Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (14 page)

“That’s an unusual name. It suits you.”

He studied her maxi-dress, a throwback to his era, though the colorful beads were as popular now as they were then. “You’re as interesting as your surroundings.”

When she looked up at him, he shook his head. “That wasn’t a come-on. That was just a statement. I had my midlife crisis a few years ago when I got my divorce. Now I don’t date anyone who’s more than two years younger than me.”

“This is a big house for one person.”

“Maybe. But I just want a place away from the glitz, where I can have a quieter life. With my divorce, I received partial custody of my daughter. I need a house she can enjoy too. I’ve toured other properties the past few months, but none were just right. This one possibly could be. I especially like the idea of the pool. I’ve seen the pictures of it.”

“How old is your daughter?”

“She’s eleven, and I don’t know Trista as well as I should. I can’t even blame touring for that because I’d almost stopped touring until the reality show. In lots of ways, that’s what shook up my world.”

“It sounds as if the past few years haven’t been very settled.”

He gave a grim laugh. “Settled they were not. I got a divorce the year before the reality show. Trista was nine then. Between nine and eleven I missed a lot. That’s going to change now. She might even respect her old man again.”

There seemed to be a lot of story he wasn’t telling, and Caprice wondered if alcohol or drugs might have been involved too.

She imagined it was difficult to be in the spotlight, and then suddenly that spotlight was gone. How did a man keep his pride, keep his ego shored up, keep his head on straight? Ace seemed like he was thinking clearly once more.

In the media room, Ace stopped before a wall decorated with panels that were two feet wide by four feet high, one in a tiger-skin motif, one in leopard, one in zebra, and one in giraffe. The animal-print rug on the floor coordinated with those, and the black leather seating blended right in. There was a chest at one inset wall, painted in a gold and leopard motif. A floral print in a gold frame hung above it, and leather-bound book volumes stood on it next to a brass compote holding coconut shells.

He smiled. “How long does it take you to do something like this?”

“The media room?” she asked.

Though the huge flat-screen TV was the main component, it didn’t overtake the room because of the prints.

“Not just this room. The whole place.”

“The actual staging can be done in a couple of days.”

“I mean finding everything to stage the house.”

“This took about a month. Of course, I was handling other stagings, and living life in between.”

“Living life,” he said with a sigh. “This new tour my manager set up cuts into that. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“But only as old as you feel.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of those optimists I hear about?”

Now she laughed. “I try to be. Don’t you want to do the tour?”

“Oh, yeah, I want to. For the past year since the reality show, my manager’s been booking me on late-night TV, morning talk shows, that kind of thing. At the end of the interview I perform, and it feels great. But a solid year of it . . .”

He glanced around the house again. “That’s why I need a place away from the lights. This isn’t about money for me. Yeah, I have a lifestyle I want to keep up. But I’ve done pretty well with my investments, and I’m involved in a couple of businesses that have taken off. I can keep busy without music if I want to. Still, a chance to be back in the thick of it again is just too good to pass up.”

“What does your daughter think of it?”

“She wasn’t around the first time I made good. She’s seen the posters, the crazy outfits, the green hair. It’s all one big circle. The truth is, I might use her as a consultant for some of the techno-glitter of the show.”

“LED lights and fireworks?”

“Something like that.”

As they wandered through more rooms, Ace asked her, “So you grew up in Kismet?”

“Sure did.”

“You don’t find it confining?”

“Not really. My family has always expanded my world. I have a brother and two sisters, parents, and a nana who keeps up with everyone else. There was always lots of activity and stimulation, so I really didn’t need to look elsewhere.”

“I know what you mean. I’ve got three brothers back in Scranton. They have no desire to leave, and every time I have a chance to get home, we sit around a pan of lasagna and talk. Though I’ve got to admit, it wasn’t always that way. They weren’t into music and often thought I was weird.”

