Chapter Sixteen
She really needed to clean out her purse more often, Hope thought as she turned the bag upside down and all its contents rained down onto the countertop. She sifted through her pens, keys, crumpled receipts, bookmarks, a pressed powder compact, hand wipes, too many lipsticks, and the tube of concealer gifted to her by Elaine. But no mascara.
She’d somehow misplaced the fifty-dollar mascara. She’d hoped it had made its way from her bathroom to her purse.
It hadn’t.
She rested a hand on her hip and scanned the kitchen. She’d searched the drawers, hoping it had been stashed away during a frenzied cleanup session after filming a video. She usually had her lipstick, mascara, and pressed powder handy for quick touch-ups between takes.
Fifty bucks was a lot to pay for the mascara, but it did lengthen and thicken her lashes.
There was one more spot she hadn’t checked. Please. Please. Please. It had to be there.
At one end of her island were cubbies for storage, and in the middle cubby was a basket. With any luck, the mascara had fallen into the basket. As with her purse, she emptied the basket on the island. A quick look at the items, mostly pens, sticky notes, and eyeshadow quads. No mascara.
Darn.
Her phone chimed with an alert that someone had opened the back door, and a moment later, Ethan walked into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he said, closing the door. His eyebrows drew together, and his forehead crinkled. “Looking for something?”
“What do you think?” Hope tossed the items back into the basket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. Yes, I’m looking for my mascara. I have no idea where it is.”
Ethan surveyed the messy island. “You always know where everything is.”
“I know! It’s driving me crazy.” After setting the basket back in the cubby, she returned the items from her purse to the bag.
“Just buy another mascara.” He walked to the refrigerator and opened the door. He stood there for a moment before pulling out a container of fried chicken. She’d been working on a new recipe and had fried enough chicken to feed an army. He opened the container and took out a drumstick.
“I’d love to, but at fifty dollars a tube, I don’t have the budget. I need to find it.”
Ethan swallowed his bite of chicken. “Fifty dollars?”
Oops. Hope forgot guys didn’t understand the cost of beauty or, in her case, the saving of time the mascara gave her because she didn’t have to fuss with false lashes.
“Never mind. Eat your chicken.” She patted him on the arm and went to get a plate from a cabinet.
“I’d rather talk about your recent text exchange with a possible killer.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have engaged, but I couldn’t help myself. I thought I could possibly reveal his or her identity. It didn’t go as planned. We don’t know who it was.” She set the plate on the counter and took out a few pieces of chicken from the container. “I have some potato salad.”
Ethan nodded. “Yes, please.”
Hope retrieved the bowl from the refrigerator and added two heaping spoonfuls to the plate. She grabbed a fork from the flatware drawer and gestured to the table as she handed Ethan his lunch. She poured two glasses of water and joined him.
“We don’t know the identity, but we were able to find out the text messages came from Devon’s phone.”
Hope’s mouth gaped open. “Her phone?”
“You said you didn’t recognize the number.”
“The number came up as unknown. Devon never gave me her phone number. The few times we talked, it was in person. So, all this time the killer has kept her phone? Wait, can you find the phone by tracking it?”
“No luck there. It’s probably turned off or destroyed by now.”
“You haven’t found her purse yet, have you?”
Ethan shook his head as he ate a forkful of potato salad. “I don’t like the cat-and-mouse game this person is playing with you.”
“Me neither. The thing is, I don’t know anything. Well, I know in my core that Donna didn’t commit suicide. It wasn’t her handwriting on the note I found.” Hope sipped her water.
Ethan didn’t look up; he kept his gaze on his plate of food.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Her case is still open, so I’m limited in what I can share. However, it does appear, based on some other writing samples, the handwriting does not match up.”
The temptation to say “I told you so” was a hard one to let pass. Hope knew Donna wouldn’t have killed herself, and if she had, her final note to the world would have been far more eloquent and beautiful. Not some chicken scratch on a sheet of paper.
