Dr. M was still coming at me, slipping occasionally, his hand reaching out to me. Blood streamed from his left pant leg, where his knee had come into contact with a shard from the broken jar.
He was only inches from me now, his breathing raspy. I stumbled backward, hitting the wall. Something jabbed me painfully in the back. The besom I’d hung there. Grabbing it, I swung it at Dr. M as fiercely as though I were the last batter at the World Series, hitting him squarely on the side of his head. He wavered and then plummeted to the floor, hitting his head soundly on the stone tile. I stood over him in my best batter pose, ready to swing again, but it was clear he was out for the game.
Thank you, Madam Zolta.
Leaning over with my hands resting on my knees to support myself, my breathing became labored, and I could barely stand. With each deep breath, I became all too aware of the smell of garbage still clinging to my clothes.
I also became aware of Nita and Doug standing in the doorway, a look of astonishment plastered on their faces. Detective Spangler stood right behind them.
“Where were you five minutes ago?” I choked out before slipping onto the oily floor.
Chapter 42
A professional home stager can help prepare your home so it sells faster and for more money.
“Have another piece of strawberry pie, Laura.” Mrs. Webster stood over me with a pie dish in one hand and a server in the other, poised to scoop out another slice. I inwardly groaned and let my belt out another notch, knowing Mrs. Webster wouldn’t take no for an answer. She was delighted to have Tyrone home again and was lavishing food on everyone.
It was a happy band of people gathered in Mrs. Webster’s dining room to celebrate Tyrone’s release from jail. Nita and Guido sat next to Mrs. Webster, with Doug, Warren, and me at the other end of the table, flanking Tyrone. Kayla, who had continued to believe in Tyrone when lesser young women would have been scared away, sat next to him, under Mrs. Webster’s close scrutiny. Madam Zolta sat on her chair as though it were a throne. I especially requested that she be included.
I studied Tyrone, who wore a wide grin and had been animated throughout dinner, anxious to hear everyone’s stories about the investigation. I wondered how deeply he had been scarred by his arrest and imprisonment. Time would tell. In the meantime, his other friends and I would be there to help him recover.
“What I can’t understand is how Doug and Nita knew to go to the Denton house in the first place,” Tyrone said as he took another piece of pie from his grandmother.
Mrs. Webster beamed at him in approval.
“When Laura jumped up and left me at Vocaro’s with a message for Doug, I knew something was up.” Nita relished being the center of attention. “I also realized she must have cracked the case when she said it wasn’t Warren. To know it wasn’t him, she must have discovered who it was.”
Warren flinched, but his good nature and manners prevailed. “Hey, Laura, how could you have suspected me? I’ll bet it was in revenge for not giving you a part in a production.”
“Let Nita finish,” Tyrone interrupted. “I want to hear all the details.”
Nita flashed Warren an impatient look. “When Doug came in, I gave him the message and told him Laura had rushed off to the Denton house. He asked me what made her leave, since they had planned to meet that morning. When I said she had acted strangely when Warren called Dr. M ‘Nick,’ Doug nearly jumped out of his chair as well.”
“It fell into place almost right away,” Doug picked up the tale. “The night before, Laura showed me the faxed papers she’d found. Like Laura, hearing the name Nick in connection with Jack Malcolm helped me put two and two together. I wasn’t taking any chances and called Spangler to meet us at the Denton house.”
“Doug insisted he was going up there, and I wouldn’t let him go without me,” Nita said. “Fortunately, Doug had a key, so we let ourselves in.”
“I wish you could have gotten there sooner,” I said. “Then I wouldn’t have had to bash Dr. M in the head.”
“How’s he doing, anyway?” Mrs. Webster didn’t show any real concern for his condition.
“He’ll survive.” Nita shook her head as though trying to dispel the image of Dr. M in jail. “The gash on his knee was far worse than the bump on his head. He’s officially been charged with Victoria’s death.”
“What I can’t understand is why he pushed Victoria down the laundry chute,” Tyrone said.
“Detective Spangler explained why.” All eyes were on me. “Dr. M confessed he was so upset with her bleeding him financially, he struck her in anger, and when he realized what he had done, he dropped her down the chute—as though disposing of his problems. It was a whim.”
“What confuses me was why Dr. M accused Cora of ramming into you.” Doug looked at me.
“He said he saw Cora follow me out of the lot. Driving behind us, he saw what she was doing, which was when he got the idea of trying to scare me off.”
“Why would he blame Cora?” Mrs. Webster circled the table with a pot of coffee in her hand. “He’s already in so much trouble, it won’t help him.”
“Because it was Cora. Detective Spangler said Cora admitted to it. She was convinced I was at the auditorium questioning Warren about her because I’d witnessed her argument with Victoria. She was worried I suspected her of the crime. She knew she wasn’t guilty, but she wasn’t so sure about her husband, Norman. She thought Norman might have wanted to silence Victoria. When she followed me, she decided to frighten me so I would stop questioning people.”
