Chapter 41

Check out resale shops, antique stores, and garage sales for items to help in staging.

I spent half the night writing down everything I could remember since I started digging into both Ian’s and Damian’s deaths, filling page after page in my notebook. Reviewing what I’d written, I still didn’t get a clear picture of who could have committed the crimes or how they could be linked.

Checking the time, I saw it was getting late, and I needed to focus more on my home staging business and less playing amateur sleuth. Nita and I had the staging work we’d scheduled, plus the work we had committed to doing for Monica’s business.

Since Aunt Kit had been staying with me, I’d been having breakfast with her instead of meeting Nita at Vocaro’s. Some days it was the only time we had together. She had been busy meeting old friends and spending time with Anne Williamson, who had taken a shine to Aunt Kit. They must think alike.

I plopped my notebook on the kitchen table. “I’ve recorded everything I can remember since I got involved in this. There are plenty of suspects, but nothing that clearly points to who committed the crimes or if they are linked. It’s getting harder to prove Monica didn’t do it.”

Aunt Kit reached for the notebook. “Do you mind if I read your notes? Maybe another set of eyes will help.”

“Please do. I’m open to suggestions. By the way, I’m heading out to visit some resale shops this morning.”

Today was my day to go scouting for goods. Every week I took time to do a quick walk-through of the local resale stores like those run by the Salvation Army, St. Vincent de Paul, and Goodwill, looking for items to add to our inventory. They were excellent sources for the furnishings and accessories we used in staging. People frequently donated quality items that I could pick up for a song. Purchasing items from these organizations was a win-win situation. It enabled me to expand our inventory and helped the organizations raise money for their programs. On the weekends I hit the yard sales and estate sales, always finding something we could use. Then there were Josh’s warehouses. But I needed a full day there.

“Do you think it’s wise for you to go out, considering what happened to you yesterday?” Aunt Kit asked. Concern was written all over her face.

“I have a business to run. I can’t cower indoors afraid someone might be lying in wait for me.”

“Then perhaps I’ll go along with you.”

“What, and trail behind me as a bodyguard?” Thinking of my older aunt jumping out to protect me made me laugh. “You already have plans today with Anne. I’ll be careful. Besides, the only trouble I can get into at the resale shops is buying too much.”

Aunt Kit didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t say anything further. I was touched by her concern.

The morning sped by quickly as I went from one resale shop to another. I was on the hunt for attractive lamps, artwork, decorative items, and anything I thought we could eventually use to make an empty home attractive to buyers. The trick was picking up things when I saw them. If I was doubtful about an item and left it, it probably wouldn’t be there if I went back later.

At my last stop, while walking through the kitchenware area, a knife set in a wooden block caught my eye. The handles were brushed metal with a black ring around the edge. I froze in place looking at the set. The knife handles looked identical to the one I’d seen in Ian’s back when we found him. Examining the set, I saw one knife was missing.

Surely the knife used to kill Ian couldn’t have been from this set. People lost knives in sets all the time. But the design of the knife used to kill Ian was unusual and matched this set. Could it be the same set? It would be really strange for me to come upon the knife set owned by the murderer. Stuff like that only happened in movies. Or did it? It would be a weird coincidence. But stranger things in life happened all the time.

The knife used to kill Damian had been different. Otherwise, the police would have linked the two murders.

If the knife that had killed Ian had come from this set, how had it ended up here? Could the killer’s prints still be on the knives or the holder? Surely the person who got rid of it would have wiped it clean of any fingerprints. Or could the killer have been so arrogant as to think no one would find the set or connect it to the murder?

The set could be evidence. Thinking about how Detective Spangler would react to my showing up with it made me cringe, but I would put that worry aside for the moment.

First I had to purchase the set. What a conundrum—having to purchase possible evidence. My chances of convincing the woman at the counter I was confiscating the knife set as evidence in a murder case seemed remote.

If I picked it up, I’d be adding my fingerprints to those left on it since the killer had dumped it. Maybe I could ask the woman at the counter for a plastic bag to put around it. But I didn’t want to leave the set there in case someone walked off with it.

A stack of cloth napkins lay among a jumble of linens on a nearby table. I grabbed two and carefully wrapped them around the wooden block and took it to the checkout counter.

“Excuse me, could you ring this up without handling it?” I asked the clerk.

The woman looked at me like I was trying to conceal the price. “Sure, but I need to see the price tag.”

I carefully held the block with the napkins and turned it over to show her the price tag on the bottom.

“That will be sixty-five dollars. Do you want those napkins as well?”

Yikes, that was a lot, especially since one of the knives was missing. What brand was it? Oh, well. This wasn’t the time to haggle over the price. “Ah, no. I’ll take the napkins back. I didn’t want to risk cutting myself. Can I use them first to put the knife set in a bag?”

She offered to wrap the set in paper, but I didn’t want her handling it. Again she looked at me like she was taking a chance selling knives to a nutcase like me.

“Do you have any idea who donated this?” I asked.

She shrugged. “All the donated items come in through the loading dock. You can check with Pete back there. He’s here most days. But it’s pretty doubtful he’ll remember who brought it in.”

I paid her, slid the knife set and wooden block holder into a plastic bag, and took my receipt from the clerk, who still eyed me suspiciously.

“I’ll return the napkins to the table where I’d found them.”

She took them from me. “I’ll take them back.”

What did she think I was going to do—stuff them in my bag? How embarrassing to be viewed as a potential shoplifter.

I thanked her, took my bag, and slunk away, looking around for the door to the loading dock. I could have asked the clerk for directions, but I’d wanted to get away from her as soon as I could. I located a door marked Do Not Enter, figuring it would lead me to the storage/sorting room and loading dock. I pushed the door open and entered a large room piled high with every kind of item imaginable.

Near the tall doors opening to the loading dock, two men sat in bentwood chairs. The younger of the two, who looked to be in his early twenties, lounged back with his chair tilted against the wall. As I approached, he quickly drained a Pepsi in a glass bottle, lost his balance, and his chair legs abruptly hit the floor. A much older man sat with his feet firmly planted on the grimy floor. His gray hair and stooped shoulders a sign he’d spent a lifetime carrying heavy loads. Both men looked up as I approached.

“Hi. Is one of you Pete?”

“That’s me.” The older man said. “What can I do for you?”

“I just purchased a set of knives in a wooden storage block. Do either of you remember who donated the set?” I held open the plastic bag.

The gray-haired man looked in the bag and scratched his head. “People bring lots of stuff in here. Impossible to remember who brings what.”

The younger man leaned over and peered in the bag. He scrunched up his face in deep concentration. “I vaguely remember that set.” He sat for a few minutes pondering the item. “That mighta been the set a fellow dropped off last week. Said he saw it in a dumpster and pulled it out. I remember ’cause he yammered on about what the world was comin’ to when someone threw out a perfectly good set of knives ’cause one was missing.”

“Did he say where he found it?”

“He mighta said, but I don’t recall. Is it important? The knives weren’t stolen from you were they?”

“No, they weren’t mine.” Disappointed I couldn’t find out more, I pulled one of my business cards from the bottom of my canvas bag and handed it to the young man. “You’ve been very helpful. Thank you. If you remember anything more, could you please call me? The information could be vital to a murder investigation.”

Now I needed to get the evidence to the police.