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 piece
s 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?”
We didn’t say anything while she wiped her eyes with her sleeve and collected herself.
Good time to change the subject. “Sister Madeleine is concerned about your business while you are here.”
Monica closed her eyes, put her head back, and stared at the ceiling. “Things are in such a mess. I became so focused on my work for Damian and began letting things slip. On top of being accused of murder, I have to worry about my business falling apart. Even if by some miracle I’m let out of here, I’ll have that to face.”
“If I recall, you have a talented staff.” I decided not to mention what I’d learned about her doing some home staging in addition to her design work nor my suspicions that she was undermining my business.
“That’s the problem. I don’t. My most experienced assistant left last month to take a job in Pittsburgh. I take her in and give her the wisdom of my experience, and she up and leaves me.” That didn’t surprise me.
“My other assistant doesn’t have the experience to meet our commitments. If I can’t get out of here, my business will be ruined.”
Monica’s business falling apart was the least of her worries.
Chapter 19
Forty percent of paint purchased ends up being the wrong color. Consulting a home stager about paint color can prevent costly mistakes.
It wasn’t long before Officer Nguyen came and told us that visiting time was almost over. Monica quickly gave me the name of her young assistant and an idea of some of the things I could do to help complete some of her decorating projects. The people she had already contracted with might be inclined to allow her assistant to complete the work, primarily because they had money invested in it, but Monica’s business wouldn’t be attracting new work while she was in jail.
Again I couldn’t believe I was going to help Monica. And I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Sister Madeleine. I owed her big time for all the things she had done for me throughout my life. Hopefully, working to help Monica would help show her my appreciation.
After leaving the jail, I drove directly to Monica’s design studio, Designs by Monica. It was housed in a small, standalone building of white stained cedar with electric blue shutters at each window. Window boxes filled with a profusion of red and white flowers of different varieties added a nice touch, but the flowers were beginning to droop from lack of water and attention.
When I pushed open the door, a bell tinkled, announcing my arrival. A young woman, who looked about seventeen but was probably slightly older, glanced up with an alarmed expression on her face. Was she afraid I was a customer coming in to ask why my project wasn’t getting completed? Or worse, was I there to cancel a project?
I decided to put her at ease and let her know that I wasn’t there for either reason. “Hi, are you Kimberly Shepherd?” She looked at me with startling blue eyes that looked like they owed their color more to tinted contacts than Mother Nature.
“Yes?” Her response was more question than answer.
“I’m Laura Bishop.” I felt sorry for the young woman. Her employer had been arrested, and now she was expected to assume responsibility for a business she didn’t have the experience to manage. “You can relax. I’m here to help.”
The look of relief on her face was almost comical. I explained that I’d visited Monica and she had given me an idea of some of the most pressing issues they faced. “Why don’t you tell me what you are dealing with at the moment and we’ll see how I can help?” And she did. An hour later, we had worked out a list of things that were the most pressing and divided up tasks I could handle and those things she would work on. I didn’t know how I was going to manage all this with my own work schedule, but I would make it work. At least I hoped I could.
“Oh, and we have a couple of proposed home staging projects we’re waiting to hear back about,” Kimberly added. “We were busy with our current projects, but since new work coming in had been slow, Monica thought we could line up some home staging to fill in the gaps.”
Slow? So that’s why Monica had decided to go into home staging. I shook my head and decided to address my suspicions about Monica sabotaging my business with her someday—if she didn’t go to prison for life.
One of the most pressing projects was helping Theresa Green, a local homeowner, set up a short-term rental in an area over her garage. Her place was near Fischer College and she planned to rent it to parents of students visiting the college. Theresa had already taken reservations for the place because Monica had assured her it would be done in time. Fortunately, the remodeling work had been completed, so I could take on the finishing details.
“Thank you, Ms. Bishop. I didn’t know what I was going to do.” Kimberly was sweet, and I was pleased that I could waylay some of her concerns—even if I was the one now feeling overwhelmed. If it would help put my past with Monica behind me, it would be worth it.
