The late afternoon light began fading, along with my energy levels. It had been a long day, and I yearned for dinner and a long, hot bath. I also needed to get home to feed my small black cat, Inky. However, I still had some things to take care of, including cleaning up the broken vase.
I stared at the shards of glass lying on the floor. Such a small thing compared to all of the distress it caused. I carefully picked up the pieces, placed them in a paper bag, and took them to a trash can in the kitchen. The painters would be working there in the morning, so I began clearing the countertops of clutter and boxing it for storage in the basement.
From somewhere in the house, a door closed. I stood still, expecting someone to approach, but when no one did, I decided Victoria must have gone out.
Later, with one of the boxes in hand, I switched on the stairwell light and stared into the cavernous unfinished basement. Tyrone wasn’t far off the mark when he’d talked about a dungeon in the house.
At the bottom of the stairs, I lugged the box over to the laundry area, where we had stacked other boxes for storage until Victoria moved out. It would have been better if we could have stored them offsite, but Victoria wouldn’t agree to that. Turning, I started to leave. The basement gave me the creeps, and I was anxious to escape upstairs.
Suddenly, I heard a loud rumbling noise above me. Looking up, I watched in astonishment and horror as the crumpled body of Victoria Denton fell from the laundry chute and landed at my feet.
Chapter 3
Have your house ready for viewing from the basement to the attic. Potential buyers will want to inspect it all. Store excess furniture and packed items elsewhere prior to holding an open house.
Victoria lay motionless on the concrete floor. It took me several seconds to get my wits about me and go to her aid. I knew little about first aid, but I knew enough not to move her in case I caused her more injury.
Victoria was deathly pale. Kneeling beside her, I reached out with a trembling hand and frantically attempted to take her pulse. I couldn’t find it. Was I missing the right spot or wasn’t there a pulse? I wished I’d paid more attention in first aid class.
Shock. I remembered when someone was injured, they could go into shock and should be kept warm. I looked around the basement for something to cover her with. Nothing was available except stacks of newspapers. Paper had insulating properties. It would have to do.
As I bent over Victoria to cover her, I noticed the strange angle of her head and knew any further aid would more than likely be useless.
I needed to call for help. I stood, but my legs were like rubber, and I could barely hold myself up. My body was refusing to cooperate. I may have been the one in shock.
Gathering as much energy as I could muster, I moved in slow motion to the stairs. It was like being in a nightmare, trying to run and getting nowhere. Making my way up the steps, I slipped several times, skinning both shins. At the top of the stairs, I stumbled across the kitchen and grabbed the wall phone. I had difficulty with the old-fashioned phone and had to dial 911 twice before the call went through.
When the emergency operator answered, I tried to explain what had happened. My tongue seemed thick, as though I’d experienced an allergic reaction to food, and I found myself slurring. All I could think was to give the operator the address, which I had difficulty remembering. “The Denton house on Lookout Hill,” I stuttered and then slid to the floor, dropping the phone.
While waiting for the emergency vehicles, I asked myself over and over how Victoria could have fallen through the laundry chute. Surely, during her years of living there, she’d put laundry down it without a problem. The grand old house had oversized dumbwaiters and other large-scale features, so the extra-large laundry chute wasn’t out of the ordinary. It had been designed for the days when housemaids used it to deposit large loads of bedding from numerous overnight guests. Only then did it occur to me no laundry had come through the chute with Victoria.
Or stranger yet, had something possessed Victoria to climb into it? Did she view it bizarrely as an escape hatch? But what would she have been escaping from? Would Victoria still be alive if I hadn’t moved the large laundry hamper when I tidied up the basement? None of it made sense.
I heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles and gathered up enough strength to raise myself from the kitchen floor and unlock the front door. Looking out, I saw the flashing lights of an ambulance, a fire truck, and a police cruiser. They had come prepared for any kind of emergency.
Two firefighters, weighed down with heavy gear, bounded into the foyer. I pointed to the kitchen. “She’s in the basement.” My voice quaked. They had to rely more on my finger pointing to the right direction than my words. The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a chair with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and someone holding out a mug to me.
“It’s warm, so take your time,” a male voice said. “It will help with the shock.”
I looked up and recognized Neil Stanelli, one of Nita’s cousins and a Louiston policeman. I tried to straighten and found it hard to grasp the mug. Neil guided it to my lips, and I took a grateful sip of sweet, hot tea. I don’t take sugar in my tea, but this time I was grateful for it. After several sips, I let out a sigh and tried to sit up.
“Relax.” Neil took the cup from my shaking hands.
“Victoria?”
“I’m afraid she’s gone.”
I slumped back. I’d strongly suspected Victoria was dead, but having it confirmed made me tremble.
“Do you feel well enough to talk about it? Detective Spangler will be here shortly and will want to question you.”
I nodded, feeling embarrassed I’d fallen apart when faced with an emergency. Had I done all the right things? Could I have done more?
Several minutes later, Neil came back. “Laura, this is Detective Spangler.”
