Feeling calmer, I forced myself to go over the events on the day of the murder, one by one. I couldn’t think of anything more than what I’d already told the police, which hadn’t been much. Even now, recounting the day, nothing occurred to me that had been unusual.
After Angelo had left, I remembered hearing a ground-level door opening and closing, something I thought I’d told the police. At the time, I believed it had been Victoria coming or going from the house, which she tended to do a lot while the crew and I were working. Now, on reflection, I didn’t think it had been Victoria opening or closing a door, unless she had come in and someone had come with her. The bell hadn’t rung announcing a visitor, so I didn’t believe Victoria had let anyone in, unless she had planned to meet someone at the door before he or she could ring the bell. I looked around confused. I’d locked the doors earlier in the evening, so who could have gotten in? Could someone have slipped into the house during the day when all of the doors had been open? There were plenty of places a person could have hidden until later.
Whoever had come in wouldn’t have been aware I was still in the house unless they’d seen my car out back. If someone had known I was there, could he suspect I’d seen or heard something and forgotten and was now waiting for me to remember? Could that be the reason I was being threatened—to scare me enough to stop asking questions that might trigger a memory?
I hadn’t seen anyone, but the killer didn’t know that.
I tried to remember the times Victoria and I had actually talked, not just the times we merely passed in the hall. I recalled Victoria’s outburst at Carlos and her argument with Cora—and, of course, her tirade against Tyrone on the day of the murder. Other than that, Victoria had stayed in the library or her bedroom.
Then I remembered the day I walked into the library and found Victoria on the phone being her usual nasty self with the person on the other end. Something about the conversation bothered me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what. I wished now I’d paid more attention, but anytime something important happened, people wished they had been more attentive.
Exhaustion finally got the better of me, and I decided to put all thoughts of murder aside until morning. Feeling drowsy, I reached over and turned off my bedside light then switched it back on again.
Chapter 36
Set the atmosphere for your open house by fully opening drapes and shades and turning on overhead lights and lamps in every room.
The day arrived for real estate agents to preview the Denton place before the scheduled open house. I nervously plumped already plumped pillows and straightened already straight picture frames. My attention to detail was becoming excessive and I forced myself to stop. Skip had asked me to stay for the preview, wanting a report of how it went. I suspected his concern about the sale was greater than he was letting on.
I walked through the foyer, once again admiring the effect of the mirrors. Nita might not recognize chartreuse, but she possessed a knack for solving problem areas with her ideas and sense of style. The whole project had been a team effort. I fervently hoped my other team member would soon be freed from jail.
I paused in the doorway of a small bedroom, soaking in the warm feelings it exuded. The colorful rugs I’d found in the attic and had cleaned looked perfect on the oak floors that now glowed, and the antique lamps I’d rewired myself added a nice touch. I switched the lamps on in each room to set the mood.
It was frustrating Tyrone couldn’t be there to see the jewel the house had become. I was also frustrated at my inability to find something to help free him. It was causing me to lose sleep and drop weight again, which wasn’t a bad thing after my huge meal at the Romano’s. As much as I would hate leaving this house when my work was done, I was relieved I could now focus my time entirely on helping Tyrone.
I sat down at the kitchen table to rest and scanned the room again for anything I might have missed.
An hour before the open house, Doug Hamilton strolled in through the front door, carrying two paper coffee cups with a Vocaro’s logo. “Thought you could use this.” He handed me one.
Surprised, I accepted the cup gratefully. “Thanks, Doug. You’re right.”
“Late night?”
“So late, I should’ve brought a change of clothes.” Which might have been a practical solution, but the thought of spending a night there caused me to shudder.
The previous day, knowing I would be there until late, I’d parked in the front drive and had carefully locked all the doors inside before I began work. I’d never considered installing an alarm system in my home, but I’d quickly come around to seeing the value of one now, especially after all that had happened. The new owners would be smart to install one or hang up a few besoms. I had hung the one Madam Zolta left with me in the kitchen. It looked good.
The sticky mess in the kitchen remained a mystery. Fortunately, there had been no other instances of vandalism.
“The house looks fantastic.” Doug looked around him as though he couldn’t believe it was the same place. “Who would’ve thought this old place could turn out so good? I may not be a real estate expert yet, but this place may cause a bidding war.”
I enjoyed his flattering comments about my efforts and felt vindicated. I wondered whether Monica Heller would come through the house again. Thinking of the trivial motives for killing Victoria I’d attributed to her made me laugh. Maybe I should revisit those.
“It’s a terrific house.” I adjusted a stack of books on an end table. “I hope whoever gets it appreciates it. Would you like a tour?”
As Doug and I walked from room to room, I turned on more lights to make the house look bright and inviting. In the living room, I imagined it during different seasons of the year—with a roaring fire and brightly lit tree at Christmas or crowds spilling out through the French doors onto the patio for a summer cocktail party. I really liked the dove gray walls with burgundy accents. Many times an idea sounded good in theory but didn’t work well in practice. This time it had been right on target, especially with the white trim—thanks to Tyrone.
