Drape Expectations (19 page)

“Maybe I can believe this of Len Lowery. After all, I really didn't know him well. I only did a surface background check. But Alanna?” Ace looked devastated. “Carstead didn't tell me where the music was hidden. I suppose you aren't supposed to tell me, either?”

“Probably not.”

He nodded. “He did tell me one thing, though. There's a BOLO out on Len Lowery and his vehicle. It shouldn't be too long before they bring him in for questioning. If he murdered Alanna—”

Ace looked as if he'd strangle the man with his bare hands. Caprice just hoped the police got hold of Len before Ace ever could.

 

 

The following day as Lady bounded into Nana's small suite, Caprice saw her dog stop short as if she had put on the brakes. Then she realized why.

Nana laughed. “She's still not sure of Valentine being here. It's like Lady is always surprised to find a pip-squeak of a gray tabby.”

The three-month-old kitten had been a big surprise one cold night when Caprice had found her in her backyard... or rather Lady had. The kitten had only been six weeks old then. When Caprice had told Nana about her, Nana had decided she might like a pet. And she did. Valentine entertained her, got her to smile a lot more often, and kept her company all day and night. The kitten was a cuddler, and that was just what Nana had needed.

Seeing Valentine, Lady sat and stretched out her front paws. The kitten ran up to her, did a little sideways dance in front of her, then bumped her nose against Lady's. Lady didn't react much, just sniffed Valentine whenever she got within sniffing distance. Valentine then ran to the cat condo Nana had purchased for her, that sat at the window. She perched up on the top shelf.

Lady chased after her and sat beneath the condo, gazing up.

“They'll entertain each other,” Nana said. “Would you like a cup of tea and biscotti?”

“You know I would,” Caprice assured Nana, following her to the kitchen. “So, how are you feeling?”

“Is that why you stopped by? So you can hover over me like everybody else?”

“No hovering. I'm just hoping you're feeling better.”

As Nana put filtered water into the teakettle and settled the kettle on the stove to heat, she didn't speak. But then she turned and eyed Caprice studiously. “A little birdie told me you visited Dom.”

“What little birdie was that?” Caprice wondered who the tattletale could be. No one else had been home when she'd visited her uncle.

“Our neighbor next door. She's my age, lives alone, and we check on each other. She knows your car and van, of course. She said you stopped by.”

“I just wanted to catch up with him,” Caprice said vaguely.

“Well, catching up must have worked, because Dom and I had a talk—a very long talk.”

Actually, Caprice didn't want to pry. If Nana wanted to tell her what they talked about, she would.

She found the can of biscotti Nana kept on the counter. It was a pretty decorative canister with tulips painted on the lid. She took a few biscotti out and placed them on a plate. Then she set the plate on the small table for two.

Seeing the water was ready for the tea, Nana poured it into a white porcelain teapot decorated with roses.

While the tea steeped, Nana sat across from her. Finally she confided, “Dom apologized for not staying in touch, for being foolish because of love.”

Nana was silent again, but then pushed the plate of biscotti across to Caprice. “Eat,” she directed.

Caprice took a cookie and bit into the soft biscuit with the lemon icing. Nana's biscotti weren't like the twice-baked ones most people thought of as biscotti. These had a soft texture and melted in her mouth.

Nana said, “I suppose I can understand how he felt. Love makes everyone do foolish things.”

“You included?” Caprice asked.

Nana shrugged. “I would have followed your grandfather anywhere. I would have stood by him even if the barbershop hadn't been successful. I would have done anything for him.”

“And you did.” Caprice remembered how Nana had made a loving home, how as a couple her grandparents had been strong and loving, affectionate and unified—a wonderful example of marriage.

“So you're feeling better about Uncle Dominic?”

“I've forgiven him. Holding on to hurt wasn't hurting anybody but me. I could see that, but I didn't know what to do about it. Our talk settled things.” She reached over and took Caprice's hand. “So thank you for your visit, whatever you said.”

Caprice felt a bit embarrassed. She didn't want thanks. “Time to pour the tea. What kind do we have today?”

“Bilberry. I know you didn't come here just to drink tea. What's on your mind?”

“Alanna Goodwin's murder is on my mind. I found Twyla Horton unconscious yesterday afternoon.” The whole story spilled out as the contents of her mind and heart were wont to do whenever she talked to Nana. “Twyla's tests were okay and she's supposed to be discharged later. But what happened is puzzling. If Len murdered Alanna, why didn't he steal the sheet music then?”

“This case seems more complicated than any you've attempted to solve—stolen guitars, stolen sheet music, and an attempt to sabotage Ace's tour. It all seems to point to this keyboard player, doesn't it?”

