Staging is Murder

by Grace Topping

  Nita and I sat quietly sipping the remains of our coffee. When we finished, Nita deposited the empty containers in the trash can. “Before I head back to work, can you give me the grand tour so I can take some photos?”

  As we went through the house, Nita took more shots than I would ever need, but she was enjoying herself so much I didn’t have the heart to say anything. When we walked onto the patio, I noticed the decorative coasters I’d placed on a table earlier were no longer there. I looked down to see if they had been knocked off the table, but there was no sign of them. I shrugged and wondered if I’d taken them inside the house.

  When we returned to the kitchen, Nita rubbed her arms and shuddered. “This place feels like Victoria’s spirit hasn’t left yet. It’s giving me the creeps.”

  “I know what you mean. It was uncomfortable coming back here.”

  Nita stood at the front door, staring back into the house. “Hmm. I may have just the solution for this problem. Let me think about it.”

  I held up a warning hand. “Nita, I already have enough to deal with.” I remembered all too well how Nita’s adventurous spirit had gotten us into trouble in the past. I had been Ethel to her Lucy.

  “Trust me.” She dashed toward her VW parked in the front driveway, got in, and rolled down her window. “Have I ever led you astray?”

  “All too many times.”

  Going back into the house, I closed and locked the front door. Our discussion about the laundry chute prompted me to check it out. Someone had shoved Victoria into it. How difficult would that have been to do? She had been tiny, weighing no more than a hundred pounds, the equivalent of twenty five-pound bags of sugar. Thinking of it that way, I realized it would have taken someone with strength to hoist Victoria into the chute.

  That is, if one person had done it, something I hadn’t thought of before. What if more than one person had been involved?

  Bolstering my courage, I pulled open the door to the chute, carefully leaned over the opening, and forced myself to peer into it. It was dark below, so I was unable to see the basement floor where Victoria had landed. Then it hit me. I had been in the house with Victoria’s killer. My knees began to feel wobbly. Being so focused on Victoria’s death and Tyrone’s arrest, I hadn’t given much thought to the killer. Could the killer suspect I might have seen him, her, or even them?

  My stomach growled. Looking at my watch, I realized it was well after five. No wonder I was hungry. It had been a while since my early lunch with Nita. I started to gather my things to leave when I heard the door chimes sound for the second time that day. Opening the door, I found Nita there again, this time standing next to a small, wizened woman with masses of wild gray curls poking out from a kerchief tied at the back of her neck in an Eastern European fashion. The woman held an old-fashioned broom in her right hand.

  “Hey, Laura, this is Madam Zolta. She’s going to rid the house of Victoria’s spirit and sweep out the negativity.” Nita stood there looking quite smug.

  A nervous tremor coursed through me. Madam Zolta was a local psychic who had opened her practice years ago and had become an institution in Louiston. From the time I’d been a little girl and had occasion to be near Madam Zolta’s small house with its large, orange neon hand above the door, I raced past it, afraid she would come out and snatch me. When I’d been naughty, my mother threatened to have Madam Zolta come get me if I didn’t behave. Madam Zolta wasn’t one of my favorite people.

  Before I could react, Madam Zolta brushed past me in the doorway and headed inside. “Don’t you worry, darling. I’ll have Victoria’s spirit out of here in no time.” Hearing her husky voice and thick accent, which could place her origins anywhere from Hungary to Brooklyn, I could almost believe a relative of Zsa Zsa Gabor had just swept in.

  “Nita, are you crazy?” I whispered as Madam Zolta walked through the foyer and into the living room. “There are no spirits here, and if there were, I doubt this stuff would work. Besides, what would Sister Madeleine say if she knew we were involved with something like this?”

  “We won’t tell her,” Nita whispered back.

  I threw up my hands in exasperation. It wasn’t the first time Nita had pulled me into one of her harebrained schemes, and when she did, we both usually ended up in hot water.

