The Body from the Past Page 2

Ansel’s gaze riveted on the hope chest. “Have you opened it yet?”

  “I didn’t want to; at least, not alone.”

  He nodded understandingly and let out a long breath. “Let’s see what’s in it.”

  He lifted the lid, and Jazzi put a hand to her throat. “Treasures,” she said. “Special moments in a young girl’s life. Someone left them all behind.” She reached down to ruffle through grade school pictures that showed the same young girl with long blond hair, serious gray eyes, and a willowy figure. She stood in the center of the back row where the tall kids were placed. Yearbooks. Jazzi reached for the newest and flipped it open to the girl’s name—Jessica Hodgkill. Her picture smiled out at them, but no signatures peppered the page. She glanced at the front and back of the book. No friends signed it. A corsage with dead flowers. Swim team ribbons and tennis trophies. Report cards. Jazzi flipped through a few. All As and Bs. Stones, shells, and souvenirs from trips.

  Why were her treasures still here, locked away? Why was this room left untouched all these years?

  “Hey, no body!” Jerod said, relieved.

  But something was wrong. Why had the family moved so quickly, they’d left everything in this room behind? Had something happened to Jessica?

  Chapter 2

  “What should we do with this stuff?” Ansel’s gaze swept the room.

  “We can’t just get rid of it,” Jazzi said. “We should ask Jessica’s parents if they want it. They didn’t when they moved away, but they might regret leaving it by now.”

  Jerod nodded agreement. “I’ll call Madeline. She’ll have the family’s information, and I’ll find out how to get in touch with them.”

  “Ask about the furniture,” Ansel said. “They’re antiques. They’re probably worth something.”

  Jerod scrubbed a hand through his light-brown hair. “We might as well take a lunch break while I make the calls. What did you bring for us today, cuz?” On the job, when his thoughts weren’t on working, they turned to food.

  “Ham salad sandwiches and chips.” He wrinkled his nose, and she gave him a look. “You like ham salad.”

  “I know.” He dug his cell phone out of his jeans pocket as he started toward the stairs. “But we’ve had sandwiches all summer. Sometimes you change it up, is all.”

  “Are you in the mood for something different?” She didn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice. When they reached the kitchen, she might only give him one sandwich. Then he might appreciate them more.

  Jerod purposely missed the sarcasm. He’d developed the skill when they were kids, bickering with each other. By now, he’d perfected a special ability to tune it out. “I was hoping you’d be in soup mode again. You usually are in the fall.”

  “It’s not chilly enough outside. Give me a couple more weeks.” But he was right. She’d made every sandwich type thing she could think of all summer long—paninis, tacos, burritos, and sloppy joes. She was getting tired of them. “It’s not cold enough for potato soup.” One of his favorites.

  He grinned. “But it’s perfect weather for your minestrone.”

  Ah. She should have known. The man couldn’t get enough of that. When she wanted to spoil him, that was one of her go-to meals. She gave him an indulgent look. He loved to heckle her, but she gave as good as she got. That was why they got along so well. She glanced at her watch. “We’re going to get home early enough tonight, I guess I could make you a pot.”

  That earned her a hug. Almost as tall as Ansel and heftier, Jerod always made her feel small, but she was above average height for a woman—five-eight and curvy. She always envied her younger sister Olivia’s willowy figure, but Ansel liked her curves.

  “You’re the best,” Jerod told her.

  “Remember that when I bring peanut butter and jelly someday.”

  “Won’t ever happen.” He motioned to Ansel. “Your man burns too many calories. Those would only hold him for half an hour.”

  True. Her Viking was all muscle, and she swore he burned more calories than any human should. Oh, well, both men were easier to work with when their stomachs were happy. A pot of soup was worth the effort.

  Jazzi started handing out sandwiches and bags of chips while Jerod made his call. Madeline picked up on the fifth ring, and Jerod asked her about the room upstairs. He put her answer on Speaker for them to hear.