They stayed away from the kitchen to avoid the congregation of guests enjoying Nikki’s food. Caprice led Ace through a den that had a door to the pool area. He stopped to study an art print of a tropical cheetah family. Absentmindedly, he toyed with a leopard-patterned votive candle holder with swinging panels that caught the air currents and swayed. The drape set at the window with zebra-patterned sheers caught his eye too.

Caprice liked the interest he was showing. It seemed genuine. But she didn’t know if that meant he’d buy the house.

Ace peered out the sliding-glass doors to the pool area, where some guests had gathered.

“Nice pool,” he said. “Lights and heat?”

“Yes. Would you like to see it?”

“I think I’ll pass. Too many people might want an autograph. I’m just not in the swing of that today.”

She suddenly realized that Ace Richland was a persona. Underneath lurked Al Rizzo, a fifty-year-old man who wasn’t sure what direction his life was headed in. He thought he wanted to go back, but he wasn’t sure about that at all.

“How much time will you spend here?”

“Weeks between gigs. I’m selling my place in L.A. Marsha lives in Virginia with Trista now, close to her family. Kismet would be closer for Trista’s visits. We wouldn’t have to fly and worry about security hassles. I can have a car service drive her here.”

“Or you could pick her up,” Caprice suggested.

He was about to protest when he studied her more closely. “You’re not in awe of me, are you?”

She laughed. “I’m in awe of the sunrise, or of a litter of kittens, or of a rainbow.”

“So you already think I’m a rock legend has-been with no substance?”

“Of course not! I admire what you did, and what you’re going to do. I like your music. I have it on my iPod.”

“But?”

“No buts. I like to talk to people when I decorate or stage their houses. I try to get to the bottom of who they are. That helps. So I guess I do that in most of my conversations now. I don’t mean to invade your privacy.”

“Yes, you do. But that’s okay. You’re better than paparazzi with a long lens.” He gave a last look to the expansive patio outside. “I’ve seen enough. My manager and I are flying back to L.A. in a couple of hours. Walk me out?”

“Of course.”

Before they’d reached the foyer, Ace’s burly bodyguard and his manager reappeared with Denise. Apparently they’d been monitoring his tour.

Denise unabashedly handed Ace her card.

“I have your number on my phone,” he told her.

“On the other hand . . .” He stared at Caprice. “Do you have a card?”

Caprice slipped the turquoise card with white print from her pocket. “You can always reach me through Denise. But I don’t sell houses. I just stage them.”

“I get that,” he said, but he pocketed the card and winked. “I’ll be in touch.”

As Ace, his manager, and his bodyguard left, Denise turned to Caprice. “What’s he going to be in touch with you about?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did he seem interested?”

“He did. A lot is uncertain in his life right now, and I’m not sure he knows where he wants to settle in between gigs.”

“But you convinced him Kismet was best, right?”

“No, I didn’t try to convince him of anything. I don’t think he’s a man who is easily convinced. He needs to make up his own mind.”

“I hope you didn’t lose me a sale,” Denise grumbled.

“You should have treated him like the celebrity he is, gotten him a boar panini and a drink.”

“We could have a buyer here other than Ace Richland.”

“We’d better,” Denise muttered as she walked away.

Caprice wasn’t sure what had just happened . . . or maybe she was. Her mind was on Bella and Joe more than it was on selling the Sumpter property. She couldn’t do anything about Bella and Joe today. Work had to come first, or she’d lose the reputation she’d built up. She couldn’t let that happen.

But she couldn’t let Joe or Bella go to prison, either.

The Cupcake House almost looked like a gingerbread house as Caprice approached it Monday morning. Cupcakes of all shapes, sizes, and colors decorated pillars that supported a portico. The awning sported pink and white stripes. Inside, cupcake pedestals displayed the latest trend in frosted cupcakes, plain cupcakes, and over-the-top huge cupcakes. The whole shop was a mix of frosting colors—pink, yellow, white, lilac, deeper blue, and purple. It was Caprice’s kind of place.

But...

