise I’ll keep you updated on where I am. So, don’t worry.”
* * *
Hope doubted Ethan wouldn’t worry about her and, given the fact that she’d once again stuck her nose into a murder investigation, he probably had good reason to. But she was on her way to visit a retired police detective. Surely she’d be safe.
She looked over her shoulder as she merged onto the highway. In less than ninety minutes, she’d be in Milford, where Jim Voight had retired to ten years ago.
Her cell phone rang. It was Drew.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“Don’t forget about what we discussed.”
“Drew, we talked an hour ago.” She merged into the middle lane.
“I know, but this isn’t like talking to one of your nosy neighbors. The guy is an ex-cop. He’ll be guarded and measured in what he says to you.”
“Like Detective Reid?”
“Right.”
Well, then, I got this.
She wasn’t sure if Jim Voight would tell her anything about Joyce’s cold case. She wasn’t a family member. She was simply a friend of Devon’s. So, she had little hope he would talk to her. He’d probably view her as a busybody—there was that word again—who should be snapping photographs of her lunch, not digging around a cold case she had no stake in.
He’d be wrong.
She did have a stake in it. She felt called to accomplish the goal Devon didn’t get to achieve: solving the mystery of her mother’s disappearance.
“Be sure to call me when you leave his place. I want all the details.” Drew had wanted to come along with Hope, but a fire out at the Travis Dairy Farm had him occupied.
“I will.” Hope disconnected the call and focused on her driving.
The navigation system came back up with the real-time map, and the voice command directed her off onto another route, getting closer to the shoreline city. It’d been years since she’d been in this part of the state.
Jim Voight’s house was located on a narrow street within walking distance of the beach. She had trouble finding a parking space, but finally found one half a block from the two-story blue Colonial.
His small patch of lawn was secured by a fence, and she unlatched the gate and walked along the brick path to the front door. Hope pressed the doorbell and waited.
She heard a yapping and a holler to be quiet before the door swung open.
A slight man, much like Detective Reid but older, appeared. He had a receding hairline, small eyes, and a guarded look on his weathered face.
“Can I help you?” He peered out, looking around. She guessed he wanted to make sure she was alone. Once a cop, always a cop.
“If you’re retired Detective Jim Voight, you can.”
“I am. Who are you?”
She extended her hand. “I’m Hope Early.”
His grip was firm and his expression still curious. “What can I do for you?”
“I’d like to talk to you about Devon Markham. I know she came to see you before her death.”
“Are you family?” He let go of Hope’s hand.
“No. I’m a friend. I promise, I won’t take up much of your time. It’s important.”
He nodded and welcomed her inside his home.
She wiped her boots on the welcome mat before entering the white-and-black-tiled foyer. From where she stood, she could see straight through the living area to a snow-covered deck just outside a glass slider. She imagined in the summer it was a lovely spot to sit and enjoy a lazy day.
“Let me take your coat.” He hung the coat on a pegboard next to a bulky gray parka and led her into the living room.
A small brown dog came racing toward her and slid to a stop at Hope’s feet.
“Her name is Mabel.” Jim scooped up the dog, who had to be no more than six pounds. Standing there holding his dog and dressed in a tan sweater with corduroys, he looked relaxed. Hopefully, he would remain that way for the rest of her visit. “She talks a lot but doesn’t bite.” He continued to the black leather chair kitty-corner in the room. It had a view of the fifty-two-inch television and the deck. “Have a seat.” He released Mabel, who immediately ran to Hope.
Hope sat on the sofa and stroked the little dog’s head.
“What is it you want to know?” He leaned back into the supple leather and kept his gaze trained on her. Maybe he thought he would make her uncomfortable, squirm a little, but she’d had Detective Reid do the exact same thing to her. She hated to disappoint the retired cop, but she wouldn’t be squirming any time soon.
“Devon asked me for help with researching her mother’s case for the podcast and I’m continuing to do that.” Was it exactly what Devon had said? No. Hope didn’t know what Voight would tell her, but she was confident if she told him Devon had asked for her help to find her mother’s killer, he would toss her out.
“Ms. Markham didn’t mention a partner.” His appraising look ratcheted up a notch. Was he detecting Hope’s fib?
“She probably didn’t see the need to at the time. Unfortunately, I don’t have her notes from her meeting with you.”
“Ms. Markham didn’t write any notes. She used her phone to record our conversation. You’re not doing either.”
Darn.
“I have a good memory.” She shifted to the edge of her seat. “I’m here to find out what happened to Joyce and Devon. You can ask me to leave and I will. But I hope you don’t, because I really need to find out the truth. Devon was a friend. Her mom was a nice lady who baked the softest sugar cookies.” If that wasn’t the lamest thing she’d ever said, she didn’t know what was.