  “That room was shut up tight when I bought the house,” she told them. “When I asked the Hodgkills about it, the wife told me she couldn’t go into that room, not even to clean it. I always meant to call a locksmith or contractor to open it, but I didn’t need it, so I just never got around to it.”

  “We have to clean it out,” Jerod said. “Do you want any of the furniture? Anything in there at all?”

  “Oh, no, none of it’s my stuff. Do whatever you want with all of it. And I’m sorry I left it for you.”

  “No problem. My wife restores antiques. She might be interested in some of the furniture.”

  “Good. It would be nice if someone wanted it again, but not me.”

  Jazzi could understand why Madeline avoided that room. It had given her the creeps, too. And it wasn’t like the woman hadn’t had enough other bedrooms for guests.

  Jerod asked, “Do you happen to have contact information for the Hodgkills?”

  She looked it up for him.

  “Thanks for the help. And congrats on your new life.” Jerod ended the call and looked at them. “Should I try the Hodgkills?”

  Ansel nodded. “Jazzi’s right. Whatever happened took place a long time ago. Jessica’s family might wish they had something of hers now.”

  Jerod made the call, and again, he put the phone on Speaker. When a woman answered and identified herself as Mrs. Hodgkill, he explained about the room.

  “Throw everything out or give it away,” she said. “That room holds too many sad memories. I can’t face them. And please, never call here again. I’ve tried to put those memories behind me.”

  What memories? What had happened here? Jazzi wouldn’t be able to resist looking up the family’s history. And she couldn’t throw away Jessica’s treasure chest. It would feel wrong to trash so much personal history.

  When they finally sat down to eat, Ansel frowned at her. “We made a pledge. No more dead bodies.”

  He knew her too well. “I’m guessing Jessica died and was buried a long time ago, and the mom was so broken up by it, they had to move away and try to put whatever happened behind them. Maybe she died in a car accident before she graduated from high school, or from some medical problem. Who knows?”

  “That’s the problem.” Ansel pinched off a small bite of his sandwich to share with George, who’d come to beg. “I don’t want to get involved in whatever happened. It couldn’t have been good if the family had to run away from it.”

  “I can’t throw away her treasure chest.” Jazzi raised her chin, digging in. “I’m taking it home with us and looking through it.”

  Ansel closed his eyes and counted to ten. “And what if someone murdered her? What then?”

  “They’re probably in prison, and I won’t visit them.”

  He sighed. “And you’ll leave it alone? Even if the case wasn’t solved?”

  “I don’t know Jessica. I’ll feel sorry for her, but we’re not involved with her past. It’s not as if it’s one of our friends or family.”

  His shoulders relaxed and he fed George another pinch of food. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “Fine. But it will drive me nuts if I don’t dig around inside that chest.”

  He nodded, and Jerod shook his head. “I was a witness to this whole conversation. Ansel can use me as backup, cuz.”

  “First of all, you’re my cousin, and I’m the one who cooks for you. But if you want to be like that, you two can be bosom buddies and do your thing.”

  Jero
d rolled his eyes. “I’m not choosing Ansel over you. But the man has a point. You don’t need to get involved in every murder that falls into your lap.”

  Pressing her lips tight, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Fine.”

  “When women say ‘fine,’ it’s always a red flag.” Jerod stood to throw away his paper plate. “If it comes to sticking up for you, Ansel, or choosing Jazzi’s minestrone soup, she wins.”

  Ansel let out a puff of aggravation. “The last murder we looked into could have gotten us both shot. I’d rather have a happy marriage for as long as we can instead of having gravestones next to each other.”

  She capitulated. “I know you’re just worried about me. I told you I wouldn’t poke into another murder, and I meant it. But you have to admit, none of them has been my fault.”

  “I know that, and I’m grateful you helped clear my brother’s name, and Thane’s grateful you helped him, but I’d rather quit while we’re still alive and undamaged.” Ansel stood to help clean the card table.

  “So.” Jerod looked from one of them to the other. “Can we clean out that room now?”

  “Do you think Franny would like the furniture?” Jazzi asked.

