STAGING WARS

by Grace Topping

  “There is no we about this.” He nearly shouted. “Stay out of this and leave it to the police.”

  I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again. As I reached for the door handle to leave, he placed his hand on my arm. “Laura, please.”

  Aunt Kit grabbed me when I walked in the door and hugged me hard. “Are you okay?” She stepped back and studied me closely. I was surprised to see tears well up in her eyes.

  “I’m fine.” But I began to shake as I said it.

  “Sit down, and I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea.”

  I collapsed on the sofa and pulled an afghan over my legs. Inky must have sensed that I was distressed because he jumped on me and curled up in my lap. His warmth and purring helped soothe me.

  I thought of Detective Spangler’s warning and then remembered his use of my given name—a first.

  “This will fix you right up.” Aunt Kit handed me tea in a cup and saucer, instead of the mug I usually used. It made it feel like a special occasion. “Unless you want something stronger.”

  This clearly was an occasion for Harvey’s Bristol Cream, but I decided to stick with the tea. I needed a clear head. Usually, I don’t take sugar in my tea, but since Aunt Kit fixed it for me that way, for medicinal purposes, I decided to say nothing about it.

  Aunt Kit took a seat in a chair next to me. “Do you feel up to talking about what happened? Tyrone called to tell me you were okay. He was concerned Nita may have called, asking if I knew where you were and that I would be worried.”

  “That was good of Tyrone. He’s always so thoughtful.”

  “Do you think you’re getting too close to whoever is responsible for the murders?” She leaned over and tucked the afghan over my legs.

  “It might be wishful thinking, but I’d like to think I am—enough to shake up whoever it was that struck out at me. But then, it could have been someone totally unconnected to the murders who lured me to that home.”

  “It’s not safe for women to go anywhere alone these days.” Aunt Kit pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “It’s important to be careful, but we can’t live in fear.” Although right now I was feeling pretty fearful.

  “Of the people you questioned, which one do you think could have attacked you?”

  “Any of them—male or female. Whoever it was caught me off guard, so it didn’t take much effort to get me into that closet. Once that blanket went over my head, I was disoriented.”

  Someone knocked on the front door, causing Aunt Kit to jump up. “I’ll see who’s there. Maybe I should take a fireplace poker with me in case I have to defend us.”

  She returned with Nita and Guido trailing behind her.

  “Tyrone said you were okay, but we weren’t going to be satisfied until we saw that for ourselves.” Nita reached over and petted Inky.

  Again, I was comforted I had such good friends who cared about me—and came to my rescue.

  I ran my fingers through my unruly hair, realizing that I hadn’t brushed it since the blanket did a number on me. “I look a dreadful mess, but I’m fine.”

  Guido leaned over and hugged me. “You look great. Any clues as to who attacked you?”

  I shook my head. “Detective Spangler told me to think of my five senses to see if they’d trigger a memory. I didn’t see, hear, feel, or taste anything, other than the blanket that was thrown over my head. It smelled awful.” Could it have come from someone’s trunk or Emily Thompson’s barn? “I remembered smelling an aftershave or cologne as I entered the room. Now all I have to do is come in contact with everyone in Louiston to see if I recognize that scent on someone. It could be one used by half of the people in town, so it might not be a viable clue.”

  Nita frowned. “I can’t believe someone did that to you. Are we going to have to do a background check on potential customers before we meet with them?”

  “We’ll have to be careful about who we meet and where in the future. If in doubt, we’ll go in pairs.”

  “If this is linked to one of the murders, you must have riled someone,” Guido said. “Next time you need to go somewhere that might be questionable, call me and I’ll go along. You can’t be too careful.”

  “Thanks, Guido, you’re a gem.”

  “Laura, have you recorded somewhere everything you’ve learned so far?” Nita asked. “It might be a good idea to list everyone you’ve questioned and what your conclusions are so you have a record of it. That way, if anything—”

  “You mean if anything happens to me, you’ll have a record of what I learned?”

  “Well…”

  “You’re right.” I held up a spiral notebook. “I made a few notes earlier, but I plan to add to it. Aunt Kit, I’m leaving it here for you to find if something happens to me.”

  Aunt Kit’s eyebrows shot up. “That’s supposed to comfort me? I knew nothing good was going to come from you getting involved in this. I’m not going to let you out of my sight until this whole issue is resolved.”

  Chapter 41

  Check out resale shops, antique stores, and garage sales for items to help in staging.

  I spent half the night writing down everything I could remember since I started digging into both Ian’s and Damian’s deaths, filling page after page in my notebook. Reviewing what I’d written, I still didn’t get a clear picture of who could have committed the crimes or how they could be linked.

  Checking the time, I saw it was getting late, and I needed to focus more on my home staging business and less playing amateur sleuth. Nita and I had the staging work we’d scheduled, plus the work we had committed to doing for Monica’s business.

  Since Aunt Kit had been staying with me, I’d been having breakfast with her instead of meeting Nita at Vocaro’s. Some days it was the only time we had together. She had been busy meeting old friends and spending time with Anne Williamson, who had taken a shine to Aunt Kit. They must think alike.

