The Corpse Who Knew Too Much Read online

  “I’m sure there won’t be any problem with the class.” Angela gave a firm nod.

  “Guess we must wait and see. I better hang up my coat and get to work.” Sally rapped her knuckles on the countertop and returned Angela’s nod before stepping back. She turned and headed to the corridor that led to private offices and a break room for the library staff.

  Hope watched Sally disappear before she glanced at Angela, who looked like she was suppressing a laugh. It was vital for her to maintain control as the head librarian, but Hope also knew Angela wanted to be respectful of Sally’s long service to the library and the town.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I wanted to give you the list of students.” Angela reached over the counter for her portfolio and removed a sheet of paper.

  Hope scanned the list of students. Gail Graves. Laila Miller. They’d both gone to high school with Hope and her sister. Shirley Phelan. She was retired and volunteered at the senior center. The rest of the list contained familiar names and some not-so familiar. But there was one prominent name missing, and it surprised Hope.

  “Elaine didn’t sign up for the class?” Hope would have bet her brand-spanking-new, five-quart Le Creuset braiser the widow would have signed up for the class.

  Last summer, Elaine had announced her intention to start a fashion blog because she needed a job, and since then, she’d barraged Hope with countless questions on the topic. However, she hadn’t started the blog. Hope would be lying if she said she wasn’t relieved by Elaine’s procrastination.

  Angela shook her head. “You don’t know? She’s in Bali. I heard she said she needed a break from all this snow.” Angela’s gaze drifted toward the front entrance of the library. Just outside were inches upon inches of snow being swirled up by gusty winds. “Her and me both.”

  “Tell me about it. Bali? I’m so jealous.”

  “The average temperature this time of year is eighty-one degrees.”

  “What a cruel fact to share.” Hope laughed.

  “Sorry. I can’t help myself.” Angela let out a delicate giggle as she returned to the other side of the circulation desk.

  “Thanks for the student list.” Hope folded the paper and placed it into her tote bag, then pulled on her gloves. “I need to get going. I promised Claire I’d stop by the shop before heading home.”

  Hope’s sister, Claire Dixon, had opened Staged with Style in November, when she made an abrupt career change from real estate agent to home stager. Well, it seemed sudden to Hope. Unbeknownst to her, Claire had been toying with the idea for some time and even had a storage unit filled with home accessories she used to stage the homes she was selling. Everyone always complimented her excellent taste, so it made sense she was interested in pursuing staging full-time.

  “How is the shop doing?”

  “Business is a little slow. I’m sure once the weather gets nicer, it will pick up. Though she’s been booked consistently for home staging. Maybe she can do a workshop.”

  Angela’s eyes widened. “What a wonderful idea. Spring would be a perfect time. That’s when most people get ready to put their homes on the market.”

  “I’ll have her call you.” Hope slung her tote over her shoulder and made her way to the lobby of the library and prepared herself for stepping outside. She found herself longing for warm spring days and short-sleeved shirts.

  As Hope headed for the exit, she spotted Norrie Jennings approaching from the genealogy room. There was a short list of people Hope preferred not to run into at any time. Top on the list was her ex-husband, Tim Ward. Next was the overeager local reporter. She picked up her pace to make a quick getaway.

  “Hope. Wait up.”

  Hope grimaced as she halted. So close. With no other choice, she turned to face the reporter. Barely out of her twenties, Norrie was fresh-faced, with a pixie cut and wide eyes. She looked more like a high school student than the ambitious journalist she was.

  “Good morning, Norrie. I just finished up a meeting about a blogging class I’m teaching here.”

  “Interesting. Is it like a how-to class?” A hint of interest flashed in Norrie’s amber eyes and disappeared as quickly. “Whatever it is, I’m sure Drew will be happy to cover it. I’m busy with another story.” She leaned in. “I’m sure it will be another front-page byline for me.”

  Before Christmas, Norrie broke a story about an embezzlement scheme at the local branch of Emerson Bank. It not only got her several front-page articles in the Gazette, but they were also picked up by the wire service, garnering her national attention.

