Chapter 13

Each room should have a focal point. To provide a focal point for a bedroom, use a headboard that is about sixty inches high.

In the morning after a late night, I dragged myself from bed, fed Inky, left a note for Aunt Kit, and made my way to Vocaro’s to meet Nita and Tyrone. We were scheduled to stage another unoccupied home that morning and couldn’t put it off. Fortunately, the truck we had reserved hadn’t mysteriously been canceled, so we were set to go. Nita, just as bleary-eyed as I felt, arrived soon after I got there.

It had been quite late by the time we had given our statements to Detective Spangler and were allowed to leave. Fortunately, he’d felt compassion for Mrs. Webster and directed a police officer to take her home, saying he would get her statement in the morning. With four of us to attest to what we had witnessed when we arrived at the house, he could get most of what he needed from Nita, Guido, and me—and later get Mrs. Webster’s story.

When Detective Spangler had broken it to Monica that Damian was dead, it was as though she had gone into shock. Her vacant stare unnerved me. When she parted her lips to speak, words didn’t come out.

Later when Detective Spangler questioned her, she mumbled her responses. It surprised me that he’d allowed me to stay at her side during the questioning. The last thing we saw that night was Monica being driven away in a police car for further questioning. It hadn’t been her finest hour.

Now with little sleep, Nita and I stared up at the menu board hanging above the counter, trying to decide on something we could stomach. The shock of finding a second body within days of each other was taking a toll on us, and neither of us felt very hungry.

Tyrone stood behind the counter, ready to serve people as they came in. Soon he would be getting off work and we could leave to pick up Will Parker and then the furniture we were taking with us. Tyrone still amazed me at his ability to hold several part-time jobs and manage to get passing grades—in fact, more than just passing.

Today, however, after hearing about the events of last evening from his grandmother, he didn’t seem as buoyant. Monica wasn’t among his favorite people either, but with his experience of being accused of a crime and then proven innocent, he could well sympathize with her plight.

We finally decided on muffins and coffee and claimed our favorite table in Vocaro’s rear seating area and sank into our seats. We’d both ordered large coffees in an attempt to become more alert.

Vocaro’s served as a crossroads for the community, and a large segment of the population came through it during the day. So it was no surprise when Nita’s cousin Neil came in. His wrinkled police uniform and mussed hair a sure sign he’d pulled an all-nighter.

When he saw us, he put up both hands, palms out as though stopping traffic. “Don’t bother to ask, I’m not saying anything about Damian Reynolds’s murder or about Monica Heller.”

“Relax, Neil. Have a seat.” Nita patted the chair next to her. “We know you wouldn’t have information about what’s going on.” Knowing Nita so well, I knew her words, innocent on the surface, were meant to goad her younger cousin into saying things he shouldn’t. He could never resist trying to show her how much in the know he was.

She turned away from him as though ignoring him. “What do you think, Laura? Did Monica stab Damian? Or was it as she said—she found him on the floor when she got there and pulled the knife out to save him?”

I pondered the question, glad I wasn’t in a courtroom being asked that—it was a tough one. “I don’t know. We didn’t see her stab him, but what we witnessed was pretty incriminating. I heard her tell Detective Spangler that after she and Damian argued at the Arts Center, he dropped her at her place. Later, she got in her car and drove to his house. The door was ajar, and getting no answer when she called his name, she stepped inside. That’s when she saw him on the floor. Without thinking, she pulled the knife from his back, hoping it would help him. We arrived to find her holding the knife.”

“If what Monica says is true, and she didn’t stab him, who did? We didn’t pass anyone on the road near Damian’s house. But who knows how long Damian could have been lying there before Monica arrived.” Nita shuddered, probably reacting to the memory of finding them there.

“It couldn’t have been too long, because they left the Arts Center only about an hour before we did,” I said. “Perhaps a little longer since we helped clean up.”

“Two stabbings within a week. Could we have a serial killer on the loose in Louiston?” Nita looked at Neil out of the corner of her eye, hoping he wouldn’t be able to resist adding something.

Neil didn’t resist for long. “Did you know that Damian fellow is a famous artist? Or was.” The color rose in Neil’s cheeks at his blunder. “You should’ve seen the reporters coming into the station. They were shouting questions at the Chief about the murder—and about the murder of that man from New Zealand. The Chief wasn’t happy, especially after he received a call from the New Zealand Embassy. The whole squad later heard him yell at Detective Spangler to get those cases closed—and fast.”

Suddenly, Louiston was becoming an international hotbed of criminal activity, and we’d been caught up in it.