  I plopped my notebook on the kitchen table. “I’ve recorded everything I can remember since I got involved in this. There are plenty of suspects, but nothing that clearly points to who committed the crimes or if they are linked. It’s getting harder to prove Monica didn’t do it.”

  Aunt Kit reached for the notebook. “Do you mind if I read your notes? Maybe another set of eyes will help.”

  “Please do. I’m open to suggestions. By the way, I’m heading out to visit some resale shops this morning.”

  Today was my day to go scouting for goods. Every week I took time to do a quick walk-through of the local resale stores like those run by the Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul, and Goodwill, looking for items to add to our inventory. They were excellent sources for the furnishings and accessories we used in staging. People frequently donated quality items that I could pick up for a song. Purchasing items from these organizations was a win-win situation. It enabled me to expand our inventory and helped the organizations raise money for their programs. On the weekends I hit the yard sales and estate sales, always finding something we could use. Then there were Josh’s warehouses. But I needed a full day there.

  “Do you think it’s wise for you to go out, considering what happened to you yesterday?” Aunt Kit asked. Concern was written all over her face.

  “I have a business to run. I can’t cower indoors afraid someone might be lying in wait for me.”

  “Then perhaps I’ll go along with you.”

  “What, and trail behind me as a bodyguard?” Thinking of my older aunt jumping out to protect me made me laugh. “You already have plans today with Anne. I’ll be careful. Besides, the only trouble I can get into at the resale shops is buying too much.”

  Aunt Kit didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything further. I was touched by her concern.

  The morning sped by quickly as I went from one resale shop to another. I was on the hunt for attractive
lamps, artwork, decorative items, and anything I thought we could eventually use to make an empty home attractive to buyers. The trick was picking up things when I saw them. If I was doubtful about an item and left it, it probably wouldn’t be there if I went back later.

  At my last stop, while walking through the kitchenware area, a knife set in a wooden block caught my eye. The handles were brushed metal with a black ring around the edge. I froze in place looking at the set. The knife handles looked identical to the one I’d seen in Ian’s back when we found him. Examining the set, I saw one knife was missing.

  Surely the knife used to kill Ian couldn’t have been from this set. People lost knives in sets all the time. But the design of the knife used to kill Ian was unusual and matched this set. Could it be the same set? It would be really strange for me to come upon the knife set owned by the murderer. Stuff like that only happened in movies. Or did it? It would be a weird coincidence. But stranger things in life happened all the time.

  The knife used to kill Damian had been different. Otherwise, the police would have linked the two murders.

  If the knife that had killed Ian had come from this set, how had it ended up here? Could the killer’s prints still be on the knives or the holder? Surely the person who got rid of it would have wiped it clean of any fingerprints. Or could the killer have been so arrogant as to think no one would find the set or connect it to the murder?

  The set could be evidence. Thinking about how Detective Spangler would react to my showing up with it made me cringe, but I would put that worry aside for the moment.

  First I had to purchase the set. What a conundrum—having to purchase possible evidence. My chances of convincing the woman at the counter I was confiscating the knife set as evidence in a murder case seemed remote.

  If I picked it up, I’d be adding my fingerprints to those left on it since the killer had dumped it. Maybe I could ask the woman at the counter for a plastic bag to put around it. But I didn’t want to leave the set there in case someone walked off with it.

  A stack of cloth napkins lay among a jumble of linens on a nearby table. I grabbed two and carefully wrapped them around the wooden block and took it to the checkout counter.

  “Excuse me, could you ring this up without handling it?” I asked the clerk.

  The woman looked at me like I was trying to conceal the price. “Sure, but I need to see the price tag.”

  I carefully held the block with the napkins and turned it over to show her the price tag on the bottom.

  “That will be sixty-five dollars. Do you want those napkins as well?”

  Yikes, that was a lot, especially since one of the knives was missing. What brand was it? Oh, well. This wasn’t the time to haggle over the price. “Ah, no. I’ll take the napkins back. I didn’t want to risk cutting myself. Can I use them first to put the knife set in a bag?”

  She offered to wrap the set in paper, but I didn’t want her handling it. Again she looked at me like she was taking a chance selling knives to a nutcase like me.

  “Do you have any idea who donated this?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “All the donated items come in through the loading dock. You can check with Pete back there. He’s here most days. But it’s pretty doubtful he’ll remember who brought it in.”

  I paid her, slid the knife set and wooden block holder into a plastic bag, and took my receipt from the clerk, who still eyed me suspiciously.

  “I’ll return the napkins to the table where I’d found them.”

  She took them from me. “I’ll take them back.”

  What did she think I was going to do—stuff them in my bag? How embarrassing to be viewed as a potential shoplifter.

  I thanked her, took my bag, and slunk away, looking around for the door to the loading dock. I could have asked the clerk for directions, but I’d wanted to get away from her as soon as I could. I located a door marked Do Not Enter, figuring it would lead me to the storage/sorting room and loading dock. I pushed the door open and entered a large room piled high with every kind of item imaginable.