“It seems to. But then there's Alanna's former lover, Barton's illegitimate son, Archer Ford. If Alanna was having an affair with him after Barton died, why did she suddenly drop him and start dating Ace?”

“Because Ace had more of what she wanted?” Nana asked.

Caprice wasn't exactly sure what that might be.

“Then there's Ace, who I suppose is still a suspect,” Nana said. “Maybe Alanna was going to go back to Archer and Ace found out, and in a passionate rage killed her. After all, you said he has a short temper sometimes.”

“Oh, Nana. I can't believe that of Ace. I just can't. I won't. He might have a short fuse now and then, but he has a good, kind heart. He could never hurt anyone.”

“You said he broke Len Lowery's nose.”

Caprice sighed. “He did, but he was provoked.”

Nana arched a brow just as Caprice's cell phone played. Nana said, “Go ahead and answer it. I'll check on Lady and Valentine.”

After Caprice fished her phone from her purse, she was astonished to see Seth's face. Her heart began to beat a worry rhythm.

“Hi, Seth. This is a surprise.”

“I just have a few minutes,” he said. “I'm sorry, but I have to cancel our plans for the weekend. I have a critical patient and I can't leave. I promise I'll make it up to you, and we'll visit my parents.”

“I understand,” Caprice said automatically, but as she said the words, she felt tears gathering in her eyes.

“I've got to go,” Seth told her. “I'll be in touch soon.”

A tear rolled down her cheek.

Nana took her by the shoulders. “What's wrong?”

Caprice dropped her phone onto the table. “Seth can't make it this weekend. He has a critical patient.”

Nana gave her a huge hug. She asked, “Does he know your birthday is on Sunday?”

Caprice sniffled. “No. I didn't tell him yet.”

Nana leaned back and said, “This is the life of a doctor,
tesorina mia.
Are you ready for that?”

Chapter Sixteen

The more Caprice thought about her wrecked weekend with Seth and his one-minute call—well, maybe two minutes—the more upset she got. She didn't know if she was upset with Seth, the situation, or herself for expecting too much. Nana had told her once that she shouldn't have expectations, but how could she not? How could a woman dream without expectations?

She couldn't fault Seth for wanting his career, for following his dream, for making his path in a profession he loved. But was there room for a woman beside him? More important, was there
time
for a woman beside him? Yes, this experience at Johns Hopkins was demanding in every way possible. But wouldn't his ongoing career be demanding, too? Especially if he chose one in trauma medicine. Where would he end up? New York? Boston? Possibly Chicago, Portland, or L.A.?

His career was one thing. Their relationship was another. Was she as important to him as he could be to her? Flowers and gifts were wonderful. Seth was good at those. But time and commitment were even more important.

After Caprice took Lady home, they went on a walk. A fine mist began to fall as she answered her cell phone when it played again. This time, the caller was Twyla. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No,” Twyla said, sounding fatigued. “I'm back at White Pillars. I took a cab back. I didn't want to impose more.”

Caprice wouldn't have minded. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. But all my tests checked out okay. When this headache lets up, I'll give you a call and we can have lunch or dinner.”

“That sounds good.”

Caprice pocketed her phone to protect it from the rain as she and Lady hurried back to the house. Sitting at her desk at a computer this afternoon wouldn't be helpful to her mind-set or her work. She'd think about her thirty-third birthday . . . and Seth.

After she settled Lady with her ball that dispensed treats, secure in the kitchen with the pet gates in place, she gave Mirabelle and Sophia petting attention and then went to her purse. After she pulled out the photo of a little girl that she'd found at Alanna's, she studied it. She Googled the dance studio on her phone and checked the hours. As she suspected, after-school slots for classes would be busy ones. It was time to elicit answers about Alanna and her past. Yes, Len was an obvious suspect, but she had a feeling there were a few suspects who weren't so obvious.

The dance studio was located in a strip shopping center in West York. The front of the studio was plate glass. Photographs of what Caprice supposed were dance recitals decorated that window. Professional shots of two girls, three girls, and up to fifteen girls were the subjects in each photograph. All wore different types of costumes from ballet to hip-hop to jazz.

As Caprice opened the door to step inside, she found herself in a brightly colored reception area. The chairs were a bright royal blue and the side tables were pink. Pale yellow walls surrounded her. Several women sat in the waiting area perusing magazines. One held an electronic reader, and another was scrolling down her smartphone. The beats of music came from inside a studio and Caprice noted a line of women, probably mothers, watching a dance class through a Plexiglas partition.

The receptionist at the desk looked up at Caprice and smiled. “Can I help you?”

