STAGING WARS

by Grace Topping

  “Laura, wait up.”

  I turned to see the small slender figure of Sister Madeleine huffing and puffing as she tried to catch up with me. I felt guilty that in my desire to avoid her, I’d caused the older nun to chase after me. I knew she would be hopeful I’d heard something that might help Monica, and I didn’t want to disappoint her with the little I had learned.

  There I was a grown woman in my early forties, and just hearing her call my name catapulted me back to the second grade in seconds. “Good morning, Sister Madeleine.”

  “When were you going to tell me about your visit with Monica?”

  I hadn’t told her I’d broken down and gone to see Monica, especially since I’d only done so to assuage my sense of guilt for initially not wanting to help her. How had she learned that I’d visited Monica?

  “I can tell from your face you didn’t know I was aware of your visit,” she said, bending over, trying to catch her breath. “Monica told me you had been to see her. It quite surprised her.”

  “I don’t know that my visit accomplished much.”

  “On the contrary. She said you offered to help keep her business going. That was quite generous of you considering how busy you are with your own work.”

  How like Sister Madeleine to make it sound as though it’d been my idea and not because she’d prodded me into it.

  “I met with her assistant to determine the most pressing work—things that need to be done to meet deadlines. Nita and I’ve been managing.” Just barely.

  “Have you been hearing anything that could help Monica’s case?”

  “Nothing that would prove her to be innocent. But I learned some things that point to other possible suspects.” I told her about our disastrous meeting at the B&B with Garrett Fletcher, Damian’s agent. “He said Damian was his most successful client and he would be foolish to cut off the income he earned from representing him. That’s true, but he could have murdered Damian in a rage and then later regretted it because of financial reasons.”

  She pondered that. “Could he have been mishandling Damian’s earnings? Maybe Damian found out and Fletcher didn’t want to be exposed.”

  “That’s always a possibility.” Something important to consider.

  “What about his wife? The spouse is usually the first person the police look at.”

  I told her about Damian’s daughter drowning and his wife subsequently divorcing him, and that she lived within driving distance of Louiston. I also told her of the scene I’d witnessed at the funeral home when I saw Damian’s ex-wife and agent embracing.

  “That’s interesting. But it’s unlikely she would have murdered him years later. She has her other daughter to think about. We can’t discount that. Have you spoken to her?”

  I hunched my shoulders, feeling like I did when I hadn’t completed my homework. “No. I’m hoping something will come to light and it won’t be necessary.”

  That seemed to satisfy Sister Madeleine.

  “There’s another biggie. Nita and I discovered Ian’s aunt, Doris Becker, left part of her estate to Emily Thompson, Ian’s old girlfriend, and Brandon Thompson.”

  “Now that adds some spice to the brew.” Sister Madeleine looked almost gleeful as though I’d pulled a diamond from a bag of coal.

  “Tomorrow, I’m going to visit Emily to see what I can find out. It’s difficult questioning people when you don’t have any authority to do so.” My blood pressure felt like it was rising just thinking about it.

  “Did you ever think you might have more luck assisting the police in their investigation rather than going it alone. And it would be safer. What about working with Detective Spangler and sharing information with him?”

  That made me want to hoot with laughter. “If there were any sharing of information, it would be one way—from me to him.”

  “Perhaps if you befriended him you might get more cooperation. If you remember from Ellis Peters’ medieval mystery series, Brother Cadfael was able to accomplish far more in solving the mysteries facing him because of his friendship with the Shrewsbury sheriff, Hugh Beringar.”

  Befriend Detective Spangler. That would be the day. “Detective Spangler views me as a busybody.” My cheeks burned at the memory of being called a busybody by Garrett Fletcher. Did other people view me that way as well?

  “There’s a difference between being a busybody and an astute observer of people. Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple was considered by some to be a busybody, but it was her observations of people that made her so successful in solving mysteries.”

  “Okay, I’ll try. But don’t expect Detective Spangler and me to have the same kind of relationship Brother Cadfael and Hugh Beringar had.”

  “All you can do is try,” Sister Madeleine said and turned away.

  I walked the short distance home deep in thought. I’d promised Sister Madeleine I would try working with Detective Spangler. I didn’t say when.

  Chapter 35

  Pay as much attention to the outside of your home as the inside. Trim shrubbery, plant flowers, and lay mulch.

  It didn’t take long to find an address for Emily Thompson. The question was what excuse could I use to talk to her? What approach could I use? Would I find her at home? If I called before I went to see her, she would have time to prepare for my questions and raise her defenses. Or she might refuse to talk to me. But she could also shrug and say it was nothing to do with her.

  I drove up steep winding roads onto Miller’s Mountain until I found the turn-off to the Thompson place. A large red barn stood in the distance. Nearby, a woman on horseback galloped across a broad pasture.

  I parked my car next to the barn, and after not seeing anyone else around, I walked over to the fenced pasture, watching in amazement as the rider and horse jumped over stacked bales of hay. When they turned in my direction, I waved to the rider, who guided her horse toward the fence. I stepped back from the fence, surprised at how tall the horse was and how high up the rider sat. The rider slowly slid from the horse and landed with a thump, raising a cloud of dust. I was a city girl and found the dust and the smell of hay and dung somewhat overpowering.

