STAGING WARS

by Grace Topping

  We waited in the stairwell on the ground floor until we heard the whoosh of the elevator going up. We then raced down the hall to the rear entrance. When we reached the door, we forced ourselves to slow down and not look suspicious as we left the building and casually walked across the parking lot—or as casually as I could with the heavy Kirby in my arms.

  Once we loaded our equipment into my car and got in, every part of my body began to shake so much I wasn’t sure I’d be able to drive home. “I don’t care what they say about orange being the new black. I just wouldn’t look good in it.”

  “You worry too much,” Nita said, but I noticed that she looked a bit flushed.

  “I’ll remind you of that when Bruiser Betty pins you against a cell wall.”

  “No folders. You know what that means, don’t you?”

  I moaned. “We have to ask Ted about the will.”

  Chapter 32

  Store away bills, private papers, and valuables before potential buyers start touring your house.

  The next morning, after our fruitless search of Ted’s office, Nita and I stood in front of his office building again.

  I checked my watch for the third time. We were early for office hours, but if we could catch Ted before his clients started to arrive, we might be able to get into see him and, with any luck, get the information we needed. “I have a feeling this is going to be a waste of time, just like last night. Ted probably won’t tell us a thing about what’s in the will.”

  “It’s not like it’s a state secret.” Nita chewed on her thumbnail, something she only did if she was nervous or embarrassed. “If somebody else had a copy, they could tell us, without breaking client confidentiality. Unfortunately, Ted had always been close-mouthed, even when we were kids. Must come from the Polish side of his family.”

  “Who else could have a copy? Maybe Ian? If so, it might have been among the things he left at the B&B.”

  “Unfortunately, his things are no longer there. Neil said Detective Spangler sent him out there to get Ian’s belongings. Maybe you could ask Detective Spangler if he found a copy of the will.”

  I grimaced. “We can forget that. Even if he did, could you in your wildest dreams imagine Detective Spangler letting me read it?”

  “Maybe, if you two got along better.” Nita shook her head as though it was a mystery to her why I didn’t get along with Detective Spangler.

  It wasn’t a mystery to me, especially after I couldn’t convince him Tyrone was incapable of murdering someone. I kept thinking of all those days Tyrone spent in jail.

  “I don’t think Ted is going to tell us anything. And your stupid idea of us getting into his office last night had to have been your worst idea yet.”

  “Well, you went along with it. If we’d found the information we needed, you would now be thinking it was a terrific idea.” Nita began chewing on her other thumbnail. She must be feeling more nervous than she was letting on.

  “I went along with your idea only because we were desperate,” I admitted. “Now we still have to convince Ted to share the information with us.”

  Nita pondered that for a few seconds. “That may be difficult. Even as kids he wasn’t good at sharing.”

  I threw up my hands, wanting to give this up as a lost cause.

  “Okay, let’s go.” Nita started toward the front entrance of the building. “We’ll just have to brazen it out with Ted and see what he’ll tell us. Too bad I don’t have some family history to blackmail him with. He was always so proper.”

  Reaching the second floor, we turned the corner only to find Ted standing at the door of his office. He must have come in from a back entrance. With his key in hand, he was ready to unlock the door.

  “You guys are up early. What brings you here?” Ted unlocked the door and switched on the lights. “My secretary hasn’t even arrived yet.” He looked around him, as though noticing something was different but unable to put his finger on what. Probably the fact that his secretary’s desk was no longer covered in food remains.

  Nita didn’t waste any time. “We wanted to see you before you got busy. Do you have a second?”

  Ted eyed us suspiciously. “Why do I think this is going to give me heartburn, even before my first cup of coffee?”

  We followed him into his office, which looked all too familiar. I spotted a rag we had dropped there the night before and used my foot to push it under a chair. Could the police find fingerprints on cloth?

  “Sorry to bother you, Ted, but we are looking for some information. You’ve heard about Damian Reynolds’s murder? Nita and I want to help Monica Heller, who’s accused of his murder.”

  A pained look crossed his face. “Yeah. Heard you guys caught her in the act. Sure am glad I’m not representing her.” Ted put his briefcase on his desk, switched on his desk lamp, and sat down. We took the two seats in front of him.

  I sat forward in my chair and was sorry I did when it emitted a loud squeak. “We didn’t see Monica stab him. We only saw her with a knife in her hands. But that’s beside the point. To help her, we need to see if there’s a connection between Damian Reynolds’s murder and Ian Becker’s murder.”

  Ted put his head back, stared at the ceiling, and then sighed. The sigh of someone who wanted to tell us we were crazy but too polite to do so.

  “Why do you two keep getting involved in things like this? There is no connection.”

  Nita huffed. “Maybe there is but no one has made that connection yet.”

  I hoped if I could get his attention focused on me, he would forget the antagonism he and Nita had built up as cousins. “According to his phone records, Ian called you when he got into town. Can you tell us what he had to say?”

  “Yes, he did. But we only talked long enough to set up an appointment for him to come in. But he never came.”

  I sensed Ted was going to be out of patience with us soon. “Let’s make it simple. All we want to do is find out who else was named in Doris Becker’s will and if someone could have benefitted from Ian’s death. Then we can follow the trail to see if there could be a link between the two murders.”

  “A will names the beneficiaries. But it depends on how a will is written as to who would get his portion if he died—his heirs, if any—or if his share is to be divided among any other heirs named in the will. And that’s all I’m going to say.” His face reddened when he realized what he had just insinuated. So there had been more heirs named. But that still didn’t help us know who they were.

  Nita went in firing both guns. “Come on, Ted. You always had a thing about Monica. Don’t you want to see her proved innocent?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “You did.” Nita looked smug. She’d found something to use. “When we were in school and you drove me anywhere, how was it we always passed Monica’s house on the way?”

  I almost felt sorry for him. Having Nita as a cousin couldn’t be easy. “Ted, you’ve got to help us so we can help Monica.”

  Ted reached for his briefcase, opened it, and pulled out a folder. “I’d like to help you out, Laura.” Ted tapped on the folder. “But what’s in Doris Becker’s will is confidential.”

  So that’s where the will had been. He had taken it home the night before. No wonder Nita and I couldn’t find it.

  I tried to hide my frustration. “Yes, but your client is dead. And her nephew, Ian Becker, is dead. The information will eventually be made available to the public when probate is filed. Couldn’t you just speed up the process so we can see who the beneficiaries are now?”

  “Think of Monica sitting in jail—wearing orange and not looking her gorgeous self.” Nita was digging deep.

  We heard a door close outside Ted’s office.

  “Excuse me for a minute. I need to see if that’s my first appointment.” With that he got up and left the room, closing the door behind him.
r />   Nita jumped up and reached across the desk for the folder.

  “Nita! You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me.” With that, she opened the folder and flipped through the pages, paused, and then just as quickly returned the folder.

  She’d barely sat down again when the door opened. For a second I was certain my heart had stopped beating, and I wasn’t sure it would start again.

  “Okay, guys, I’ve got a client waiting, so I need for you to leave. Sorry I couldn’t help you.”

  “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. We
bster 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 something 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.