His face brightened. “Those are my favorite.”
“They are?” Okay, maybe not so lame.
“At Easter, I bake them in all sorts of shapes for my grandkids. Though I can’t seem to get them as soft as I want them. And they spread. They’re cookies; it shouldn’t be so hard.”
“It took me years to replicate Joyce’s recipe, but I did it. It’s one of the most popular recipes on my blog.”
“You’re a food blogger?”
Hope nodded. “I do. It’s called Hope at Home.”
“Get out! That’s why you look familiar to me. I gotta find the recipe on your blog.”
“Or I could show you now. That is, if you have the time.”
“I’m retired. I always have time.” He jumped up and led Hope into his galley kitchen. While he pulled out all the ingredients and Hope preheated the oven, he told her about his late wife and their three kids and nine grandchildren. By the time Hope rolled out the dough, she had his complete life story. This wasn’t what she had expected, but her visit couldn’t have been going any better.
Jim grabbed three different cookie cutters and a container of sanding sugar.
“I remember the case quite well. There are a few cases that haunt a cop. Joyce’s case was one of those for me.”
Hope slipped three bunny cookies onto the prepared baking sheet, along with the duck-shaped cookies.
“Because it was unsolved?”
Jim sprinkled sugar on the cookies. “Yes. There’s always a gnawing at you that you missed something. Otherwise, you would have been able to solve the case.”
“I heard Joyce liked to flirt with men. Sometimes she even did so in front of her husband.”
Jim lifted the baking sheet and slid it into the oven, then set a timer.
“I was aware of the behavior. From what I found through my investigation, she didn’t have a lover. From my experience, it seemed she was looking for attention from her husband and not those other men.”
Hope collected the bowls and utensils and set them into the sink, which she filled with soapy water.
“Do you think her husband killed her?”
Jim shrugged. “I never crossed him off my list of persons of interest. Though I didn’t find any evidence he was involved. All his financials checked out.”
“You were looking to see if he hired someone?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a husband did.”
A shiver ran through Hope at the thought. How could a man pay someone to murder his wife? The mother of his children? But it happened far too often. Compared to those situations, she was grateful her divorce was somewhat amicable.
Hope leaned against the counter. “When Devon spoke to you, did she have any information that you didn’t have twenty years ago?”
Jim stiffened.
“I don’t mean to imply you didn’t do your job, but maybe twenty years ago someone kept something a secret.”
“I knew what you meant. It’s not uncommon for witnesses to come forward years later. That’s how many cold cases are finally broken open. She did tell me that she had information about an affair her father was having prior to her mother’s disappearance.”
Hope wished she’d had a chance to read through Devon’s notes. She was certain those notes were shredded or burned now. Whoever staged the car accident wouldn’t chance those papers or recordings being discovered.
The timer dinged, and Jim grabbed a pot holder and pulled out the baking sheet.
“Let them set for a minute and then we can transfer them to the cooling rack.”
“I’ll put on the kettle for tea.” He set down the pot holder and filled the kettle at the sink.
The cookies cooled while the tea was prepared, and they settled at the table beside the large window overlooking the fenced yard. It was long and narrow, but enough room for his grandkids to play in nice weather.
“It’s a shame, what happened to Devon. She struck me as someone determined to get answers.” Jim reached for a cookie while Mabel lay beside his foot.
“We’d lost touch after high school graduation. Even back then, she was like a dog with a bone. She hadn’t changed much.” Hope sipped her tea. She waited for his review of the cookie.
“These are delicious.” He smiled and finished eating the cookie. He then helped himself to another one.
Hope let out the breath she was holding. “Thank you.” She reached for a cookie and took a bite. Tender and lightly sweet.
“My grandkids are going to love these.” He finished eating his second cookie. “Thanks so much for the recipe.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t much help.”
“You didn’t throw me out.” She laughed.
He chuckled also. “Devon was lucky to have a friend like you.”
“I wish I could have done more sooner.” She glanced at her watch. “I should be heading back to Jefferson. I want to get back before the storm hits.” Another snowstorm was heading for Connecticut and the last thing she wanted was to get stuck on the road as it barreled into the state.
“How’s the new chief working out?” Jim stood and walked her to the door.
Ethan was hardly the new chief. He’d been in the position for nearly six years.
“Good. Well, I may be a little biased. I’ve known him since high school.” Hope shrugged into her coat and put on her gloves.
“I retired soon after he joined Jefferson PD. He seemed like an all right guy.”
“Your instincts are spot-on. Thank you again.” Hope reached for the doorknob.
