STAGING WARS

by Grace Topping

  What could I say? Given my ill luck, that was about what was happening. And with each instance, it wasn’t getting any easier.

  Chapter 13

  Each room should have a focal point. To provide a focal point for a bedroom, use a headboard that is about sixty inches high.

  In the morning after a late night, I dragged myself from bed, fed Inky, left a note for Aunt Kit, and made my way to Vocaro’s to meet Nita and Tyrone. We were scheduled to stage another unoccupied home that morning and couldn’t put it off. Fortunately, the truck we had reserved hadn’t mysteriously been canceled, so we were set to go. Nita, just as bleary-eyed as I felt, arrived soon after I got there.

  It had been quite late by the time we had given our statements to Detective Spangler and were allowed to leave. Fortunately, he’d felt compassion for Mrs. Webster and directed a police officer to take her home, saying he would get her statement in the morning. With four of us to attest to what we had witnessed when we arrived at the house, he could get most of what he needed from Nita, Guido, and me—and later get Mrs. Webster’s story.

  When Detective Spangler had broken it to Monica that Damian was dead, it was as though she had gone into shock. Her vacant stare unnerved me. When she parted her lips to speak, words didn’t come out.

  Later when Detective Spangler questioned her, she mumbled her responses. It surprised me that he’d allowed me to stay at her side during the questioning. The last thing we saw that night was Monica being driven away in a police car for further questioning. It hadn’t been her finest hour.

  Now with little sleep, Nita and I stared up at the menu board hanging above the counter, trying to decide on something we could stomach. The shock of finding a second body within days of each other was taking a toll on us, and neither of us felt very hungry.

  Tyrone stood behind the counter, ready to serve people as they came in. Soon he would be getting off work and we could leave to pick up Will Parker and then the furniture we were taking with us. Tyrone still amazed me at his ability to hold several part-time jobs and manage to get passing grades—in fact, more than just passing.

  Today, however, after hearing about the events of last evening from his grandmother, he didn’t seem as buoyant. Monica wasn’t among his favorite people either, but with his experience of being accused of a crime and then proven innocent, he could well sympathize with her plight.

  We finally decided on muffins and coffee and claimed our favorite table in Vocaro’s rear seating area and sank into our seats. We’d both ordered large coffees in an attempt to become more alert.

  Vocaro’s served as a crossroads for the community, and a large segment of the population came through it during the day. So it was no surprise when Nita’s cousin Neil came in. His wrinkled police uniform and mussed hair a sure sign he’d pulled an all-nighter.

  When he saw us, he put up both hands, palms out as though stopping traffic. “Don’t bother to ask, I’m not saying anything about Damian Reynolds’s murder or about Monica Heller.”

  “Relax, Neil. Have a seat.” Nita patted the chair next to her. “We know you wouldn’t have information about what’s going on.” Knowing Nita so well, I knew her words, innocent on the surface, were meant to goad her younger cousin into saying things he shouldn’t. He could never resist trying to show her how much in the know he was.

  She turned away from him as though ignoring him. “What do you think, Laura? Did Monica stab Damian? Or was it as she said—she found him on the floor when she got there and pulled the knife out to save him?”

  I pondered the question, glad I wasn’t in a courtroom being asked that—it was a tough one. “I don’t know. We didn’t see her stab him, but what we witnessed was pretty incriminating. I heard her tell Detective Spangler that after she and Damian argued at the Arts Center, he dropped her at her place. Later, she got in her car and drove to his house. The door was ajar, and getting no answer when she called his name, she stepped inside. That’s when she saw him on the floor. Without thinking, she pulled the knife from his back, hoping it would help him. We arrived to find her holding the knife.”

  “If what Monica says is true, and she didn’t stab him, who did? We didn’t pass anyone on the road near Damian’s house. But who knows how long Damian could have been lying there before Monica arrived.” Nita shuddered, probably reacting to the memory of finding them there.