The cobalt blue and yellow suited the kitchen and brought out the colors in the soapstone countertops. I’d been able to retain the original décor of the kitchen while adding modern touches. Much to my relief, none of the owners since the house was first built had gutted the kitchen for a modern makeover. Nothing would have suited this grand house as well as the style of the original kitchen, with the exception of the modern appliances added.
The house was ready.
“We have a few early birds.” Doug stood when we heard cars pulling up and went out to greet the first agents to arrive.
Soon the place would be teeming with people. It occurred to me my stint of working on Victoria’s house was coming to an end and I’d soon have no reason to be there.
The evening before, I kept thinking of the day I walked into the library and found Victoria there. Images of her sitting at the desk swirled in my head without coalescing into anything tangible. Whatever it was lay buried deep in my memory and wouldn’t budge. I’d sensed this before, but nothing would come to mind. Now, free from the stress of getting the house staged on time, I believed I might be able to focus on what was nagging at my subconscious. Going back into the library, it might come to me. If I were going to do some investigating there, it would have to be now. As more agents arrived for the preview, I would have a hard time having the room to myself.
Looking up and down the hall, I slipped into the library and closed the heavy door behind me. I mustn’t be seen searching the room by the agents previewing the house. Going through someone’s desk didn’t fall into the category of home staging. If an agent saw me, I wouldn’t get another staging job in this town.
I quickly scanned the room. Light shone through the recently cleaned windows. Since the area had been cleaned and the clutter removed, it beckoned as a place to curl up with a good book.
Sniffing, I realized the setting still wasn’t perfect. I wanted it to smell fresh and clean, and instead, it smelled of dusty, old books, and the dust was tickling my nose.
I stared at the massive and ornate Victorian walnut desk standing in the center of the room. Walking behind it, I sat down in a green leather armchair and gazed around me. Victoria had been sitting at this desk the day I’d rushed into the library for the fax.
As I reached for the middle drawer knob, the telephone on the desk rang, startling me. My heart pounded and my hand shook as I reached for the receiver, wondering if I should answer it. Abruptly, it stopped. Detective Spangler was right. I wasn’t cut out to be Nancy Drew. With nerves like mine, I couldn’t sit comfortably through a scary movie, much less play detective in real life.
Victoria had been on the phone the day I barged in. I couldn’t recall exactly what Victoria had said, but I recognized her words and tone had been threatening. Something else nagged at me, and it drove me crazy not being able to figure out what.
Working quickly, I opened and closed each drawer, finding a bottle of Canadian Club in one but nothing of interest in the others.
Turning, I perused the extensive book collection on the shelves and wondered whether the books had belonged to Skip’s family or if Victoria had bought them by the yard. I chided myself for being snide. Nevertheless, Victoria hadn’t struck me as the type to have an extensive library or even to read a book, for that matter.
Books—that was it. Victoria had been holding papers in her hand when I opened the library door. She quickly inserted them into a book as though trying to hide what she had. The book hadn’t been the yearbook with its distinctive purple cover. I was embarrassed about barging in on her and hadn’t noticed what Victoria did with the book. I needed to find it and the papers to judge whether they held a clue to her death. I was grabbing at something to give me hope, but, at this point, I was willing to try anything. Which book? There were so many.
Stop and think. I replayed the scene from that day in my head. Victoria hadn’t moved far from the desk before she stomped from the room, so she must have stored the book within arm’s reach of the desk. Otherwise, I would have noticed.
I studied the bookcases, wondering how long it would take me to go through each of the books closest to the desk. As I turned, I glanced down at a small cabinet to the right of the desk. Stooping, I opened the top drawer and found only blank stationery scattered inside. Opening the bottom door, I found more bottles of alcohol. No wonder Victoria disappeared into the library so often.
Still not wanting to miss anything, I stretched out my arm and reached behind the bottles to see if a book could have been wedged in back of them. My search resulted in nothing more than a fist covered in cobwebs. It was all I could do not to shriek. I hated cobwebs.
I stood, rubbing my hands together trying to remove the sticky webs. As I turned to walk away, my foot lightly struck something near the cabinet bottom. I’d barely noticed it. Getting down on my hands and knees, I reached under the cabinet and was surprised when my fingers felt the shape of a book resting on the carpet. I didn’t think much of the carpet cleaners I’d hired since they hadn’t moved the desk or cleaned under it. I imagined Victoria, not wanting me to see where she had placed it, let the book gently slide to the carpet and then used her foot to push it under the cabinet. Clever woman.
Sitting down in the chair again, I placed the book on the desktop and opened it. Inside were four sheets of letter-sized paper folded in half. Unfolding them, I placed them on the desktop. I was puzzled at what I saw: a fax cover sheet, a photo, one page with a typed message, and one page covered with handwriting. The typed note read:
N. Nickleby. Your payment is overdue. Just a reminder of the consequences if I don’t hear from you. Think about what you have to lose.