“Again, your instincts were right.” Ethan pushed away his plate and reached out for Hope’s hand. “The thing is, your instincts can get you into trouble. Serious trouble.”
“I know. Earlier, I was at the library and I ran into Shirley. She told me something you should know.” She noticed Ethan’s gaze held steady on her. He wasn’t going to interrupt. “She admitted to having an affair with Greg prior to Joyce’s disappearance.”
“She just came out and told you about the affair?”
“Sort of. I saw she looked upset and I asked her what was wrong, and she blurted it out. I think she wanted to tell someone. Get it off her chest. And I was there.”
“How convenient.”
Hope sighed. “I’ve known Shirley for years. I don’t think she had anything to do with Joyce’s disappearance.”
“Reid will still want to talk to her.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going. Look, I want you to be careful. Extra-careful. I need you in one piece for our ski trip.”
Hope’s shoulders slumped. With everything going on, all thoughts about the getaway had been shoved to the back burner. How could she have forgotten?
“Nothing is going to keep me away from our trip. Four glorious days of just the two of us skiing all day and cozying up by a roaring fire every night.”
“Maybe we should start a little early. How about tonight?” He stood.
Hope smiled. “Sounds good. See you later.”
Ethan kissed her on the top of her head and walked out of the kitchen. A moment later, her cell phone chimed, indicating he’d exited out the back door. She sipped her water and leaned back. She was a hundred percent certain she had no idea who was behind the murders and the threats made against her. Though Donna must have had an inkling. She remembered something about the day Joyce disappeared. If only Hope had taken the call.
In Donna’s message, she’d mentioned a work truck. She could have seen Oliver’s truck at Joyce’s house. No. Something didn’t feel right about the theory. She’d never heard any whisper of Oliver being inappropriate with his female clients. Surely in a small town like Jefferson, there would have been gossip, warnings not to hire him. Though he was angry with her for sharing what Devon told her with the police, and for snooping around his property. In all fairness to him, a person didn’t have to be guilty of a crime to feel violated by someone invading his privacy or sending the police in his direction regarding a crime.
She took another sip of water and played out different scenarios. Had Greg, finally fed up with his wife’s behavior, confronted her, and things got out of hand? Or had someone read more into Joyce’s flirting and wanted to go further but was rejected?
Over the next hour, Hope wrote a blog post while Iva tackled painting the living room. She also wanted to use the time to muster the courage to finally talk to Iva about the missing bracelet, and now the missing mascara. First, she wanted to touch base with Drew. She texted him about Alec Graves, asking him to find out all he could about Gail’s brother. She had a feeling there was more to his banishment from Jefferson after high school than Gail or their father had let on over the years. Especially because he’d been arrested for harassment and was on wife number two. She slipped her phone into her back pocket and entered the living room, where Iva was folding a drop cloth.
The paint job was complete. After countless paint swatches, Hope had finally found one she loved and now, looking around the room, she felt reassured it was the right choice. The shade was perfect. Not too dark, not too light or dull or shiny. Just perfect.
She glanced around the rest of the room. So much more work needed to be done, but it was mostly cosmetic. The floor had already been refinished, the fireplace mantel and windows had been stripped and stained. Now she needed to bring in furniture. She had some pieces stored in the garage.
“What do you think?” Iva held the drop cloth in her arms. A paint-smattered flannel shirt covered distressed jeans. She topped her hair with a black baseball cap.
“It looks amazing.” Hope stepped farther into the room. “You did a great job.”
“Yeah, well, I had to learn how to do a good paint job, because paint is the cheapest way to freshen up a room.” Iva set the drop cloth on the card table. The makeshift workstation held the paint cans and trays.
“Are you sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?” No time like the present to discuss the missing items.
“I’m good. I’m gonna clean up and then head out.”