  “I know she would. A kidney-shaped makeup table is right up her alley. And the maple canopy bed? She’s going to be in an antique lover’s heaven. Do you want any of it?”

  Jazzi shook her head. “Only the hope chest.”

  “And the clothes?” Ansel asked.

  “They’re all dated.” Jazzi went to get a box of garbage bags. “We’ll give them to a used clothing shop.”

  It was no easy task carrying the heavy furniture down the stairs. While the men flexed their muscles, Jazzi emptied the drawers and closet, then carted the Shop-Vac upstairs and started cleaning. It took them the rest of the afternoon to finish the room. They all pitched in to sweep and dust the last bedroom and bath on that side of the hallway.

  Finally, Jerod said, “Done. Tomorrow, we can start on the roof. The shingles are going to be delivered in the morning. These roofs are steep enough; we’re going to have to pound in some boards for footholds.”

  They’d worked on worse. The house in Auburn had a turret they’d had to reshingle. But roofs were always dirty, heavy work. Yup, she’d make soup tomorrow. The men could use a little extra TLC.

  Chapter 3

  Jazzi helped Ansel carry the hope chest into the house when they got home. They put it in the living room for the time being. That way, she could sort through it while Ansel relaxed on the couch to watch TV. The cats came to sniff it. George was unimpressed, walking to his food bowl and sitting to stare at it, ready for his dry dog food. Eventually, their curiosity satisfied, Inky and Marmalade padded to join him, stopping at their food dish, too.

  While Jazzi fed the beasts, Ansel headed upstairs to take the first shower. When he came back down with damp hair, smelling of soap and maleness, she lingered a minute, inhaling him, until he chuckled and motioned toward the stairs. “Your turn. You’re coated with dust.”

  So much for her earthy beauty. Ansel and Jerod could humble her fast. She jogged up the steps to try to look human again. When she returned half an hour later, dressed in sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt, her hair wrapped in a towel on top of her head, Ansel grinned.

  “Now you’re the raving beauty I married.” He opened the refrigerator, as if a magic genie would produce some wonderful enticement. “What’s for supper?”

  “Pork chops, hash browns, and sautéed apples. And I’m going to make minestrone for tomorrow.”

  “I’ll help.” Ansel loved cooking together. They peeled apples and started them, then diced vegetables for the soup. It was simmering on the stove before they sat down for supper. Ansel went straight for the sautéed apples. “We should make these more often.”

  She grinned. “You say that every time I make them.” She’d removed the towel and thrown it down the laundry chute, so her hair was starting to wave and curl while it dried. She pushed a loose strand off her forehead.

  George wandered to the kitchen island to beg while they ate. He was partial to pork chops. And chicken. And…Oh, well, the pug liked food almost as much as his master. Ansel snuck him morsels while they made small talk and enjoyed their meal. They were cleaning up when Jazzi’s cell phone buzzed.

  “Hello?”

  Leesa, Jazzi’s BFF since high school, burst into speech. “An old friend of Brett’s called to tell him you guys were working on the Hodgkill house in Merlot.”

  Brett was Leesa’s husband of five years, a financial analyst and a little on the aggressive side. Jazzi and Ansel got together with the two of them every once in a while for suppers out.

  “Hold on a minute,” Jazzi told her. “Ansel’s right here, too. I’ll put you on Speaker.” This didn’t sound like a social call.

  “Good. He’ll want to hear this, too.” Leesa paused for a second when a voice interrupted her. “Just a minute, Riley. Mommy’s on the phone.”

  The voice whined on. Jazzi smiled. Riley was two. Two-year-olds didn’t care if Mommy was busy or not. No wonder Leesa often told them she went to her office on campus to make business calls. People would wonder if an English lit professor had to stop in midsentence to listen to her child. Finally, Leesa returned. “Are you still there?”

  “If Riley wants a Popsicle, you should give him one,” Jazzi teased.

  “Just wait ’til you have one of your own. They’re persistent.”

