Drape Expectations (18 page)

“Got it,” she said with a nod, and left his office. She heard him mumble something about contrary females, but she kept walking. She'd done her duty and she'd keep doing her duty.

But now she needed that swim.

 

 

Caprice's swim at Shape Up was therapeutic. She tried to blank her mind while she swam laps and experienced the push of the water against her limbs, the beat of her heart, the fulfilling experience of working her muscles. Swimming was usually like that for her. That's why it was the only exercise she actually enjoyed.

The one thing she didn't like about it was the scent of chlorine. Everything smelled like it when she was finished. Some days, especially in warm weather, she waited to shower when she got home. But today, she just wanted the chemical off her skin and out of her hair.

She couldn't keep all of her thoughts at bay while she dried her hair with one of the facility's dryers and brushed through it. The shower area of the women's locker room was separate from the lockers. She was the only one using it right now. She could hear women's voices in the other section, but she didn't pay much attention.

She did pay attention to the thoughts that came and went, but she could no longer push away. Mostly, they were about her visit to Seth's family and what it was going to be like. She was usually a roll-with-the-punches kind of girl. This time, she wasn't.

Why was that? Because too much was riding on the experience? She was looking forward to the weekend with Seth with too much anticipation? Or maybe it was just her sixth sense telling her something she didn't want to hear?

After she dressed, she pulled Seth's bracelet from her purse. She studied it for a few moments, looking at each little charm. The kitten, the flower, and the peace sign, plus the colorful beads, always made her smile. Now it jingled as she slipped it on her wrist and fastened it. She picked up her duffel bag and left the locker room.

She automatically glanced around the exercise area. She often saw some of her clients here ... or friends. Even her brother had taken out a membership, but he usually worked out in the late evening or early morning.

To her surprise, over in a corner near the floor mats, she spotted Twyla. Not hesitating, she headed her way. Twyla was using one of the exercise balls to stretch her back. She was stretched over the red ball, her hands on the floor on one side, her feet on the floor on the other.

Caprice set her duffel on the floor, not wanting to interrupt.

Twyla opened her eyes and saw her—upside down, grant you, but apparently she recognized her.

“Hi, Caprice.”

Caprice didn't know how Twyla could talk upside down. She knew she probably wouldn't be able to do it. But then she'd never tried the exercise ball.

Twyla rolled off the ball and sat in a cross-legged position on the mat, looking up. “This place is great.”

“You decided to join?” Caprice asked, wondering if Twyla had made the decision to stay in Kismet.

“I took out a temporary membership. I can pay week by week. It fits for now. It will be a big decision whether I want to move here or not. I'm just not sure. Actually, I'd like to go over the pros and cons with you, if you wouldn't mind—sell Alanna's house or keep it. By the way, how's Mirabelle doing?”

“She's settling in, not hiding nearly as much. She and Lady get along fine, and Mirabelle and Sophia are sleeping in the same room together now. That's definite progress. When would you like me to stop by to talk about the house?”

“How about tomorrow afternoon? Would that suit you? I'm going to spend some time here now, and I have an appointment with Alanna's lawyer later.”

“Tomorrow afternoon would suit just fine.” Caprice picked up her duffel bag. “Have a good workout.”

Twyla squatted onto the exercise ball again. “I will. See you tomorrow.”

 

 

The following afternoon, Nikki took Caprice to the body shop to pick up her Camaro. Afterward, Caprice drove to White Pillars, armed with a list of pros and cons. She'd brought along facts about Kismet and the surrounding area, and the advantages of living in south central Pennsylvania. She was a neutral party here. She'd made her fee on the staging, so whether Twyla sold or didn't sell White Pillars didn't really matter to her. She was glad she had this meeting today. When she was sitting at her computer, designing, or in between phone calls, she thought too much about Seth and the upcoming weekend.

She parked in the driveway and hurried up to the front door of the mansion. To her surprise, the huge white door was hanging open. Yes, Twyla was expecting her, but that seemed a little unusual.

She called inside. “Twyla?”

There was no answer. She could try to call her from her cell, but that was silly. There was no reason she couldn't step inside that luscious foyer and yell.