“Sounds good. By the way, would you happen to know of a snowplow driver I could hire for the remainder of the season?” Considering her recent interactions with Oliver, she wouldn’t be able to use his service any longer.
Iva placed her hand on her hip and gave Hope a hard stare. “Heard you and Oliver had a dustup the other day. Guess it serves you right for sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
The fact that Hope was writing Iva a weekly paycheck didn’t stop the woman from saying exactly what she was thinking.
“Devon was a friend.”
“Don’t matter. You don’t have the right to go around accusing people of crimes.”
“I didn’t. I simply asked a few questions.”
“Your questions are never simple. You should mind your own business and leave the investigating to the police.” Iva glanced at her watch. “I need to go.”
“Wait. There’s one more thing we need to discuss.” While her stomach was unsettled earlier at the thought of having this discussion, now, after Iva’s unsolicited lecture, Hope wasn’t feeling so apprehensive.
“Well, don’t you sound all ominous. Wait, don’t tell me, you want to question me about Joyce’s disappearance and Devon’s death.”
“No, I don’t. I want to talk to you about my missing charm bracelet and tube of mascara.”
Iva drew back, visibly offended. “Why? You think I took them?”
“I don’t know. All I know is that they are missing.”
“You think I took them! Yeah, you and your sister are definitely alike. She thought I stole one of her bracelets. I may be poor and I definitely have my share of troubles, but I’m not a thief. Here I thought you understood that. My bad.”
“I just want to find the bracelet and mascara. I don’t want to cause any problems for you.”
“Why, thank you, ma’am.”
“Don’t be like that, Iva.”
A soft meow drew Hope’s attention to the doorway. Princess moseyed in and rubbed Hope’s leg as she passed by on her way to the sofa. There, she leaped up and settled on the back of the sofa to look out the window.
“I’m not a thief, but that cat could be!” Iva pointed to Princess.
“Are you serious? You’re blaming my cat?” Hope couldn’t help but sound incredulous.
Iva nodded. “Cats steal things all the time.”
“I think you should go now.” How someone could blame a cat for stealing items baffled Hope. She wanted Iva to leave before she said something she’d regret.
“Happy to.” Iva stormed past Hope, and within a few moments, the app on Hope’s phone chimed, signaling Iva had left the house.
Hope pulled her phone out of her back pocket and did an online search for videos of cats stealing things. All the while typing her search criteria, she hadn’t expected to find any videos, so when a long list of videos came up she was shocked. She pressed Play on one of them and saw a cat snagging a sandwich, and then another cat sneaking off with a pen, and then another cat scurrying away with a pancake. She looked up at Princess.
“Are you the thief?”
Princess leveled a cool look at Hope.
“What am I thinking? You’re a cat.” Hope turned and walked back to the kitchen. She wondered how many more people she could alienate. Later, she had the blogging class, so there were more opportunities. And that reminded her: she had to prepare for class. Her cell phone chirped a notification.
She’d contacted Felice after getting the earrings from Zach and asked to meet her. In the text, Felice apologized for the delay and said she was on her way to the funeral parlor. She suggested they meet there, because the remainder of the day she’d be meeting with an attorney.
Hope replied back that she could meet at the funeral parlor and then headed to the mudroom to grab her purse and bundle up before heading out.
* * *
The funeral parlor receptionist opened the door to the interior office, where Felice was seated on the leather sofa. The black dress she wore seemed to swallow her up and her gray hair aged rather than flattered her. Hope’s heart broke for her friend. Over her shoulder, Hope thanked the receptionist and stepped into the room. She heard the door close behind her.
“I can’t believe this is happening. Detective Reid said they’re now investigating Devon’s case as a homicide.” Felice’s chin trembled, and she wiped her swollen, red eyes with a tissue. “I’m relieved they’re investigating.” Her eyes widened with terror. “Was Devon right about the person still being here in town?”
Hope joined Felice on the sofa. She’d left her coat out in the reception area but kept her purse. Inside was the jewelry box for Felice.