  “It couldn’t have been too long, because they left the Arts Center only about an hour before we did,” I said. “Perhaps a little longer since we helped clean up.”

  “Two stabbings within a week. Could we have a serial killer on the loose in Louiston?” Nita looked at Neil out of the corner of her eye, hoping he wouldn’t be able to resist adding something.

  Neil didn’t resist for long. “Did you know that Damian fellow is a famous artist? Or was.” The color rose in Neil’s cheeks at his blunder. “You should’ve seen the reporters coming into the station. They were shouting questions at the Chief about the murder—and about the murder of that man from New Zealand. The Chief wasn’t happy, especially after he received a call from the New Zealand Embassy. The whole squad later heard him yell at Detective Spangler to get those cases closed—and fast.”

  Suddenly, Louiston was becoming an international hotbed of criminal activity, and we’d been caught up in it.

  Chapter 14

  Buyers will be in and out of a vacant house within minutes but will linger in a furnished home an average of forty minutes. The longer they stay, the greater the opportunity for them to picture themselves living there.

  When we reached the site of the unoccupied home staging, I grabbed my check-off list and went to work directing Tyrone and Will Parker in unloading the truck and telling them where to take the furniture and rugs we’d brought. Nita carried in the large canvas bag we brought with us to each work site. We didn’t always need everything from the bag, but being able to pull out things like furniture sliders, two-sided tape, or removable picture hangers when we needed them was helpful.

  The hundred-year-old house, built in a Victorian style with a wide front porch, was typical of the homes in that section of Louiston. Tyrone, who was studying design, found the old homes interesting. Standing in front of the house, I pointed out some of the characteristics of the house style. “Real craftsman built these old homes. Look at the decorative trim in the gables.” I pointed to the house across the street. “That one has fish scale shingles on the sides.”

  “I never paid much attention to them before.” Tyrone looked up and down the street at the homes with various decorative trim.

  I pointed to a little door in the porch foundation. “See that? It opens to a coal chute. Workmen used to deliver coal to a bin in the cellar by dumping it into the chute. When people switched to gas, most of the chutes got covered up. I imagine most people living in these homes don’t even know there is a coal chute.”

  “Probably lots of things in these old places people don’t know about,” Tyrone said.

  On the porch, I then took a can of brass cleaner from our tool bag and wiped some on the house numbers. With a little buffing, they looked brand new. People could either be attracted to or turned off by a house based on a first impression—and that started at the front entrance.

  After a busy morning, we stopped for lunch at noon and pulled out the sandwiches and drinks we’d brought with us, gathering around the kitchen table we’d set up. It gave us the break we needed from all the physical work we had been doing.

  Will took off his cowboy hat and fanned himself. “I can’t believe you ladies stumbled on another body.”

  Nita’s phone rang. She got up and walked away to answer it.

  “This has been a bad week, Will.” I unwrapped my sandwich and took a bite, savoring the taste of the tuna and dill pickle on pumpernickel bread I’d packed.

  “That’s for sure. I didn’t know either of those two gentlemen,
but I sure was sorry for ’em. Doesn’t it make you wonder about two murders so close together and both of ’em stabbings?”

  Tyrone sat down and pulled the tab from a can of Pepsi. “Sure sounds strange to me. I had an art class with Damian Reynolds last semester. Man, he was a tough instructor but a talented guy.”

  Will had a rapt audience in Tyrone. “What could connect a man who lived outta the country for more’n twenty years and an artist who just moved to this area and probably never met him?”

  “Right now—nothing but pure coincidence.” I finished my sandwich, wadded the wrapper into a ball, and placed it in my bag. “There’s been talk about a serial killer, but with Monica being found as she was, that possibly rules out the serial killer theory.”

  “Lessen you consider Monica could be the serial killer—killing both that Reynolds fellow and the man in the funeral home. Did you ever think that?” Will looked smug as though he had solved both crimes.