  Nita followed Madam Zolta into the living room, with me trailing behind her. “Don’t you remember the problems Angelo and Rosie had in the first house they bought? They could never get the kids to sleep there until Madam Zolta swept away the lingering spirits. She’s the real thing.”

  I was far from convinced. “Just how much is this real thing going to cost us?”

  Madam Zolta popped up behind us. “I never charge anyone for sweeping out negativity. It’s something essential I do. Kinda like what you would call a public service.”

  “See, how can you distrust a person who isn’t even going to charge you?” Nita asked.

  Anxious to get home, I watched Madam Zolta survey the place and wondered how long this was going to take. “What is she going to do?”

  Nita pointed to the broom Madam Zolta had begun swinging from side to side. “That’s her besom. She’ll use that to sweep the house, pushing out any lingering spirits and all negativity.”

  “According to tradition, we should be doing this on the night of a full moon,” Madam Zolta muttered. “The moon is still waning, so it should work. If not, I’ll come back and burn a little sage. That’ll do it.”

  I tried not to roll my eyes, especially after telling Tyrone not to, and wished I were home taking a hot, relaxing bath. Nita was going to drive me to drink, and all I owned was a bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry.

  “I’m going to start at the back of the house and, going widdershins, I’ll sweep each room, moving toward the front door.”

  “Widdershins?” I asked.

  “Widdershins. It means counterclockwise.” Madam Zolta demonstrated by making small circles with the besom. “While I’m sweeping, we should all envision the negativity being swept away.”

  I studied the besom in Madam Zolta’s hand. It was beautifully crafted with a slightly bent and highly polished handle and natural bristles. Definitely not a prop she’d picked up at Walmart. As Madam Zolta swung the besom from side to side, a leather thong at the top of the handle flapped. Always the decorator, I envisioned it hanging decoratively on the kitchen wall and thought of the perfect spot for it.

  “Are you envisioning the negativity being swept away?” Madam Zolta demanded, like a teacher pulling her young students’ attention back to the lesson. “We all must focus.”

  Was she reading my mind? I pulled Nita into the hall and whispered, “This is plain silly. Victoria’s spirit is not here and—”

  “Do you really feel comfortable here?” Nita asked.

  I shook my head, having to admit being back in the house following Victoria’s death was unnerving. But I didn’t think this hocus-pocus was going to help me deal with that. It would take a burly security guard standing at the front door to make me feel comfortable there again.

  “Unless you have a better idea, it’s worth giving the old methods a try. Grandma Filomena told me the people in Sicily used to put a broom outside their door on Midsummer’s Eve to ward off any wickedness that might come knocking.”

  “Out! Out! Out!” Madam Zolta boomed, her voice filling the room. “Victoria, you must leave! Out! Out! Out!”

  When I jumped, Madam Zolta explained more softly, “You must be forceful. Otherwise, she can sense your uncertainty and won’t leave. From my dealings with Victoria Denton, gentle prodding isn’t going to budge her.”

  Madam Zolta swept the room. “Come on, dears. Swing your arms to churn up the air and shout, Out! Out! Out! We need to put some force into this.”

  Nita followed Madam Zolta into the hall. I was tempted to plop into one of the comfortable living room
chairs and wait for them, but I didn’t want to embarrass or disappoint Nita, who was only trying to help. I followed behind them, feeling very stupid, and tried to get into the spirit of things. I grimaced at the thought. At the same time, I berated myself for being so easily led into things. If I weren’t such a people pleaser, I wouldn’t be chasing out spirits. I also wouldn’t have given into Mrs. Webster’s plea for help and now be faced with investigating Victoria’s murder.

  When Nita and Madam Zolta went down into the basement, I was a coward and stayed in the kitchen. I didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits, but with the image of Victoria lying on the floor still fresh in my memory, nothing would compel me to go down there. I also would rather avoid any creepy crawlers we might come into contact with.

  When Madam Zolta finished all the rooms and stood near the front door, she paused and let out a loud sigh that sounded as though all the breath and energy had been expelled from her body, and then she slumped. “Victoria’s spirit is gone.”

