In the morning, Nita called Jaime and asked if it would be convenient for us to stop by to see her. When we arrived, we found a Hamilton Real Estate vehicle parked out front. The front door of the house flew open as soon as we rang the bell, and Jaime greeted us.
“We have a contract on the house!” The excitement of it almost had her jumping up and down. “Isn’t that great? I’m so relieved.”
“When did that happen?” Nita and I stepped inside to find Doug Hamilton sitting at the dining room table with a laptop and papers spread out in front of him.
“Doug just brought the offer he received, and we’re going over it.”
“Hey, ladies.” Doug looked up and waved. “Jaime was a bit nervous about selling the house in time, but once I saw the job you did staging it, I wasn’t so worried. The place virtually sold itself.”
Doug had been involved with the sale of the Denton mansion Tyrone and I had staged in the spring, and he’d helped get the place sold in record time. He was a very pleasant guy, and for a while, I thought there might be something brewing between him and Monica, but that hadn’t been the case. Looking back made me wonder if I’d shown more interest, whether Doug and I might have become more than just friends. Maybe, maybe not. It was just as well since I wasn’t sure I was ready for a relationship with anyone.
“I can’t thank you both enough for all you did staging the house,” Jaime added. “Without your help, I’m sure we couldn’t have sold it so quickly. Then we would have lost the place we really wanted.”
“Is your husband pleased with the offer?” I asked.
“I just spoke to Frankie on the phone, and he thinks it’s a good offer. It looks like we’re ready to move forward.”
Doug motioned Jaime over. “I need to get a signature in a few places and let the buyer’s agent know you’ve accepted their offer. Then you’ll be another step closer to moving into your new home.” Doug handed a pen to Jaime and turned back to the paperwork. Nita and I went out onto the patio to get out of their way.
A short while later, they joined us outside. Jaime was grinning from ear to ear, and Doug looked relieved. He might have been more concerned about the house selling quickly than he’d let on.
Doug gave us a smart salute, a holdover from his Navy days. “I’ll say goodbye since I need to get these documents processed. You ladies take care.”
Jaime sank into a deck chair. She looked spent from all the excitement. “I’m so relieved that’s over. The couple who wants our place loved it as soon as they walked in the door.”
“First impressions are important.” I looked through the French doors into the main floor, pleased at how good the changes we made had turned out. No clutter, simple accessories, and a few modern touches really helped to update the place. “It helped that you were willing to make changes that would appeal to others, which is hard to do to your own home.”
“I have to admit it was hard,” Jaime said. “Especially since this was our first home and we were emotionally attached to it.”
I thought of my home and the changes I made to it after my mother died. “Some homeowners aren’t willing to change things. They love their pink ruffled curtains, flowered wallpaper, and knickknacks. Buyers can’t always see beyond those things.”
Nita accepted the iced tea Jaime handed her. “Well now that you’ve gotten your home-sale challenges taken care of, let’s talk about Damian Reynolds.”
“What about Damian?” Jaime looked puzzled. “Has this to do with Monica being charged with his murder? That was so surprising considering how crazy she seemed to be about him.”
“We read an article online about his daughter being lost in a boating accident. Did you hear anything about that at the college?” I knew there had to have been gossip when a famous artist decided to work at a small college in Pennsylvania.
“That was sad. From what I heard, Damian and his daughter went out on their sailboat and got caught in a squall. The conditions became extremely rough, and she was lost overboard before they could get back to shore. Apparently, he was so affected by it he completely stopped painting.”
“Which could account for him teaching art instead of doing it,” I said. It probably wasn’t unusual following something traumatic for a person to become so blocked they couldn’t paint, write, or whatever.
“Yes, especially since his daughter had been a talented artist as well,” Jaime added.
“What happened to his wife?” Nita asked.
“From what I heard, she blamed him for the accident since she’d asked them not to go out that day. She couldn’t get over it and filed for divorce about a year later.”
“So he wasn’t still married when he met Monica.” For some reason, I was relieved to hear that. We probably would have discovered this if we had done a more thorough Google search.
“No. But I understand she’s coming here soon for a memorial service for Damian and bringing their younger daughter. She doesn’t live too far from Louiston.”
“Why is the service being held here in Louiston?”
“He’s being buried here. Apparently, his grandparents came from Louiston, and there’s a large Reynolds family plot at Good Shepherd Cemetery. That’s why he came to Fischer College. Some family roots here. And Louiston isn’t far from where his ex-wife and daughter moved. She came from Pennsylvania too. That way he got to see his daughter from time to time.”
Later that evening, I curled up on the sofa with Inky and pulled out my laptop. A search on Google Maps enabled me to pinpoint the town Helen Reynolds and her daughter lived—about a ninety-minute drive from Louiston. Close enough to easily make the drive to Damian’s house and back again without being missed for long.
Could she have still been harboring enough resentment toward Damian about their daughter’s death to want him dead?
Chapter 23
Add finishing touches like fresh flowers in vases, a bowl of fresh fruit on the kitchen countertop, and plush towels in powder rooms and bathrooms.
