Staging is Murder

by Grace Topping

  I held up my plate and, like Oliver, requested more, please. “It may only mean Skip is the beneficiary of a life insurance policy on Victoria. It’s not proof he killed her to collect on it. The policy was one they may have taken out years before their divorce. People frequently forget to change their designation of beneficiary when they get divorced or remarried. That once happened to a friend of mine. Her ex-husband died, and she received notice her name was still on his policy.”

  “Wow. What did she do?” Nita poured each of us another glass of red wine.

  “She waived her rights to it in favor of the second wife. She said she and her ex-husband had married and divorced young, amicably at her request, and she knew he’d intended to take care of his second wife of many years. She said it was the right thing to do.”

  “What a remarkable woman,” Guido said.

  “She is.” I took a sip of wine and then dipped a piece of crusty bread into the bowl of fruity olive oil. Nita swore the olive oil accounted for her healthy, young-looking skin. With my hectic schedule, I could use her beauty remedy.

  After we finished eating, Guido gathered the dirty dishes and took them to the sink. “If collecting on a policy were grounds for arrest in suspicious cases, there would be a lot of spouses in jail. The policy alone isn’t enough proof Skip murdered Victoria.

  I looked over at Nita, who hadn’t said much all evening, highly unusual for my loquacious friend. “You don’t have a theory on this?”

  “Sorry. My mind is on work. Mercury must be in retrograde. My computer was acting up, and you know how I am with technology. Dr. M had problems with his truck and arrived late. Then our hygienist gave notice, and I have to advertise for a new one. It almost makes me wish I could work for you. Since I don’t know chartreuse from magenta, all I could do would be to lift and tote.”

  “Sometimes in staging, that’s just as important.”

  Guido looked around the kitchen with its avocado-colored appliances. “If you take her on, Laura, you better be careful. Nita’s tastes in decorating are stuck firmly in the 1980s.”

  Nita threw a damp dishtowel at him. “Hey, buddy. New kitchens can cost over thirty grand. Still think I should redecorate?”

  The wine and their good humor helped me relax. It was hard to be tense around Nita and Guido, with their upbeat attitude about life.

  “By the way, Guido, thank you again for taking care of my tires the other day. That was a godsend. I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

  “It was the least I could do after all the help you’ve given us over the years. Besides, you’re family.” Guido brought out a large tray of tiramisu. “How about dessert?”

  With everyone feeding me recently, buttoning my khakis was becoming difficult. I thought wistfully of the skinny jeans I’d recently managed to fit into again. Not for long.

  Later, as I got up to leave, Nita said, “Don’t forget. You’re invited to dinner on Sunday at Mom and Pop’s. They’re looking forward to you coming. The whole family will be there.”

  At this rate, I could definitely forget the skinny jeans. Mrs. Romano never served anything short of a small feast.

  I dug deep in my bag for my keys. “Nita, do you think you could wiggle information out of Neil about Skip’s whereabouts on the night of Victoria’s death? If Neil is still working with Detective Spangler, he may be able to tell us. And, if Skip’s alibi isn’t great, he could be our man.” I paused, a thought occurring to me. “But then, he could also have hired someone to kill Victoria.”

  I hadn’t thought about that before. Any of the people with concrete alibis could have hired someone. Back to square one.

  Chapter 34

  An oversized table will make a dining room look small. Replace it with a smaller table and fewer chairs to make the room look more spacious. If necessary, remove buffets and china cabinets.

  On Sunday, I walked toward the Martino car in front of my house, where Nita and Guido sat waiting to drive me to Nita’s parents’ home for dinner.

  “Hi, you two.” I crawled into the backseat. From their grim expressions, I knew something was wrong and my throat tightened. “What happened?”

  “I’m sorry, Laura,” Nita said. “Word at Vocaro’s is Will died during the night.”