  “That’s a relief.” Nita looked at me with a satisfied expression.

  Madam Zolta, however, didn’t appear happy and stood there frowning. “Something doesn’t feel right.” She paced up and down the hall, looking bewildered.

  “I’m sensing evil lurking here or close by. A male figure, living, not spirit.” Abruptly, she thrust the besom at me. “Keep this by the door. I don’t usually give these away, but you’ll need it to help protect this house from unwanted outside energies.”

  Oh, great, a broom to protect me. Was that the gimmick? We didn’t pay for the sweeping, but the besom cost a fortune? What next, a string of garlic to hang around my neck?

  Again, as though reading my thoughts, Madam Zolta said, “No, darling, it’s free. From what I’m sensing, you’re going to need it. I’m really supposed to burn the besom after a ceremony like this, but since they are so expensive, and in these tough times, I simply give them a quick wash to cleanse them. Where’s your bucket?”

  “I’ll look,” Nita offered, quickly going in search of a bucket.

  When they finished with the besom cleansing, Madam Zolta looked around one last time. “It might be better if we burned some sage, but I didn’t bring any with me. Nita, if you’ll bring me back—”

  “That’s okay. I can manage to burn sage. Thank you anyway.” I was anxious to get them out of the house so I could go home. I courteously thanked Madam Zolta for her efforts and waved goodbye as Nita drove them away in her VW bug.

  Sweeping away negativity. What next? If this worked, I might consider having Madam Zolta sweep through my house. Despite my efforts to fill my home only with items that made me happy, I often sensed my mother’s disgruntled spirit there.

  Before closing and locking the front door behind me, I walked around the front foyer and down the hall to the other rooms, wondering about the evil Madam Zolta warned still lurked nearby. What nonsense. But, as I turned to leave, I took a final peek to ensure the besom by the door was in place. No sense taking any chances.

  Chapter 12

  Clear out excess items from kitchen cupboards and neatly rearrange what remains to make the cupboards look spacious. Slowly deplete pantry supplies to show more space. Crowded cupboards give buyers the impressions your kitchen has limited storage.

  When the home phone rang early the next morning, I stared at the display screen, not seeing a number displayed. A lot of good caller ID was when a call displayed Private Name, Private Number. I didn’t like answering calls if I couldn’t determine who was calling and usually let them go to voicemail, but now that I was in business, it could be a potential customer. It could also be something related to Tyrone, so I answered.

  “Hello. Staging for You. How can I help you?”

  “Is this Ms. Bishop?” It was a young female with a hesitant voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I have some important information about Tyrone Webster. About where he was the night, uh, Victoria Denton was murdered.”

  My hopes rose, but I tried to keep them in check. “Who is this?”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t want to say anything over the phone. Can you meet me so we can talk about it?”

  I frowned, my suspicions mounting. “Meet? Can you tell me what this is all about?”

  “No. Just please come meet me. It’s important.” The voice was becoming anxious. “I’ll explain everything then.”

  My first instinct was to say no, but this was about Tyrone. In an instant, I decided to meet the young women, but with caution. “All right. I’ll meet you, but at the place I select.”

  “Terrific.”

  “I’ll meet you inside the entrance of Turner’s Grocery at noon. Can you meet then?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I could almost hear the relief in the young woman’s voice. “How will I know you?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll find you.” With that, the young woman hung up.

  I didn’t feel comfortable with the meeting, but there would be lots of people around, and if the meeting came to nothing, at least I could find something for dinner and stock up on pantry supplies, especially cat food for Inky. He wouldn’t eat just anything. While I’d been focusing on my work at the Denton house and my investigation, the cupboard had become bare. M. C. Beaton’s Agatha Raisin frequently had this problem and lived mostly on microwave dinners. I didn’t want to reach that point.