But when she stepped inside the foyer, the tall vase usually on the center table was pushed to one side. And when she peered into the living room ...

There was Twyla, lying on the floor; a crock of some kind had shattered into several pieces, which were scattered nearby.

Caprice raced to her. As she sank down on her knees beside Twyla, the woman moaned. Thank goodness.

Caprice slid her hand along Twyla's cheek. “Twyla?”

Caprice could see an abrasion on the side of Twyla's head, which was bleeding.
If that crock had had a rough edge ...

Twyla's eyes fluttered open and it took her a moment to focus. When she saw Caprice, she tried to sit up.

“Stay put,” Caprice warned her. “I should call the paramedics.”

“I don't want to go to the hospital.”

“They could treat you right here.”

Twyla had already come to a sitting position and was shaking her head. That caused her to close her eyes and wince.

She pointed to the nearby antique pie safe, its doors hanging wide open. “There was a man in a ski mask and gloves stealing something from there.”

Just what had been worth stealing in Alanna Goodwin's antique pie safe?

Chapter Fifteen

“You were unconscious, Twyla. That's not something to ignore,” Caprice reminded her as she took the handkerchief Nana had advised her to always carry and pressed it against Twyla's wound.

Twyla held it, while with a tissue Caprice wiped away the blood that had trickled down the side of Alanna's sister's face. “I do think we should call the police,” Twyla said in a thready voice.

They both looked toward the pie safe.

“Do you have any idea of what was in there?” Caprice asked.

Twyla shook her head carefully this time. “No. But the man was removing papers when I spotted him.”

“How could you tell the burglar was a man?”

“It was his build and height.”

“What kind of papers did he take?”

“I don't know,” Twyla responded. “They were folded up. There's so much to sort through in this house that I haven't even gotten to the living room.”

Caprice desperately wanted to go look in the pie safe, but she knew she shouldn't touch anything. Or even move around. Evidence could be found anywhere.

“I'll call Detective Carstead,” she agreed. “But I know he'll dispatch the paramedics, too. You need them.”

This time, Twyla closed her eyes and murmured, “Go ahead. I have a headache that probably won't quit any time soon.”

Caprice called Carstead's cell number. To her relief, he answered. She knew how Carstead worked and she didn't gloss over anything. She told him, “I found Twyla Horton unconscious on the floor in the living room at White Pillars. A man in a ski mask knocked her out when she found him pulling papers from a pie safe. We're still in the living room, sitting on the floor where I found her, and we won't move if you or the paramedics can get here in a decent amount of time.”

“I'll be there with a patrol car in five minutes,” he assured her. “The medics will be right behind me.”

Caprice figured it would be more like ten minutes, but the detective must have used a siren and lights because it wasn't much past five minutes when he strode in the front door. At the same time, she heard the ambulance bleeping a sound as it pulled up in front of the property.

Caprice had helped Twyla prop herself against the sofa, but she looked pale and shaky. From what Caprice had seen, Twyla's wound looked jagged and deep and might need stitches.

After Carstead took in the scene at a glance, he crossed to Twyla and asked, “What happened?”

“I was upstairs,” Twyla responded. “Stupidly, I didn't have the alarm turned on. I had just come in and was changing clothes for my meeting with Caprice.”

“Why were you two having a meeting?” Carstead asked.

Caprice answered this time. “Twyla has to decide whether or not she's going to sell the house. That's what we were going to talk about. But when I arrived, the front door was open and I found Twyla in here, on the floor.”

Carstead studied the floor as if he was looking for footprints or some evidence of the man's arrival and departure.

He studied the pie safe. “From what I understand, you had an open house here before Mrs. Goodwin was murdered. About how many people attended?”

“Easily fifty,” Caprice answered.

“And we had a reception here after the funeral,” Twyla told him.

“Another fifty?” he inquired with his brow creasing.

Twyla and Caprice both nodded.

“Did you have a cleaning service come in afterward?”

Still holding the handkerchief to her wound, Twyla shook her head. “No. I just didn't want to be . . . bothered. Alanna's regular cleaning service was going to start again next week. I had to sign a new contract with them in my name.”

