Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Grace Topping

  We didn’t say anything while she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and collected herself.

  Good time to change the subject. “Sister Madeleine is concerned about your business while you are here.”

  Monica closed her eyes, put her head back, and stared at the ceiling. “Things are in such a mess. I became so focused on my work for Damian and began letting things slip. On top of being accused of murder, I have to worry about my business falling apart. Even if by some miracle I’m let out of here, I’ll have that to face.”

  “If I recall, you have a talented staff.” I decided not to mention what I’d learned about her doing some home staging in addition to her design work nor my suspicions that she was undermining my business.

  “That’s the problem. I don’t. My most experienced assistant left last month to take a job in Pittsburgh. I take her in and give her the wisdom of my experience, and she up and leaves me.” That didn’t surprise me.

  “My other assistant doesn’t have the experience to meet our commitments. If I can’t get out of here, my business will be ruined.”

  Monica’s business falling apart was the least of her worries.

  Chapter 19

  Forty percent of paint purchased ends up being the wrong color. Consulting a home stager about paint color can prevent costly mistakes.

  It wasn’t long before Officer Nguyen came and told us that visiting time was almost over. Monica quickly gave me the name of her young assistant and an idea of some of the things I could do to help complete some of her decorating projects. The people she had already contracted with might be inclined to allow her assistant to complete the work, primarily because they had money invested in it, but Monica’s business wouldn’t be attracting new work while she was in jail.

  Again I couldn’t believe I was going to help Monica. And I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Sister Madeleine. I owed her big time for all the things she had done for me throughout my life. Hopefully, working to help Monica would help show her my appreciation.

  After leaving the jail, I drove directly to Monica’s design studio, Designs by Monica. It was housed in a small, standalone building of white stained cedar with electric blue shutters at each window. Window boxes filled with a profusion of red and white flowers of different varieties added a nice touch, but the flowers were beginning to droop from lack of water and attention.

  When I pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, announcing my arrival. A young woman, who looked about seventeen but was probably slightly older, glanced up with an alarmed expression on her face. Was she afraid I was a customer coming in to ask why my project wasn’t getting completed? Or worse, was I there to cancel a project?

  I decided to put her at ease and let her know that I wasn’t there for either reason. “Hi, are you Kimberly Shepherd?” She looked at me with startling blue eyes that looked like they owed their color more to tinted contacts than Mother Nature.

  “Yes?” Her response was more question than answer.

  “I’m Laura Bishop.” I felt sorry for the young woman. Her employer had been arrested, and now she was expected to assume responsibility for a business she didn’t have the experience to manage. “You can relax. I’m here to help.”

  The look of relief on her face was almost comical. I explained that I’d visited Monica and she had given me an idea of some of the most pressing issues they faced. “Why don’t you tell me what you are dealing with at the moment and we’ll see how I can help?” And she did. An hour later, we had worked out a list of things that were the most pressing and divided up tasks I could handle and those things she would work on. I didn’t know how I was going to manage all this with my own work schedule, but I would make it work. At least I hoped I could.

  “Oh, and we have a couple of proposed home staging projects we’re waiting to hear back about,” Kimberly added. “We were busy with our current projects, but since new work coming in had been slow, Monica thought we could line up some home staging to fill in the gaps.”

  Slow? So that’s why Monica had decided to go into home staging. I shook my head and decided to address my suspicions about Monica sabotaging my business with her someday—if she didn’t go to prison for life.

  One of the most pressing projects was helping Theresa Green, a local homeowner, set up a short-term rental in an area over her garage. Her place was near Fischer College and she planned to rent it to parents of students visiting the college. Theresa had already taken reservations for the place because Monica had assured her it would be done in time. Fortunately, the remodeling work had been completed, so I could take on the finishing details.

  “Thank you, Ms. Bishop. I didn’t know what I was going to do.” Kimberly was sweet, and I was pleased that I could waylay some of her concerns—even if I was the one now feeling overwhelmed. If it would help put my past with Monica behind me, it would be worth it.

  Thinking of the past made me wonder about the two recent deaths. If, and it was a big if, Monica was telling the truth and she hadn’t stabbed Damian, what could have been in Ian Becker’s and Damian Reynolds’s pasts that could have contributed to their deaths? Ian hadn’t lived in Louiston for about twenty years, and Damian was a relative newcomer to town. Was there any connection between the two deaths other than coincidence? Perhaps the only answer was they’d come into contact with a deranged killer.

  I realized that Kimberly was speaking and shook myself back to the present. “Sorry, my mind wandered. Did you ever meet Damian Reynolds?”

  “Yes, a couple of times, when I went with Monica to take fabric samples to his house and to take measurements. He was such a nice man.” She frowned. “I couldn’t say the same thing about his agent, Garrett Fletcher.” She grimaced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “That’s all right. You didn’t care for the man?”

