Chapter 18

Certain paint colors can help promote wellness or a sense of well-being. A home stager can help you select those colors.

The visitors’ area of the jail, covered in awful green paint, was as dismal as I remembered it. The painters hadn’t done a very good job of it either. After I showed my driver’s license and signed in, I sat where directed and waited for Monica to be seated on the other side of a glass partition.

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 pieces 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.