“What if I’m next? What if the killer thinks Devon told me something?” Felice’s head dipped again and she sobbed.
Hope rubbed Felice’s back to comfort her. What was she supposed to say? The fear was reasonable.
“Did she tell you anything? Her suspicions? Theories?”
Felice shook her head and then stood. She walked to the desk, an impressive antique that anchored the room. Behind the desk were two large, curtained windows looking out over a frozen pond. The funeral parlor was situated on a tranquil piece of property north of Main Street. Felice plucked a tissue out of its container. She wiped her face and blew her nose before tossing the tissue in the wastebasket.
“I need to pull myself together and stop thinking these crazy thoughts.” Felice scrubbed her hands over her face.
“They’re not crazy thoughts.”
Felice gave a half smile. “I’m not surprised to hear you say that.” She reached for her purse on the sofa.
Her tone seemed off, and it struck Hope as odd and had her squaring her shoulders. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hope, I know you want to help. I even asked for your help. Now, looking back, I shouldn’t have. We need to let the police handle this. I want the person responsible for my sister’s death to be held accountable, and the last thing I want is for something or someone to jeopardize that outcome.”
“I completely understand. I’d never want that to happen.”
“Good. Then please stay out of this matter and allow the police to do their job. Maybe they can get it right this time.”
The office door opened, and the receptionist poked her head in. “Felice, are you ready to continue with the planning?”
Felice nodded and then looked back to Hope. “Thank you for coming, and know I’m grateful for your help.”
“I know you are. This may not be the right time to tell you this, but it’s important.”
“I’ll be right there,” Felice said to the receptionist. “What is it?” she asked, sounding irritated.
“Devon was right about your father having an affair at the time of your mother’s disappearance. The other woman was Shirley Phelan. She told me earlier today.”
Felice fidgeted with her necklace. “I can’t believe it. She and my mother were good friends.”
“I’m sorry I had to tell you now, but I’ve shared the information with Ethan and I don’t know what will come of it. I didn’t want you blindsided.”
Felice shrugged. “I guess that explains why things got weird between Mom and Mrs. Phelan.”
Hope had heard the same thing from Amy.
“My mom and Shirley spent so much time together, and then Shirley stopped spending time with her. Mom seemed upset by it. She didn’t know why her friend didn’t like her anymore. I guess we never outgrow that feeling.”
“Probably not.”
“I appreciate you telling me. I really need to go.” Felice gave Hope a quick hug and then left the room.
Hope grabbed her purse and slung it over her shoulder. Shoot! She’d forgotten to give Felice the earrings. Now, thinking about it, maybe it would be better to give the jewelry to her after the funeral.
She walked out to the reception area, as nicely appointed as the interior office, only with a lighter feel, thanks to lighter wood tones and beautiful floral arrangements. Hope retrieved her coat from the closet and slipped into it. Felice was right to be worried about the case and skeptical about the police bringing the culprit to justice. The police had let her family down twenty years ago. But Hope had let Devon down now too by not being able to find answers that her friend had died trying to uncover.
She pulled open the heavy wood door and stepped outside. She accepted that the police were more equipped to investigate. They were the professionals. As Reid had told her on more than one occasion, she wasn’t a detective.
She hurried to her vehicle and got in. She should honor Felice’s request and step aside to let the police do their job. She should also let herself off the hook for Devon’s death.
Easier said than done.
She glanced at the funeral parlor one last time before driving out of the parking lot. She needed to respect Felice’s wishes. Especially because, so far, Hope had only managed to upset people rather than actually help the police.
No, it was time for her to shift her focus back to her blog, her class, and her upcoming ski trip with Ethan. It was only days before they’d be heading up north for four blissful days of skiing and snuggling by a fire with nobody else around. She turned on the radio and set it to her favorite news station.
