Staging is Murder

by Grace Topping

  “I didn’t think about that. I guess I shouldn’t have suggested it, but I’m so worried about him.” Kayla scrunched her shoulders like a turtle pulling its head into its protective shell. “Do you think he did it?” she whispered, as though seeking confirmation of what she believed.

  “Absolutely not.” I spoke with more force than I intended—to dispel any doubts Kayla might have. I gathered Kayla was having a hard time holding out against her mother’s belief that Tyrone was guilty. I couldn’t blame her for wanting to protect Kayla by keeping her away from an accused murderer.

  “I knew you’d say that.” Kayla looked relieved. “Do you think if I wrote him a letter, they’d give it to him? I tried texting him, but I get no response.”

  “They more than likely took his phone away. If you write, they may open it to make sure you haven’t sent something he shouldn’t get, so be careful what you say.”

  Kayla blushed. It made me so glad I wasn’t her age anymore.

  “I’ll try again to see him somehow. When I do, I’ll tell him you’re anxious for him to be released.”

  “Would you?” A smile appeared on Kayla’s face for the first time. “That’d be terrific.”

  I walked away disappointed Kayla’s information had come to nothing, but pleased Tyrone’s friends weren’t deserting him. Now all I had to do was find a way to get into the jail.

  Chapter 13

  If you paint the walls, be careful with the colors you select. Colors can affect mood. Pick colors that are neutral and not taste specific. Blues and grays can make a room feel restful. Yellows and warm colors will make a room energizing.

  I put my arm around Mrs. Webster’s narrow shoulders and whispered, “Now, remember, lean heavily on me and act like your legs would buckle if I let go.”

  We were walking into the city jail so I could see Tyrone. Upon applying to visit him, I’d been told firmly again that only family or a legal representative could gain admittance. I decided they made up the rules based on the prisoner or visitor. Obviously, I didn’t have much sway in the community.

  Mrs. Webster had visited Tyrone before, and I hoped a different officer would be on the desk this time. I also hoped Detective Spangler wasn’t around today.

  As we approached the front desk, I nearly fell sideways as Mrs. Webster sagged in my arms and gave me her full weight. I could barely hold her up. She was being too good an actress.

  “I’m here to visit my grandson, Tyrone Webster. This here’s my niece.” She gave the officer a firm look, daring him to challenge the relationship. As many an individual in Louiston had learned over the years, Mrs. Webster was a force to be reckoned with. Although Officer Nguyen looked startled seeing Mrs. Webster’s mahogany complexion and my pale skin, he was wise enough to recognize that force.

  I was surprised by the declaration. It hadn’t been in our plan, and I barely managed to keep a straight face.

  Mrs. Webster continued, “My niece was kind enough to bring me here. I can’t manage to walk without her.”

  Grabbing his keys, Officer Nguyen quickly led us to the visitors’ room and told us to wait there. He kept looking over his shoulder as he scurried away.

  If we hadn’t already been depressed about Tyrone’s situation, the waiting area would have depressed us. It reflected the misery of the people coming there. The dismal green walls looked as though they had been painted with split pea soup and the furniture designed for torture. The designer in me imagined how much more cheerful yellow or any other color would be, both for the prisoners and for the families who came to visit them.

  After a few minutes, Officer Nguyen escorted Tyrone into a small booth on the other side of a partition separating the two areas. Tyrone looked tired and uncomfortable in his orange prison uniform. His shoulders slumped so much as to make him look much shorter than usual. However, his broad smile showed how pleased he was to see us.

  Anxiety about how I could help him built within me, and my stomach churned. I could only imagine how Mrs. Webster must be feeling.

  “Hello, Gran. Hey, Laura. Thanks a lot for coming. You feeling okay, Gran?” Tyrone looked concerned.

  “Don’t worry about me, young man, I’m doing fine. We’re here to see about you. You’re looking a bit thin. Are they feeding you enough?”

  I knew Mrs. Webster was hiding her feelings well. Food was a safe enough subject and a good icebreaker.

