I scanned the seating area the bakery provided for customers who wanted to eat on the premises. My relief at seeing Cora seated in a booth toward the back of the crowded shop was almost palpable. I quickly ordered a cup of coffee and a croissant at the counter and sauntered over to where Cora was sitting, trying to act as casual as possible.
“Hey, Cora. Mind if I join you? Seating is a bit limited here.”
Cora glanced up. She frowned and didn’t look happy at the prospect, but good manners won out and she motioned for me to take a seat.
I slid into the cracked vinyl booth and placed my coffee and croissant on the table. Now that I was there, I wished I’d thought more about this part of the stakeout before I got there. I didn’t know how to begin.
Cora continued to stare at me, which I found unnerving. To give myself time to think, I reached for two packets of sugar, which I never used in coffee, and stirred them into my cup. I then made a big production of dropping my napkin on the floor and reaching down to retrieve it. Think. Think.
“So, how are the rehearsals for Arsenic and Old Lace coming along?” I popped up from under the table. I was sounding a bit too chipper. “I heard you have the part of Aunt Abby.”
“It’s going well. We open tomorrow night. You going?” Her expression was so blank I couldn’t imagine her performing on stage, especially in a comedy. If she had a flair for comedy, she hid it well.
“I wouldn’t miss it. I love that old show.”
Cora took another bite of her chocolate glazed donut. Starting her day with so little nutrition accounted for her grumpy attitude.
I took a sip of coffee and grimaced when my taste buds detected the sugar. Quit stalling and jump right in. “That was so sad about Victoria Denton. I understand you two were partners at one time.”
“Partners?” Cora gasped, and bits of chocolate donut flew across the table. “That woman robbed me.”
I’d hit a nerve. “What?”
“She convinced me to go into business with her, catering for people in their homes. You know, the type of people who give elite dinner parties or do expensive business entertaining.”
I didn’t know. I hadn’t done any expensive entertaining recently.
Cora needed no prompting. “I’m a gourmet cook. Our agreement was for me to do all the cooking and Victoria would use her social connections to get us business and help out. Fool that I was, I put up the money with the agreement she would pay me back from her portion of the earnings. There were no earnings.” She shouted the last sentence, causing heads to turn in our direction.
“It was a disaster from the beginning. You have to deal with all kinds of people and want to please them. Victoria didn’t care about pleasing people and we flopped.”
I wasn’t convinced Cora was into pleasing people either, but I didn’t interrupt. Cora wanted to vent, and it was to my advantage to let her.
“When I last confronted her about it, she had the nerve to say our business went bankrupt and that I didn’t see her crying over it. What did she have to cry over? I put up the money. Money I couldn’t afford to lose. I never should have trusted her with my money or my hus—” Realizing what she was about to say, she stopped.
Cora wadded up her napkin and threw it onto the table. “Anyway, I’m glad she’s dead.”
I recalled all too vividly the argument between Cora and Victoria I’d overheard. Especially when Cora had said, “I’ll get it one way or another, or you’ll be sorry.”
I gulped and channeled Mrs. Webster. “Enough to have exacted revenge?”
That’s when I found myself covered with the remains of Cora’s coffee. It could have been worse. At least it wasn’t hot.
Cora fled, and as I reached for napkins to blot at my jacket, I heard a familiar voice and winced.
“You certainly know how to win friends and influence people.” Detective Spangler strolled by, looking straight ahead, a paper cup and a Hibbard’s bag in his hands.
Police officers and their donuts. I watched his receding back, wishing I had given him a good comeback. Why was it I could never think of one until well after an event? Something about that man annoyed me, but, at the same time, I found him a bit intriguing. Shaking my head, I gave myself a stern reminder about the hazards of dealing with handsome men.
Chapter 22
Antique shops and secondhand stores are good sources for inexpensive items needed to stage a room attractively. The staging is temporary and need not be expensive.
Work that day had been exhausting, and I left the Denton house earlier than usual. Mental stress and lack of sleep the night before had left me feeling drained, and I longed for the comfort and solitude of my home. Earlier I’d called Mrs. Webster and recounted my meeting with Cora. Mrs. Webster was disappointed nothing more had come out of the encounter. I thought sadly about my ruined jacket.
I also tried to get into the hospital to see Will Parker. When they said he was in ICU and only family could visit, I left flowers at the front desk for him.
On the way home, I decided to stop at Antiques and Other Stuff, one of my favorite shops in town. A visit with Josh Sheridan, who owned the place, would help perk up my spirits. Josh had converted two old factory buildings into storehouses that had more other stuff than real antiques. However, it was one of those places where I could browse for inexpensive but tasteful accessories to help homeowners finish staging their homes.
I also liked to browse yard sales for items I could use, but, more often than not, I would find the right item at Josh’s to finish a room. Other times, I came away with only the pleasure gained from spending a few enjoyable minutes with Josh, who was interesting, well-read, and a lot of fun.
Getting out of my car, I looked up to see a short, dark-haired man exit the shop and get into a pickup truck. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but I was unable to place him. I shrugged and walked toward the shop.