“You risked a lot to help me, Laura.” Tyrone beamed at me.
“I’m relieved it’s over and you’re finally free.” I put down my cup in time to feel Mrs. Webster’s warm embrace.
“I knew you could do it, girl. The Lord guided me to you, and you didn’t let us down.”
I choked back my emotions. I hadn’t thought I could do it, but now it was over, I was more amazed than anyone that I had, in fact, found the killer. Maybe, as Mrs. Webster had promised, the Lord had given me all the help I needed.
“Gran is right.” Tyrone shook his head. “For a while, I believed I was a goner. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be designing sets for the Penitentiary Players. I can’t thank you enough, Laura.”
“Speaking of thanks, I’d like to thank Madam Zolta not only for sweeping the Denton house of negativity but also for helping to save my life. If it hadn’t been for her, I wouldn’t have had the besom I used to defend myself.”
Madam Zolta sat, grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you, my dear. That’s kind of you to say. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it was Dr. Malcolm’s energies next door I was sensing.”
Mrs. Webster rolled her eyes. So that’s where Tyrone got it. I smiled at her and whispered, “Remember, ‘the Lord sends us helpers to overcome our difficulties.’”
Mrs. Webster nodded in agreement and smiled.
“I’ve made one decision as a result of all this.” All eyes stared at me with curiosity. “I’m not waiting until I can afford it. I’m getting a new cell phone now.”
My friends laughed.
“It’s about time,” Guido said.
“With this check from Skip Denton for the final payment on the staging, you can well afford it.” Doug handed me a check. I was astounded at the amount, which was far more than Skip and I had agreed to.
Doug held up his glass. “I’d like to raise a glass and toast Laura Bishop, who helped sell the Denton house. We received an excellent offer on the house, far more than we ever expected. Thanks to Laura, the staging more than paid for itself. Thank you.”
The group broke out in cheers and clicked glasses.
“You mean it sold already?” I was astonished and quite pleased. The wicked side of me couldn’t wait to hear how Monica would react to the news that my staging had been so successful.
Doug co
ntinued. “A couple from Pittsburgh fell in love with it and are buying it, furniture and all. They intend to turn it into a bed and breakfast.”
“That’s terrific. It would make the perfect B&B.” I waved the check and whispered to Tyrone. “We have money.”
“That’s your money, Laura. I wasn’t there to do the job.” He spoke so softly only I could hear him. Again, I wondered about those scars.
“Nonsense. You worked hard on the house, and I completed the work based on your designs, so we both benefit. I’m sorry we weren’t able to solve the crime before the Quincy Scholarship committee made its decision.”
“There’s always next year.” Tyrone was ever the optimist.
The doorbell rang, and Mrs. Webster disappeared to answer it. I heard voices coming from the front door but was too busy talking to pay much attention to them.
Mrs. Webster stood in the doorway. “Laura, there’s someone here to see you.”
Curious, I looked up and my jaw dropped. Detective Spangler stood there, supporting a tired-looking, but very much alive, Will Parker.
“What? But they said you were dead.”
“You can’t hold a good man down.” Will sank gratefully into the chair Tyrone brought for him. “Detective Spangler here came up with the idea to say I was dead.”
Everyone turned to Spangler. “Laura insisted Will was in danger. When someone attempted to kill him, again, we decided the best way to protect him was to let everyone think he was dead. We got his daughter’s permission and then spread the word at Vocaro’s, hoping it would get to the right ears. We didn’t want to make it too official by putting it in the papers. If it backfired on us, we could say it was a rumor.”
“That dang car hit me from behind.” Will looked ready to tear someone’s head off. “When I finally come to, I wouldn’t have been able to identify the driver anyway.”
All this time I thought I’d helped cause his death. Seeing Will alive, the guilt lifted from my shoulders. It truly was a happy day.
Everyone started talking at once.
Warren waved his hand to get everyone’s attention. “Since I’m no longer a murder suspect, can I say a few words?”
“Of course.” I wagged my finger at Warren, still remembering the stunt he pulled in the library.
“We’re very pleased to have Will back among the living. On another note, Tyrone, you’ll be happy to know the head of the Theater Arts Department at the college was greatly impressed with the sets you created for our production of Arsenic and Old Lace. So much so, he wants you to design the sets for their next production.”
Tyrone let out a surprised breath before bursting into a broad grin. Mrs. Webster, standing behind him, squeezed his shoulders.
“There’s more.” Warren said. “And this is the best part. The brother of the department head is a producer. When he comes into town to see the college productions, he brings along a lot of folks from Broadway.”
“It seems this cloud has a silver lining.” Doug raised his glass in a toast.
“Wow, it certainly does.” Tyrone looked as though he was still trying to get used to the idea he was now a free man, and one with a bright future.
“The only unhappy person here today is Nita,” said Guido. “With Malcolm now in the clink, she no longer has a job.”