She baked a lot herself, as did everyone in her family, so she didn’t need the additional calories from coming in here and buying a half dozen or a dozen cupcakes. Yet she knew from sampling them here and there that they were delicious. She thought about her and Seth sharing a few . . .

Her and Seth. Fade out to the discussion at hand.

Nikki had described Sharla Flannery to her, and Caprice had caught glimpses of her now and then. After all, Kismet was small, and everyone knew everyone else.

Sharla was a flamboyant redhead, and Caprice wondered if that red had a little help. Nikki told her the woman’s personality matched her hair color. So Caprice wasn’t sure what to expect when she walked up to the counter to find her filling the display case.

“Be with you in a minute,” Sharla said.

She wore a smock decorated with every kind of cupcake imaginable. When she straightened to address Caprice, she smiled. “How can I help you?”

Caprice really didn’t want to believe Danny Flannery had anything to do with Bob’s murder. However, after talking with him, she believed he was hiding something. If she could find out what that was, maybe she could eliminate him from the mix.

“My name’s Caprice De Luca. I’d like to talk to you about your son.”

Sharla planted her hands on her hips and looked resigned. “What did he do now?”

“I’m not sure he did anything, but . . . The truth is, I knew Bob Preston, the man who was murdered. He and Danny got into a tiff and scuffed around a little. Do you know anything about that?”

“Are you with the police?” Sharla asked warily.

“No. My sister found Bob. Because she did, the police are looking at her hard, so I’m nosing around. I don’t want to invade your privacy, but I’m trying to protect her.”

“I certainly understand trying to protect family. I’ve been doing that for Danny all his life.” Sharla took two chocolate cupcakes from inside the case and slid one over to Caprice. “Let’s have coffee and talk.”

Chocolate, no matter what time of the day it was, wasn’t a temptation she resisted well. She was going to go to Shape Up later to swim—and nose around there a bit too. Certainly she could work off one chocolate cupcake.

“It’s a slow time, so we’re good for a few minutes,” Sharla said, as she took two mugs of coffee to one of the small tables, where she and Caprice sat across from each other.

They both unwrapped their cupcakes, and Caprice asked, “Do you make these?”

“I help bake them. The batter’s already made up. Dana comes in around four every morning and mixes them all. She keeps the recipes secret. I don’t blame her. They’re good.”

Caprice had learned from Nikki that Dana Hodgkins was the owner of the Cupcake House. “Dana’s not here now?” she asked.

“Nope. After her stint from about four a.m. to nine, she takes a few hours before she comes back in.”

Caprice took a bite of the decadent chocolate cupcake, closed her eyes, and appreciated it, seeing exactly why Dana kept the recipe secret. After a swig of coffee, she looked at Sharla. “So tell me about Danny.”

“He’s a good kid, but he’s quiet. He’s never had a dad around to play catch or throw a football, and the truth is, I haven’t been around as much as I should be. I not only work here during the day, but I clean houses at night.”

Sharla ate a bite of cupcake, licked icing from her lips, and then said, “I knew Danny was in a fight. His hand was bruised, and I asked him about it. I might not be around much, but I do notice things.”

Good moms did. And although Sharla had to work a lot, Caprice already suspected she was a good mom.

“I always make sure he has plenty of food to eat and that the neighbor keeps an eye on him. At least when he was younger she did. But now he doesn’t want anyone watching over him, not even me.”

“He thinks he can do everything on his own.”

“Exactly. And he can’t. Most of all, he doesn’t have close friends. Kids don’t like other kids who are different, and Danny is. He likes to draw pictures instead of study, so teachers aren’t too keen on him, either. But he’s got talent. I just wish I could pay for art lessons. The budget’s being cut in the schools. There’s not much room for artistic creativity in the curriculum.”

Caprice’s mom talked about that all the time. Teachers wanted to expand kids’ horizons, but that was tough with state regulations becoming tighter on what to teach and not to teach. Education was getting boiled down to how well a student scored on a standardized test.