  The woman took off her helmet and shook out her long brown hair. She looked to be in her early forties or perhaps younger. It was hard to tell. If she’d spent time working out of doors, and with the toll the sun can take on your skin, she could have been much younger than she looked. Either that or she could have had a hard life.

  The woman walked over to the fence railing close to where I stood. “Hi, there. Can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m looking for Emily Thompson.” I tried to sound friendly and buoyant so as not to put her on her guard.

  “You found her. If you’re looking to board a horse, I’m full up at the moment, but I may have space in a few weeks.” Her long legs were clad in faded jeans, which were tucked into high riding boots that had seen hard service. If riding a horse accounted for her slim figure, I would have to consider trying it.

  “Uh, no. I don’t own a horse.” Rarely venturing from town, I hadn’t known the surrounding area had enough horses to need places to board them. I wondered if Will Parker, a retired rodeo star who had come east to live with his daughter and her family, knew about this place. For that matter, I didn’t know if he even still rode. I made a mental note to tell him about this place.

  “I’m Laura Bishop from down in Louiston. I’d like to ask you a few questions if you have some time.”

  Emily opened the gate and led the horse from the field. “If you can wait a few minutes until I can get Gertie here cooled down and fed, I’d be happy to talk to you.” She patted the horse on the neck and fed her a carrot she took from a pocket. “She hasn’t been exercised as much recently as she should have been, so I gave her more of a workout than usual. I’m going to walk her for a few minutes and then hose her off. You’re welcome to follow me unless
you’d rather wait here.”

  I eyed the back of the large horse, reluctant to get closer, barely avoiding being hit in the face by a swishing tail. My approach to questioning Emily might be more casual if she were occupied caring for Gertie.

  “Sure, I’ll follow along.”

  “Okay, but watch where you step.” I looked down and saw why she had warned me. Ugh.

  I followed Emily into what I assumed was a paddock where she led Gertie around for several minutes to cool down. Again I was struck with how big the horse was and how easily Emily guided it to where she wanted it to go. She then led Gertie to a water trough, where the horse took a long drink of water and then shook her head, spraying me with drops of water.

  Minutes before I had been neatly dressed and sitting in an air-conditioned car. I pulled a piece of straw from my hair. Now I was sweaty, covered in water, and wearing good sandals that were covered in dirt. I looked down at the ground around me. Hopefully, by the time I left there, my sandals wouldn’t be covered with anything else.

  Emily led Gertie into the barn. Her hoofs beating on the ground made clopping sounds. I followed, continuing to look down at where I stepped, and once inside, studied the variety of equipment hanging on the wall. Most of it was made of leather and brass. With half of my mind always on my business, I couldn’t help but think how perfect some of the pieces would be as wall décor in a home of horse lovers.

  Emily tethered Gertie to a post, and then unfastened, removed, and stored the saddle. Muscles she’d developed over years of doing hard work were evident in her arms. She was extremely fit. She then took a hose and showered Gertie with a gentle spray of water. The day was hot and the spray looked inviting, I was tempted to step into it myself. Gertie stood patiently as Emily brushed her with a pad or some type of brush, using long and short strokes. Seeing Gertie’s contented look, I felt I had stepped into a horse spa.

  Watching all that Emily was doing for Gertie proved so fascinating, I completely forgot about my plan to question Emily as she worked.

  After Emily completed her chores, she walked over to a small sink and washed her hands. “Sorry. That was probably a lot longer than you wanted to wait, but I didn’t want to leave Gertie’s cool down until later, especially on such a hot day.”

  “It was interesting. I didn’t realize horses needed so much care.”

  “We run a good place here, and the folks who leave their horses with us know that we’ll take proper care of them. Lots of places only do a halfway job of it.”

  She pointed to some bales of hay, and we both took a seat.

  “So Laura, what’d you want to talk about, if not about boarding a horse?”

  I took a deep breath and then wished I hadn’t. The odor of horse, hay, and manure was beginning to overwhelm me. How to proceed?

  “I know this is going to sound strange, but I’m here because I’m trying to help a friend. And to do that, I need to ask some questions you might rather I didn’t ask.”

  That caught her attention, but so far she hadn’t darted from the barn. I couldn’t believe I had used the term friend for Monica, but what the heck.

  “You may have heard that Monica Heller was arrested for the murder of Damian Reynolds, an artist teaching at Fischer College. To help in her defense, a friend and I are looking at anything that could raise doubt she did it.”

  “What’s that got to do with me? My son had him as an instructor at the college, but I didn’t know him.”

  This was the hard part. “With his death occurring so close to that of Ian Becker, and with both of them being stabbed, we’re looking into both of their deaths to see if there could be a connection. I know it is a stretch, but we want to consider anything that could help us in Monica’s defense.”