  “Yes, ma’am, they are. Though, the cooking isn’t anywhere near as good as yours.”

  Mrs. Webster sniffed. “I wouldn’t think so. I’d bring you some of my peach cobbler, but they won’t let me bring in anything.”

  “I sure would enjoy it. The cooks here could sure use some lessons from you.”

  Mrs. Webster removed the hat she was never without and placed it in her lap. “Let’s focus on getting you out of here.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He turned to me. “How’s the staging going? I’m sorry to let you down—”

  “You haven’t let me down. This is all a horrendous mistake, but we’re doing everything we can to get you cleared and released. Just think of this as an opportunity to do research. If you ever need to design a theater set with a prison scene, you’ll know how to make it appear authentic.”

  “Then you believe I didn’t kill Victoria?” He looked at me anxiously.

  “I never doubted you for a second. Kayla believes you’re innocent as well.”

  “You talked to her?” Tyrone’s smile lit up his face, and, for the first time, he looked cheerful.

  I nodded.

  Mrs. Webster’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s Kayla?”

  “A friend from Vocaro’s,” I said quickly. “All Tyrone’s friends are asking about him. Also, Warren’s anxious for Tyrone to get back to work on the stage sets.”

  “That’s good to know.” Mrs. Webster seemed to be mollified.

  “What I don’t understand is what were you doing on Battlement Drive that evening?” I asked Tyrone. “I thought you’d gone home.”

  “I know. It was really stupid. After I left you, I got a ride home. I couldn’t face Gran in a bad mood, so I decided to go for a run. I slipped into the house, changed clothes, and got out before she could notice me. As I ran, I started wondering if I talked to Mrs. Denton again, maybe I could make it good with her somehow. It was only when I got close to the house that I lost my nerve and turned back down Battlement Drive. Gran had already gone to bed when I got home.”

  “I learned a long time ago not to wait up for him. I wish now I had.” Regret was obvious in Mrs. Webster’s voice.

  I reached over and took Mrs. Webster’s hand to comfort her. “It wouldn’t have changed anything. With someone seeing him near Victoria’s house close to the time of the murder, and him admitting he was there, you hearing him come in later wouldn’t have given him an alibi.”

  “Do you think Mr. Wojdakowski can get me out of here soon?” Tyrone rocked back and forth in his seat, giving away that he was more anxious than he let on.

  “I wish I could promise—”

  “Laura’s going to find the murderer,” Mrs. Webster declared. “I prayed on it.”

  “You are?” Tyrone gazed at me in surprise. “If anyone can do it, you can.”

  What faith those two had. I could understand their belief in heavenly guidance, but their confidence in me was humbling. I worried about disappointing them.

  “Tyrone, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. I promised your grandmother I would do what I could, but there’s no guarantee I’ll have any luck. I also have to figure out how to even go about this. I don’t have any experience solving crimes.”

  My comments didn’t seem to diminish Tyrone’s confidence. “You helped me once before. I know you can do it again. How can I help?”

  “Think, Tyrone. When you were nearing Victoria’s house, did you see anyone coming or going.
Did anything strike you as unusual for that area?”

  Tyrone sat there quietly for a long moment as though searching his memory for anything unusual that evening. “I don’t think so. An occasional car drove by, but nothing else. At the time, there was no reason for me to pay any attention. I wish I had.”

  “You couldn’t have known. If the killer was someone unconnected to Victoria who got into the house searching for valuables, I don’t know if the person could ever be found.”

  “Do you think it could have been a burglar?”

  “While I was in the kitchen and then down in the basement, Victoria might have discovered an intruder and challenged him. But who would know what’s missing? Victoria can’t tell us, and if it was something Victoria obtained after Skip Denton moved out, he wouldn’t know either.”

  “Visiting time is over,” a crackling voice announced over a speaker.

  As we said our goodbyes, I held back when Mrs. Webster walked away. The brave smile on Tyrone’s face faded, replaced by a look of fear he’d hidden from his grandmother.

