Chapter 11

Ensure artwork and furniture are in scale and in proportion to the room size and other items around them.

I searched the crowded reception room for Warren but didn’t see him. It was unusual for him to miss a function like this since he was a big supporter of anything related to the arts in Louiston. Could the police have detained him?

Tyrone, biting into a cookie, approached and handed me a serving plate of cookies. It looked like he had eaten most of them already. “Laura, I need to leave. Got a date. Could you give Gran a ride home?”

“I’m riding with Nita and Guido, but I’m sure they’d be happy to drive her home.” I looked around. “By the way, have you seen Warren? I thought he’d be here. Since the police wanted to question him again, I’m worried that he’s not here.”

“He came into Vocaro’s this afternoon. Said the police had wanted to ask him about who else Ian Becker hung around with when he lived here. They didn’t detain him.”

“That’s a relief.”

Behind us, we heard raised voices and turned to see Monica and Damian. Her face was reddening and her hands curled into fists. Damian kept trying to quiet her, but as Monica became more agitated, her voice grew louder.

“I can’t let you do that!” Monica screeched.

Damian, noticing the crowd had turned toward them, took Monica by the arm and ushered her out a side door. The room remained silent for several seconds before the buzz of conversation started again. Monica always knew how to make an entrance—and now a dramatic exit.

“Well, that was interesting.” I started picking up paper cups and plates from a nearby table and disposing of them in a trash bag. Nita had used her strong arm to find volunteers to help clean up after the reception—me among them. “That was one scene I could have done without.”

Tyrone took the bag from me and held it open as I cleared another table. “I gather their decorating collaboration, or whatever they call their relationship, isn’t going well.”

“Doesn’t sound like it. But Monica never has a smooth relationship with anyone. If nothing else, it makes life interesting for the rest of us.”

  

At the end of the evening after Nita and I finished cleaning up, I noticed a box sitting on a side table. I held it up and motioned to Nita. “This got left behind.”

“Agatha Christie!”

“What?” I stared at Nita, wondering what had gotten into her.

Guido laughed. “Since finding that body and being stressed, she’s started using a few expletives and wants to cut them out before the kids come home. Now when she’s upset, she uses the name of somebody famous. What’s wrong, Nita?

Nita pointed to the box. “That’s the thank you gift Anne gave Damian for serving as the juror. In his haste to get Monica out of here, he probably forgot it.”

I handed her the box. “He might come back for it.”

“Yes, but we’re ready to close up, and if he doesn’t come back soon and we leave it, someone might take it. It’s too valuable to leave.”

Nita turned to Guido. “It’s not too late. Do you mind if we drop this at his place when we take Mrs. Webster home? He doesn’t live far from her.”

During the short drive to Damian’s house, I found my eyelids becoming heavy and noticed Mrs. Webster’s head bobbing and occasionally jerking upright. We’d all had a tiring day, and I was anxious to get home and curl up in bed with Inky, if he wasn’t deserting me again for Aunt Kit’s bed. Aunt Kit had joined old friends for dinner that evening, so I wasn’t sure what time she would be getting in.

Damian’s mid-century modern house was set back from the road in a grove of pine trees. The large front windows typical of that style of home were dark and the place looked rather foreboding. Guido pulled into the long driveway and stopped the motor. We could see a dim light from a side window, which could mean Damian was still up.

Nita hopped from the car with the box. “I’ll knock quickly, and if he doesn’t answer, I’ll leave it near the front door and send him a text letting him know it’s there.”

The cool night air and the lovely fragrance of pine coming in from an open car window helped relax me. I rested my head on the seatback, planning to sleep the rest of the way home.

A piercing scream jolted us fully awake.

Looking toward the sound of the scream, we saw Nita by the front door frantically beckoning to us. We scrambled from the car, nearly stumbling over ourselves, and ran toward the house. Our relief at seeing she was okay was overwhelming.

When we reached the front door, Guido entered first, with Mrs. Webster and me following. Not knowing what we’d find, I tried to push in front of her, but she wouldn’t have it.

We gaped at the scene in front of us. There, wide-eyed and covered in blood, stood Monica Heller—a knife in her hands. At her feet lay Damian Reynolds.