An old-fashioned bell jangled as I pushed open the door. When I entered, a musty odor greeted me. If someone blindfolded me and led me into an antique shop, I would instantly know where I was. They all have a similar, musty odor. I stood in the doorway, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dim light inside.
A tall stack of rolled carpets concealed a small office area, where Josh spent a lot of his time. He was available to help anyone who came in, but when alone, he read to his heart’s content, selecting reading material from the massive supply of secondhand books he stocked. He was a happy businessman.
“Hi, Josh,” I called out.
“Hey, Laura,” a voice drawled from behind the carpets. Though it had been many years since he’d migrated north from Georgia, Josh still retained the sound of his southern roots.
When he came out from behind the carpets, he towered over me, his lanky frame carrying little flesh. In fact, if the Louiston Players ever needed someone to play Ichabod Crane, he’d be their man.
“I sure was sorry to hear about Victoria,” Josh said. “That must’ve been a shock for you, findin’ her that way.”
“The whole thing has been dreadful. You heard about Tyrone?”
“Sure. Couldn’t believe it when I read about his arrest.” Josh placed the book he was carrying onto the top of a glass display case—the opened pages of a Harry Potter book facing down to save his place.
Josh spun around once and stood there for several seconds. When I studied him quizzically, he nodded twice, looking down at himself. He had draped a lightweight dark wool blanket loosely around his shoulders. Josh, a real movie and clothing buff, took great delight in dressing like his favorite characters.
Since I shared his interest in old books and movies, guessing who he was dressed as had become a game we enjoyed each time I came into the shop.
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Let me take a better look and then guess.” I studied the blanket again, which reached nearly to his
shoes.
“Hmm. I’m going to guess Harry Potter. The blanket looks like the school cape or the invisibility cloak he wore at Hogwarts.” Actually, when I first saw Josh, I thought he wore it to ward off the chill from the damp day.
He looked disappointed. “How did you guess so quickly?”
I smiled and pointed to his book. “The Harry Potter book you put down was a dead giveaway.” I felt guilty taking advantage of the book clue, but most times I couldn’t guess correctly with the one guess he allowed me, so I decided to use the clue.
“If you aren’t in a hurry, let me show you a piece I got in today.” He walked over to a display case and picked up what looked like a wooden chalice. “A few minutes before you arrived, a fellow brought this in, said it was pre-Columbian. He gave me a sob story about how he needed to sell his collection to pay his debts. I certainly can’t authenticate it, but since it’s a nice-lookin’ piece and he wasn’t askin’ much for it, I bought it. When I have time, I’ll do some research to see how fake it is.”
“You could be holding a real find.” I laughed, feeling some of the stress I was carrying ease away. I needed a few good laughs.
“I very much doubt it’s genuine, but then you never know.” Josh placed the chalice back on the display case. “With Victoria gone, what’s gonna happen to the stagin’ you were doing up there?”
“I promised Skip I’d complete the job. So, technically I’m working for him now. In fact, I came in to see if you still have the small oak church pew I looked at last week. It would fit perfectly in a hallway at the house.”
“Sorry, Laura. Monica bought it two days ago. I’d have held it for you if I’d known you were interested in it.”
“Oh, drat.” I was annoyed Monica had been the one to get it. “It was my fault. I should have bought it when I first saw it. I’ll look around for something else.”
“Go right ahead and have a good look. If I can help you with anything, give me a holler. Oh, and Laura, if you hear Skip is gonna get rid of anything up at the house, I’d sure appreciate you lettin’ me know.”
“You’ll be the first person I tell. I promise. In fact, I’ll mention it to Skip.”
I wandered through the building, stopping to look at the jumble of furniture, lamps, and collectibles, most of which were displayed haphazardly. I wondered if there was a market for most of the things there, but I was also aware that piles of worthless-looking items could often contain a real find.
I thought again about the man who left the shop as I came in. It bothered me I couldn’t remember who he was. Where had I seen him before? I’d have to ask Josh if he knew the man.
After wandering up and down rows of furniture piled so high it was a wonder they didn’t topple over, I spotted a double-seated Windsor settee. It wouldn’t be as perfect as the church pew, but it would do nicely. It was an excellent piece to add to the inventory of items I could use in staging homes without sufficient or appropriate furniture. Previously, when I’d staged homes for friends, I used their possessions. Sometimes I needed to supplement what they had. Renting furniture was also an option.
I found Josh and negotiated a price we both were satisfied with. As I stood there writing a check for the settee, the bell over the door jangled, announcing another customer. Josh and I turned to see Warren Hendricks saunter in.
“Hello, folks,” Warren greeted us.
Josh supplied the Louiston Players with many of their props, so Warren was no stranger.
“Laura, I was heading over to Franklin Auditorium for our dress rehearsal tonight when I noticed your car out front and wanted to talk to you. You know our show opens tomorrow night?”
I smiled. “Sure do. Nita and I have tickets, and we’re looking forward to it.”
