Chapter 33

A master bedroom should be gender neutral to appeal to both sexes. Remove floral patterns and NASCAR posters. Select neutral colors for walls and bedding.

After Nita and I left Ted’s law office, we stopped at Vocaro’s, where Tyrone made us our favorite coffee drinks—cappuccino for me and a macchiato for Nita. I probably should have ordered chamomile tea instead to calm my frazzled nerves. Had Ted really left the folder out so we could see the will? If so, he must still really have a thing for Monica.

We got our drinks and took a table in the back to discuss what we’d learned related to what we already knew. I tried to absorb the information. As we had learned before, Ian Becker made four calls on his cell phone when he arrived in Louiston, and one of them had been to Emily Thompson—his girlfriend twenty years ago. Could he have called her because he wanted to talk about their times together or because of the will? Had Ian been aware his aunt had named Emily Thompson and Brandon Thompson, whoever he was, in her will?

For once, Nita didn’t have a theory about it. “I don’t know Emily or Brandon Thompson. We’ll have to do some investigating.”

“Before we do that, we have to focus on our work.” We went over our list of activities for the day and the remainder of the week. Working things into our schedule to help Monica’s business and fulfilling our own obligations kept us quite busy. No wonder Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot had been able to solve so many cases. It was his full-time job.

Nita took off to meet with a potential client about staging a house for sale. As I headed for the door, a thought occurred to me, and I stopped at the counter to talk to Tyrone. Fortunately, the early morning rush was over and he was free to talk.

“Hey, Tyrone, I have a question for you. Do you know Emily or Brandon Thompson?”

Tyrone wiped the counter with a damp cloth and pondered that. “I don’t know an Emily Thompson, but Brandon Thompson was in one of my art classes—the one with Damian Reynolds. I think he was also taking some private lessons with Damian. He was that good. Why?”

“I can’t say now. I’ll explain later. Thanks.”

Hmm. Brandon was a college-aged young man and possibly a protégé of Damian. Interesting.

  

I headed to Mrs. Webster’s house with a carload of fabrics. One of the projects I had taken over from Monica’s assistant involved installing new window treatments and throw pillows in coordinating fabrics for one of Monica’s customers. Since her usual seamstress was overwhelmed and putting Monica’s projects last, probably thinking Monica wasn’t coming back, I had arranged with Mrs. Webster to handle the work. She was an excellent seamstress, and when I explained what Nita and I were trying to do, she grumbled about Monica but agreed to make the draperies and pillow covers. It would help Monica’s business, and the fee for the work would help Mrs. Webster financially. She would probably try to refuse payment to help Monica, but I would insist she take the payment.

After making two trips to the car to retrieve the fabrics and pillows Monica had ordered for the project, I entered the house through the screen door Mrs. Webster held open for me.

“Girl, get in here. It’s hotter than blazes out there today.” She firmly shut the front door behind us, preventing anymore hot air from getting in. The cooler air inside made me shiver. I hadn’t realized how hot the day had become. It made me think about how much harder life had been before air conditioning.

“Where should I put these?” I looked around for a place to drop the fabric bolts, which were getting heavy.

“Take them into the dining room.” She led the way, carrying the pillows I’d left on the porch. “I’ve turned it into my temporary sewing room. The dining room table makes the perfect place to lay out long drapery panels.”

I followed her into the dining room and placed the bolts on the table along with the other items she had brought in from the porch.

“This sure is beautiful fabric,” Mrs. Webster said as she stroked a bolt of celery green velvet. The colors for the various rooms were ones I’d love to have in my own home but couldn’t afford.

“These fabrics will make gorgeous draperies.” I handed her a folder. “Here’s the information you’ll need. I double-checked all the measurements in case you’re wondering.” The folder contained the window measurements and other guidelines, along with photos of the windows the draperies were intended for.

“I wouldn’t doubt you did. You’re pretty thorough. We wouldn’t want to have them wrong and have Monica blame us.” She took the folder and placed it on the table. “Come into the kitchen and have a seat. How about some iced tea? I just made some.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.” I followed her into the kitchen and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Webster poured us large glasses of tea and placed a slice of coffee cake in front of me without asking if I wanted some. “So tell me, what’s been happening since we last talked?”

The cake looked very inviting and I dug in. I’d given Mrs. Webster a brief outline of my activities when I called to ask her about helping with the draperies. Now with more time, I filled her in on my efforts to find out more about the deaths of Ian Becker and Damian Reynolds.

“Why do you think the deaths are connected?” She refilled my now empty glass of iced tea and added more ice. Condensation dripped down the side of the glass.

“It’s more wishful thinking. If they are connected, maybe then we could buy Monica’s story about only pulling the knife from Damian’s body and that somebody else was responsible for both killings. We need to find a link to prove that.”

“Have you found a link yet?” Mrs. Webster held up the cake plate as though offering me another slice. As tempted as I was, I shook my head.

“Not really. Aunt Kit suggested a link, but it’s a weak one.”

“Which was?” Mrs. Webster perked up, thinking this was going to lead somewhere.

“That they both were involved in art.”

“Was Ian Becker an artist too?” Mrs. Webster asked.

“That’s why the link is so weak. As far as we know, he wasn’t. His aunt was a member of the local arts group and dabbled in art. From what I heard, her work was rather simplistic.”

“Yeah, that’s a pretty weak link.” She took a sip of iced tea.

“We have nothing else to go on—only a suspicion that Damian’s agent Garrett Fletcher is hiding something.”

I told Mrs. Webster about what Nita and I had discovered about Doris Becker’s will. “Two more people were named in the will. If they knew about it, it could have given one or both of them a motive in Ian Becker’s death. That is, depending on how the will was written.”

“That sounds more like something out of a Margery Allingham novel. I always did like those writers from the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.”

“I wish I had the experience those old writers and their detectives had. Next I need to talk to Emily Thompson, and it isn’t something I look forward to.”

I gathered up our dishes and took them over to the sink ready to leave.

“How is your Aunt Kit doing? Are you getting along?” Mrs. Webster asked.

That made me laugh. “You know Aunt Kit—always sees the glass half empty, just like my mom.”

“People like that are fearful—braced for the worst to happen. They feel if they become the least bit optimistic they’ll be disappointed. They expect the worst and then they aren’t disappointed. The important thing isn’t whether a glass is half full or half empty but that it can be refilled.”

“That’s a good thought. Aunt Kit worries about me too much. But I know she loves me and means well.”

“You know, I always suspected that she was secretly in love with your father.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me.” My father’s handsome looks and charm attracted everyone to him. “I often wonder what happened to him. After my parents divorced he faded away from my life. It always hurt that he didn’t try to see me.”

“Why don’t you ask your Aunt Kit about him. Perhaps she knows something.”

“I’m not sure. My mother would get upset if I even mentioned him, so I learned not to raise the subject.” Would Aunt Kit react the same way?