Chapter 6

The cost of staging a home is always less than your first price reduction.

Warren left Vocaro’s, taking his paper coffee cup with him. He was probably a nervous wreck since he hadn’t taken a sip the whole time he sat there. I hoped Detective Spangler wasn’t considering Warren a suspect, or Nita, for that matter. As I’d learned in the past, once he strongly suspected someone of a crime, it was difficult to have him look elsewhere.

A few minutes later, Nita took the seat Warren had vacated and put her coffee and croissant on the table. “Sorry I’m late.” She took a sip of her coffee and sighed. “I needed that. After tossing and turning all night, I overslept and nearly missed church. Now I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

“I was just about to call to see if you were okay. Warren was here, so I filled the time talking to him.”

“I saw him as I came in. Poor Warren. He looks about as bad as I feel.” Nita’s normal healthy color was gone, and she had dark circles around her eyes. She definitely hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. Finding a dead body is more traumatic than mystery books portray.

“He’s afraid the police suspect him of killing Ian Becker. That’s the name of the man killed at the funeral home.” I eyed my now-empty cup and contemplated getting another one.

“Not a name I know. One of my brothers may have known him. I’ll have to ask the guys. Why does Warren think the police suspect him?”

“Warren’s always been a bit dramatic and a worrier. And with things slow at the funeral home, he has time on his hands to worry. Frankly, I think he secretly enjoys the thrill of being a suspect.” I finished the last of my muffin and crumpled the wrapper.

“Not if they put him in jail. Thankfully, tryouts for the Louiston Players will be starting soon. That’ll help keep his mind off murder.”

I was a fan of the local community theater group Warren directed and rarely missed a production. “What show are they doing this season?” I hoped it wasn’t a production featuring murder. Last season Warren had directed a production of Arsenic and Old Lace, which had numerous murders.

“Music Man,” Nita said.

Oh, good. No murders in it. “That’ll be a fun production.”

I studied Nita’s solemn face. She needed some fun. Both of her college-aged kids had taken summer jobs at the shore, and Nita missed them. Now with the shock of the murder at Warren’s place, she’d need more things to keep her occupied. Working with me and taking the online home staging classes weren’t enough of a distraction for someone as energetic as Nita. Her husband Guido would probably appreciate having her involved with more things that could channel her excess energy.

“Why don’t you try out for a part? I don’t have any acting or singing talent, but you’d be a natural. I could see you playing Marian, madam librarian.”

Nita took a bite of croissant, chocolate oozing from the ends, and shrugged. “I don’t know. They’d probably want someone tall and thin, and that’s not me.”

“There’s always the role of the mayor’s wife.”

Nita laughed. “Much more my speed.”

When we finished eating, we left Vocaro’s, retrieved the promotional items from my car, and headed to the town square for the second day of the fair. Tyrone and Mrs. Webster were already there, Mrs. Webster looking like a thundercloud. Her eyes were narrowed and she had a frown plastered on her face.

When we greeted them, the response we received was less than enthusiastic. I looked at Tyrone and arched an eyebrow as if to say, “What’s up?”

Tyrone nodded and took the box from me and began spreading the pamphlets and other items on the table. “Don’t mind Gran. She got another one of those telephone calls this morning.”

“What calls?” Who could be calling that would make her look like she could spit fire?

Mrs. Webster looked up from the needlework in her lap. “Those dang calls from people identifying themselves as representatives from the IRS, social security, or from collection companies. Calls preying on the elderly, saying that if I don’t respond they could come after me.”

“You know those calls are fake, right?” I worried that she might be taken advantage of like so many other people had been. “Don’t even answer them.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I know the sweet voices of the callers disguise corrupt souls. I get riled thinking about the people they’ve fooled. When I can control my anger, I play along and ask them questions—like whom are they calling. Most times they don’t even have a name—so how can they be calling me?”

“I told Gran to record the number and report them to the organization they are supposed to be from. One time she told a caller that she’d sold her soul to the devil doing what she was doing.”

“Dang right she had. I’m not letting some crook scare me into doing something stupid.”

I should have known better than to be worried about Mrs. Webster. I could see her wringing a confession from the caller and making him promise to go into a more legitimate line of work. People foolish enough to try something illegal with her deserved what happened to them.

I looked around the town square at the colorful umbrellas and tables that were beginning to draw a crowd. A good number of small businesses in town had taken advantage of the opportunity to promote their businesses, and people were starting to spread out and head to our end of the square. Soon we were handing out pamphlets and answering questions about Staging for You. Staging a home for sale was a new concept for many people, and we found ourselves explaining how our services could help people prepare their homes for sale. We were able to describe how staging had resulted in quicker sales and better offers for those homes. Not everyone who stopped to talk to us was ready to sell their homes, but I hoped they would tuck a pamphlet away for the future or give it to someone who might be.

The people milling about our table—the candy we were giving away attracting many—prevented us from discussing the murder yesterday, which was just as well.