“I wanted to let you know I was serious about my offer to help you at Skip’s house. We don’t have any guests at the funeral home at the moment, so I have free time during the day.”
“Warren, that’s kind of you to offer. Right now, I’ve got a pretty good handle on things, but if I find myself in a bind, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that. I’ve done a lot of set design, so I could be of some value.” He tried to appear modest but didn’t succeed.
When he left, I stood there, baffled. How had Warren recognized my car?
Chapter 23
Remove camping or sports vehicles and boats from your property and store them off-site. An RV or trailer in your driveway could make your home look smaller and less attractive to buyers.
“Nita, this is crazy.” The next morning Nita drove us down a gravel road into the Green Acres Campground. The road wouldn’t be a problem for heavy vehicles towing an RV, but Nita’s little VW bug hit every pothole.
Mrs. Webster, who sat in the backseat, was being jostled from side to side. “Take it easy, girl. My kidneys are fragile, and, at my age, nobody’s going to donate me a new one.”
Nita had called me at home early that morning, saying she’d be by shortly to pick me up so we could investigate something. She would explain when she got there. It was Saturday morning, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep longer. The evening before, I’d been so exhausted that if my eyeballs had fallen out of my head and rolled across the floor, I’d have been too tired to pick them up. Since Nita had sounded so insistent, I pulled myself out of bed and got ready.
I gritted my teeth as we bounced along, patiently waiting for Nita to explain but afraid to learn what she was up to now. I still regretted telling her about my promise to Mrs. Webster—a promise I was regretting more with each passing hour. My efforts to help Tyrone had turned into our investigation, and Nita and Mrs. Webster were acting like assistants to my Adrian Monk.
“Remember I scheduled an appointment last evening at Curl Up and Dye? What I heard there got me thinking. You know, it’s truly amazing what people will confide in their hairdressers. Mine should hang a ‘Counselor In’ shingle and raise his prices. I told him to point his customers to their horoscopes—”
“Nita.” I winced as we hit another rut in the road.
“Okay, okay. Anyway, my hairdresser said one of his customers who lives over near Lookout Hill had been complaining about the noise from a motorcycle gang staying at Green Acres about the time Victoria was murdered. I heard it’s a pretty big gang. They may still be there.”
“What’s that got to do with Victoria’s death?”
“You said Victoria might have been attacked by an intruder intent on stealing her stuff. Since the campground is so close to Lookout Hill, we should check it out.”
“Those bikers aren’t locals and might not be staying around for long,” Mrs. Webster said. “We can’t delay.”
I believed Mrs. Webster was grasping at anything possible, so I couldn’t blame the older woman for being eager. If it were my son or grandson, I would be grasping at anything I could as well.
“When I passed Mrs. Webster walking along Eleventh Avenue, I stopped to give her a ride. When I told her about my theory, she insisted on coming along.” Nita turned to look at Mrs. Webster in the backseat.
I screeched as we headed toward a tree close to the road.
Mrs. Webster righted the hat that had fallen over her forehead. “Right you are. If I can help ferret out information that might help Tyrone, I’m up to staring down a member of Hell’s Angels.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. “Just because they ride motorcycles doesn’t mean they should automatically be suspected of a crime. If you’re thinking it could have been somebody from the campground, it could have been anyone there, not just a person riding a motorcycle.”
Nita frowned. “Do you have any better ideas?”
“You aren’t afraid of a few cyclists, are you?” Mrs. Webster asked.
I was willing to consider anything, but a motorcycle gang was way beyond my experience. “Do you think they’re still here?” Please
say no. I couldn’t imagine going up to a bruiser with tattoos up and down his arms and asking if he had broken into a local home and murdered the owner.
“We’ll soon find out.” Nita sounded excited, and I realized how much she was enjoying this. What happened to the quiet, sane life I used to have?
Green Acres was a year-round campground not far from Lookout Hill. It had once been a farm owned by the Dexter family, who had turned it into a campground when farming had become too hard for them. Its spacious pull-through lots appealed to RV owners, especially retired full-timers, who had sold their homes and now traveled around the country, setting up home wherever they wanted. Many of them parked there so they could audit classes at the college for free or attend programs at the Fischer College Center for the Performing Arts at a discount. During summer, the place was overrun with families with children enjoying the outdoor activities. The campground had been a smart business investment for the Dexters.
Nita swerved again, this time to avoid a large pothole. “Angelo, Nicco, and my other brothers have done work out here for the Dexters, so I know them. They won’t mind answering some questions.”
I bit my lip. Or they’ll think we’re nuts and never do business with the Romano brothers again. Nita was showing more energy than she had since her kids had gone away to college, so this line of questioning might be worth momentary embarrassment or getting our knuckles crushed by a belligerent gang member if it perked her up. As we pulled in next to the reception building, I could see a number of motorcycles in the distance.
Great, they’re still here. I eyed the cycles glumly. I wasn’t in the mood to stand nose to nose with someone who would rather arm-wrestle me to the ground than say hello—and that was only the females.
Staging is Murder Page 12