Thinking of the past made me wonder about the two recent deaths. If, and it was a big if, Monica was telling the truth and she hadn’t stabbed Damian, what could have been in Ian Becker’s and Damian Reynolds’s pasts that could have contributed to their deaths? Ian hadn’t lived in Louiston for about twenty years, and Damian was a relative newcomer to town. Was there any connection between the two deaths other than coincidence? Perhaps the only answer was they’d come into contact with a deranged killer.
I realized that Kimberly was speaking and shook myself back to the present. “Sorry, my mind wandered. Did you ever meet Damian Reynolds?”
“Yes, a couple of times, when I went with Monica to take fabric samples to his house and to take measurements. He was such a nice man.” She frowned. “I couldn’t say the same thing about his agent, Garrett Fletcher.” She grimaced. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“That’s all right. You didn’t care for the man?”
“He wasn’t nice at all. In fact, he was rude to us, especially to Monica. She later explained that he was very controlling of Damian and didn’t like how close he and Monica were becoming. She suspected Mr. Fletcher felt she had too much influence on Damian.”
If Monica hadn’t killed Damian, then who else around him could have? The only way to find out would be to discover who had been in Damian’s life since he came to Louiston.
Where had that thought come from? I couldn’t resist a puzzle or mystery, but this was one I needed to stay out of. Or could it be that I was being sucked into this mystery to please Sister Madeleine, who believed Monica?
Kimberly called Theresa Green to set up a time for me to take the items Monica had ordered for the project and start the work.
I would start with the apartment. But first I watered the flowers in the window box.
Chapter 20
To attract buyers, paint with colors that work with cabinets, flooring, and carpets.
With just enough time before my appointment to have lunch, I called Nita to invite her to join me at Vocaro’s.
“We’re going to do what?” Nita was incredulous when I told her about my appointment that afternoon with one of Monica’s clients. “But Monica is your least favorite person in the whole world. Why would you do that, especially when she is going to prison and her business will be closed anyway?”
I explained to her about my conversation with Sister Madeleine—how she wanted me to help save Monica’s business. “And it’s not what we are going to do, it’s what I’m going to do. I didn’t commit you to this.”
“Of course I’m going to help. Monica was my classmate as well. Besides, I could use all the brownie points I can get with Sister Madeleine. If it wasn’t for her, Guido and I wouldn’t be married.”
“What?” First time I’d heard that.
“Never mind. I’ll explain someday—maybe.”
I was beginning to believe Sister Madeleine had her finger in every pie in town.
When they called the number for our lunch order, I went to the counter to pick it up while Nita read our horoscopes in a newspaper someone had left nearby.
I placed our lunch on the table and sat down. I was hungrier than I realized and took a generous bite of the spinach quiche I’d ordered. “What did our horoscopes predict for today? Anything interesting?”
“Mine wasn’t worth getting out of bed for. But yours was interesting. It said Capricorns should beware of people from their past adding to their already heavy burdens.”
I tossed a stack of paper napkins at her. “You made that up.”
Nita caught the napkins and laughed. “Would I misrepresent what the stars are predicting? Seriously, with all you have on you, you can only do so much to help Monica’s business.”
“Tell Sister Madeleine that.”
We ate quickly so I could get to my appointment on time. “When we helped your niece the other night, she said she had provided admin support to Damian at the college. Do you think she could give us any more information about him?
“We could ask her. What do you want to know?” She took a sip from her coffee and then coughed, probably realizing where this was leading. “Laura! You aren’t buying Monica’s story that someone else stabbed Damian, are you? And please tell me you aren’t getting involved in trying to find out who did.”
“Frankly, I don’t know what to believe. Sister Madeleine is convinced Monica is telling the truth. It’s driving me crazy wondering who else would have wanted Damian dead.”
Nita shook her head several times. “You are such a sucker for helping the downtrodden.”
STAGING WARS Page 8