With a few hours in between work projects, I’d made arrangements to take Aunt Kit to the Orangery for afternoon tea. With so much of my attention being focused on my staging business and on helping Monica, I felt I’d been neglecting her. I hoped to make it up by taking her to her favorite teashop, a place she enjoyed when visiting Louiston. It was one of my favorite places as well.
The Orangery provided the perfect setting for a cozy get together, so it would be a treat for both of us. Its gentle atmosphere of a traditional English teashop, the soothing tea they served, and the delicious delicacies they were known for did a lot to calm me when I needed a break.
Nita, who was going along, thought it would be a nice gesture to invite Anne Williamson to join us so she could show her appreciation for all Anne had done for the arts festival. Nita also thought Aunt Kit would enjoy having Anne along since the older women had bonded somewhat over their love of art.
Nita and I picked up Aunt Kit at the house. Anne Williamson planned to meet us there.
The woman who met us at the door, dressed in a severe black gabardine dress with a broach at her neck, looked as though she had stepped off the set of Downton Abbey. She had such poise and an assured demeanor she could have been the housekeeper or the lady of the manor. When I told her I had called about a reservation and would be joining someone who might already be there, she escorted us to a cozy nook. A round table was beautifully set with a thick white covering, cloth napkins, and an arrangement of pink tea roses. Delicate cups and saucers covered in floral patterns completed each place setting.
Anne was already seated, and after we got settled and exchanged greetings, she clapped her hands to get our attention. “I have some wonderful news.”
Three sets of eyes peered at her intently.
“Nita, your photos from the show sold.” Anne’s broad smile showed how pleased she was to deliver the news.
Nita’s squeal of surprise and delight could be heard throughout the teashop and several heads turned our way. “Oh my gosh. When?”
“I received a call this morning. The photos have to remain up until the end of the show, but after that, they will go home with the new owner. Once the show comes down, I’ll process the sale and send you the payment.” Anne looked just as thrilled as Nita.
“I can’t wait to tell Guido somebody liked my photos enough to pay money for them. That is wonderful news, Anne. Thank you.”
After the waitress took our orders and then brought us the English breakfast tea we all had agreed on, the conversation quickly turned to the murders that had occurred in Louiston.
“With all that’s been happening here, I worry about Laura and Nita.” Aunt Kit helped herself to little diamond-shaped sandwiches from a three-tiered tray the waitress placed in the center of the table. “Such a shame about that poor young man who came here from New Zealand to take care of his aunt’s estate.”
Nita studied the selection of sandwiches. “The police found his cell phone. According to his phone records, he’d made calls to Warren Hendricks, his aunt’s attorney, an old girlfriend, and Anne.” She gulped realizing what she had said and probably shouldn’t have.
Anne accepted the plate Nita passed to her. “Don’t worry, dear, I know about it. A lovely detective questioned me about the call. He asked me how I knew Ian Becker and what had been the purpose of the telephone call.”
Detective Spangler, a lovely detective? He was attractive in a rugged sort of way with his dark, thick eyelashes, piercing blue eyes, and dark hair graying slightly at the temples. With the antagonism we seemed to feel toward each other, I don’t think I could ever think of him as being a lovely detective. If when using the word “lovely,” she meant kind, I couldn’t buy that either. Well, maybe somewhat.
Anne paused, and I began to wonder whether she was going to share the reason for the call. After she took another bite of scone and sipped some tea, she began again.
“I explained to Detective Spangler that Ian called to ask me if he could see me while he was in town. We had a lovely chat, and he told me his aunt had written his family over the years and they told him about our friendship. He said he wanted to meet me and express his appreciation for the assistance I’d given her. I hadn’t done much, but I told him I would be delighted to meet him. He sounded like such a nice young man.”
“Did he visit you?” Nita asked.
“No. Sadly he didn’t come before…” She shook her head as though searching for the words.
Nita and I could easily have filled in the blanks, but we didn’t say anything. We all understood what she’d left unsaid.
“I was touched to learn Doris thought enough of our friendship to write to her family about me. She was such a kind woman.” Anne’s doleful look showed how much she missed her friend.
Nita refilled our cups with tea from the teapot and then placed it on the table. “How long had you and Doris been friends?”
“About ten years. I met her when I first moved to Louiston and joined the arts group. When she began having a difficult time getting around and stopped attending our meetings, I started visiting her to help keep her connected to the group.”
“That was good of you,” Aunt Kit said. “So often older members of a group simply fade away.” I wondered whether she was thinking about her own experience. I needed to maintain better contact with her, perhaps influence her to move back to Louiston so I could keep an eye on her.
Anne took another sandwich from the tray. “Doris had been a supportive member of the group for many years, but from what I understand, she never participated in group painting sessions or displayed her work at shows. The poor dear was self-conscious about her artwork, which she viewed as amateurish. But she so enjoyed painting.”
“Did you ever see her work?” Aunt Kit asked.
“A few pieces she had hanging in her home.” Anne looked at her empty teacup and reached for the teapot.