  “He wasn’t nice at all. In fact, he was rude to us, especially to Monica. She later explained that he was very controlling of Damian and didn’t like how close he and Monica were becoming. She suspected Mr. Fletcher felt she had too much influence on Damian.”

  If Monica hadn’t killed Damian, then who else around him could have? The only way to find out would be to discover who had been in Damian’s life since he came to Louiston.

  Where had that thought come from? I couldn’t resist a puzzle or mystery, but this was one I needed to stay out of. Or could it be that I was being sucked into this mystery to please Sister Madeleine, who believed Monica?

  Kimberly called Theresa Green to set up a time for me to take the items Monica had ordered for the project and start the work.

  I would start with the apartment. But first I watered the flowers in the window box.

  Chapter 20

  To attract buyers, paint with colors that work with cabinets, flooring, and carpets.

  With just enough time before my appointment to have lunch, I called Nita to invite her to join me at Vocaro’s.

  “We’re going to do what?” Nita was incredulous when I told her about my appointment that afternoon with one of Monica’s clients. “But Monica is your least favorite person in the whole world. Why would you do that, especially when she is going to prison and her business will be closed anyway?”

  I explained to her about my conversation with Sister Madeleine—how she wanted me to help save Monica’s business. “And it’s not what we are going to do, it’s what I’m going to do. I didn’t commit you to this.”

  “Of course I’m going to help. Monica was my classmate as well. Besides, I could use all the brownie points I can get with Sister Madeleine. If it wasn’t for her, Guido and I wouldn’t be married.”

  “What?” First time I’d heard that.

  “Never mind. I’ll explain someday—maybe.”

  I was beginning to believe Sister Madeleine had her finger in every pie in town.

  When they called the number for our lunch or
der, I went to the counter to pick it up while Nita read our horoscopes in a newspaper someone had left nearby.

  I placed our lunch on the table and sat down. I was hungrier than I realized and took a generous bite of the spinach quiche I’d ordered. “What did our horoscopes predict for today? Anything interesting?”

  “Mine wasn’t worth getting out of bed for. But yours was interesting. It said Capricorns should beware of people from their past adding to their already heavy burdens.”

  I tossed a stack of paper napkins at her. “You made that up.”

  Nita caught the napkins and laughed. “Would I misrepresent what the stars are predicting? Seriously, with all you have on you, you can only do so much to help Monica’s business.”

  “Tell Sister Madeleine that.”

  We ate quickly so I could get to my appointment on time. “When we helped your niece the other night, she said she had provided admin support to Damian at the college. Do you think she could give us any more information about him?

  “We could ask her. What do you want to know?” She took a sip from her coffee and then coughed, probably realizing where this was leading. “Laura! You aren’t buying Monica’s story that someone else stabbed Damian, are you? And please tell me you aren’t getting involved in trying to find out who did.”

  “Frankly, I don’t know what to believe. Sister Madeleine is convinced Monica is telling the truth. It’s driving me crazy wondering who else would have wanted Damian dead.”

  Nita shook her head several times. “You are such a sucker for helping the downtrodden.”

  “You should have seen Monica in that visiting room. All I could think about was what it had been like for Tyrone when he had been accused of a crime and put in jail.”

  “If you get involved in this case, you wouldn’t be doing it because you want to, but because Sister Madeleine believes Monica and not four eyewitnesses—you being one of them.”

  “I know, but as she pointed out, none of us actually saw Monica stab Damian. If we had, that would be a different story. Not that I believe it, but what if Monica is telling the truth? I’m just trying to puzzle it out.”

  “Just be careful. Everyone has secrets they don’t want revealed, whether they are connected to Damian’s death or not.”

  Chapter 21

  To make a small bathroom look larger, go for white tile, cabinets, flooring, and walls.

  The Green home was just a few blocks from the college campus and would be a convenient place for parents to stay when visiting the college. The small apartment over the garage was going to be a gold mine for the owners.

  I rang the bell, and a petite woman with silvery blond hair opened the door.

  “Hi, I’m Laura—

  Before I could get my introduction completed, she flung her arms around me. “Laura, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.”

  Well, at least my fears of having to deal with a disgruntled client whose project had been delayed were for nothing.

  Theresa stepped back and ushered Nita and me into her house. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was so worried this project wasn’t going to be completed in time, and I already have the space booked. If I had to cancel, the parents would be really unhappy because all of the local hotels are filled for those dates.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but Nita and I are here to complete the work.” I introduced Nita, who braced herself for a possible hug.

  Theresa walked us out to the garage, which had an outside staircase leading to the apartment above. The area around the entrance was beautifully landscaped and would provide a shaded glen with seating for guests to relax.

  “It has a keyless entry, so we don’t have to worry about lost keys or keycards,” Theresa explained. She gave us the entry code so we could go in and out without a problem. “And we can change it anytime we want to.”