A tall, dark-haired man loomed over me. From my position, slumped in a chair, he looked seven feet tall. I tried to sit up, but he placed his hand on my shoulder. “Just stay as you are. I need to ask you some questions.”
After giving him my full name and address, I explained what happened. I found it difficult recounting the events and my reaction. A chill went through me when I described Victoria’s fall from the laundry chute, and I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders more tightly.
“What was your relationship with Mrs. Denton?”
“She hired me to stage her house.”
He looked puzzled. “What’s that?”
“To make her home as appealing as possible to buyers. She planned to sell it.”
He gave me an even more puzzled look.
“Staging can be as simple as organizing and reducing clutter or doing repairs and redecorating. This house required extensive work.”
He looked skeptical. “Is that really necessary?”
“It is if a homeowner wants to get a good price and sell quickly.” I could see him mulling that over, but he didn’t comment.
“Other than staging Mrs. Denton’s home, did you have any other connection to her? Did you socialize with her? Were you friends?”
“We only had a business relationship.”
“Did it go well? Did you have any disputes or disagreements over the work being done or about anything else?”
How could I explain Victoria hadn’t been interested in the staging, that she only took pleasure in finding fault with everything we did? “Victoria was unhappy about selling the house. As a result, she didn’t find much satisfaction in anything we were doing.”
Much to my relief, Detective Spangler didn’t pursue that subject any further.
“What was her frame of mind today? Let me rephrase that. Was she her usual self or did she seem different—upset about anything?”
I waited for a long moment, trying to think how to describe Victoria without sounding mean spirited. “She wa
s the same as she usually was—a bit upset because of a broken vase, but other than that she was the same.” I was puzzled at the questions. “If you’re asking about Victoria’s frame of mind, are you thinking it was suicide?”
“We have to consider all possibilities.”
“Victoria would never have done that. She wasn’t the type to let things bother her to the point of committing suicide. Certainly not over the loss of a Murano vase.” Could the broken vase have pushed her over the edge?
“Was there anyone else in the house?”
“The workmen left earlier.” At his request, I gave him their names and what they had been doing. “I wasn’t sure if Victoria was here or not.”
“You didn’t know?”
“It’s a big house, and it wasn’t unusual for her to come and go while we were working. Before I went down to the basement, I heard a door close and thought she’d either come in or gone out. It didn’t matter since I have a key.”
“Who else on your work team has a key?
“Tyrone, my assistant, has one. He rides up with the painters so he can let them in. They like to get a really early start, and Victoria didn’t want to be disturbed early.”
“You don’t come in at the same time?” Detective Spangler’s pen hovered over his notepad.
“I’ve been staying here late into the evening, so sometimes I don’t start as early as the painters.”
“What about the doors? Were they locked while you were here?”
“They’re unlocked during the day when the workmen are here. They go back and forth to their trucks for equipment. After everyone left for the day, I locked all the doors, including the doors to the patio. I made sure everything was secure.”
“Did you feel a particular need to be so cautious?”
“It was getting dark. Since I was staying late, I didn’t want to be in the house with unlocked doors. It was simply common sense.” He should know that. Why was he asking me all these questions? After all, Victoria’s death was an unfortunate accident. Wasn’t it?
“Do you usually stay late?” His dark brown gaze seemed to burrow into me, which made me squirm.
“On the few days we’ve been here. We had a stringent deadline to meet, and I needed as much time as possible here to meet the deadline. I stayed late today to have something ready for the workmen tomorrow.”
I started to feel defensive. My shins ached, I was tired, and I was becoming impatient. “Look, what is this all about? Why all the questions about locked doors and why I’m here late?”
“It’s routine when a death is suspicious.”
He continued questioning me, his deadpan expression giving no clue as to what he was thinking. I found it unnerving. He asked me some of the same questions again but in a slightly different way, as though to confirm what I’d said. He made notes in a small notepad, and I wondered what had been important enough to record.
Fatigue began to overtake me, and it became difficult keeping my eyes open.
“That’s all for now, Ms. Bishop. If you don’t feel up to driving, Officer Stanelli can take you home.”
“Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” My legs still could barely hold me up, and I wasn’t sure how well I could drive. I’d figure out a way to get my car another day.
As the police car pulled away, I looked back at the house and the large dark windows that stared at me. It was the perfect setting for a Gothic novel. I hoped to never see it again.
Chapter 4
The smell of food lingers long after a meal. Use some type of air freshener before an open house to make the house smell less like last night’s fish dinner. To eliminate odors from garbage disposals and drains, rinse them with baking soda and vinegar.
At dawn, I gave up trying to sleep. All night, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t dispel the image of Victoria lying at my feet on the concrete floor. Questions of how Victoria came to fall through the laundry chute plagued me. I sat up in bed and was confused until I remembered I was at Nita’s house. Neil had called Nita, and she and her husband, Guido, had met me at my house and insisted Inky and I spend the night with them.