  The only reason Hope knew all the details was because her best friend, Drew Adams, had drowned his sorrows over a plate of cookies—gingerbread and sugar. By the time he left her house, he was complaining he’d have to spend hours in the gym to work off all the calories he consumed during his pity party. He’d rebounded the next day and pitched an article on Donna and her calligraphy cottage industry. The article was a success. It was about a woman pursuing her passion later in life and it was about a Jefferson resident. After the article was published, Hope shared with her best friend that she believed it was one of his best works.

  “Good luck with your new story.” Hope turned toward the exit.

  “It’s not new. In fact, it’s twenty years old. You were born and raised here, so you must know of the Joyce Markham cold case.”

  Even though she was inside the warm library, a chill wiggled through Hope at the memory. She spun back around to face Norrie.

  “When I applied to the Gazette, I was concerned about writing for a small-town newspaper because, well, not much happens in small towns. I was wrong. The murders and scandals that have occurred here rival those in any big city. And who knew Jefferson had a twenty-year-old missing persons cold case?” Norrie’s grin summed up how thrilled she was to use Joyce’s unsolved disappearance as another career steppingstone.

  Hope recalled the unusually warm Valentine’s Day when word spread around dinnertime that Joyce was missing.

  “It shocked us all. Her husband and daughters left home in the morning, and when the girls returned home from school, the front door was open and Joyce was gone. Felice and Devon called their father, and when Joyce wasn’t home by dinnertime, they called the police. Why are you interested in her case? As you said, it’s been twenty years.”

  Norrie arched a brow. “You don’t know?”

  Chapter Two

  Norrie had a smug look on her face, as if knowing something Hope didn’t was some sort of lifetime achievement. The last thing Hope wanted to do was play twenty questions with the reporter.

  “What are you talking about?” Hope asked.

  “Joyce’s daughter Devon has a podcast about unsolved cases of missing women. It’s called Search for the Missing. The case she’s doing now is her mother’s,” Norrie said.

  Hope’s mouth fell open. That was the podcast Oliver had been listening to and the one Gilbert mentioned. Why hadn’t either one mentioned the host was Devon? Or that the case she was talking about was her mother’s? They’d both lived through the months of searching for Joyce and all the false sightings of her, raising hopes only to be disappointed yet again.

  “I had no idea.”

  “You should listen to it. Devon’s quite a good storyteller. Captivating. Anyway, with Valentine’s Day coming up marking the twentieth anniversary of Joyce’s disappearance and now the podcast, I’m going to write a story. I’ll look at the case with a fresh set of eyes. I want to get a telephone interview with Devon. I was thinking, you know her sister, Felice, right?”

  Hope’s surprise at finding out Devon had a podcast vanished while her guard, like a force field, shot up. Norrie was asking for a favor.

  Her reluctance to answer must have been written all over her face because Norrie propped a hand on her hip, and she looked displeased.

  “Come on, I helped you out last summer. Don’t you remember, I gave you a lead when you were sticking your nose into that whole mess with Lionel?”
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  Hope recalled the unsolicited information Norrie provided under the guise of wanting to be helpful. Here was proof Norrie did nothing without some expectation of reciprocation.

  “So, I owe you one?”

  Norrie shrugged. “Well, if you want to put it that way.” Her cell phone buzzed, and she lifted a finger to indicate she needed a moment. After pulling her phone out of her purse, she frowned as she read the text message. “I have to go. We’ll pick this up later.” She sprang forward, and in an instant, she was gone. Which was just the way Hope liked her.

  Hope readjusted the straps of her tote bag on her shoulder. Helping Norrie was something she didn’t want to do. Not only had she stepped over the line in some of her reporting regarding Hope, but she was also her best friend’s archrival. Yes, that was what Drew had called her on more than one occasion. Childish? Perhaps. Accurate? Definitely.