  “Oh, no. Poor Will.” I put my head back against the seat and thought of his daughter and grandchildren and then selfishly of myself. Now he would never be able to identify who hit him. All hopes of seeing Tyrone freed were fading away.

  Will had been a bit of a character, but I was deeply saddened to hear of his tragic death. His efforts to keep the roadside clean, even if he had done it to escape the noise of several grandchildren, showed genuine concern for the community and said a lot about the kind of man he was. How would Battlement Drive look in the future with him gone?

  “Would you rather not go to Mom and Pop’s for dinner?” Nita asked. “I’m sure they’d understand if you decided to stay home.”

  “No, I’ll be fine. Being around the family will help.” I wanted this occasion to visit with the family but also to question the Romano brothers about Ernie Phillips, who had been at the Denton house washing windows the day Victoria was murdered. They knew him well.

  After we arrived at the Romano house, I stood at the back door with Nita, looking into the kitchen at a familiar scene—Mrs. Romano in front of a steaming stove, with her jovial husband towering over her, trying to taste whatever was in the huge pot she was stirring. The Romano brothers, now men with families, were cheering some sporting event in the adjoining family room, with the Romano grandchildren galloping about, being pursued by their mothers.

  “Laura’s here,” Nita announced as we entered the house.

  Shouts of greetings came from the family room. Mrs. Romano, who looked like an older version of Nita, ignored my offers of help and shooed me out of the kitchen. I was hugged and greeted by everyone, the men with an eye still on the game.

  Taking me aside, Nita whispered, “You’re going to be besieged with questions about the murder and our investigation.”

  My heart sank. Again, I wished I’d kept quiet about the investigation. Nita’s outgoing nature made it almost impossible for her to keep anything to herself, and anything she knew, the family knew.

  “Everything’s ready,” Mrs. Romano called from the dining room.

  I looked fondly around the table at the boisterous Romano family—all of them kind and hardworking. They had been a godsend to me in so many ways.

  After everyone joined in saying a quick blessing, Mrs. Romano passed dishes filled with Romano favorites around the long table, and the chatter grew louder. I loved this family that had made me one of their own. I especially enjoyed their Sunday gatherings. With my mother, meals had been almost perfunctory, but in the Romano household, eating was an activity to be celebrated, and the food was worth celebrating.

  On one occasion, my mother had joined us. She said later she couldn’t understand the appeal of spending time with a big, noisy family. I never tried to explain it to her. She wouldn’t have understood.

  “Laura, tell us about your investigation.” Carmen, the youngest Romano brother, grinned at me, mischievous as usual. In school, he had developed a crush on me, but when a sudden growth spurt sent me towering over him, he transferred his affections to a much shorter girl. “We hear you’re the Jessica Fletcher of Louiston.”

  “Yes, tell us the latest,” Angelo echoed.

  “I expect to apprehend the killer shortly.”

  All chatter at the table stopped.

  “Aw, come on, Laura. Don’t take offense. We’re curious. Maybe there’s something we can do to help,” said Nicco, the oldest brother. “Tell us what you’ve been able to discover so far. Maybe we can come up with ideas.”

  I smiled. These big husky guys really cared about me, so I could put up with a little ribbing. I ga
ve them a summary of what I knew or suspected, withholding some of the names of the people involved. I was conscious I could be casting suspicion on people who might turn out to be innocent.

  “I’d like to get my hands on the jerk who rammed into the back of your car.” After years of working in construction, Dominic’s huge hands would have made short work of any felon.

  “Have you discovered anything more about who it could have been?” Sal asked.

  I shook my head. “No, and I don’t think I ever will.”

  Sal reached across his brother for more bread. “Go to the mattresses, Laura—like in The Godfather.”

  “What’s with you guys and The Godfather?”

  “Anytime you feel threatened or uncomfortable, you call any of us right away, you understand,” said Guido.”

  I knew all of them would willingly help or protect me. “Thanks, Guido. I don’t know if I can help Tyrone, but I’m trying.” A sense of helplessness overwhelmed me.