The next sheet was a photo of the stone edifice of a grand building and under that a sheet showing a portion of a handwritten document too blurred to read.
Who was N. Nickleby, and why did Victoria have this? I scanned the document and read it over a second time. The automatically generated date at the bottom of the fax was two years earlier. Still perplexed, I couldn’t imagine what significance it might hold. It could be nothing, but it seemed strange. Who was demanding payment from N. Nickleby and for what? Even in my innocent world, it sounded threatening. Could it have been a blackmail note?
I froze, having a hard time taking in what I was seeing and its implications. Victoria had hidden the document to keep it a secret. Had someone murdered her to ensure it remained a secret?
Chapter 37
Look at your home as though looking through the eyes of a buyer to see what needs to be improved. Taking photos will help you notice things you might not see just standing there.
I refolded the papers and stuffed them into the waistband of my skirt. I was breaking every guideline for properly handling what might be evidence as prescribed in the detective’s official handbook, if such a thing existed, but I didn’t care. My fingerprints were already all over the papers. If I went searching for a plastic bag and gloves for proper evidence collection, I couldn’t trust the report would still be there when I got back.
Maybe the papers had absolutely nothing to do with Victoria’s murder, but my instincts told me otherwise. Whoever killed Victoria might come looking for them. Until I had the papers locked away someplace safe, I didn’t plan to let them out of my sight. Now, with my work finished in the house, it would be empty except for occasional visits by real estate agents and potential buyers. It would be a perfect time for someone to conduct a thorough search for the papers.
I remembered the evening Mrs. Webster and I had discovered Warren searching the Denton library. Had we been gullible believing his story? That was what came from being such amateurs. I liked Warren and hadn’t wanted to believe he was capable of murdering Victoria, so I’d willingly accepted his story. I wondered again about my ability to judge people.
All of it was becoming too much for me to take in. I needed to talk this over with someone with a cool head. That left out Nita, who was excitable and could unwittingly leak the information to others. It also left out Mrs. Webster, who was too emotionally involved. Besides, she would want me to take immediate action, and I didn’t know what that action would be.
Feeling lightheaded, I got up, opened the door, and walked out of the library. I barely avoided running into a group of agents heading toward the library. I attempted to look calm, even though I was sure my face looked flushed, which happened to me when I became stressed. My day, which had started on such a high note, was ending on a sour one.
“Here’s our fantastic stager now.” Doug Hamilton stepped out from the center of the crowd.
As he neared, he stared at me with a puzzled expression. Had he noticed my flushed face?
Doug turned to the group of agents. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would like to step into the library, you’ll find features showing what a gem this house is.”
“Are you okay?” Doug leaned toward me as the group of smiling agents shuffled past us. His voice was filled with concern, and I was touched.
“The smell of fresh paint is getting to me. I’ll go outside for a little fresh air. Let me know if anyone has any questions I can answer.”
Stepping outside, I took advantage of one of the comfortable chairs I’d placed on the patio and sat down, putting my feet on a cushioned ottoman. The sun was warm, so I was thankful for the cool breeze and the cover of the large market-style umbrella.
I pressed my hands to my hot cheeks. Only a few short weeks ago, I’d been bored with my life and ready for new challenges. Now I wasn’t sure I could handle all the excitement.
A little later, Doug joined me under the umbrella and dropped into a chair. “I’ll certainly be glad when my father is well enough to get back into the business. I’m not cut out for this. It was like herding a gaggle of geese
trying to keep the group together. In the Navy, I barked orders and everyone jumped.”
I sleepily rubbed my eyes, wanting to curl up and take a nap. “They usually wander around on their own.” My hands shook, so I put them behind my back. I didn’t want my jumpiness showing.
“Maybe that was the problem. Someday I may get the hang of this. In any event, the agents loved the way the house shows and were full of compliments. None of them had seen the house before, so they don’t have a clue how much work you put into it.”
“Thanks, Doug. That means a lot. I have to confess, though, I’m glad it’s over.”
“And to think Victoria thought the house was ready to sell the way it was.” Doug shook his head.
“It’s hard. Most people can’t step back and view their homes objectively. They work hard getting it the way they want it, then someone like me comes in and wants to change it to appeal to other people. I’m not sure I’d want anyone walking through my place making changes.”
“Nor I.” Doug turned his face to the sun, soaking in its warmth. “Over the years, I’ve moved a number of times, and every time, it was hard. If I’d known someone like you could’ve helped me, it would have made selling a place and moving a lot easier.”
I tried to focus on Doug and less on the papers I’d found. “So, you know how hard it is seeing the things you’ve worked on being stripped away.” I thought of the home Derrick and I had shared. I worked hard to make our home a reflection of us both, but Derrick had shown little interest in it. As long as he had a television and a comfortable chair to watch golf tournaments, he was happy. The rest of the time, he was either at work or on the golf course and later out with other women. Thinking back over our years together, I realized we hadn’t shared much.
Doug rested his head against the seat back. “This is such a peaceful place.”
Staging is Murder Page 20