Suddenly the clatter of a gurney broke their conversation. Two paramedics rushed to Twyla and began their examination, first taking vital signs, then asking her questions and checking her wound.

As they worked, Detective Carstead scanned the whole room again and his focus targeted the foyer.

“I only saw one thing amiss when I came in,” Caprice told him. “The vase that usually sits on that table out there was pushed off center.”

“As if someone running past it elbowed or bumped it?” Carstead asked.

“That would be my guess,” Caprice agreed.

“We'll check it for prints. But if the intruder wore gloves, I doubt if we'll find anything useful.”

He walked toward the pie safe, took a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, and slipped them on. After a moment of examining the open door, he peered into the shelved interior, spending a good long time examining the inside.

Taking a penlight from his pocket, he shone it into the shelves then, obviously finding something notable, Carstead took out his mobile unit, pressed a button, and said, “Thompkins, bring in an evidence bag. Any sign of anybody out there?”

As he listened, Caprice saw him frown.

“A motorcycle, maybe?” he asked. “Good catch. The evidence techs will be here as soon as they can. Let Monroe guard the scene. You bring in the bag.”

Less than a minute later, a patrol officer had come in with a brown paper evidence bag and tag. Carstead extracted a small tool kit from his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like forceps.

As Caprice watched, he used them to draw out whatever was in the back of the pie safe.

After he pulled out a small scrap of paper, he studied it. “Whatever papers were in there must have caught on the rough back edge of the shelf.” He held a good-sized corner in the forceps. “My mother made me take piano lessons when I was a kid. I even had a crack at writing music. That's what this looks like.”

“Can I take a closer look?” Caprice asked.

“Why should I let you do that?” Carstead asked.

She had a very good reason. “Because Ace often handwrites songs in his early stages of composing. I've seen the notebook he keeps.”

Carstead thought it over. “All right. But don't touch it. Don't breathe on it.”

Of course, she knew better not to touch it or breathe on it. She simply stared at the notes and the handwritten words under the music staff. The scrawl looked very much like the handwriting she'd seen in Ace's notebook. Had someone stolen his music, as well as his guitars? Had it been Len? And since it was in Alanna's house, had Alanna known about it? Maybe instigated the theft?

Caprice certainly didn't want to say that out loud near Twyla. Nevertheless, her gaze met Carstead's and she guessed he knew what she was thinking.

She gave a nod that she was finished looking, and he dropped the piece of sheet music into the evidence bag.

Once again, Carstead peered into the pie safe, but apparently found nothing else of importance. After he handed the bag to Officer Thompkins and the patrolman left, Carstead crossed to Twyla, who was now lying on the gurney.

“You'll probably be at the hospital for hours. That should give us enough time to process the scene.” He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “When you're through in the ER, call me to make sure the forensics unit is finished here.”

Twyla took the card, but looked a bit lost. “My purse is in the kitchen.”

“I'll get it,” Caprice offered. “And I'll go with you to the hospital. You'll need a ride when you're finished.”

“I don't want to impose . . . ,” Twyla began.

But Caprice brushed her concern away. “You're not imposing. I brought my laptop along. I can work while I wait.” And she'd call her uncle to see if he could puppysit, since Detective Carstead was possibly right and Twyla wouldn't be coming home for a few hours.

This day had definitely turned out differently than she'd expected! Differently than Twyla had expected, too. Her whole ordeal in Kismet had been traumatic. Caprice could certainly understand if she didn't want to keep this house and the bad memories associated with it.

 

 

The ER physician decided to admit Twyla and keep an eye on her overnight. He ordered a CT scan and other tests. Twyla insisted Caprice not wait around and promised to call her later with an update. Caprice assured her she would pick her up the following day and return her to White Pillars.

On the way home, Caprice gave Ace a call and they decided to meet at his house to talk in person. When she asked if she could bring Lady, Ace responded, “You don't even have to ask.”

After thanking her uncle for petsitting and giving him a loaf of pepperoni-cheddar bread to take along, Caprice drove her van out of town along the long expanse of mostly deserted road. Just what did Detective Carstead think about the sheet music?

No way to know what was in the detective's head.