  “Listen, Laura, do you think you’ll be able to help me? I’ve got to get out of here—back to school before the scholarship panel makes its decision. You know how much I need that scholarship.”

  I studied his face and sighed inwardly. How like a young person to be focused on his education, while I was worried about him going to prison for life.

  “I’m going to do everything I can, but you’ve got to realize I’m only an amateur.”

  “I appreciate anything you can do for me, but please be careful. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. Whoever the killer is could come after you if he feels threatened.”

  “I plan to stay out of danger.” I shuddered and fervently hoped I could avoid it.

  The thought I could have been the victim of the intruder instead of Victoria shook me again. It made it harder to face going back to the house each day. I’d made a promise to Skip to complete the work, and I planned to keep it. My promises were dragging me deeper and deeper into trouble. This was my first job in a new business, and my future success depended on my completing it, danger or no danger. I also wanted the satisfaction of proving Doug Hamilton wrong.

  Chapter 14

  You only get one chance to make a good first impression. Brighten the outside of your home by power-washing sidewalks, driveways, decks, and patios. Also add plants to flowerbeds and dark mulch to provide a crisp, rich contrast.

  I took advantage of the warm day and opened all the windows in the Denton house to remove the smell of paint and the stale air that had accumulated over the winter. I also decided to do some work outside, hoping the fresh air and activity would clear my mind. The meeting the day before with Tyrone had caused me to have another restless night as I tried to develop an approach to conducting a murder investigation. Maybe I should search Google for a plan. How to trap a murderer? Suspects you may not have considered. Questions to ask suspects. Surely there was something online that could help me.

  The thought of Tyrone sitting in jail bothered me. Also, trying to find the time to help him while meeting my staging deadline was creating havoc with my stress level. I needed physical activity. Either that or lots of chocolate.

  I adjusted the brown wicker lounge chairs I’d arranged on the patio. The thick blue-and-taupe striped cushions I’d selected for the furniture and the extra-large blue market umbrella helped tie it all together. Skip had added money to the staging budget, and, with the additional time to complete the work, I was able to make more improvements to the house. If I’d had enough time and money, I would have hired a carpenter to erect a pergola. Its overhead wood beams would provide prospective buyers with the illusion of additional living space. Still, I was pleased with the overall effect.

  Taking a moment to catch my breath, I sank into a lounge chair, enjoying the comfort of the soft cushions, and thought again about what steps I should take next. The mystery books I read always seemed to focus on motive, means, and opportunity. At least the means or method used to kill Victoria was evident. She had been hit on the head with a blunt instrument and then pushed into the laundry chute.

  Who had a motive to murder Victoria or the opportunity? Considering the numerous people she had crossed over the years, it would take months to whittle the number down to a manageable few. Who had been angry or desperate enough about something to kill Victoria?

  What about the people Victoria had come into contact with recently? Victoria had crossed her former business partner, Cora Ridley. I remembered the argument between Cora and Victoria at the Denton house Tyrone and I witnessed. Cora had looked angry enough with Victoria to commit murder. Surely Cora would have cooled down after the argument. Besides, she wouldn’t be able to get her money with Victoria dead. Maybe jealousy was a stronger motive. After all, Cora had accused Victoria of being involved with her husband. With her violent temper, could Cora have been driven to murder?

  I plumped the pillow behind me and tried to get more comfortable. Follow the money. That had been the theme of another mystery I’d read. Skip would get half the proceeds from the house with Victoria alive. With her dead, he might get it all. Would there be enough profit after the sale to warrant him killing her? Was there a life insurance policy on Victoria that Skip could collect? I liked Skip, but lots of killers had been likeable.

  Who else had a financial connection to her? There was the list of dates and dollar amounts with Warren Hendricks’ name on it I’d found in the library. Could he have fought with Victoria about the money she owed him and hadn’t paid back? The thought of the mild-mannered funeral director getting angry enough to murder Victoria made me smile. Warren was much better at dealing with people who were already dead.