“Oh yes, she does,” I said. “Staging for You is going to be quite busy now that we have a reputation, and I’m going to need a lot of help. Nita, are you game?”
“Absolutely. But are all the houses we stage going to involve this much drama?”
“That remains to be seen.” I rubbed my hands together. “That remains to be seen.”
THE END
(Book #1)
STAGING WARS
A Laura Bishop #2
Grace Topping
Copyright
STAGING WARS
A Laura Bishop Mystery
Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection
First Edition | April 2020
Henery Press, LLC
www.henerypress.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, LLC, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Copyright © 2020 by Grace Topping
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-591-8
Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-592-5
Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-593-2
Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-594-9
Printed in the United States of America
To Terryl Paiste, Martha Huston, Antoinette Pavone,
Susan McNally, and Sandra Pierce.
Friends, mentors, and book club members.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a second book can be more daunting than writing the first one. I appreciate more than I can say the encouragement, advice, and help I received from Connie Berry, Ellen Byron, Kait Carson, Annette Dashofy, Ellen Dubin, Lin Fischer, Kaye George, Lynn Heverly, Rhea Killinger, Libby Klein, Joan Long, Shari Randall, Kathy Reardon, and Barbara Sicola.
Thank you to the members of the Sisters in Crime Chesapeake and Guppies Chapters; my agent, Dawn Dowdle of the Blue Ridge Literary Agency; my editor, Maria Edwards; and everyone at Henery Press.
And a special thank you to my husband, John, and daughters, Lesley McArthur and Laura Goulet, for their loving support.
Chapter 1
A certified home stager will help you sell your home quickly and for more money.
“There’s a body in Hendricks Funeral Home!”
I looked up to see my friend, Nita Martino, racing toward me. Her face was flushed and her voice raspy and breathless. Minutes before she had been handing out pamphlets about our business, Staging for You, and laughing as she talked to people gathering in the town square for the Louiston Small Business Fair. Now her smile was gone and her eyes looked wild and confused.
Grasping the table for support, she gulped for air and sputtered, “In the home—a body.”
“Well, it is a funeral home.” I tried not to laugh, knowing how Nita avoided them ever since two of her brothers had locked her in a viewing room during a family funeral.
Our position in front of the old Victorian building wouldn’t have been my first choice to place our table at the fair, but it had the advantage of shade from large trees fronting the funeral home and a restroom inside, where Nita had slipped away to visit.
“This one has a knife in its back.”
I stared at Nita, wondering if my friend, who possessed a wicked sense of humor, was trying to pull me into another one of her zany escapades. Seeing the look of shock and disbelief on her face convinced me otherwise.
Shaking myself, I turned to Mrs. Webster, who helped occasionally with my home staging business. “Can you stay with Nita while I check on this?”
“Not on your life, girl. I’m coming too.” The spry older woman jumped from her chair with more vim and vigor than would be expected of an elderly grandmother. Nita followed right behind her.
We dashed up the steps to the large Victorian home that had been a funeral home for more years than anyone could remember. Once inside, I paused in the foyer long enough for my eyes to adjust to the dim light and then scanned the large rooms on either side of the hall, looking for a body. The fragrance of carnations permeated the building, even with no flowers present. Every time I smelled carnations I thought of funerals.
Seeing nothing, I continued down the c
enter hallway, stopped, and stood rigid—Mrs. Webster plowing into me at my sudden stop.
At the end of the hall lay a man prostrate on the floor with a long-handled knife encased in the middle of his back. Nita hadn’t been playing a joke on us.
When we reached him, Mrs. Webster, a retired nurse, leaned over and placed her fingertips along the man’s neck, while I dug in my pocket for my cell phone. After a few seconds, she shook her head—a sure sign the man was dead. I didn’t know how anyone with what looked like a large kitchen knife in his back could survive, but people have survived worse. Unfortunately, in this case he hadn’t.
I felt numb. Nita came up behind me. “Is he dead?” Her voice wavered. It wasn’t every day you stumbled on a body, much less one with a knife in its back.
I nodded and punched 911 on my cell phone and waited for someone to answer. Remembering how I had fallen apart when faced with a recent death, I forced myself to speak calmly.
“This is Laura Bishop. I’m at Hendricks Funeral Home. We’ve found a man on the floor. He’s been stabbed in the back.”
“Are you okay, Laura? Is there anyone with you?” I easily recognized the voice of Patty Charles, Louiston’s senior dispatcher, and put her on speakerphone so the others could hear her.
“Nita Martino and Mariah Webster are here with me.”
“Good. Is the man breathing?”
“No. Mrs. Webster checked his pulse, examined him, and said he’s dead.”
“Can she start chest compressions until the EMTs get there?” Patty asked.
Mrs. Webster leaned closer to my phone. “Patty Charles, I said he’s dead. No EMT is going to revive him. He’s got a large knife dead center of his back.” We all grimaced at her unintended pun.
Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 23