Mrs. Wannamaker let Caprice and Lady inside at Ace's house. She said, “Mr. Richland's in his den. He was pretty upset when that detective left. Maybe you can calm him down.”

She didn't know about calming him down, but maybe together they could figure out exactly what was going on.

As Caprice followed the housekeeper to Ace's den, Lady trotted along beside her. When they reached the room where Ace spent much of his time while he was here, she spotted him pacing.

She said, “You're going to wear out the shine on those beautiful hardwood floors.”

He stopped and turned.

“I didn't think I'd have to announce her,” Mrs. Wannamaker said.

“No, Caprice announces herself.”

Lady ran toward Ace. With a wry expression of resignation mixed with pleasure, Ace crouched down to give the dog a good rubdown. Lady wriggled and rolled over, but then she sat back on her haunches and stared up at Ace. After a moment, she licked his face.

Caprice's heart always warmed at how intuitive animals could be. Just by the vibrations in the room, Lady knew Ace was upset, and she was trying to comfort him. Caprice silently sent the message,
Good dog, Lady. You're such a good dog.

Ace looked as if Lady's kindness might have choked him up a bit. When he stood, he cleared his throat. “Have a seat.”

“Shall I bring coffee?” Mrs. Wannamaker asked.

“Good and dark,” Ace said. Then he glanced at Caprice. “Double cream and sugar in hers. Maybe you can bring a couple of Brindle's treats for Lady, too.”

The housekeeper exited the room without a word, knowing exactly what to do.

Caprice sat in the comfy, butter-soft leather club chair across from Ace. “So Detective Carstead was here?”

“Oh yes. What in the blazes happened? He asked me a lot of questions and gave me the minimum amount of information. Something about Twyla Horton having been assaulted at White Pillars and someone had stolen sheet music. Turns out it was
my
sheet music.”

“He showed you a torn piece?” Caprice asked.

“Yes, he did. I checked my binder. Six songs were missing. I was still working on them.”

“How many people know about that binder?”

Ace thought about that. “My band members know, my agent, any production people I bring in. Mrs. Wannamaker knows about it ... and Marsha and Trista.”

“Did Alanna know about it?”

Ace was silent for a few moments. Lady curled up at his feet and leaned her head over his shoe. There was that comfort again.

Ace finally answered, “Yes, she knew about it.”

“Where do you keep the binder? In here?” This was his major headquarters when working from home other than his production area in the basement.

“No, I don't keep it in here.”

She knew from the tone of Ace's voice what was coming. “Where?” she prompted.

“I keep it in a dresser drawer in my bedroom.”

“And how many people know that?”

He closed his eyes for a moment. “My housekeeper . . . and Alanna knew. She also knew I haven't written or worked on new songs lately. I've been too busy polishing what I'm going to perform on tour.”

“Ace, I'm sorry.”

“Because you don't think my housekeeper stole them?” he inquired with some irritation as he ran his hand over his face. “Of course, she didn't. Alanna was in cahoots with Len in a stupid plot that I don't understand. Why would she steal my sheet music?”

“Maybe to give it to Len in exchange for sabotaging your tour?”

“She had enough money to give him.”

“My guess is that she was going to give him money, too, but he might have demanded more. Like the chance to make it big with music
you
wrote. If Alanna wanted you to quit your tour and stay home with her, she'd adhere to Len's demands to accomplish that.”

“Did she think I wouldn't miss the music?”

“Maybe she thought you wouldn't return to the binder for a while. Maybe she thought because you were so busy, and would be even busier planning a wedding and moving her in, you wouldn't notice. On the other hand, maybe she was going to make copies and put them back and just didn't have time to do that.”

“So if Len stole them and eventually sold the songs or had them produced, did he think I wouldn't notice? I would have sued someone!”

“Not if Len changed them just enough. It could have come down to your word against his. He could even claim he coauthored them.”

Ace kept shaking his head as if he couldn't believe any of it. “This is like some crazy nightmare. If Len stole that music, he obviously knew Alanna had it and where she kept it.”

“I don't know the answer to that one. It's possible Alanna told him where she kept them, like a carrot on a stick. Then when he accomplished what she wanted, she'd hand them over.”