  “You’re not alone in this.” Nita said. “Is she, guys?”

  “We’re here for you, Laura,” Nicco said. “While you’re looking, follow the money.”

  I swirled the Chianti in my glass and studied it, my thoughts miles away. Follow the money; look for someone desperate; look for a man who could dump a hundred-pound woman down a laundry chute; and worse, go to the mattresses—guidelines and clues that hadn’t helped me so far.

  Dominic punched Nicco in the arm. “You’ve been watching too many movies.”

  I looked at them fondly, thinking they were still like the young boys I’d first met.

  “That’s good advice, guys,” I said. “But, Angelo, let me ask you something you might be able to help me with.”

  “Old Angelo can help you, Laura. He’s watched so many episodes of NCIS he could solve the murder himself.” Nicco helped himself to the platter of roast lamb and potatoes being passed around the table.

  “Yeah, sure,” Angelo said, not appreciating Nicco’s humor.

  I never attended a Romano gathering where there wasn’t good-natured teasing or competition; I had to interrupt them to ask my question.

  “I wanted to ask you about Ernie Phillips. Since he was at the house the day Victoria was murdered, I should consider him a suspect as well as the others.” That got their attention. “Would I be crazy trying to connect him to Victoria’s death?”

  “It’s smart to consider everyone. Have you thought about Angelo here?” Sal laughed and pointed to his brother. “He was there the day Victoria was murdered.”

  “Give me a break.” Angelo threw a bread crust at him.

  “Stop it, you boys.” Mrs. Romano glared at them. “This is serious business. Laura is seeking your help.”

  “You’re right,” Sal said. “Sorry, Laura.”

  “Ernie left before I did.” Angelo accepted the platter circulating again. “Like lots of others, I know he’s been feeling the pinch with the way the economy has been. People having a hard time paying their bills can do without clean windows.”

  “You can take Ernie off your list of suspects.” Nicco finished his glass of wine.

  “How do you know?” Sal interrupted. “He could have slipped back there—”

  “Because, you dummy, I’m the one who can give him an alibi.” Nicco sat back and poured himself another glass of Chianti.

  The dining room became quiet and everyone stared at Nicco.

  “What?” Nicco shrugged. “If I’d known you suspected Ernie, I would’ve said something earlier. He dropped his son off at the church hall that evening for a Scout meeting. We were down one leader, so I twisted his arm to hang around. His son is one active kid. Ernie stayed until we finished. Believe me, it was one long night. Besides, the police already know he was there.”

  I sat there, looking stupid. “I’m glad to hear it.” Again, I was relieved the people I knew and liked couldn’t be guilty of harming Victoria. Fine investigator I was. I wasn’t the least bit impartial or unbiased.

  Dominic held up his plate. “Now that we’ve solved the problem, what’s for dessert?”

  Chapter 35

  Spruce up the front of your house with new street numbers, outdoor lights, a mailbox, and a new cover for your doorbell. Add a new doormat as the finishing touch.

  Later in the evening, wrapped in a thick terrycloth robe, I sat on my bed sipping chamomile tea. Inky lay curled up at the end of the bed by my feet, helping to warm me. The temperature had dipped low, and the hot tea helped warm my hands. It tasted awful but was supposed to aid relaxation. I hoped it would work since my active mind was keeping me awake. The pull of work, when I wanted to focus on Tyrone’s situation, was taking its toll on me. How successful would Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple have been unraveling a mystery if she’d faced work deadlines?

  Taking out my notepad, I reviewed my list of suspects. If an alibi wasn’t sufficient grounds for clearing the suspects of murder, at least in my mind, I needed to go back to analyzing motives and benefit to be gained from Victoria’s death. Who could have wanted Victoria dead enough to hire someone to do it?