  He was another reader, who enjoyed stories of intrigue—the more outlandish the better. To my mind, Monica was the Wicked Witch of the West and could have stabbed Damian. But a serial killer? Not even I could swallow that. Serial bully maybe.

  Nita returned and slumped into a chair. “That was my niece Jaime. She found the home of her dreams.”

  “That’s great. Why are you looking so grim about it?” Tyrone asked.

  “Because her place isn’t ready. If she doesn’t sell it right away, she’ll lose the house she wants.” Nita unwrapped her sandwich. “To top it all off, she just learned about Damian’s murder and is really upset.”

  “Upset? Did she know him?” I stopped gathering our trash and stared at her.

  “That I don’t know.” Nita took a long swallow of water. “She works at the college, so maybe she knew him. But getting back to Jaime’s house, before her husband went on active duty with the Army Reserves, they did all the major things that needed to be done, like making repairs and painting. But it still needs to be staged.”

  “We can help her with that.” I wiped some crumbs from the table with my hands and brushed them into the trash bag.

  “In their situation, she wouldn’t be able to pay you much.”

  “Nita, are you crazy? She’s family. I wouldn’t charge her anything.” Nita’s family had been good to me over the years, and I was willing to help any of them. “As soon as we leave here, let’s go see what her place needs. We can come up with cost-effective ways for her to make the place appealing to buyers. And while there, we can find out why she’s so upset about Damian Reynolds.”

  I called Aunt Kit to let her know I wouldn’t be home until late that evening and asked her to feed Inky. She said she and Anne were going to see a movie and she would see me in the morning.

  With our break over, we returned to work. I referred to our master list to see what remained to be done. Nita and I had developed a routine. We all did certain things, which prevented us from duplicating effort. I always did accessories with recommendations from Tyrone, who always had good ideas. Sometimes a single pop of color could make all the difference in a room.

  Once the rooms were set up to our satisfaction, Will and Tyrone removed all the wrappings we used to protect the items we’d brought with us and took them back to the truck.

  Tyrone shouted goodbye and left to return the rental truck.

  Will waved his hat in farewell. “See ya’ll next time. I’m headin’ home to walk Pinto and do a cleanup along Battlement Drive.”

  Nita and I waved goodbye to Will and then began our final check of the place. We looked for any stray bits of dust or lint, vacuumed the room to fluff up the rugs or carpets, plumped pillows, and checked that the accessories weren’t overdone. Before we left, Nita photographed each room, and we checked the list of items we left there so we could update our inventory. Another job completed. I sent a text to the real estate agent listing the house to let her know the staging had been completed.

  Now, what were we going to do about the emergency facing Nita’s niece?

  Chapter 15

  Home stagers offer various levels of home staging—from giving homeowners a list of things they can accomplish themselves; to staging a vacant home by bringing in furniture; to arranging for work to be done by painters, plumbers, landscapers, etc.

  “Thank goodness you’re here.” Jaime was pacing on the front sidewalk as we drove up. Her red eyes showed she had been crying. When she saw us, she patted her hands together like a small child anticipating a surprise. “I couldn’t believe it when Aunt Nita said you were willing to help me.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “Sorry. This has been a terrible day.”

  I felt sorry for the young woman. To have such highs and lows in one day would be almost too much for anyone to handle, much less someone left handling the sale and purchase of a home while her young husband was away. The timing couldn’t have been worse for her. And learning about Damian Reynolds hadn’t helped.

  I used my most soothing voice—the one I used with clients who are desperate to sell their homes and have become stressed. “Let’s sit down and talk about what needs to be done.”

  “Everything,” she wailed. “The house Frankie and I have been watching finally came on the market. I have his power of attorney, so our agent put in a bid for us. The homeowners accepted our contract, but it’s contingent on our selling this place first. And they’ve only given us a few days to sell it. To make it look good enough to sell quickly, I have so much to do. And with Frankie away, it’s all on me. And now, hearing about Mr. Reynolds, I’m so upset I can’t function.”

