By
Daniel Carson

While Hope Walker is recovering from the events of Christmas Eve… a funny thing happens. A strange photograph appears. And a curious investigative reporter like Hope Walker smells a story. This time, the story leads her and her best friend Katie to Nebraska.

Appleton Falls, Nebraska.

Will Appleton Falls give Hope the answers she’s always wanted? And will she ever stop finding dead bodies?

At the end of the last book, Hope solved not only the murders but also the case she’d been working on for years, the one that got her fired. She finally put an end to Tommy Mendoza and his hit person as well. She’s not unscathed though and is still healing as this book opens. There is also something she never expected a note from her mother.

She shouldn’t be out skiing, but it’s with Alex and it was her suggestion. She’s still not sure where their relationship is heading but maybe they’ll figure it out. This excursion doesn’t last long with her in pain, and we learn she can’t take a compliment and oh boy, poor Alex. Before anything else can happen, Alex gets called by the postman, who is reporting piled up mail and a smell.

It’s at this scene of what appears to be a natural death, that Hope finds a photograph of the Appleton Treasure Hunters Club. In that photo is the deceased and her mother along with others. Now Hope has a lead to follow in her search for her mother.

Katie and her husband are in Omaha, Nebraska for the Great Midwestern Craft Beer Gala and since Appleton isn’t that far away Hope decides to take Katie with her.

They start at the Appleton Falls Reporter, the local newspaper office where the owner and editor, Rita Helms, takes them to meet the sheriff. Sheriff Maggie Duckworth confirms what Rita said about Harry Theisen being Harmon Muldoon but can’t help more than that until after the Shakesbeer event that evening. At that event Hope is hit on by Joe Burgess, the local annoying, charming idiot and they discover the most delectable desserts.

The next day the sheriff tells Hope and Katie all she knows about the Treasure club, Harmon and her mother. Now as with any excursion with Hope you can expect to stumble across a dead body. This trip is no different. Just a different Sheriff, newspaper and town.

This is a favorite scene.

Sheriff Duckworth nodded. “Duane’s right, Seymour. You tried to help. He didn’t listen. If you live like Joe does, at some point, it’s gonna catch up to you. Okay, Les, we’re gonna take you down to the station and get a full statement.”

“Do I have to?” Les asked.

“Or I can call the building inspector and ask him to spend the day in your apartment complex finding everything wrong with it that he possibly can.”

Les rolled his eyes. “Fine. But as soon as we’re outside, I’m smoking a cigarette.”

Duckworth sighed. “Seymour, let Les here have his smoke before you take him in. Holland, you get started on the paperwork. Duane, go back to the station for the camera and evidence bags, then come back and document everything. And all of you, not one word of any of this until I make the notification.”

The deputies departed, leaving me and the sheriff alone with Joe Burgess. Duckworth crouched, leaned over the bathtub again, and shook her head.

“What a waste. Joe was a talented kid. Smart. Athletic.”

“Good-looking,” I added.

“You noticed.”

“Hard not to.”

“But for whatever reason, it was never enough. You know, I actually tried to steer him toward law enforcement once. He was always taking shortcuts, living on the edge. Bigger the risk, the better—that kind of thing. After he spent a night in my cell, I tried to convince him to use his talents for the forces of good.”

“Did he consider it?”

“He laughed in my face. Told me he had big plans. That was Joe.” She stood. “So, you’re good at this, right?”

“I’m just an investigative reporter, not a sheriff. I’d say I’m okay at this.”

“Those scars on your face—those typical for an investigative reporter?”

I reached for my face instinctively.

“I heard about what you did with that lady. And the whole Medola story. That took serious stones.”

“I just did what I had to do.”

“Most people wouldn’t have. That’s the difference. You’re more than ‘just okay’ at this, Hope Walker. So, as long as you’re here, take a look around. I’d welcome any thoughts you might have. Just don’t touch anything.”

I did as the sheriff asked—I looked around. I studied the tub, the position of the body, the location of the whiskey bottle. Then I walked out into the bedroom. Bed unmade. Black jeans, underwear, black T-shirt, and black leather jacket on the floor. A pair of tennis shoes against the wall, a bottle of cologne on the dresser. Typical man’s bedroom.

I continued through the apartment, scanning the walls, which featured a framed pencil drawing of a nude woman, a framed poster from the movie Jaws, and some ugly piece of modern art that looked like it could have been made by a five-year-old with a bucket and no rules. Near the front door was the couch where Seymour said he’d left Joe. On the far wall was a large double-hung window. I put my hand inside my coat pocket so as not to leave any prints, then checked the latch, which was locked.

I returned to the bedroom, which also had a window. It, too, was locked.

Then I turned to Sheriff Duckworth, who had been watching me.

“So?” she asked.

“I’ve got two questions.”

“First?”

“Who turned off the water in the bathtub? A little water spills out of a bathtub—it’s probably not supposed to leak through the floor. A leak that bad takes lots of water. And that only happens when the water is running. Les didn’t mention turning off the water, and it sounds like he didn’t dare approach the tub.”

“Good. I caught that too. And second?”

“Who locked the front door? I mean, the obvious answer would be Joe, but Seymour said he left Joe on the couch, and if you’re as drunk as Joe was, how much do you care about locking the door?”

“Ah. I forget you only met Joe the one time . . . on-the-prowl Joe. You never met paranoid Joe before. He would have locked up.”

Perhaps, I thought. In fact, he probably did. But I was still wondering about the water.

“Well,” the sheriff said, “I’d better go do the notification before word gets out.”

“Joe has family here?”

Sheriff Duckworth shook her head. “His family’s been gone a long time. No, there’s someone else I need to notify—the closest thing Joe had to family. Could I ask you to come along?”

“For a notification? That seems . . . delicate. Why would you want me there?”

The sheriff rubbed her hand across her jaw. “Well, the thing is, this ain’t my first rodeo. And though this looks like a tragic accident—and we can’t yet rule out suicide—as a sheriff, I need to be open to the possibility that it was neither of those things.”

“You think it was murder.”

“Not saying that. But if it is, I need to consider suspects as quickly as possible. And this notification might also be the best suspect we’ve got.” Sheriff Duckworth looked me in the eye. “You observe anyone particularly angry last night?”

“Actually, yes. The baker. Delaney Dodge.”

The sheriff nodded. “Delaney’s got three things you should know about. First, she’s got a history with Joe. The two of them go way back. Second, she’s got a temper. And third . . . she’s got herself a record.”
Carson, Daniel. A Hopeless Journey (A Hope Walker Mystery Book 6). Kindle Locations (714-751). Daniel Carson Books. Kindle Edition.

When things don’t add up, Maggie and Hope look at the video surveillance tapes. It’s Hope who makes several interesting discoveries all while pretending to do a story on the sheriff and gathering what facts she can about her mother.

Plenty of twists in this one, and fun seeing Hope as a minor celebrity.

I am truly enjoying these books; they are lots of fun and keep me guessing.

5 Contented Purrs for Daniel!

Daniel Carson

Daniel Carson writes cozy mysteries with humor, romance, and plenty of heart.

His first series is The Hope Walker Mysteries and A Hopeless Murder is the first book in that series. His second series is the Baking School Mysteries featuring Delaney Dodge. Fudge Frosting Murder is the first book in that series.

Daniel lives in Omaha, Nebraska with his wife, their children, and the world’s toughest eight pound dog, a maltipoo named Emmett.