  I started to cross Carlos’ name off the list, thinking it unlikely the gardener would’ve had sufficient funds to pay someone to kill Victoria. Then I stopped. How much money would be enough to convince a person to commit murder? Could Carlos have hired one of his cousins? Were they desperate enough to prevent Victoria from reporting them to the immigration officials that they would murder her for a few dollars? I liked Carlos. Since I’d discovered his helpers were at the campground, I wasn’t so sure I could discount any of them. No wonder I was no good at this. I wanted to mark off the list the ones I liked and leave on all the others.

  If I disregarded their alibis, I still suspected Warren and Cora had motives for wanting Victoria out of the picture. Warren because Victoria had been blackmailing him, and Cora because of the money she believed Victoria owed her and because of Victoria’s affair with her husband, Norman. They both had money to pay someone. If Cora took revenge against all the women who had been involved with Norman, a good portion of the town’s female population would now be dead. Maybe the money Victoria owed her was more important to her and she wanted revenge for that.

  I wondered where in this town a professional assassin or hit man could be found. Or should that be a hit person? It wasn’t a job one could advertise for in the Louiston Mirror or on Craigslist. In my world, assassins didn’t exist.

  Norman was still a candidate. If he had wanted to silence Victoria because of her knowledge of his questionable business practices, her death would have been convenient. Besides, his investment property, and its lack of access roads, was public knowledge since Norman had had to apply for a waiver of some sort. If he had spurned her because of their affair, Victoria was vindictive and wouldn’t have hesitated to destroy his political career. I didn’t know what Norman’s alibi had been for the night of the murder and decided to have Nita ask Neil about him. Norman had lots of connections—some unsavory enough to commit murder. He was also in a position to grant favors to those willing to do his bidding. I was beginning to think, like Angelo, I had watched one too many episodes of NCIS.

  Victoria had already been out of Skip’s life because of the divorce, but the financial benefits from her death couldn’t be ignored. I wondered whether Detective Spangler had been alerted to Skip’s insurance windfall. If Skip was stupid enough to tell his poker buddies about it, it might not take long for word about the money to spread.

  Then there were Doug and his father. Doug had been charming and helpful the last time I’d seen him and gave rational reasons why his father might not have wanted revenge, but even cold-blooded killers could be charming. The thought depressed me.

  I still couldn’t ignore the fact it might have been a random killing. Someone could have gotten into the house during the day when the doors were unlocked and stayed hidden u
ntil later when they thought the house was empty. When confronted by Victoria, they could have panicked, hit her on the head, and then dumped her body down the laundry chute so they could get away. If so, the police might never be able to identify the real killer, and Tyrone would suffer the consequences of a random act. It had happened to all too many people before.

  Regardless of what Detective Spangler believed, I was still convinced the vandalism, the threats I’d received, and Will’s hit and run all pointed to the fact Victoria’s murderer was still at large.

  I threw down my notepad and pen. No matter how I looked at it, I was running in circles. I kept hoping something new would occur to me. Earlier on the day of the murder, the Denton house had been full of people. Ernie had been washing windows, Angelo and his crew had been there painting, and Carlos and his crew had been working outside. Previously, Nita’s brother Nicco had been there working on some plumbing. Doug had come through the house while the crew was still there.

  Nothing from any of it sounded an alarm in my mind. Other than Doug, I’d known the others all my life and couldn’t imagine any of them coming back to rob or harm Victoria. Again, I was glad Ernie had an alibi.

  An enraged neighbor? I laughed thinking of Dr. M or elderly Mrs. Jankowitz committing murder because Victoria’s groundskeepers had cut the grass on the wrong side of the property line.

  It occurred to me again I’d been the only other person in the house when someone murdered Victoria. Goose bumps raised on my arms and shivers slithered down my spine no amount of hot tea could calm. For this I needed chocolate and dug out the container of English Toffee I reserved for emergencies. The first bite began to soothe my jangled nerves. It might pack on more pounds than the sherry, but at least I’d have a clear head in the morning.