  Near the tall doors opening to the loading dock, two men sat in bentwood chairs. The younger of the two, who looked to be in his early twenties, lounged back with his chair tilted against the wall. As I approached, he quickly drained a Pepsi in a glass bottle, lost his balance, and his chair legs abruptly hit the floor. A much older man sat with his feet firmly planted on the grimy floor. His gray hair and stooped shoulders a sign he’d spent a lifetime carrying heavy loads. Both men looked up as I approached.

  “Hi. Is one of you Pete?”

  “That’s me.” The older man said. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just purchased a set of knives in a wooden storage block. Do either of you remember who donated the set?” I held open the plastic bag.

  The gray-haired man looked in the bag and scratched his head. “People bring lots of stuff in here. Impossible to remember who brings what.”

  The younger man leaned over and peered in the bag. He scrunched up his face in deep concentration. “I vaguely remember that set.” He sat for a few minutes pondering the item. “That mighta been the set a fellow dropped off last week. Said he saw it in a dumpster and pulled it out. I remember ’cause he yammered on about what the world was comin’ to when someone threw out a perfectly good set of knives ’cause one was missing.”

  “Did he say where he found it?”

  “He mighta said, but I don’t recall. Is it important? The knives weren’t stolen from you were they?”

  “No, they weren’t mine.” Disappointed I couldn’t find out more, I pulled one of my business cards from the bottom of my canvas bag and handed it to the young man. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you. If you remember anything more, could you please call me? The information could be vital to a murder investigation.”

  Now I needed to get the evidence to the police.

  Chapter 42

  Hang new house numbers or polish existing ones, and ensure they can be seen from the street.

  Leaving the shop, I drove immediately to the police station. I decided against going inside since I knew I couldn’t carry several knives in with me. I also didn’t want to explain to the officers at the desk why I needed to see the detective.

  Instead, I pulled out Detective Spangler’s card and punched his number into my cell phone. He answered on the third ring.

  “Spangler.”

  “Ah, Detective Spangler, this is Laura Bishop. I have something I think you need to see. I’m in my car in the lot outside. Can you come down and take a look at it? I can’t bring it into the station.”

  He covered his phone, but I still could hear murmuring in the background. “Can you wait for a few minutes? I’m in the middle of something, but I might be able to get away shortly.”

  It was a pleasant day, so I got out of my car, reached into the backseat to retrieve the bag containing the knife set, and walked over to stand in the shade of a large maple tree nearby. Anyone seeing the detective meeting me in the parking lot would assume our meeting was personal, but I didn’t care. I wanted to hand him the knife set and get back to my business. Besides, I didn’t want him looming over me as I sat in my car.

  About ten minutes later, he walked up to where I stood. “What do you have there?”

  “Good morning to you too, Detective.”

  “Sorry, it’s been a hectic morning. I ducked out of a meeting to see what you have. I hope it’s important.”

  Annoyed that he thought I might have stopped by just for a chat, I picked up the bag at my feet and thrust it to him. “Careful. It’s a knife set. Don’t reach inside the bag.”

  He looked puzzled, opened the bag, and peered inside. “A knife set?”

  “Not just any knife set. Look closely at the handles. Look familiar?”

  His eyes widened. “Yes, they do. Where did you find
this?”

  “At the resale shop down on Main Street. If you look closely, you’ll see one knife is missing. One of the employees at the shop said a man brought it in last week. Said he’d found it in a dumpster. The employee said the man told him where, but he couldn’t remember. I asked him to give me a call if the location came to mind.”

  “The knife handles have an unusual design. I’ll give you that.” He rubbed his chin with his hand.

  “Exactly.” I was starting to feel hopeful.

  “But other people in town could have the same set, and plenty of them with pieces missing. I don’t know what we gain finding this.”

  “But why would someone throw out an expensive set of knives?” I wasn’t giving up easily.

  “You got me there.”

  “If this is the set, it helps narrow the number of suspects in Ian’s case. And once we can identify his killer, we might be able to link his murder to Damian’s.”

  “There you go again with the we.”

  “Don’t you agree it narrows the search—even if only a little? If someone came from out of town intending to murder Ian, that person might have brought a knife but not a whole set. It must have been someone who lives locally.” There goes the theory that someone could have followed Ian from New Zealand. “It also shows premeditation. If Warren didn’t have a set like that at the funeral home or in his apartment upstairs, the killer had to have brought the knife with him.”

  “You are still going under the assumption that the knife came from this set. Have you considered someone could have owned a single knife with this design without owning a whole set? We have nothing to link this set to the murder. With a pretty questionable chain of custody of the evidence, I’m not sure the evidence would be admissible.”

  “What about fingerprints on it?”

  “Okay. Say the knife came from this set. Even if we got prints from it, unless we have prints in our system to match them against, they wouldn’t do us much good. We’d have to fingerprint every person in Louiston, searching for a match.”