The thought of Monica having a spiritual advisor almost made me laugh. I knew Sister Madeleine had made that up, but it’d worked. It wasn’t easy getting into the jail to visit a prisoner, as I’d discovered.
“Monica said she found Damian on the floor and instinctively pulled the knife out. I know what you saw sounds bad, but I believe her.”
Sister Madeleine was a much better person than I was. Thinking of Monica being humbled in jail gave me a sliver of satisfaction—though not enough to want to see her convicted of murder.
“Sister, I think people would be willing to give Monica the benefit of the doubt if everyone at the Arts Center hadn’t witnessed her argument with Damian and seen how angry she was. The fact that she drove to his house after he had taken her home points to her still being angry and wanting to continue the argument.”
“Or perhaps to resolve it?”
“Okay, let’s say she entered the house after someone else stabbed Damian. What happened to that person? Did he just walk away with no one catching sight of him? Did Monica see a car leaving? We didn’t see anyone fleeing the scene of the crime.”
“All I know is what Monica told me. I trust she wasn’t lying to me.”
“Accused killers lie all the time. Do you think they are going to confess as soon as they are arrested?” I braided my fingers and rested my chin on them.
“Regardless of whether you believe her guilty or innocent, Monica needs help—help you can give her. While she’s in jail, her home decorating business is going to suffer. It doesn’t take long for a small business to go under when the owner isn’t there to run things. It’s particularly bad for her because her senior assistant recently moved away. With your talent, you can help keep her business afloat until she’s released.
With Monica no longer able to do staging in town, I didn’t want to give the impression my business was benefitting from her imprisonment. Still how could I agree to help her?
“Sister, how can you expect me to help Monica? You know how I feel about her. She made my school days a misery. She never tired of taunting me about my second-hand clothing and anything else she could think about.”
“I realize that, but that was a long time ago. You are both mature adults now.”
“It isn’t just that.” I hated bringing this up because it embarrassed me that my husband had turned to other women. “I always suspected Monica had been involved with Derrick. The less I have to do with her, the better. His affairs with other women, especially Monica, ate at my heart.” Just the thought of Monica and Derrick being together caused me to shudder. I had been making plans to leave him when he was killed in a car crash—with another woman.
I thought I was dealing better with my resentment, but now I realized I’d only buried it, and so shallowly that it erupted easily. “I can’t help her.”
“What you mean is you won’t.” Sister Madeleine eyed me critically.
It was mortifying having someone I was fond of witness my refusal to help someone. And all because of my unwillingness to forgive. But I couldn’t. Why couldn’t Sister Madeleine understand that?
“There’s something else.” I moved around in my chair, trying to get more comfortable. “Recently some strange things have been happening that have been affecting my business. Trucks we’d reserved getting canceled, bad reviews popping up online about my work, and lots of other little things that I’m starting to link together. When I heard that Monica was moving into the home staging business, I started to suspect she could be responsible for those things. I haven’t told anyone else about my suspicions because I could be wrong. And I only mention it to you because I know you won’t repeat what I’m telling you.”
“Even if that were the case, and as you said, you only have suspicions, I’d hoped you’d have more compassion for Monica’s plight now.” Sister Madeleine drummed her fingers on the table, which I knew from old she meant, “Let’s get on with things.”
“There’s something else you need to think about.” Sister Madeleine gave me the stern look I remembered so well from school. “Whether you help Monica or not, your resentment toward her and your late husband is dragging you down and preventing you from moving forward.”
Chapter 17
If a room lacks a focal point, add a console table and a piece of artwork or mirror above it.
Throughout the night, I found myself thinking about my conversation with Sister Madeleine. Her words had stung. Could she be right? My feelings about Monica had been with me for so long I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t felt that way about her. I might have eventually gotten over her school days’ taunting if I hadn’t later suspected her of being involved with Derrick.
And then there was my resentment toward Derrick. Does a wife ever get over being married to someone as unfaithful—or as selfish and controlling—as Derrick had been? Derrick, with his handsome looks and charming manner, had easily attracted women willing to become involved with a married man. Was Sister Madeleine right and my feelings about him were dragging me down? Could they also be feeding my aversion to handsome men?
Sister Madeleine’s words filled my head. It was as though she had invaded my thoughts like the spirit of the dead soldier that invaded Inspector Ian Rutledge’s mind in Charles Todd’s series featuring the inspector.
It was with those thoughts in mind that I found myself that morning standing in front of the steps leading to the police station to see if I could get in to visit Monica. Sister Madeleine would never know how much my actions were costing me.
I squared my shoulders and started to climb the wide granite steps. When I reached the top step, I abruptly found myself falling toward the steps I’d just climbed. A set of arms caught me before I hit the granite, but not before we both lost our balance and ended up on the steps. Fortunately, my rescuer had twisted his body in the fall so that I landed on top of him. It took me a few seconds to catch my breath and wonder if I had broken something. It was only then that I looked up and realized that I was sitting in Detective Spangler’s lap.