  She opened the heavy paneled door and stepped out of the stately, two-story brick building. The library was built in the early twentieth century after years of operating out of Frieda Bishop’s small home on Main Street, just north of where the current police department was located. She lent books to friends and neighbors from her living room until Fred Merrifield and Louisa Dayton stepped in to help build a permanent library for their town.

  The frigid air swooped down around her, making her coat feel like a thin sheet of cotton. The cold seeped inside her, sending bazillion chills up and down her body.

  Bali sure sounded good, even if it meant spending time with Elaine. The social-climbing, career trophy wife who had perfected backhanded compliments, had on more than one occasion said Hope was her best friend. Another swoop of cold air whacked Hope, and she shivered. If Elaine honestly thought they were so close, why hadn’t she taken her bestie to Bali with her?

  Hope walked along the path from the library’s entrance to the sidewalk, passing benches, where, in the warmer months, patrons lingered with their newest reads. Not paying attention, she slipped on a thin patch of ice, but was able to quickly regain her balance. Landing on her backside wasn’t something she wanted to do right there on Main Street. To make sure she didn’t have another slipup, she forced herself to stop daydreaming about Bali.

  She fixed her gaze ahead. No looking up or sideways. Eyes on the sidewalk. As much as she’d like to focus on the picture-perfect scene ahead of her created by a lush blanket of snow, she couldn’t. There was a landmine of ice patches just waiting for her to become distracted again. She continued along until a long-forgotten memory flashed in her head, bringing her to a stop.

  She remembered what Main Street looked like the day after Joyce disappeared.

  Thanks to a brief warm-up, the snow that had fallen days before had melted, leaving a slushy mess. Hope recalled navigating the puddles as she tagged along with her mother to run errands. Inside the General Store, the topic of conversation was Joyce. She recalled the prevailing theory was someone had abducted Joyce from her home. Beneath the armchair sleuthing there had been a ripple of fear. Everyone was asking whether some other wife and mother would be next?

  A chirping drew Hope’s attention upward, and she saw a cardinal fly to a nearby feeder. As much as she groaned about the weather, winter in the northwest hills of Connecticut was beautiful.

  She pushed off, continuing her trek to Staged with Style, and her mind wandered back to Norrie’s announcement that she’d be writing an article about Joyce. While she’d never been one not to want to see justice served, reopening the case seemed too cruel to Joyce’s family. Whatever healing had been done was sure to be ripped apart. Then again, Devon was talking about her mother on her podcast. Maybe Norrie’s coverage of the cold case wouldn’t be a bad thing.

  Hope tugged the blush-colored scarf around her neck tighter. Touching the soft cashmere brought a smile to her lips. It wasn’t her first cashmere scarf, but it was the first Christmas gift she’d received from Ethan as his girlfriend. She rolled her eyes. She was behaving like a lovesick teenage girl, getting all mushy about a gift. But after years of him being her steady rock, her anchor when her life turned upside down, they’d moved from the friend zone to romantically involved, and she couldn’t have been happier. They were planning their first long-weekend getaway to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

  The short vacation had been in the works since Thanksgiving. They thought it would be easy and quickly learned how naive they’d been. Between his work schedule and juggling joint custody of his two daughters along with Hope’s overbooked calendar, finding a stretch of free days was challenging. When they realized Valentine’s Day was clear on both their schedules, they booked their room at a charming inn up in Vermont, and Hope made a promise to herself not to bring along her work camera. She’d also decided on a complete social media detox while away. No liking. No following. And absolutely no posting content.

  She needed the time to recharge and relax.

  She and Ethan both.

  “Hope!”

  She looked in the direction of her favorite coffee shop and saw her new assistant, Josie Beck, moving at a brisk pace toward her. Josie had two Coffee Clique to-go cups in her gloved hands.

  Bless her.

  Hope could use another cup of hot coffee. She continued forward, knowing she was risking a slip and fall because her eyes were fixated on the coffee cups.