  I was surprised the homeowners were willing to give Jaime and Frankie time to sell their house and wasn’t sure they could sell it within the short time allowed. But Nita and I would do everything we could to make it happen.

  Jaime went to get a Kleenex to wipe her eyes.

  “What do you think, Nita?” I surveyed the living room while Jaime was gone.

  “I recommend we remove some of the oversized pieces. Right now the rooms look too crowded, making the place look smaller than it is.”

  “Good idea, but what I meant was why do you think she is so upset about Damian?” It felt strange calling him by name since I had never had any dealings with him. But I didn’t want to keep referring to him as that famous artist. “Is she just super emotional and cries easily at someone’s death?”

  Nita shrugged. “Sometimes. It’s hard for young people to deal with death.”

  “It’s hard for any of us, especially when the person was murdered.”

  When Jaime returned, Nita didn’t hesitate to question her. “Jaime, why are you so upset about Mr. Reynolds? You weren’t involved with him were you?”

  Jaime’s head jerked back. “Aunt Nita. Of course, I wasn’t.”

  “Your aunt is only teasing you.” I frowned at Nita. Would she ever learn to be subtle? If she wanted to know something, she’d ask direct questions without any subtlety. Like the time she’d asked Sister Madeleine, our second-grade teacher, what kind of underwear she wore beneath her habit. She hadn’t improved with age.

  “Did you know Damian Reynolds well?” I wondered how broadly she’d interpret my question.

  “I provided admin assistance to him at the college. He’d only been there a short while, but I found him to be very nice. Except for the last time I saw him. He was preoccupied with something, and I had to keep calling his name to get his attention. That seemed to annoy him. It’s just so sad that he was murdered. And no, Aunt Nita, I wasn’t involved with him. He was seeing a lot of that interior decorator he hired. She used to wait for him outside in that red convertible of hers.”

  Apparently, Jaime hadn’t heard about Monica’s involvement in his death.

  “I once saw him get in the car and kiss her,” Jaime said.

  So as we suspected, Monica and Damian had more going on than business dealings.
I wondered if I should tell Detective Spangler or let him figure it out for himself. But he probably already suspected Monica had killed Damian during a lovers’ quarrel.

  It was a relief to know that Jaime hadn’t been involved with Damian. Now it was down to business getting her house ready for sale.

  “Who’s your agent?” In the short time I’d been in the home staging business, I had met many of the agents in town and received referrals from them.

  “Doug Hamilton at Hamilton Real Estate.”

  Doug Hamilton and his movie star good looks. A stunning lookalike for a young Robert Redford, Doug had been involved in the sale of the Denton mansion Tyrone and I had staged. He was a nice enough person, but I still had a deep-seated aversion to handsome men, or perhaps more a wariness. Let’s just say that based on my experience with good-looking men, I steered clear of them. Doug had retired from the Navy and had come home to help his ailing father with his real estate agency. Since then he’d obtained his real estate license.

  “Doug is a nice guy. I think you are in good hands.” I pulled out my tablet and checklist to make notes. “Okay, let Nita and me tour the house on our own, and we’ll work out a plan.” It was better to look at the house without being escorted by the homeowner, who often would talk throughout the tour and be distracting—especially when the homeowner was extremely upset and worried about the sale, causing us to miss things.

  Jaime’s house was typical of one owned by a young couple. A bit bland, too cluttered, and lacked cohesiveness. Fortunately, following Nita’s advice, Jaime and Frankie had recently painted the walls a neutral dove gray and made needed repairs.

  In each room, we noted what we could do immediately, what things we recommended Jaime purchase, and what we recommended she remove. Some of the things we would help her with and others we would make recommendations, and it would be up to her to decide how she wanted to proceed. Nita took before photos.