If I hadn’t been so shaken, I would have sprung up and stomped away with as much hauteur as I could muster. As it was, I could only stare at him, his face just inches from mine.
“Ah, Ms. Bishop, could you move over a bit so I can get up?” A flash of pain crossed his face, and I wondered if he’d been injured in the fall.
Of all the people, in all the world, I had to end up on top of him. I rolled over onto my hands and knees and slowly pushed myself to my feet, accepting the hand he extended to help me.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Bishop. Are you okay?”
He was apologizing? I honestly couldn’t say if I was okay or not. It would probably take a few minutes for me to recover from the shock of the tumble to know for sure. When I didn’t respond, the detective opened the door to the station lobby and led me to a row of benches.
“I think I’m okay.” I sat down as gently as I could. “What happened?”
“We collided. It was my fault. I came out a side door on the landing and dashed around the corner too quickly, apparently just as you reached there.” He looked me over from head to toe as though to detect any injuries. “Are you okay?” he asked again.
“I think so. Just let me sit here for a few minutes.” I wiped my hands together and then ran them down my skirt to brush any dust away. I did it more out of nervousness than because of any actual dust. Tomorrow I’d probably be covered in bruises.
“What brings you here today?” His dark eyes with those lovely thick lashes studied me with suspicion.
“I hoped to visit Monica Heller. Sister Madeleine asked me to see how she was doing and find out if she needed anything.” I was stretching the truth a bit, but he didn’t need to know the purpose of my visit.
“Ah, Sister Madeleine—the spiritual advisor.”
So he had also been suspicious of the purpose of her visit
.
“You know we only allow family members and legal representatives to visit at this point, and if the prisoner agrees.” He peered at me intently, probably hoping I would hop up and walk away briskly to show that I changed my mind about seeing Monica. When I didn’t, he got up from his seat. “Let me see what I can do.”
I was relieved and hoped his guilty conscience about knocking me over was prompting him to help me. If it took a tumble to get in, I’d do it again.
A few minutes later, he returned. “Okay, I’ve cleared it, and she agrees to see you. If you are feeling okay, go through the doors over there. They’ll sign you in and take you back to the visiting area.”
He paused and turned back to me. “You aren’t going to get involved with this investigation, are you?”
That wasn’t my plan.
I gave him an underhanded wave to go away, hoping he would take the hint. As he walked away, I remembered my manners and called out to him. “Detective? Thank you for not knocking me all the way to the bottom of the steps.”
He grinned at me and walked through the doorway, limping a bit.
Chapter 18
Certain paint colors can help promote wellness or a sense of well-being. A home stager can help you select those colors.
The visitors’ area of the jail, covered in awful green paint, was as dismal as I remembered it. The painters hadn’t done a very good job of it either. After I showed my driver’s license and signed in, I sat where directed and waited for Monica to be seated on the other side of a glass partition.
After a few minutes, Monica sat down across from me, dressed in an orange uniform that only she could look good in. She didn’t look any more excited to see me than I was to see her.
I decided to break the ice. “What made you agree to see me?” It still surprised me that she had agreed to my visit.
“Boredom.” She looked nonchalant as though she hadn’t anything pressing on her schedule for the day. “I’d been hoping to get away from work this summer, but this place isn’t what I had in mind. Not exactly the lovely house on Nantucket I’d planned to rent.”
“It could use your touch. Maybe you can give them a few tips while you’re here.”
Her expression showed me what she thought of my suggestion. “It probably makes you happy seeing me here like this.”
“To be honest, a little.”
At that, she smiled. “Well, at least you’re honest. Did you come to gloat at my situation?”
“No. Not really.” And I meant it. Although I did enjoy thinking of her sleeping on sheets that were far from the 600-thread count or silk sheets she was accustomed to sleeping on. “Quite frankly, I came because Sister Madeleine put a guilt trip on me to see you.”
“Good old Sister Madeleine. She never gives up on her little chicks. I’m surprised she didn’t give up on me years ago.” Monica pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Her less than perfectly coiffed strands were beginning to show darker roots and would soon be announcing to the world that her natural blond hair had darkened with age and needed a little help.
“No, she doesn’t.” Seeing her touch her hair had me reflexively running my fingers through my long straight hair with added highlights.
“You were always her favorite, you know,” Monica said.
“Only because she felt sorry for me. That and because she thought I would be a perfect candidate for the convent.”
“I guess you fooled her.” Monica laughed and then became somber again. “Strange that I can still laugh. Coming in here, I didn’t think I’d ever laugh again.”
“Laughter’s the best—”
“Medicine? Sometimes. But I don’t think it’s going to help heal what’s wrong with me now.”
“It can’t hurt.”
“So now that you’re here, what do you hope to accomplish? Be able to tell everyone how awful I look?”
