Chapter 22

Studies by real estate organizations show that staged homes sell eighty-eight times faster and for twenty percent more than homes that aren’t staged.

Google provided hundreds of links to articles about Damian, reviews of his work, awards he’d received, and lists of dealers selling his paintings and prints. It was a link to a West Coast newspaper article, dated over three years ago, that caught my eye: “Artist’s Daughter Lost in Boating Accident.”

“That’s so sad,” Nita said. “Now I know what Theresa meant when she said Damian was finally finding some happiness. How do you recover from something like that?”

We went on to read about Damian and his wife, Helen, being in seclusion at their Carmel estate.

Nita handed my phone back to me. “He was married? Poor Monica. Could that be why Damian was trying to sever relations with her? Do you think she knew he was married?”

It was on the tip of my tongue to say that she hadn’t had any compunction about getting involved with my late husband, but I thought better of it. Especially since all I had were suspicions.

“For a start, we only know that he wanted to cancel orders related to the redecorating, and that could have been because of financial reasons. We don’t know if he wanted to sever his relationship with Monica. Let’s not jump to conclusions. How about tomorrow we go see your niece and find out what more she knows about him?”

  

In the morning, Nita called Jaime and asked if it would be convenient for us to stop by to see her. When we arrived, we found a Hamilton Real Estate vehicle parked out front. The front door of the house flew open as soon as we rang the bell, and Jaime greeted us.

“We have a contract on the house!” The excitement of it almost had her jumping up and down. “Isn’t that great? I’m so relieved.”

“When did that happen?” Nita and I stepped inside to find Doug Hamilton sitting at the dining room table with a laptop and papers spread out in front of him.

“Doug just brought the offer he received, and we’re going over it.”

“Hey, ladies.” Doug looked up and waved. “Jaime was a bit nervous about selling the house in time, but once I saw the job you did staging it, I wasn’t so worried. The place virtually sold itself.”

Doug had been involved with the sale of the Denton mansion Tyrone and I had staged in the spring, and he’d helped get the place sold in record time. He was a very pleasant guy, and for a while, I thought there might be something brewing between him and Monica, but that hadn’t been the case. Looking back made me wonder if I’d shown more interest, whether Doug and I might have become more than just friends. Maybe, maybe not. It was just as well since I wasn’t sure I was ready for a relationship with anyone.

“I can’t thank you both enough for all you did staging the house,” Jaime added. “Without your help, I’m sure we couldn’t have sold it so quickly. Then we would have lost the place we really wanted.”

“Is your husband pleased with the offer?” I asked.

“I just spoke to Frankie on the phone, and he thinks it’s a good offer. It looks like we’re ready to move forward.”

Doug motioned Jaime over. “I need to get a signature in a few places and let the buyer’s agent know you’ve accepted their offer. Then you’ll be another step closer to moving into your new home.” Doug handed a pen to Jaime and turned back to the paperwork. Nita and I went out onto the patio to get out of their way.

A short while later, they joined us outside. Jaime was grinning from ear to ear, and Doug looked relieved. He might have been more concerned about the house selling quickly than he’d let on.

Doug gave us a smart salute, a holdover from his Navy days. “I’ll say goodbye since I need to get these documents processed. You ladies take care.”

Jaime sank into a deck chair. She looked spent from all the excitement. “I’m so relieved that’s over. The couple who wants our place loved it as soon as they walked in the door.”

“First impressions are important.” I looked through the French doors into the main floor, pleased at how good the changes we made had turned out. No clutter, simple accessories, and a few modern touches really helped to update the place. “It helped that you were willing to make changes that would appeal to others, which is hard to do to your own home.”

“I have to admit it was hard,” Jaime said. “Especially since this was our first home and we were emotionally attached to it.”

I thought of my home and the changes I made to it after my mother died. “Some homeowners aren’t willing to change things. They love their pink ruffled curtains, flowered wallpaper, and knickknacks. Buyers can’t always see beyond those things.”

Nita accepted the iced tea Jaime handed her. “Well now that you’ve gotten your home-sale challenges taken care of, let’s talk about Damian Reynolds.”

“What about Damian?” Jaime looked puzzled. “Has this to do with Monica being charged with his murder? That was so surprising considering how crazy she seemed to be about him.”

“We read an article online about his daughter being lost in a boating accident. Did you hear anything about that at the college?” I knew there had to have been gossip when a famous artist decided to work at a small college in Pennsylvania.

“That was sad. From what I heard, Damian and his daughter went out on their sailboat and got caught in a squall. The conditions became extremely rough, and she was lost overboard before they could get back to shore. Apparently, he was so affected by it he completely stopped painting.”

“Which could account for him teaching art instead of doing it,” I said. It probably wasn’t unusual following something traumatic for a person to become so blocked they couldn’t paint, write, or whatever.

“Yes, especially since his daughter had been a talented artist as well,” Jaime added.

“What happened to his wife?” Nita asked.

“From what I heard, she blamed him for the accident since she’d asked them not to go out that day. She couldn’t get over it and filed for divorce about a year later.”

“So he wasn’t still married when he met Monica.” For some reason, I was relieved to hear that. We probably would have discovered this if we had done a more thorough Google search.

“No. But I understand she’s coming here soon for a memorial service for Damian and bringing their younger daughter. She doesn’t live too far from Louiston.”

“Why is the service being held here in Louiston?”

“He’s being buried here. Apparently, his grandparents came from Louiston, and there’s a large Reynolds family plot at Good Shepherd Cemetery. That’s why he came to Fischer College. Some family roots here. And Louiston isn’t far from where his ex-wife and daughter moved. She came from Pennsylvania too. That way he got to see his daughter from time to time.”

  

Later that evening, I curled up on the sofa with Inky and pulled out my laptop. A search on Google Maps enabled me to pinpoint the town Helen Reynolds and her daughter lived—about a ninety-minute drive from Louiston. Close enough to easily make the drive to Damian’s house and back again without being missed for long.

Could she have still been harboring enough resentment toward Damian about their daughter’s death to want him dead?