STAGING WARS

by Grace Topping

  “You should have seen Monica in that visiting room. All I could think about was what it had been like for Tyrone when he had been accused of a crime and put in jail.”

  “If you get involved in this case, you wouldn’t be doing it because you want to, but because Sister Madeleine believes Monica and not four eyewitnesses—you being one of them.”

  “I know, but as she pointed out, none of us actually saw Monica stab Damian. If we had, that would be a different story. Not that I believe it, but what if Monica is telling the truth? I’m just trying to puzzle it out.”

  “Just be careful. Everyone has secrets they don’t want revealed, whether they are connected to Damian’s death or not.”

  Chapter 21

  To make a small bathroom look larger, go for white tile, cabinets, flooring, and walls.

  The Green home was just a few blocks from the college campus and would be a convenient place for parents to stay when visiting the college. The small apartment over the garage was going to be a gold mine for the owners.

  I rang the bell, and a petite woman with silvery blond hair opened the door.

  “Hi, I’m Laura—

  Before I could get my introduction completed, she flung her arms around me. “Laura, I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you.”

  Well, at least my fears of having to deal with a disgruntled client whose project had been delayed were for nothing.

  Theresa stepped back and ushered Nita and me into her house. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but I was so worried this project wasn’t going to be completed in time, and I already have the space booked. If I had to cancel, the parents would be really unhappy because all of the local hotels are filled for those dates.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry you’ve been worried, but Nita and I are here to complete the work.” I introduced Nita, who braced herself for a possible hug.

  Theresa walked us out to the garage, which had an outside staircase leading to the apartment above. The area around the entrance was beautifully landscaped and would provide a shaded glen with seating for guests to relax.

  “It has a keyless entry, so we don’t have to worry about lost keys or keycards,” Theresa explained. She gave us the entry code so we could go in and out without a problem. “And we can change it anytime we want to.”

  After giving us a tour of the surprisingly spacious area, she said she would leave us to our work. I was pleased to see the furniture that Monica had ordered arrived okay and had been put in place. That would help speed things up. Everything she had selected was super durable, including tabletops that wouldn’t mark if someone placed a cup or glass on them without a coaster.

  I pulled out the folder Kimberly had given me that contained the design drawings and a list of the items we would place inside. Monica had keyed the décor to the historic community around the college. Nita took some before photos. Later she’d take some after shots so I could show Monica. She probably wouldn’t be totally satisfied with the job we did, but in her position, she shouldn’t complain. And if she went to prison, she couldn’t inspect our work.

  Once rented, the place would need to be turned over quickly for each new guest, and Monica had designed everything for easy cleaning. The hardwood floors would be easier to maintain than carpeting, and the rugs were all machine washable.

  After we carried in everything from my car, including our tool bag, we set to work. Among the equipment we always carried to a home staging was a three-step ladder, which we set up to hang the curtain rods and room-darkening draperies. I noticed the Roman-style shades didn’t have pull cords, which could easily become entangled or break. Smart move because over time and with frequent use, they could be broken. They also could present a danger if any guests had young children with them. We hung the draperies and then used a steamer to remove any folds or wrinkles in the fabric.

  “I’ll give Monica credit. She put a lot of thought into everything,” Nita observed. “She even included a laptop workspace and lots of open shelving instead of drawers. That way people won’t leave things behind like they do when they put things in drawers.”

  Monica had provided multiple sets of white linens, which would give the place a spa feeling. Everything was of excellent quality since it would be changed frequently and needed to be durable. She had even included two white bathrobes to give a sense of luxury.

  The mention of Monica brought to mind the image of her sitting in that dismal jail. Would she ever be in a comfortable place again with touches of luxury? My momentary satisfaction of seeing her in prison had disappeared to be replaced by feelings of pity. Her situation looked pretty hopeless. I didn’t want that to happen to anyone, even my worst enemy.

  Nita and I made the bed. Monica had avoided using a cloth headboard to prevent it from getting dirty. The sixty-inch wooden headboard provided a nice focal point for the room.

  We positioned two luggage racks in convenient spots, set up a coffee station in a space that had been designed for that purpose, and completed all the other tasks on our list.

  Several hours later, Nita plopped down on a two-seater sofa that held a foldout bed. “I’m exhausted. But I must say, the place looks splendid.”

  I sat down next to her and pulled out the checklist. “Do you think we’ve forgotten anything?”

  “If something is missing, I’m sure the guests will let Theresa know.”

  As a final act, I spritzed lavender air freshener and then went to get Theresa for her inspection. The place was fabulous as a high-end, short-time rental.

  Theresa was suitably impressed and joyfully went around the space inspecting everything. “Oh, it’s everything and more than Monica promised. Thank you so much. I know people are going to enjoy staying here.”

  “It was Monica’s design and work. We just executed it.” It took us well into the evening, but I was happy the work was completed and we wouldn’t have to return tomorrow to finish.

  “Speaking of Monica, that was such a shame about her and Damian Reynolds,” Theresa said. “Just when we thought he was gaining some happiness in his life after the tragedy in his family.”

  Nita and I looked at each other. Tragedy? “We hadn’t heard about that,” Nita said. “What happened?” Thank goodness for Nita’s willingness to ask pointed questions.

  “Oh, dear. Sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. My husband is on the board at the college and was involved in hiring him. Forget I said anything.”

  I knew Nita would have liked to prod her for more information, but I didn’t think we’d get anything further from her, especially since it was obvious she thought she had been indiscreet saying what she had. We’d have to find another source of information.

  After we got back into my car, I pulled out my smartphone and did a search on Google for Damian Reynolds. “Nita, you need to see this.”

  Chapter 22

  Studies by real estate organizations show that staged homes sell eighty-eight times faster and for twenty percent more than homes that aren’t staged.

  Google provided hundreds of links to articles about Damian, reviews of his work, awards he’d received, and lists of dealers selling his paintings and prints. It was a link to a West Coast newspaper article, dated over three years ago, that caught my eye: “Artist’s Daughter Lost in Boating Accident.”

  “That’s so sad,” Nita said. “Now I know what Theresa meant when she said Damian was finally finding some happiness. How do you recover from something like that?”

  We went on to read about Damian and his wife, Helen, being in seclusion at their Carmel estate.

  Nita handed my phone back to me. “He was married? Poor Monica. Could that be why Damian was trying to sever relations with her? Do you think she knew he was married?”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say that she hadn’t had any compunction about getting involved with my late husband, but I though
t better of it. Especially since all I had were suspicions.

  “For a start, we only know that he wanted to cancel orders related to the redecorating, and that could have been because of financial reasons. We don’t know if he wanted to sever his relationship with Monica. Let’s not jump to conclusions. How about tomorrow we go see your niece and find out what more she knows about him?”

  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 pa
tterns 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.