Chapter 4

Most homebuyers form an opinion fifteen seconds after entering a home. Stage your home to ensure their first impression is a good one.

After a draining day, I happily returned to my craftsman bungalow and was greeted by my tiny black cat, Inky. Unlike many cats who only tolerated their owners, Inky was affectionate and curled around my ankles, displaying how happy he was to see me. He was even more so when I put clean water in his bowl, with two ice cubes, which he loved, and fed him his favorite salmon dinner. It smelled awful to me, but he loved it—it pays to have a happy pet. I’d heard too many horror stories from pet owners about how their pets had taken revenge on them for minor infractions.

After tending to Inky, I stepped in the shower, wishing the hot water pouring over me could wash away memories from earlier that day. I hadn’t realized how stressed I had become. The water helped relax my stiff muscles and reminded me again how wonderful it was to have a shower. My father frequently talked about how much he appreciated a shower. As a Marine, who had served in both the jungle and the desert and frequently had only cold water to bathe with; he viewed a hot shower as pure luxury. Memories of him caused a sharp pain to hit. Even after so many years, I still missed him. After my parents’ divorce when I was young, he gradually disappeared from my life, and I didn’t know whether he was alive or dead.

I dressed quickly and went about preparing dinner so Aunt Kit could have something to eat following her long ride. It didn’t matter what I fixed. She would pick at whatever it was and say she wasn’t hungry. But she always had room for dessert.

The doorbell sounded just as I slid a frozen pizza into the oven. I had doctored it with red peppers, onions, mushrooms, and olives to make it healthier.

Aunt Kit stood at the door, a tall, erect figure, holding two large cases that would have weighed down anyone far stronger. She hadn’t even bothered to rest them on the porch floor while waiting for me to come to the door. It always amazed me that someone who ate so little could be so strong.

“Well, you took your time,” she said, every bit as imperious as Maggie Smith in Downton Abby.

Lovely greeting. “Hello, Aunt Kit.” She was so much like my late mother it was like having her there—just when I thought I had exorcized her disgruntled spirit from the house I had grown up in. My mother resisted any bit of happiness that tried to fight its way into our lives. Fortunately, I’d had Nita’s family to show me how good life could be. As a result, I had a much better outlook on life than I would have had without them.

“Here, let me give you a hand with your cases.” I made the mistake of reaching for one of them.

She pulled back. “I can still manage on my own, thank you very much.”

I shrugged and led the way to the guest room.

Inky scooted around us and launched himself onto the bed. I held my breath, wondering how Aunt Kit would react, but I needn’t have worried. She was fond of me in her gruff way, but she loved Inky. And for some inexplicable reason, he loved her too. He would be her constant companion while she was there.

I was ravenous, but as I expected, Aunt Kit toyed with the pizza I placed in front of her. As I cleared our plates away, I told her about Nita finding the body in the funeral home. I knew if I didn’t, someone would tell her about our involvement. She had grown up in Louiston and still knew lots of people in town who were bound to tell her.

“How do you get yourself involved in things like that?” She stated it as though I went looking for trouble.

There was no explanation for it, so I ignored her question.

Aunt Kit continued. “How is that little business of yours going?”

Hearing people use the term little in that way had the same effect on me as hearing fingernails scrape across a blackboard. It was as though they were dismissing the subject as having little value.

“It’s growing. Nita is working with me now. Also Tyrone, when he isn’t at school or one of his other part-time jobs. We have enough work that I’ll occasionally call in Will Parker to help. Do you remember Will? He’s the retired rodeo star who was hit by a car this past spring, but he’s doing a lot better now.”

“I remember you telling me about that, but I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

“He’s a real character, but I like him a lot. He lives with his daughter and her big family up near the B&B.”

“I’m glad he helps you out, but how you could give up a well-paying job in IT to go into a business moving furniture about is beyond me. I can’t imagine what your mother would think if she were alive.”

I knew how my mother would think—exactly like Aunt Kit. As young women, neither of them had any sense of adventure. It made me wonder what their parents had been like with both their daughters viewing the world so glumly. Maybe it was just as well I didn’t know.

“Working in IT bored me. Home staging allows me to use my talents for decorating. And there’s a lot to be said about being my own boss. But best of all, I’m doing work that makes me happy. And I’m doing it while still young enough to try it.

“What does being happy have to do with making a living? You’ll never be able to make the money you made in IT. I wasn’t happy in my work, but it’s given me a good retirement that I can depend on. Derrick wouldn’t have approved of you chucking your job.”

Uh, oh. She’d used the D-word. My late husband, Derrick, had never had time for anything I wanted. Everything had always been about him. I was elated that I no longer had to worry about what Derrick thought.

“Frankly, Aunt Kit, I’ve reached the stage in my life where I’m doing what I want to do—even if I go broke doing it.” Entering a new field, that was always a possibility, but I wasn’t going to let a fear of failing stop me from trying. “You don’t have to worry about my finances. The home staging field is growing, and the more people recognize its value, the more they’ll be turning to businesses like mine.”

And then she softened. “Just take care, dear. I worry about you.”

That statement deserved a reward. I opened the freezer and surveyed the two containers of ice cream stored there. Should I give her butter pecan to butter her up, or rocky road, which seemed to hold a warning? Decision made, I placed a bowl of butter pecan ice cream in front of her. Her face broke out in a wide smile. Dessert always put a smile on her face.

I scooped up a bowl for myself. Maybe after the day I’d had it would put a smile on my face—and help me prepare for whatever tomorrow held.