  “How did it go with Angela?” Josie’s face was barely visible beneath a knit hat pulled down to her brows and a scarf covering her up to her chin. A transplant from Florida, she wasn’t used to New England winters. She handed a cup to Hope and then moved her scarf so she could take a sip from hers.

  “Good. Class registration is full.” She took a drink of the hazelnut coffee. Heaven. “You didn’t have to do this, but I’m glad you did.”

  Josie beamed. Just two days on the job and Hope didn’t know how she’d survived so long without an assistant.

  “Everything is all set for the class?”

  “Yes.” Hope walked to the curb. “Were you able to set up the website I’ll be using for the class?”

  As a part of the curriculum, the students would create a website. Hope didn’t want to demonstrate on her own, so she’d purchased a domain and website hosting for a site she’d use to teach with.

  “All done.” Josie walked alongside Hope. “When I get back home, I’ll schedule the Facebook posts for the next two weeks. Then I’ll pull together your newsletter and send it over for you to review.”

  “Good. Also, there’s the Chicken Parmesan video that needs to be edited.”

  Josie did an air check with her forefinger. “Done first thing this morning.”

  “You’re doing an amazing job. Where have you been all this time?”

  “Working at a dead-end job at an insurance agency. Now working as a virtual assistant, I’m finding it is so much more rewarding.”

  “I wish I could give you more hours.” Hope had more than enough work to delegate to Josie, who worked primarily from her apartment. What Hope didn’t have was the budget to pay a full-time salary.

  “I know. But in time you’ll be able to. Besides, I have other clients, so I’m doing okay. Don’t worry about me. I’d better get going. There’s a bunch of work to do, and I’m freezing. I wish I had one of those automatic starters for my car.” Josie waved and dashed back toward The Coffee Clique.

  With both hands wrapped around the cup, Hope sipped her coffee while she waited for a break in the morning traffic. The hot beverage was just what she needed. In midsip, she saw a police cruiser pass by, and her heart did a little thump.

  Ethan was at the wheel. He turned his head, and his gaze landed on her for a moment. He’d been away at a law enforcement conference and returned late last night. Exhausted from his flight from Colorado, he went straight to his house after landing at Bradley Airport. He texted her that he’d see her today. He smiled just before he returned his attention to the road.

  He continued driving along until he flicked on his blinker and turned into
the driveway of the police department. She dragged her gaze from his disappearing vehicle back to the task at hand—crossing the street. A break in traffic happened, and she hurried across the road, careful to avoid patches of icy snow. Back on the curb, she bustled to her sister’s shop.

  A self-moving cargo van was parked in front of Staged with Style. Making her way toward the entrance, Hope glanced upward at the rental apartment. She recalled her sister mentioning a new tenant would be moving in.

  The charming, red-clapboard house was once home to Jefferson’s first mayor and, in the middle of the last century, was converted into a retail space on the first floor. The large front window showed a display of two toile-covered chairs and a small cherry occasional table topped with a crystal vase of fresh-cut flowers. She sighed. The furniture was lovely and far out of her price range these days. She consoled herself with the fact that it was also too formal for her farmhouse, which had a contemporary country vibe.

  Hope entered the shop, and a warm blast of air greeted her, followed by a scowl on her sister’s face. For a split-second, she considered backing out. Quickly. But the scowl and its cause would have to wait. She desperately wanted to let the warmth settle over her, and then she would find out what vexed her sister.

  Claire stood beside the sales counter, its glass case sparkling with prisms of light caught from the morning sun shining in from the large window. Inside the case were small decorative items such as votive candles and a mother-of-pearl jewelry box Hope coveted.

  “I don’t have time for a coffee break.” Claire dropped her hand from her hip and walked across the dark wood floor toward Hope. Dressed in a dove-gray sheath dress, she had a floral scarf perfectly knotted at the base of the ballerina neckline, and her shoulder-length blond hair was swept back into an elegant chignon. Hope doubted she’d ever look so pulled together if she owned a shop. Most days she barely got out of her yoga pants and hoodies. A casual dress code was a bonus of working from home.