  “And that’s why you wanted another one?” Leesa was pregnant with baby number two.

  Leesa laughed. “What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, I might as well have them close together so I might have a life again someday.”

  Ansel’s blue eyes glittered with humor. When they’d first gotten married, he’d talked about having a baby. Now, after meeting their friends’ kids, he was ready to wait.

  Jazzi tried to return the call to its original purpose. “You wanted to know something about the Hodgkill house?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Leesa sighed. “I swear, I’m losing it. I knew I’d called you for a reason.” She took an audible breath. “Brett grew up in Merlot. That house holds horrible memories for him. Could you and Ansel come to supper here tomorrow night? Brett wants to invite his brother and his wife, too, so they can talk to you about it.”

  Jazzi frowned at the phone. “They want to talk about the house? Are they upset that we’re renovating it?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Another pause. “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” What was the deal with this house anyway?

  “Jessica Hodgkill lived there. Before high school graduation, during a party celebrating that she’d been named class valedictorian, she was pushed off the house’s balcony and died.”

  Ansel’s expression went as dark as a raven’s wing. He gave Jazzi a look that said don’t go there.

  Jazzi took a long breath. “I’m sorry to hear that. We found Jessica’s hope chest in her upstairs bedroom. It was filled with all of her childhood memories.”

  “If you look through any of it, you’ll learn that Brett’s brother was her date for the senior prom and the main suspect in her murder.”

  A finger of dread slid down Jazzi’s spine. “Was his name cleared once the cops found her killer?”

  “They never did, but they couldn’t prove Damian was guilty. Trouble was, he couldn’t prove he was innocent either. It ruined his life.”

  Ansel glowered even more.

  Jazzi wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m so sorry. That had to be awful for the entire family.”

  “It was terrible for the whole town. People took sides. Brett always stood up for his brother and lost some good friends because of it.”

  “Then they weren’t real friends,” Ansel said, joining the conversation for the first time.

  “That’s what I told him. Anyway, ca
n you two come tomorrow? We’d really appreciate it.”

  Jazzi looked at Ansel. He grimaced, but nodded.

  “We’ll be there,” Jazzi said.

  “Good, let’s make it six thirty. Does that work?”

  “See you then.” When Jazzi closed the conversation, she turned to Ansel.

  He hunched his shoulders, looking more like a Viking than ever. Big and intimidating. “I knew it. I just knew it. You brought home the hope chest, and now we’re involved in another murder.”

  “The hope chest didn’t have anything to do with it.” Jazzi squared her shoulders, too. “You’re blaming me, and it’s not fair. Merlot must have a hot gossip line. Brett would have known we were working on that house no matter what I did.”

  “Supper tomorrow night is going to be awful.” Ansel stalked to the refrigerator for a beer. He poured Jazzi a glass of wine and brought it to the kitchen island. They huddled over their drinks there, their knees touching as they faced each other.

  “I don’t see how we could have turned Leesa down,” Jazzi said. “She and Brett are our friends.”

  “That’s what worries me. Brett must have something in mind. He probably wants us to look for clues hidden deep in closets or under floorboards.” He tossed a dirty look at the hope chest in the living room.

  “Maybe I should look through it before we go.”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. If we don’t know anything, we can’t share anything. I don’t want to play a game of a hundred questions.”

  She didn’t push it. He’d been through enough questions and answers when they worked with Detective Gaff.

  Ansel quirked a brow at her. “You’re not going to disagree with me?”

  “No.”

  He blinked, caught off guard. “You’re okay with that? With not looking through the chest yet?”

  She smiled at him. He didn’t like to make her angry. And it was mutual. Ansel’s parents had such a dysfunctional marriage and family, Ansel craved a loving home. Her parents still enjoyed spending time together. She’d grown up in a happy family and meant to have one of her own. So she and Ansel were careful of each other’s feelings. “I don’t want to get involved in another murder any more than you do,” she told him. “Gaff’s in the River Bluffs police force. He couldn’t help us in Merlot.”