“Actually, I’m here more to satisfy Sister Madeleine than anything else. For some strange reason, she thinks I might be of help to you—to keep your business from going down the drain while you’re here.”
At that Monica laughed again. This time not cheerfully. “Right now, keeping my business going is the least of my worries.”
Even given our history, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “Sister Madeleine believes you didn’t kill Damian.”
“And after finding me the way you did, you do.”
“It looked pretty bad. How could we believe otherwise?”
“But I couldn’t have.”
“Why?”
Her expression softened. “Because I loved him.”
I hadn’t expected that. Monica had always been pretty selfish and cold-hearted, and it was rumored her ex-husband had gladly parted with a lot of money in a divorce settlement to be rid of her.
“Hard to believe, huh? But there was something special about Damian. He had a way of bringing out the best in me.” She waved her hand in front of her face as though to dry the tears welling up in her eyes—something women did instinctively to keep their eye makeup from running. Although, this time, she had no makeup on to run. Even without it she was still beautiful. Some women have all the luck. Although right now, her stream of luck was drying up.
Either Monica was a very good actor, or she was telling the truth. It was hard to tell. In school, I’d heard her tell some pretty bold-faced lies with an absolutely straight face.
I studied her long and hard. From what I’d read, the truth comes out pretty fast, whereas lies usually take longer. The speaker takes extra time to formulate a lie and think about how they would remember it to retrieve it in the future. Monica was showing no hesitation. But then she’d had time to formulate her story.
“Okay, I know what I saw, but tell me what happened? We heard you and Damian arguing at the Arts Center. What were you arguing about?”
“Damian hired me to decorate the house he had bought. That’s how we met. I was immediately attracted to him and was pleased he wanted to make his place comfortable and his own. That meant he planned to stay a while.
“It was exciting working with him. He has—had a terrific eye for color and design. We discovered we had a shared vision for his place, and the design soon became a collaborative effort. He gave me a deposit for the things I was ordering for the place.” Her face flushed a bright red. “I got carried away and ordered a lot more than our contract covered. Foolish, I know, but what can I say. I started envisioning it as a place I might someday share with him. Then that night at the Arts Center, he said he’d changed his mind about redecorating the house so extensively. He wouldn’t tell me why, only that I should cancel most of the things we had ordered.”
“Did you feel he didn’t like your designs?”
She looked at me as though I were crazy. Not like something she had designed?
“The design was as much a reflection of him as it was of me. He loved everything about it. That’s why I couldn’t understand his about-face. His canceling the project wasn’t only about the loss of money I’d have to absorb. I felt he was rejecting me.”
“So that’s why you told him that you couldn’t let him do that?” I recalled all too vividly her words from that night.
“Yes. I couldn’t understand his motives, and he wouldn’t explain. After he dropped me at home, I got even more upset—not angry but hurt—and decided to drive to his place to see if I could get him to explain. I needed to know, even if it meant he’d tell me that he had tired of me and wanted to sever our relationship, both professionally and personally. I couldn’t accept not knowing why.”
“When you arrived, did you see another car or anyone walking nearby?”
She shook her head and then paused. “As I neared his driveway, I saw the rear car lights of a car passing in front of his place. It could have just come down the road, or it could have pulled out of his driveway and
turned right onto the road. It was only later that I thought about it.”
“What happened when you got there?” I knew what happened, but I needed to hear it again to see if the story differed in any way from what I heard her tell Detective Spangler at the scene. I was learning from Detective Spangler’s interviewing techniques.
“It’s as I said the other night. The house was dark except for light coming from a side window, which was the kitchen. The front door was ajar. I pushed it open a little more and called his name. When he didn’t respond, I pushed it open and went in, thinking he might have been in the bathroom or somewhere he couldn’t hear me.”
She swallowed several times as though to compose herself. I wondered whether she would be able to continue.
“That’s when I saw him on the floor, only a few feet from the door.” She stopped and closed her eyes for several seconds. “When I saw the knife, all I could think was to get it out of him. I pulled at it with one hand and then realized that it would take two hands to remove it. Once I got it out, I stood up to phone for help. That’s when Nita came in. The rest you know.”
I recalled Josh’s story about Damian taking some of his own artwork and pieces done by others from his collection for him to sell. If I told her about it, would it make matters better or worse for her? “Do you think Damian could have had financial problems?”
She looked puzzled. “I don’t know. Why do you ask?”
“I saw Josh Sheridan recently. He said Damian came into Antiques and Other Things and asked him to sell several pieces of art for him. Josh was surprised and advised him to contact one of the auction houses since they could get far more for the pieces than he could. When Damian declined, Josh wondered if he could be having financial difficulties and didn’t want word getting out that he was selling some of his collection.”
“Do you think that’s why he refused to explain his reasons for canceling the project?” She sounded hopeful and tears began to flow this time. “He wasn’t rejecting me?”
Laura Bishop Cozy Mystery Boxed Set: Books 1-3 Page 30