  But if I followed the money trail further, who else might have been connected to Victoria financially? Doug Hamilton and his father of Hamilton Real Estate might enter into it. They would earn a commission if the house sold, but that certainly didn’t sound like a motive for murder. What about the bad business decisions the senior Hamilton had made following his stroke? Could Victoria have been involved with any of those or discovered something about the Hamiltons? Or had she agreed to list her house with the struggling agency to keep Doug quiet about what he had discovered about her? That might have accounted for his smarmy manner the time he visited Victoria. I decided to talk to Connie Stockdale, who used to work for Mr. Hamilton. She might be able to shed some light on Mr. Hamilton’s problems.

  If I stretched hard to find suspects, there was always the interior designer, Monica Heller. Had she been angry enough with Victoria for choosing me to stage the house instead of her that she carried a grudge? Or could Victoria have had a reason not to choose her and Monica didn’t want it to get out?

  I laughed, knowing I was grasping at anything that would help Tyrone.

  I also had to think about opportunity and alibis. Weren’t people always trying to find someone to give them an alibi? At least they were in the books I read. My head was beginning to ache, thinking about it. All of this confirmed how complex trying to solve a murder could be. I didn’t envy Detective Spangler his job.

  I forced my mind to move away from thoughts of murder. Across the patio, a profusion of purple wisteria blossoms hung like clusters of grapes along a low fence that spanned the length of the garden. I breathed in the sweet fragrance from the blossoms and pleasure filled me. I wished Victoria could see how beautifully her prized plant was doing. And with no sign of Weed Wacker damage.

  At the sound of a lawn mower starting, I jerked awake, realizing I’d dozed off in the warmth of the sun. Carlos was pushing a power mower along the sloping hill behind the patio. He managed the work crew that maintained the grounds. Could Carlos have taken Victoria’s threat to report him to immigration officials for hiring illegal workers seriously and gotten into a fight with her over it? The fight might have gone from verbal to physical before he
realized what was happening. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine Carlos or any of his workers having the temerity to approach Victoria, but then I wondered how well we actually know people and how they would react if they felt threatened.

  Seizing the opportunity to talk to him, I walked over to the hill and waved at him. He waved back and turned off the mower.

  “Hello, Miz Bishop” He took off his hat and fanned himself.

  I liked Carlos. The few times I’d seen him, he’d always been pleasant. He worked hard, and the area surrounding the house reflected his efforts. It was obvious he took great pride in his work.

  “Please, call me Laura. You don’t have any helpers today?”

  “Uh, no. My cousins, they had to go away, visit other relatives.”

  “I understand.” I did. Victoria’s threats scared them off.

  “Carlos, I know the police questioned you after Mrs. Denton’s death. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”

  Carlos looked alarmed and stepped back warily. “What kinda questions?”

  “I’m trying to prove Tyrone Webster didn’t murder Mrs. Denton, and I am hoping to find a clue as to what could have happened.”

  Carlos seemed to relax a little. “That evening Mrs. Denton was killed, I was at the hospital with my little Maria. She fell at the school playground—broke her arm—so I have what you call an alibi.”

  “Please don’t misunderstand me, Carlos. I don’t suspect you of anything. I’m trying to find out if you saw anything unusual while you were here, anything that might help me clear Tyrone. Did anything unusual happen on the day Mrs. Denton…died, or even before that?

  Carlos didn’t respond, and I wondered whether he was searching his memory or didn’t want to say anything.

  Much to my relief, he responded.

  “Only one thing…the night before Mrs. Denton died. The UPS man delivered a package to the entrance out back…the one closest to the driveway. It was getting late and starting to rain. I worried Mrs. Denton might not notice the package outside and there’s no porch or cover there. I knocked on the kitchen door, and when no one answered, I pushed the door, it was slightly open, and slid the package inside. I didn’t go into the house, honest. Mrs. Denton was on the phone there.”