  After giving us a tour of the surprisingly spacious area, she said she would leave us to our work. I was pleased to see the furniture that Monica had ordered arrived okay and had been put in place. That would help speed things up. Everything she had selected was super durable, including tabletops that wouldn’t mark if someone placed a cup or glass on them without a coaster.

  I pulled out the folder Kimberly had given me that contained the design drawings and a list of the items we would place inside. Monica had keyed the décor to the historic community around the college. Nita took some before photos. Later she’d take some after shots so I could show Monica. She probably wouldn’t be totally satisfied with the job we did, but in her position, she shouldn’t complain. And if she went to prison, she couldn’t inspect our work.

  Once rented, the place would need to be turned over quickly for each new guest, and Monica had designed everything for easy cleaning. The hardwood floors would be easier to maintain than carpeting, and the rugs were all machine washable.

  After we carried in everything from my car, including our tool bag, we set to work. Among the equipment we always carried to a home staging was a three-step ladder, which we set up to hang the curtain rods and room-darkening draperies. I noticed the Roman-style shades didn’t have pull cords, which could easily become entangled or break. Smart move because over time and with frequent use, they could be broken. They also could present a danger if any guests had young children with them. We hung the draperies and then used a steamer to remove any folds or wrinkles in the fabric.

  “I’ll give Monica credit. She put a lot of thought into everything,” Nita observed. “She even included a laptop workspace and lots of open shelving instead of drawers. That way people won’t leave things behind like they do when they put things in drawers.”

  Monica had provided multiple sets of white linens, which would give the place a spa feeling. Everything was of excellent quality since it would be changed frequently and needed to be durable. She had even included two white bathrobes to give a sense of luxury.

  The mention of Monica brought to mind the image of her sitting in that dismal jail. Would she ever be in a comfortable place again with touches of luxury? My momentary satisfaction of seeing her in prison had disappeared to be replaced by feelings of pity. Her situation looked pretty hopeless. I didn’t want that to happen to anyone, even my worst enemy.

  Nita and I made the bed. Monica had avoided using a cloth headboard to prevent it from getting dirty. The sixty-inch wooden headboard provided a nice focal point for the room.

  We positioned two luggage racks in convenient spots, set up a coffee station in a space that had been designed for that purpose, and completed all the other tasks on our list.

  Several hours later, Nita plopped down on a two-seater sofa that held a foldout bed. “I’m exhausted. But I must say, the place looks splendid.”

  I sat down next to her and pulled out the checklist. “Do you think we’ve forgotten anything?”

  “If something is missing, I’m sure the guests will let Theresa know.”

  As a final act, I spritzed lavender air freshener and then went to get Theresa for her inspection. The place was fabulous as a high-end, short-time rental.

  Theresa was suitably impressed and joyfully went around the space inspecting everything. “Oh, it’s everything and more than Monica promised. Thank you so much. I know people are going to enjoy staying here.”

  “It was Monica’s design and work. We just executed it.” It took us well into the evening, but I was happy the work was completed and we wouldn’t have to return tomorrow to finish.

  “Speaking of Monica, that was such a shame about her and Damian Reynolds,” Theresa said. “Just when we thought he was gaining some happiness in his life after the tragedy in his family.”

  Nita and I looked at each other. Tragedy? “We hadn’t heard about that,” Nita said. “What happened?” Thank goodness for Nita’s willingness to ask pointed questions.

 
“Oh, dear. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. My husband is on the board at the college and was involved in hiring him. Forget I said anything.”

  I knew Nita would have liked to prod her for more information, but I didn’t think we’d get anything further from her, especially since it was obvious she thought she had been indiscreet saying what she had. We’d have to find another source of information.

  After we got back into my car, I pulled out my smartphone and did a search on Google for Damian Reynolds. “Nita, you need to see this.”

  Chapter 22

  Studies by real estate organizations show that staged homes sell eighty-eight times faster and for twenty percent more than homes that aren’t staged.

  Google provided hundreds of links to articles about Damian, reviews of his work, awards he’d received, and lists of dealers selling his paintings and prints. It was a link to a West Coast newspaper article, dated over three years ago, that caught my eye: “Artist’s Daughter Lost in Boating Accident.”

  “That’s so sad,” Nita said. “Now I know what Theresa meant when she said Damian was finally finding some happiness. How do you recover from something like that?”

  We went on to read about Damian and his wife, Helen, being in seclusion at their Carmel estate.

  Nita handed my phone back to me. “He was married? Poor Monica. Could that be why Damian was trying to sever relations with her? Do you think she knew he was married?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that she hadn’t had any compunction about getting involved with my late husband, but I thought better of it. Especially since all I had were suspicions.

  “For a start, we only know that he wanted to cancel orders related to the redecorating, and that could have been because of financial reasons. We don’t know if he wanted to sever his relationship with Monica. Let’s not jump to conclusions. How about tomorrow we go see your niece and find out what more she knows about him?”