“Get ready, you folks in the northwest corner of the state. We got another wallop of a storm heading our way.” The forecaster’s voice was far too cheerful about another snowstorm, one that sounded like it could derail her getaway with Ethan. “We might even be bracing for a blizzard.”
* * *
On her way back home, Hope stopped at her sister’s shop for a quick visit. She needed to arrange to pick up the ski clothing Claire said she’d loan her. She hadn’t bargained on a lecture.
“Don’t you have enough on your plate right now? The other day you mentioned actually creating the online blogging class.” Claire was busy multitasking: rearranging a display of pricey crystal knickknacks and lecturing Hope. She didn’t miss a beat on either task. “Then there’s the Mama Mia Pasta deal. Don’t you have some macaroni to cook?”
Hope chewed on her lower lip. Her sister had valid points that were hard to argue against. So why had she told Claire about her talk with Felice? Glutton for punishment?
“I have Josie now. Which means I have extra time.” Ah-ha! Point for Hope.
Claire stopped fussing with the miniature crystal collectibles and propped a hand on her slim hip. “Extra time you should be devoting to your business. Do you see me running all over town trying to solve a murder? No! I’m right where I belong, running my business. And because I was where I was supposed to be, I met a new staging client. She came in to browse and we got to talking. I’m meeting with her next week.”
Point for Claire. Hope sighed.
The front door swung open with force and Amy barged in, her sights set on Hope.
“How could you? She’s my mother! She was in tears!” Amy jabbed a finger in the air toward Hope.
Claire stepped away from the display table and stood by Hope’s side. “Amy, calm down. What’s the matter?”
Amy’s nostrils flared and she looked at Claire. “I’ll tell you what’s the matter. Your nosy sister made my mother divulge a secret she’s been carrying for decades. Now she’ll be a murder suspect.”
Claire’s shocked gaze landed heavy on her sister, and Hope felt her insides twist, leaving her speechless. But she had to say something to defend herself.
“I didn’t force her to reveal anything. Actually, it seemed she wanted to unburden herself.”
“What did you do now?” Claire asked.
“Do you have any idea how bad my mother feels about her stupid mistake? Do you know how embarrassing it was for her to have to tell me she had an affair with Mr. Markham? My friend’s father? No. You. Don’t.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy for her—”
“No! You don’t get to defend yourself. What you did is indefensible. I bet you wasted no time in telling your boyfriend all the sordid details about my mother’s lapse in judgment.” Amy was crying. The flood of tears dragged her heavily applied mascara down her cheeks.
“The police need all the information that’s pertinent to Joyce’s disappearance and Devon’s murder.” Hope doubted the police wanted details of Donna’s death revealed, so she kept quiet about that crime.
“Do you hear yourself? You think my mother had something to do with those two things? Wow. I thought we were friends. Looks like I was wrong.” Amy pivoted and stormed out of the shop.
Claire followed Amy to the door. When the door shut, she turned and faced Hope. “Whatever you think you’re doing, I hope for your sake it’s worth losing friends over.” She marched past her sister and disappeared into her office.
Hope dropped onto the chair beside the round table. She reached out and moved one of the crystal figurines a smidge, and then moved the one behind it. She wanted to be angry with Amy for her outburst, for insinuating she’d interrogated her mother under a hot light for endless hours to get her to confess her sins, for not letting her speak, but she wasn’t. Amy was in protective mode over her mom and Hope couldn’t blame her for that. She would have done the same thing.
But Claire?
Hope eyed the doorway to her sister’s office. Wasn’t her sister supposed to stand by her? Defend her? Understand why finding whoever killed Devon and Donna was important to her?
The front door opened, and an older woman in a puffy coat entered, her gaze drifting around the shop.
“Hello,” the woman said, smiling.
“Good afternoon.” Hope stood and looked over her shoulder. “Claire, you have a customer,” she called out before leaving the shop. Outside, she lingered and watched through the window as her sister approached the customer with a smile. She lowered her head and walked away. How badly had she messed things up?