“So Danny spends some time at the community center,” Caprice prompted.

“Yes, he does. I knew he’d been helping Bob with the murals . . .” A look crossed Sharla’s face, and it was a look Caprice knew she had to explore.

“So you knew Bob?”

“Not well, but I did know him. One night, after I cleaned one of those mansions in Reservoir Heights, the owner left me a particularly generous tip. I was so tired, maybe more tired of feeling defeated than physically tired. Do you know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“So I just wanted a treat. The Blue Moon Grille has those big, soft pretzels, and they cover them with a mixture of crab and cheese sauce. I was so tired, I just decided to sit at the bar and have a beer with a pretzel, and then take one of them home for Danny. Well, this handsome guy with a great smile and a great body sat down beside me. Honest to goodness, I don’t know how long it had been since I thought of myself as a pretty woman. But he started talking right away. He made me laugh. He made me feel . . . special.”

Bob was good at that, Caprice knew.

“So I ate my crab pretzel, I had a beer, and so did he. Then we had a pitcher of beer. One thing led to another, and I went home with him. Believe me I know how stupid that was. But he wasn’t a complete stranger. I’d seen him around. I’ve got to admit, I was hoping for more than one night. But one night it was. He never called again. When Danny mentioned he was working with Bob Preston at the community center, I figured that was probably just as well.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know how well Danny would take to having a man in his life, not at this late stage.”

“You don’t normally date?”

“Who has time?”

Caprice thought about her and Seth, and how they wanted to date, but how work and other responsibilities often kept them from seeing each other. A single mom with a teenage son and two jobs? When did she have time to date?

“Do you think Danny knew you and Bob had hooked up?”

Sharla shook her head. “I don’t see how.”

But it was possible Danny had found out. It was possible he didn’t like the idea of a man in his mother’s life. It was possible he had a motive for murder.

Shape Up, Kismet’s workout center, was located on Oak Street near the Country Fields Shopping Center. It had been constructed about ten years ago. About three years ago a pool, a hot tub, and a warm-water arthritis center had been added. Memberships had increased.

Caprice had joined about a month ago, determined to add exercise to her weekly, if not daily, routine. Swimming was about the only exercise she really enjoyed. One evening last week she’d made a good attempt at fifteen laps. She knew she was probably out of shape and had to work up to it if she wanted to do more, but it had been a good start. She liked coming in in the evenings, when the pool area was quieter. If she timed it just right, sometimes it was just her and the lifeguard. She was self-conscious in her bathing suit, and the fewer people who saw her the better, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t know how swimsuit models did it. Did they really not mind people watching them?

However, this morning she was going to swim and ask questions about Bob’s habits and acquaintances. She already had a nodding acquaintance with the secretary at the registration desk. But as far as other members went, she didn’t know many. When she came to work out, she arrived ready to do just that. So she didn’t dawdle at the vending machines or in the lounge area where there were a couple of backgammon tables and magazines. The gym had public Wi-Fi now too, but who needed that during a workout?

So she didn’t know exactly the best way to learn more about Bob’s habits and friends here, but she was sure he had them. There was no way Bob could have worked out without talking to everybody in sight. That’s just the way he was.

Should she ask questions before she swam or afterward? Better before. Afterward she was liable to be worn out. She was having tea with Nana this afternoon, but her grandmother would understand if she wasn’t a sparkling conversationalist.

The first thing she did was go to the locker room and stow her gear.

She supposed the only way to do this was to march into the workout room, head over to one of the bikes, and see if she could fit in.

She was surprised at the number of people who were coming and going. Maybe they worked out on their mid-morning breaks, or took an early lunch. It was almost eleven.

After pocketing her key in her shorts, she left the locker room and headed toward the computerized exercise bicycles. She tried to remember everything one of the fitness instructors had told her when she’d taken a tour of the facility before she’d joined. The buttons were fairly self-explanatory. However, she really didn’t want to climb on that bike, and then pedal and sweat.