Nita was deep in conversation with a woman nearby. Her usually bubbly personality made her perfect for sales and promotion. Even with her more subdued demeanor today, she would be excellent at promoting our business. However, as she walked back toward the table, I wondered what had caused the sudden frown on her face.

“How’s it going?” I added another stack of pamphlets to the table.

“Great until the conversation I just had. I talked to that woman last week about possibly doing a staging consultation with her. At the time she wasn’t certain when she and her husband were going to put their home up for sale. They’ve finally picked a time frame, but she said she was having someone else work with them on the staging.”

“Someone else?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “I don’t know of another staging group in town—unless her real estate agent is giving her advice. That’s always a possibility.”

“No, she definitely said a home stager.” Nita sat down heavily in her chair.

“I haven’t seen anyone advertising about home staging. Did you ask her who it was?”

“No. I could tell she was uncomfortable, since the last time I talked to her she’d seemed interested in working with us. I didn’t think it would do any good pushing her on it.”

“Disappointing, but it doesn’t matter. This is a big enough community for more than one staging business.” I laughed. “Now whether they can do as good a job as we can is another matter.”

Tyrone who had been standing nearby leaned closer. “Glad you brought that up. I meant to tell you what I heard at Vocaro’s.” Tyrone, working as a barista, picked up a lot of gossip at the coffee shop. “Monica Heller is jumping into the staging business with both feet.”

My stomach clenched. Anyone but her. Monica, a local interior decorator, had made my life in school miserable with all her taunting. She’d been the thorn in my side that had festered and oozed all through our school years. If that wasn’t enough, I strongly suspected she’d been involved with my late husband, Derrick. But then, he had been such a womanizer there probably weren’t many women in town he hadn’t been involved with—except Nita, of course.

Why would Monica be moving into home staging? She had a successful interior design business, helping homeowners put personality into their homes. Home stagers take a lot of the personality out so prospective homebuyers can see themselves living there. Maybe the rumor was wrong.

Could anything more go wrong this weekend? A dead body, having to deal with Detective Spangler again, Aunt Kit arriving, a canceled truck, a bad review, and now possible competition from Monica.

“Hey, Laura.”

I turned to see two tall and very lean men behind me. I immediately recognized Geoff Clarke and Ron Zigler, the men who’d bought the Denton’s nineteenth-century mansion Tyrone and I had staged in the spring. They had turned it into a fabulous bed and breakfast. It was early days for the venture, but the B&B was fast developing a reputation as the place in town to stay.

“Well, hello.” I was pleased to see them again, especially since they had liked the work Tyrone and I had done on the mansion and hadn’t changed too much—yet. I quickly introduced Geoff and Ron to everyone.

Geoff, who frequently served as the spokesman for the duo, pulled off his baseball cap and shook hands with everyone. I saw Mrs. Webster nod in approval. Geoff’s good manners had just earned him high points with her.

“Meeting the small businessmen and women in town?” Mrs. Webster asked.

“We have some work we’d like to do at the B&B, including eventually finishing the basement. We thought meeting some of the business owners would give us a head start with that.”

Nita went into promotion mode and pointed to the square. “You’ve come to the right place. If you don’t find the people you need to talk to here, let me know. My family is in construction, and they know all the tradesmen in town.”

“Thanks, we’ll keep that in mind. Next, we’ll be looking for some furnishings. Any places you can recommend, Laura?”

“Start with Josh Sheridan at Antiques and Other Things. He has more other things than antiques, but you never know what you might stumble on there. I’m going there this week to talk to Josh about renting some storage space. If you’d like to meet me there, I’d be happy to show you around.”

Geoff and Ron liked that idea and we agreed on a time to meet. “Thanks. Sounds like a plan,” Ron said.

Seeing Geoff and Ron reminded me of Will Parker. “Have you met Will Parker yet? He’s the man you’ll see along Battlement Drive near your place. He voluntarily maintains that road, picking up trash that accumulates along the roadside. Be sure to make friends with him. He’ll keep an eye on things for you.”

“First person we met,” Ron said. “He told us about some of the adventures you all had there this spring.”

“Will is a real character, but a good guy.” I quickly gave them the names of some other antique stores in the area, not wanting to discuss our experiences at the Denton house, where the homeowner had been murdered. “How’s the B&B business?”

“Great so far—although something strange just happened. We had a guest check in and spend the night. The next day he went out, and we haven’t seen him since.”

“Did you get a deadbeat who skipped out without paying?” Mrs. Webster asked.

Ron took a seat next to Mrs. Webster. “He’d paid for several nights, so we didn’t suspect he skipped out. He said he was in town to settle his aunt’s estate and planned to stay with us only until he could find out if her house was in reasonable condition for him to stay there. We thought perhaps he’d decided to stay at his aunt’s place and would be back later for his luggage. Now we’re not so sure.”

A shiver ran down my body. A missing guest. A man found dead in the funeral home. This didn’t sound good. I looked at Geoff’s and Ron’s open, unsuspecting faces.

“Guys, I think you need to contact the Louiston police.”