  Emily’s open expression changed as soon as I mentioned Ian Becker. I couldn’t tell whether the look on her face expressed anger, pain, or desolation. She didn’t say anything, so I continued.

  “I’m very sorry about Ian’s death. I was one of the people who found him in Hendricks Funeral Home.”

  “Again, why are you coming to see me about this?”

  “The police discovered from Ian’s phone records that you were one of the people he telephoned when he arrived in Louiston. I also heard that you and Ian dated the last summer he spent here with his aunt.”

  Her expression became mulish. Would I be able to get anything from her?

  After several long seconds, she responded. “Yeah, he called and left a message on the answering machine. Said he wanted to see me—probably for old times’ sake. A police detective came to see me about the call, and I told him the same thing.”

  Detective Spangler had already been there. That was no surprise.

  “So you didn’t talk to Ian?”

  “No. I didn’t particularly want to see him, so I didn’t call back. It’d been a long time since he was here, and my life has gone on.”

  “That’s all?”

  From behind us, a voice shouted. “Tell her. Tell her that he got you pregnant with me and then ran off—out of the country and didn’t look back.”

  I turned to look behind me. A tall blond young man of about eighteen or nineteen stood in the opening to the barn. Dressed in old, dust-covered jeans, he looked as though he had spent the day working outside. His face was flushed and one of his hands was curled into a fist. In his other hand, he held a rake.

  A shocked look crossed Emily’s face. “Brandon, stay out of this.”

  “Why are you keeping this a secret? He’s dead. He didn’t care anything about us, or he wouldn’t have fled the country and left you as he did.”

  The anger the young man felt toward his absent father was visible on his face, which held a scowl. Had Brandon been angry enough with Ian to want him dead?

  “Leave now, before you make this worse.” Emily stood and pointed to the large barn doors behind us. I thought for a second he was going to refuse, but after glaring at his mother for what seemed like minutes, he thrust away the rake he’d been holding and stomped away.

  Emily sighed, sank back onto the hay bale, and covered her face with her hands. “Why did Ian have to come back?”

  Perhaps she was fortunate Ian hadn’t come back before. Since having a son and an elderly aunt who had helped raise him hadn’t been enough reason for him to come back in twenty years, they might have been better off without him. It was only when Ted had notified him that he was the executor of his aunt’s estate that he bothered to return. What kind of a father would he have been if his only motivation to come now had possibly been because of money?

  “Ian was such a charmer. I should never have gotten involved with him, but he had been so different from the boys I had grown up with. When we met, I think he was attracted to me. But when he discovered we had horses, he flipped. He loved to ride. You could say I came with benefits.” At that, she laughed. “It was a toss-up as to what he found more irresistible—me or the horses.”

  “Did he know you were pregnant?”

  “Oh, yes. I told him right before he was to join his family for their move to New Zealand. His father had accepted a job there and would be gone for a few years, so Ian and his mother went too. When I told him, he couldn’t leave the country fast enough. I never forgave him for that.”

  “When he called you, was that the first time you heard from him in all these years?”

  “That’s right. You can imagine what a shock it was hearing his message. When I had to tell my dad about the baby, he got in touch with Ian’s aunt. Dad made it clear that Ian should be held responsible, but she convinced him that nothing good would come of it and that she would help us financially. She said she could more than afford to do so. Ian was very immature, and quite frankly, a little odd. Maybe she was protecting us. From what she said over the years, he never really grew up. Ian was someone with, what do you call it, a Peter Pan
syndrome. He was happy to surf, have fun, and live off his father’s money.”

  “What about Brandon? When did he discover who his father was?”

  “I told him when he turned fifteen, thinking at that age he would be old enough to understand. I should never have told him. It would have been better if I had listed Father Unknown on the birth certificate and left it at that. He demanded to know more about Ian and asked where he could find him. It got worse after my father died and there was no longer a father figure around. Fortunately, I didn’t have an address for Ian, but Doris did.

  “How did he know of Doris?”

  “He found a check Doris sent me and asked about it. He’s a pretty smart kid and put it all together. I hadn’t wanted to accept money from her, but she insisted. She said Brandon deserved it, and if nothing else, I could save it for his college expenses. And that’s what I’ve been using it for. I think she felt guilty that she hadn’t kept better tabs on Ian when he stayed with her. As if that would have mattered. He’d always run wild. I think his parents were happy to shunt him off to her each summer.”

  “Brandon seemed pretty angry at Ian.”

  “That’s because he wrote to Ian, but Ian never wrote back. Brandon convinced Doris to give him Ian’s address. Her health was beginning to fail and it was easy to get it out of her. If she had been in better health, she might not have given it to him.”

  “Did Brandon know Ian was in town and called you?”

  “Brandon heard the message Ian left.”

  The look on her face said volumes. She was terrified Brandon had killed Ian.

  Brandon knew Damian Reynolds and was connected to Ian Becker. Perhaps Emily Thompson had reason to worry.

  Chapter 36

  Unpleasant odors can put off prospective buyers. Remove carpets and rugs that are stained and can trap offensive odors.