Looking around, she noticed three guys over by the weights. They looked to be around Bob’s age. As Giselle had mentioned the last time she was at Grant and Vince’s office, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With a smile on her face, and acting more confident than she felt, she approached the weight station. The truth was, she didn’t know how to flirt, and she wasn’t going to even attempt it. Bantering with Seth was one thing. Trying to get information by flirting was another. She didn’t feel capable of it.

Instead she approached the three guys. “Hi. I wonder if any of you knew Bob Preston.”

All three of them had worn relaxed expressions before, but now they didn’t look so relaxed. Their lips thinned, and Caprice wondered if this had been a huge mistake.

Thrown a little off balance, she offered, “I knew Bob. I have a home-staging business and he did painting for me. My sister found his body just after he was killed and I . . . I sort of did, too. We’re trying to find some answers about what happened.”

One of the guys, a tall blond with a buzz cut, narrowed his eyes. “Isn’t that the police’s job?”

“Yes, it is,” she answered quickly. “But knowing Bob, finding him like that, makes this personal.”

The best-looking one of the three, with brown hair tousled over his forehead, his green eyes serious, studied her for a few moments. Then he asked, “Aren’t you Nikki De Luca’s sister?”

Ever since she was little, Caprice had been called that. Nikki was the older one, the smart one, the pretty one. Caprice had been the middle girl, and maybe that’s why she tried so hard to be unique. Being in the middle wasn’t always fun.

“Yes, I am.” She extended her hand. “Caprice De Luca.”

“Chad Hollister. Nikki and I have gone out on a few dates.”

The third guy standing there, with russet hair, dressed in a muscle tank and board shorts, repeated, “De Luca. Like in Mrs. De Luca, the English teacher?”

Caprice had to smile. Yep, her mom was well known in Kismet. “She’s my mom.”

He shook his head. “I hated English, but your mom made it not seem so bad, except when she tried to teach me poetry.” He extended his hand. “The name’s Patrick.”

Caprice laughed as she shook his hand. “Mom loves poetry, especially the nineteen-century English poets.”

When Patrick looked blank, Caprice gave up that topic of conversation. Now that the ice was broken, so to speak, she asked, “So did any of you know Bob?”

They all exchanged a look that said guys didn’t rat on each other. Guys stuck together. Guys had a man-code. Terrific.

Chad said, “I knew him by sight. Everybody who comes and goes here has a nodding acquaintance.”

The blond shrugged. “We talked about the Phillies and the Orioles, how their seasons were going. We spotted each other now and then. But that’s about it.”

“Bob dated a lot,” she said, and just left the statement out there like a helium balloon ready to float.

But there were those guy-looks again. Finally Chad seemed to speak for all of them. “You might want to check out the women’s locker room if you want information about that.”

“Are you saying guys don’t gossip?”

“Guys don’t admit they gossip, and they sure don’t talk about what they gossiped about,” he maintained.

“I understand that. But do any of you know specific women or maybe jealous guys who didn’t consider Bob one of their favorite people?”

“He dated and dropped a lot of women,” the blond said.

Chad exchanged a look with him and then revealed, “And there were guys whose girlfriends strayed because of Bob too. But that’s all I’m saying.”

“You don’t know anyone who had a specific grudge?”

All three shook their heads. Nikki said Caprice’s truth meter was pretty good. They all looked her straight in the eye, and none of them were shifting around. She believed them.

“Was there anybody in particular Bob hung around with? A best guy friend, that kind of thing?”

“He was a loner,” Chad supplied. “As much as he liked to talk, he didn’t talk to one person any too long, and never about anything personal.”

That had been her experience with Bob too.

The blond averted his gaze from Caprice’s. “We’ve got to get back to it. I’m here on a lunch break.”

Caprice knew their conversation was over. There was nothing more she could learn from them, at least not now. But she’d made contact. Maybe they’d spread the word she was looking for answers. Who knew?