“The knife!” He snapped his fingers. “Of course. The knife.”
Hope looked over her shoulder. “What knife?”
“I can’t believe I’m just now remembering.” Jim ran his hand over his head. “There was a knife missing from the knife block in the Markham kitchen. There wasn’t any evidence of a struggle in the home.”
Of course. That was what had seemed off to her and Devon. Why hadn’t she seen it earlier, when she’d looked at the photo of the Markhams’ kitchen that Devon had pinned to the bulletin board? The knife block had an empty slot. Such a small detail. Could it really be significant?
“But the knife could have been a murder weapon.”
“Or it could have been tossed out by accident. It’s not uncommon. My son never paid attention to what he dropped in the trash can. We never determined whether Joyce willingly left her family or not. Until there’s more evidence, we won’t know for sure.”
Hope opened the door and stepped outside. “Thank you for talking to me. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. And thanks for the recipe. Be sure to keep me informed, or call if you have any questions.”
Hope nodded and then hurried back to her Explorer. Making her way back to the highway, she went over the visit. What had she accomplished?
Not much. It also seemed Devon hadn’t learned much either.
Or Jim could have been withholding information from Hope.
* * *
Hope arrived home before the snow started to fall. The updated forecast she heard on the drive back to Jefferson called for heavy snow within a couple of hours. That scenario was never a good one because road crews had a hard time keeping the roads safe with several inches of snow falling in a short period of time. She entered the mudroom and was greeted by Bigelow. She let him out to do his business while she got out of her coat and boots.
In the kitchen, she was greeted by Princess. The cat slinked by her legs with her tail high and flicking in the air. Hope dashed out back to the mudroom to allow Bigelow back inside.
Shaking off the cold, Hope returned to the kitchen and then checked her phone. She’d heard a text come in while she was hanging up her coat.
It was from Ethan. Because of the storm, he wanted to stay at the PD. It looked like she’d be eating alone tonight.
She made a quick dinner of lasagna rolls. There was enough to drop off to Ethan tomorrow for lunch. After filling the dishwasher, Hope wiped down the countertops, then fed Bigelow and Princess.
Hope then did a quick tidy-up of the family room before grabbing her notebook and settling on the sofa to listen to another episode of Devon’s podcast. Bigelow jumped up and made himself comfy on the other end of the sofa. She hadn’t the heart to make him scoot off, especially when Princess had commandeered his bed in the corner of the room.
She tapped on her phone and the podcast began, and she was ready to make notes.
“The morning after we realized my mother had disappeared was cold and dreary. I remember opening my eyes, convinced the day before was a nightmare. My mom would come into my room any moment and tell me to get up and greet the new day. She always said that to us. I waited and waited. My bedroom door never opened.
“I finally got out of bed and went to the window. It had rained the night before. I could see what snow was left had been washed away. I still had hope she’d open my bedroom door and walk in.
“The door opened. My breath caught as I looked over my shoulder. Mom was home. I was about to run to her when I realized it was my sister, Felice. All the hope I had whooshed out of me in one hard breath. Felice’s eyes were red and swollen and she held a damp tissue in her hand.
“‘It wasn’t a dream, was it?’ I asked her. She shook her head and rushed to me. I stood and hugged her and we cried. Our mother hadn’t returned home.” Devon’s voice cracked. “She was gone. I knew right there and then, my mother wasn’t going to come back. Something terrible had happened to her, even if the detective who was assigned to her case didn’t believe that. My mother wouldn’t have up and left us. She wasn’t that kind of woman. Someone took her from us.”
A bing drew Hope’s attention from her notebook to her phone.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
Leave the past in the past or you’ll have no future.
Hope dropped her pen and grabbed her phone. Her heart raced. She stared at the message. She shot up from her chair and rushed to the windows that overlooked her property.
All she saw was a dark and snowy night.
Was the person out there watching her house? A lump caught in her throat. She tapped on the app for her smart doorbell. The video included with the doorbell gave her a fairly good view in the front of her house and at the back of her house, where the second doorbell was located. She didn’t see anyone in the area.
Irritated by the anonymous threats and by feeling like a victim, she took the bold, but probably not a smart move and texted back.
Who is this?
She waited for a reply.
Someone who is giving you one more chance. Choose wisely.
Bigelow stirred and snuffled. She looked over to the sofa. At face value, he didn’t look much like a guard dog, but he’d saved her life not too long ago. She peeled herself away from the window and walked back to the sofa, sitting next to her best buddy. He lifted his head and then rested it on her lap. She chewed on her lip and stared down at her phone.
Who had sent the text? What did he or she think Hope knew?