“Ah, Ted, think of Monica.” Nita was such a natural actor. She really should try out for the Louiston Players.
“Come on, Nita. Ted’s a busy guy.” I rushed her out of the office. “Thanks for your time, Ted. If you change your mind, please let us know.”
We raced down the steps to the lobby, not waiting for the elevator.
“Nita, you nearly gave me a heart attack. What if Ted had come in and found you going through the folder?” I was out of breath and about ready to faint.
Nita started to giggle. “What are you so nervous about? If Ted hadn’t wanted us to look at that folder, he wouldn’t have left it there. As I said, he always had a thing for Monica. He’d do anything to help her, even if she didn’t know he was alive. Men.”
“What’d you see?”
“You aren’t going to believe this. In addition to Ian, Doris named two other people. Emily Thompson and Brandon Thompson.”
Chapter 33
A master bedroom should be gender neutral to appeal to both sexes. Remove floral patterns and NASCAR posters. Select neutral colors for walls and bedding.
After Nita and I left Ted’s law office, we stopped at Vocaro’s, where Tyrone made us our favorite coffee drinks—cappuccino for me and a macchiato for Nita. I probably should have ordered chamomile tea instead to calm my frazzled nerves. Had Ted really left the folder out so we could see the will? If so, he must still really have a thing for Monica.
We got our drinks and took a table in the back to discuss what we’d learned related to what we already knew. I tried to absorb the information. As we had learned before, Ian Becker made four calls on his cell phone when he arrived in Louiston, and one of them had been to Emily Thompson—his girlfriend twenty years ago. Could he have called her because he wanted to talk about their times together or because of the will? Had Ian been aware his aunt had named Emily Thompson and Brandon Thompson, whoever he was, in her will?
For once, Nita didn’t have a theory about it. “I don’t know Emily or Brandon Thompson. We’ll have to do some investigating.”
“Before we do that, we have to focus on our work.” We went over our list of activities for the day and the remainder of the week. Working things into our schedule to help Monica’s business and fulfilling our own obligations kept us quite busy. No wonder Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot had been able to solve so many cases. It was his full-time job.
Nita took off to meet with a potential client about staging a house for sale. As I headed for the door, a thought occurred to me, and I stopped at the counter to talk to Tyrone. Fortunately, the early morning rush was over and he was free to talk.
“Hey, Tyrone, I have a question for you. Do you know Emily or Brandon Thompson?”
Tyrone wiped the counter with a damp cloth and pondered that. “I don’t know an Emily Thompson, but Brandon Thompson was in one of my art classes—the one with Damian Reynolds. I think he was also taking some private lessons with Damian. He was that good. Why?”
“I can’t say now. I’ll explain later. Thanks.”
Hmm. Brandon was a college-aged young man and possibly a protégé of Damian. Interesting.
I headed to Mrs. Webster’s house with a carload of fabrics. One of the projects I had taken over from Monica’s assistant involved installing new window treatments and throw pillows in coordinating fabrics for one of Monica’s customers. Since her usual seamstress was overwhelmed and putting Monica’s projects last, probably thinking Monica wasn’t coming back, I had arranged with Mrs. Webster to handle the work. She was an excellent seamstress, and when I explained what Nita and I were trying to do, she grumbled about Monica but agreed to make the draperies and pillow covers. It would help Monica’s business, and the fee for the work would help Mrs. Webster financially. She would probably try to refuse payment to help Monica, but I would insist she take the payment.
After making two trips to the car to retrieve the fabrics and pillows Monica had ordered for the project, I entered the house through the screen door Mrs. Webster held open for me.
“Girl, get in here. It’s hotter than blazes out there today.” She firmly shut the front door behind us, preventing anymore hot air from getting in. The cooler air inside made me shiver. I hadn’t realized how hot the day had become. It made me think about how much harder life had been before air conditioning.
“Where should I put these?” I looked around for a place to drop the fabric bolts, which were getting heavy.
“Take them into the dining room.” She led the way, carrying the pillows I’d left on the porch. “I’ve turned it into my temporary sewing room. The dining room table makes the perfect place to lay out long drapery panels.”
I followed her into the dining room and placed the bolts on the table along with the other items she had brought in from the porch.
“This sure is beautiful fabric,” Mrs. Webster said as she stroked a bolt of celery green velvet. The colors for the various rooms were ones I’d love to have in my own home but couldn’t afford.
“These fabrics will make gorgeous draperies.” I handed her a folder. “Here’s the information you’ll need. I double-checked all the measurements in case you’re wondering.” The folder contained the window measurements and other guidelines, along with photos of the windows the draperies were intended for.
“I wouldn’t doubt you did. You’re pretty thorough. We wouldn’t want to have them wrong and have Monica blame us.” She took the folder and placed it on the table. “Come into the kitchen and have a seat. How about some iced tea? I just made some.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you.” I followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen table.
Mrs. Webster poured us large glasses of tea and placed a slice of coffee cake in front of me without asking if I wanted some. “So tell me, what’s been happening since we last talked?”