“And,” Nita prompted, “was it amateurish?”
“Let’s just say, it was a little simplistic.”
We didn’t pursue the subject anymore, feeling that we had put Anne in an awkward position commenting about her friend’s artwork.
Aunt Kit studied the selection of fruit tarts and took one topped with kiwifruit and blueberries. “What I can’t get over is Damian Reynolds being stabbed by his girlfriend. Such a loss for the art world. I have one of his prints hanging on my living room wall.”
I hadn’t realized Aunt Kit was a fan of modern art, but there were so many things I didn’t know about her. I needed to rectify that.
Aunt Kit was on a roll. “Even worse, Nita and Laura walked in and found his girlfriend standing over him—with the knife she used to kill him. And she had been a school friend of theirs.”
“That must have been just awful, you poor dears.” Anne Williamson said. She and Aunt Kit seemed to be relishing the details.
So much for going to a place that was supposed to be calming. A lot depended on whom you were with and what you were discussing. Aunt Kit and her grim outlook on everything would need far more than a teashop to mellow out. Time to change the subject.
“Nita, why don’t you show Aunt Kit and Anne the photos of the short-term rental we completed? It turned out to be a fabulous place.” Fortunately, Nita took the hint and started telling them about the apartment and showing them the photos she took.
While she talked, I couldn’t help but think of what we’d learned about Damian and the Reynolds family. And then there was his relationship with his agent. What was the full story behind that? Jaime hadn’t liked him, and Ron Zigler from the B&B had overheard Damian and his agent having a heated argument while they stayed there. That might be worth looking into further.
Chapter 24
To prepare a house for sale, clean from the baseboards to the ceilings and everything in between.
The next morning, Tyrone and I’d arranged to visit Ron and Geoff at the B&B on our way to check out the area Josh said might work as a storage space for our inventory.
“How are you going to feel if you see Ron and Geoff made changes to the work you did on the house?” Tyrone asked.
I’d been pleased with the way the house had turned out after we’d staged it. For that project, we’d had virtually free rein to do whatever the house needed, and it’d needed a lot done to it. Nita’s talented brothers had done repairs and painted the house to make it attractive to potential buyers. It was our first project, and after it was completed, we had such pride of workmanship it had been hard leaving it for someone else to enjoy.
I shrugged. “It’s only natural they’ll want to put their own touches on the place. If they made changes and you don’t like them, say nothing.”
Tyrone had done preliminary work on the house and had only seen photos of the completed rooms, so this visit would allow him to see the completed work. I hoped Geoff and Ron hadn’t changed everything so much that it no longer had our stamp on it.
Tyrone made a locking key gesture near his mouth. I hoped he’d be able to keep his comments locked up.
We turned onto the entrance of the long drive that led to the B&B. A wooden sign with blue and gold letters identified the Mansion House Bed and Breakfast. The new name paid homage to the house, but I would always think of it as the Denton house.
The large three-storied house of limestone had been built before the Civil War and belonged to the Denton family for generations—until Skip Denton sold it following the tragic death of his ex-wife. It had been a challenge turning the dismal place into an inviting dwelling, but the result had prompted Ron and Geoff to buy the place, with all its contents. Their plan to turn it into a bed and breakfast was the perfect use for the massive structure.
Driving up the long approach to the house, I looked over to w
here a workman was mowing the grass and was pleased to see Ron and Geoff had kept on Carlos to maintain the lawns and gardens. As we drove by, he looked up from his mowing and waved to us.
We parked in the back near the garage that had once stabled horses and carriages. Earlier Ron had mentioned their dream of turning the structure into additional guest quarters. With the college nearby, they wouldn’t have difficulty filling it with guests. I thought of the work we’d done completing Monica’s over-the-garage apartment for the Greens. My imagination went into overdrive, and I envisioned us working with Nita’s construction family on the project.
When we rounded the corner to the front of the house we found Detective Spangler descending the steps from the large porch fronting the house. He looked as surprised to see us as we were to see him.
“Hello, Ms. Bishop. What brings you here?” His clothing fit him perfectly, and his muscular body showed that he worked out.
“We’re here for a tour of the B&B Ron and Geoff promised us. They’re going to show us the changes they made.” They hadn’t promised us a tour, but I was sure they would gladly do so if we asked them.
“What brings you here, Detective?” Tit for tat.
“Police business.” He tossed his keys in the air, catching them and then tossing them again. He had an annoying habit of fiddling with things, but usually when he was interrogating people—slapping a letter opener into his palm, squeezing a rubber ball, tapping his pen on his notebook, and now tossing his keys. I didn’t know whether he was just antsy or he did those things to distract or annoy people.
He nodded at Tyrone and got into his car without saying anything more and drove away.
“From the looks of it, you and the detective seem to have a bit of history.” Geoff shook hands with Tyrone in greeting. “Did he break up with you in high school and you’re still angry about it?”
That made me laugh. “Not hardly. We had some dealings during Victoria Denton’s murder investigation, and we got off on the wrong foot.” I needed to be more mature and get over it, and I was getting there—just not very fast.
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