  I arrived at the store early so I could reconnoiter before the meeting time. Once inside, I strode up and down the store aisles, looking for anyone who appeared suspicious. When I was satisfied the elderly couple picking through the display of frozen vegetables and the teenaged boy studying the selection of acne medication weren’t a threat to me, I positioned myself near the entrance of the store. Each time the doors swung open, I looked up hopeful it was the young woman I was to meet. I was anxious to hear what she had to say about Tyrone and hoped it would be something that would help him and not make things worse.

  When the time for our meeting came and went, I found myself tapping my foot in annoyance, wondering if someone was playing a practical joke on me. I hoped it wasn’t a ploy by someone who was now emptying my house of all my possessions. If the young woman truly had something to tell me about Tyrone, why hadn’t she shown up? Thinking my long wait might be viewed as suspicious, I picked up a can of Campbell’s soup on display and pretended to read the label.

  “Ms. Bishop?”

  I looked up. A young woman stood next to me, a timid expression on her face as though she wasn’t sure she should approach me.

  “Yes?” I didn’t recognize her, although she seemed familiar.

  “I’m Kayla, Tyrone’s girlfriend. I’m the one who called you.”

  My relief at having the girl arrive at last was palpable. If she had information about Tyrone, I was anxious to talk to her.

  “Kayla. Of course. I’ve been in such a daze, I didn’t recognize you.” I hoped my excuse for not recognizing her sounded believable. Tyrone had dated a number of young women, and I’d stopped trying to keep them straight. Recently, though, he had been talking about Kayla more than any of the other young women who came into Vocaro’s, more to see Tyrone than for coffee. Tyrone, with his handsome looks and friendly banter, was certainly good for business, if the steady stream of coeds from nearby Fischer College was any indication.

  “I was wondering if you’ve heard how Tyrone is doing. I went down to the jail to see him, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

  Was that the reason for all this secrecy? To find out how Tyrone was doing? I hoped disappointment didn’t show on my face.

  “I thought of going to see his grandmother, but I didn’t want to bother her.”

  If I were a young woman interested in Tyrone, I wouldn’t have the courage to approach Mariah Webster either. She was very protective of Tyrone and suspicious of any young woman who could interfere with his
education.

  “I haven’t been able to get in to see him either, but I’m working on it.” I stood with my arms crossed and waited for Kayla to continue.

  “I’m sorry for asking you to meet like this. My mom would hassle me if she knew I was inquiring about Tyrone. She told me to stay away from him, that he’s a killer. I know he didn’t kill Mrs. Denton.” Her eyes filled up with tears. “Tyrone is so gentle…”

  I put my hand on Kayla’s arm to comfort her. “I’m glad you believe in Tyrone. He needs loyal friends.”

  “It’s more than that. He couldn’t have done it because, well…he was with me.” She raised her head defiantly.

  My hopes rose again. This was what Tyrone needed. An alibi for the evening Victoria was murdered. That would mean Tyrone would be freed, and, best of all, I wouldn’t have to continue investigating the murder.

  “Have you reported this to the police? You should tell Detective Spangler.”

  “Ah, no. I was kinda hoping you’d tell him for me.”

  “Me?” I shouldn’t have been surprised the young girl didn’t want to see Detective Spangler. I didn’t want to see him again myself.

  “You’ve always looked out for Tyrone, and he says nice things about you.”

  As I studied Kayla’s face, I became suspicious. “Where were you with Tyrone that evening?”

  “He was at my house. Yes, that’s where he was.”

  “With your mother there?” I studied Kayla’s startled look for a long moment and then asked her gently, “He wasn’t there though, was he?

  Kayla looked down and studied her Tory Burch ballet flats as though they were the most important things in the world. She eventually looked up again and sighed. “No, he wasn’t. Since I know he couldn’t have done it, what could it hurt if you told the police he was with me?”

  “For a start, it would be a lie, and if you lied under oath, they could charge you for perjury. Then you’d both be in trouble. Tyrone wouldn’t want you to go to jail trying to help him. Knowing you believe in him will help him more.”