The cake looked very inviting and I dug in. I’d given Mrs. Webster a brief outline of my activities when I called to ask her about helping with the draperies. Now with more time, I filled her in on my efforts to find out more about the deaths of Ian Becker and Damian Reynolds.
“Why do you think the deaths are connected?” She refilled my now empty glass of iced tea and added more ice. Condensation dripped down the side of the glass.
“It’s more wishful thinking. If they are connected, maybe then we could buy Monica’s story about only pulling the knife from Damian’s body and that somebody else was responsible for both killings. We need to find a link to prove that.”
“Have you found a link yet?” Mrs. Webster held up the cake plate as though offering me another slice. As tempted as I was, I shook my head.
“Not really. Aunt Kit suggested a link, but it’s a weak one.”
“Which was?” Mrs. Webster perked up, thinking this was going to lead somewhere.
“That they both were involved in art.”
“Was Ian Becker an artist too?” Mrs. Webster asked.
“That’s why the link is so weak. As far as we know, he wasn’t. His aunt was a member of the local arts group and dabbled in art. From what I heard, her work was rather simplistic.”
“Yeah, that’s a pretty weak link.” She took a sip of iced tea.
“We have nothing else to go on—only a suspicion that Damian’s agent Garrett Fletcher is hiding something.”
I told Mrs. Webster about what Nita and I had discovered about Doris Becker’s will. “Two more people were named in the will. If they knew about it, it could have given one or both of them a motive in Ian Becker’s death. That is, depending on how the will was written.”
“That sounds more like something out of a Margery Allingham novel. I always did like those writers from the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.”
“I wish I had the experience those old writers and their detectives had. Next I need to talk to Emily Thompson, and it isn’t s
omething I look forward to.”
I gathered up our dishes and took them over to the sink ready to leave.
“How is your Aunt Kit doing? Are you getting along?” Mrs. Webster asked.
That made me laugh. “You know Aunt Kit—always sees the glass half empty, just like my mom.”
“People like that are fearful—braced for the worst to happen. They feel if they become the least bit optimistic they’ll be disappointed. They expect the worst and then they aren’t disappointed. The important thing isn’t whether a glass is half full or half empty but that it can be refilled.”
“That’s a good thought. Aunt Kit worries about me too much. But I know she loves me and means well.”
“You know, I always suspected that she was secretly in love with your father.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me.” My father’s handsome looks and charm attracted everyone to him. “I often wonder what happened to him. After my parents divorced he faded away from my life. It always hurt that he didn’t try to see me.”
“Why don’t you ask your Aunt Kit about him. Perhaps she knows something.”
“I’m not sure. My mother would get upset if I even mentioned him, so I learned not to raise the subject.” Would Aunt Kit react the same way?
Chapter 34
Make sure switch plate and outlet covers match and look new. Consider adding mirror switch plate and outlet covers to bathrooms to add some sparkle.
Sunday morning as I left church and rapidly walked away, I heard hurried footsteps behind me. I’d purposely gone to an early service so I wouldn’t run into Sister Madeleine, and my instincts told me I was about to have the meeting with her that I’d been trying to avoid.
“Laura, wait up.”
I turned to see the small slender figure of Sister Madeleine huffing and puffing as she tried to catch up with me. I felt guilty that in my desire to avoid her, I’d caused the older nun to chase after me. I knew she would be hopeful I’d heard something that might help Monica, and I didn’t want to disappoint her with the little I had learned.
There I was a grown woman in my early forties, and just hearing her call my name catapulted me back to the second grade in seconds. “Good morning, Sister Madeleine.”
“When were you going to tell me about your visit with Monica?”
I hadn’t told her I’d broken down and gone to see Monica, especially since I’d only done so to assuage my sense of guilt for initially not wanting to help her. How had she learned that I’d visited Monica?
“I can tell from your face you didn’t know I was aware of your visit,” she said, bending over, trying to catch her breath. “Monica told me you had been to see her. It quite surprised her.”
“I don’t know that my visit accomplished much.”
“On the contrary. She said you offered to help keep her business going. That was quite generous of you considering how busy you are with your own work.”
How like Sister Madeleine to make it sound as though it’d been my idea and not because she’d prodded me into it.
“I met with her assistant to determine the most pressing work—things that need to be done to meet deadlines. Nita and I’ve been managing.” Just barely.
“Have you been hearing anything that could help Monica’s case?”
“Nothing that would prove her to be innocent. But I learned some things that point to other possible suspects.” I told her about our disastrous meeting at the B&B with Garrett Fletcher, Damian’s agent. “He said Damian was his most successful client and he would be foolish to cut off the income he earned from representing him. That’s true, but he could have murdered Damian in a rage and then later regretted it because of financial reasons.”
She pondered that. “Could he have been mishandling Damian’s earnings? Maybe Damian found out and Fletcher didn’t want to be exposed.”
“That’s always a possibility.” Something important to consider.