I quickly called Tyrone and told him the news about Victoria and that we wouldn’t be going to the house that morning. He was shocked and asked me a lot of questions that I couldn’t fully answer. Following that, I cancelled the painters for the day.
Bleary-eyed, I walked into the Martino kitchen and sat down at a large oak table next to Nita, who poured me a cup of coffee. Coffee in the morning was like being hit on the back of the head and told to get moving. This morning, I needed the bitter, strong brew Nita and Guido favored.
Inky followed me into the kitchen. He was a frequent visitor to the Martino home when Nita cared for him any time I was away, so he knew where to find the food she’d put out for him. Guido quickly pulled the stopper out of the kitchen sink so the soapy water could drain. He knew of Inky’s penchant for jumping into any pool of water available. Of all the cats at the rescue, I’d picked the one strangely attracted to water. When I filled the basin in the bathroom, I had to stand close to it to prevent Inky from jumping into it. He was an odd cat, but he brought me a lot of comfort.
Concern showed on Nita’s face. “How are you feeling? When Neil called us last night and told us what happened, I couldn’t believe it.”
“That was good of Neil to call you.”
“We didn’t think you should be alone last night. For once, you didn’t put up any resistance.” Nita and I became friends in the second grade, and her large Italian-American family had taken me into their fold, treating me like one of the family. After my father left, I escaped from my unhappy home to their boisterous household as often as I could. Here I was in my early forties, and they were still looking after me.
I shivered and tried to warm my fingers on the hot cup cradled in my hands. Leaning over to smell the aroma of the coffee, my long hair hung over both sides of my face like a curtain blocking out the day. It wasn’t enough to block the mental images of the evening before. I shivered again and ticked off in my mind the symptoms of shock, wondering if that was what was wrong with me.
“Try to eat something.” Nita placed a plate stacked with pancakes in front of me. “You’ll feel better.” To Italian-Americans, food is love and helps make every situation better. Guido stood at the stove pushing sausages around in a heavy black iron skillet, softly humming off-key.
As much as I appreciated the food, I didn’t think it would help. My appetite had fled, and I couldn’t bear the thought of eating. Since Nita hovered over me looking worried, I cut pieces of the pancake and took a bite. One bite led to another, and soon the sense of fatigue weighing me down disappeared.
The doorbell rang. Nita went to answer it and returned, followed by Neil, the stubble on his face and his wrinkled uniform a dead giveaway he hadn’t been home the previous night.
“Pull up a chair.” Guido waved a spatula at him. “You want some breakfast?”
“If you have enough. We just cleared out of the Denton house, and I’m starving.”
“When have you ever known Nita not to have enough for an army?” Guido handed him a mug of coffee.
Neil sat down and turned to me. “I came by to see how you’re doing. You had quite a shock last night.”
I smiled, thankful again for the love and concern Nita’s extended family showed me. “I’m a bit shaken up, but I’m okay. Thanks for your help last night.”
Nita placed a plate heaped with food in front of Neil. She was happy to have another person to feed, especially now with her son and daughter away at college.
Neil drained his cup and sighed. “I needed that. It was a long night.” He then poured maple syrup liberally over the pancakes and dug into them as though he hadn’t eaten in days.
After serving everyone else, Nita sat down and brought up the subject everyone else
appeared to be avoiding. “What I can’t understand is how Victoria fell down the chute. Could she have fallen through when she put laundry in it?”
“I’ve asked myself the same thing, over and over. I don’t know how she could have fallen into it. Victoria lived there for a long time. Surely, she would have known to be careful with the oversized chute. Unless she became dizzy.” I looked in surprise at the pancake Nita had put on my plate when I wasn’t looking.
“Nothing in those old homes is by code.” Guido spoke with knowledge gained from long years working in construction. “Given some of the outdated things in the house, it wouldn’t take much to have an accident there.”
Neil shrugged and continued eating.
“Come on, Neil,” Nita prodded. “Surely you know something. What does Detective Spangler make of all this? Does he usually show up when someone accidentally dies?”
“I’m not supposed to say.” Neil poured himself another cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“They wouldn’t tell you anyway.” Nita sounded like a teenager again, chiding him.
Old childhood rivalry reared its head, and Neil could never resist trying to be one up on Nita. She was slightly older and had always treated him like a kid. “Detective Spangler is viewing her death as a homicide.” His face flushed. Nita had manipulated him into saying something he shouldn’t have.
“What?” I was astounded. “He thinks Victoria was murdered?”
Chapter 5
Furnished homes sell faster than empty ones. If you’ve already moved, consider renting furniture and accessories to stage your home attractively. It will help buyers see how the rooms can be arranged.
Several days later, the sun shone brilliantly over Good Shepherd Cemetery and helped warm the few people gathering in the cold for Victoria’s graveside service. Following the previous days’ dramatic events, it would have been more fitting if the sky had been covered with dark clouds and sheets of rain were falling. Maybe it was only in movies that it rained heavily at the burial of a murder victim.
Staging is Murder Page 3