“What about his wife? The spouse is usually the first person the police look at.”
I told her about Damian’s daughter drowning and his wife subsequently divorcing him, and that she lived within driving distance of Louiston. I also told her of the scene I’d witnessed at the funeral home when I saw Damian’s ex-wife and agent embracing.
“That’s interesting. But it’s unlikely she would have murdered him years later. She has her other daughter to think about. We can’t discount that. Have you spoken to her?”
I hunched my shoulders, feeling like I did when I hadn’t completed my homework. “No. I’m hoping something will come to light and it won’t be necessary.”
That seemed to satisfy Sister Madeleine.
“There’s another biggie. Nita and I discovered Ian’s aunt, Doris Becker, left part of her estate to Emily Thompson, Ian’s old girlfriend, and Brandon Thompson.”
“Now that adds some spice to the brew.” Sister Madeleine looked almost gleeful as though I’d pulled a diamond from a bag of coal.
“Tomorrow, I’m going to visit Emily to see what I can find out. It’s difficult questioning people when you don’t have any authority to do so.” My blood pressure felt like it was rising just thinking about it.
“Did you ever think you might have more luck assisting the police in their investigation rather than going it alone. And it would be safer. What about working with Detective Spangler and sharing information with him?”
That made me want to hoot with laughter. “If there were any sharing of information, it would be one way—from me to him.”
“Perhaps if you befriended him you might get more cooperation. If you remember from Ellis Peters’ medieval mystery series, Brother Cadfael was able to accomplish far more in solving the mysteries facing him because of his friendship with the Shrewsbury sheriff, Hugh Beringar.”
Befriend Detective Spangler. That would be the day. “Detective Spangler views me as a busybody.” My cheeks burned at the memory of being called a busybody by Garrett Fletcher. Did other people view me that way as well?
“There’s a difference between being a busybody and an astute observer of people. Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple was considered by some to be a busybody, but it was her observations of people that made her so successful in solving mysteries.”
“Okay, I’ll try. But don’t expect Detective Spangler and me to have the same kind of relationship Brother Cadfael and Hugh Beringar had.”
“All you can do is try,” Sister Madeleine said and turned away.
I walked the short distance home deep in thought. I’d promised Sister Madeleine I would try working with Detective Spangler. I didn’t say when.
Chapter 35
Pay as much attention to the outside of your home as the inside. Trim shrubbery, plant flowers, and lay mulch.
It didn’t take long to find an address for Emily Thompson. The question was what excuse could I use to talk to her? What approach could I use? Would I find her at home? If I called before I went to see her, she would have time to prepare for my questions and raise her defenses. Or she might refuse to talk to me. But she could also shrug and say it was nothing to do with her.
I drove up steep winding roads onto Miller’s Mountain until I found the turn-off to the Thompson place. A large red barn stood in the distance. Nearby, a woman on horseback galloped across a broad pasture.
I parked my car next to the barn, and after not seeing anyone else around, I walked over to the fenced pasture, watching in amazement as the rider and horse jumped over stacked bales of hay. When they turned in my direction, I waved to the rider, who guided her horse toward the fence. I stepped back from the fence, surprised at how tall the horse was and how high up the rider sat. The rider slowly slid from the horse and landed with a thump, raising a cloud of dust. I was a city girl and found the dust and the smell of hay and dung somewhat overpowering.
The woman took off her helme
t and shook out her long brown hair. She looked to be in her early forties or perhaps younger. It was hard to tell. If she’d spent time working out of doors, and with the toll the sun can take on your skin, she could have been much younger than she looked. Either that or she could have had a hard life.
The woman walked over to the fence railing close to where I stood. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m looking for Emily Thompson.” I tried to sound friendly and buoyant so as not to put her on her guard.
“You found her. If you’re looking to board a horse, I’m full up at the moment, but I may have space in a few weeks.” Her long legs were clad in faded jeans, which were tucked into high riding boots that had seen hard service. If riding a horse accounted for her slim figure, I would have to consider trying it.
“Uh, no. I don’t own a horse.” Rarely venturing from town, I hadn’t known the surrounding area had enough horses to need places to board them. I wondered if Will Parker, a retired rodeo star who had come east to live with his daughter and her family, knew about this place. For that matter, I didn’t know if he even still rode. I made a mental note to tell him about this place.
“I’m Laura Bishop from down in Louiston. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have some time.”
Emily opened the gate and led the horse from the field. “If you can wait a few minutes until I can get Gertie here cooled down and fed, I’d be happy to talk to you.” She patted the horse on the neck and fed her a carrot she took from a pocket. “She hasn’t been exercised as much recently as she should have been, so I gave her more of a workout than usual. I’m going to walk her for a few minutes and then hose her off. You’re welcome to follow me unless you’d rather wait here.”
I eyed the back of the large horse, reluctant to get closer, barely avoiding being hit in the face by a swishing tail. My approach to questioning Emily might be more casual if she were occupied caring for Gertie.
“Sure, I’ll follow along.”
Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 37