Suddenly a flood of little girls came pouring out of the doorway of the closest studio. Caprice wasn't exactly sure how to go about this, but she did know she wanted to talk to one of the teachers. These facilities usually had a head instructor and an assistant.

She extended her hand. “I'm Caprice De Luca. I have a concern about one of your students, and I wondered if I could talk to the instructor?”

The receptionist looked stumped for a moment as if she wasn't sure what to do.

Caprice handed her a business card.

The receptionist said, “Class just let out. Rhonda has about fifteen minutes, where she can catch her breath and down a bottle of water. Come on. I'll take you to her.”

Mothers and girls had flowed from the studio and chatter emanated from the reception area. Caprice followed the receptionist into the now-empty studio and waited while the woman introduced her. “Rhonda, this is Caprice De Luca. She says she has a concern about one of the students.” The assistant handed Caprice's business card to Rhonda.

The brunette, dressed in a leotard and leggings, with wavy hair arranged in a topknot, looked wary. “I can't talk to you about the students unless your name is on their card as a parent or an emergency contact.”

The assistant glanced awkwardly from Caprice to Rhonda and then said, “I have to go back to the desk.”

Caprice understood the rules at an establishment like this. They were set in place for the safety of the students. So she had to go about this in a way that didn't threaten anyone.

“May I show you a photo?” Caprice asked.

“No harm in that, I suppose,” Rhonda agreed, but she crossed her arms over her chest. Caprice saw it for the defensive gesture that it was.

Before Caprice showed her the photo, she explained, “I'm looking into a murder, and I need information. Background often helps the police find new leads. I won't ask for anything you consider confidential.”

Now Rhonda looked as if she relaxed a bit.

Pulling the photo from her macramé bag, Caprice handed it to the dance instructor. Although the teacher tried to keep her expression neutral, Caprice saw recognition in her eyes.

“I understand if you can't give me a name. But can you tell me if she's a student of yours? The name of your studio is stamped on the back.”

“Then you've already guessed that she is.”

“But I don't know if she's a student now or was in the past.”

“This is a murder investigation and you're with the police?” Rhonda asked, still wary, still protecting her students.

“I'm not with the police,” Caprice admitted honestly. “I have a friend who I believe is being wrongly suspected and questioned, so I'm trying to get to the bottom of the murder.”

“You realize I can't tell you any specifics.”

“I understand that.”

After studying the photo and glancing toward the reception area, Rhonda relented. “I can tell you that this photo is a recent one. I can also tell you that this little girl and her mom will be coming in for the next class. You might recognize her among the students. If you do, that's not on me.”

“I understand,” Caprice said. “I
am
legit. You won't be sorry.”

“Whose murder are we talking about?” Rhonda wanted to know.

“Alanna Goodwin in Kismet.”

Rhonda's eyes widened. “And you know Ace Richland?” She guessed that was the suspect Caprice was talking about. “What happens in Kismet reaches York, too,” she added. “I heard that community concert was pretty much a fiasco. Someone asked if Ace Richland killed her. Gossip about that travels fast. Do you really know him?”

“I do. As you can see from my card, I'm a home stager. I staged the house he bought. We've become friends since then.”

“Is he as wild as they say?”

“He's not wild anymore, not in the sense you mean. Just as you won't talk about your students, I won't talk about my friends.”

Rhonda looked less cautious and gave a little nod. “If you sit in the reception area, the students will soon start filing in.”

“And I've taken up your break time.”

“If I down a bottle of water, I'll be good to go until the next break. I love what I do.”

Caprice smiled because she understood that. When she was staging a house, she could go all day without eating ... without cooking ... without stopping for a big breath. When you loved what you did, you became engrossed in it.

After Caprice thanked Rhonda again, she crossed to the reception area and took a seat. Most of them were empty now. Consulting her phone, she checked messages.

Two and then four and then two more little girls ran into the empty studio, some of the moms following. More children and parents flowed through the door. It wasn't long before Caprice spotted the child she was looking for. The girl was carrying a duffel bag, and Caprice could see the tag on it. She took out her phone and zoomed in, snapping a quick shot. The girl's name was Sherry Duncan.

After a brief exchange between mother and daughter, the mom gave Sherry a hug and a kiss on the forehead. Then Sherry went running off to join the others in the dance studio.

Before the woman took a seat, Caprice approached her. “Are you Sherry's mom?”

The woman looked concerned. “Yes, I am. Are you a new instructor? Is there a change in the schedule?”

“No, I'm not an instructor. Could we go over here to the corner and talk for a few minutes?”

The woman gave her a cautious look. There were other moms seated in the reception area now, but she seemed to make a decision and they crossed to a vending machine.

Caprice took out the photo again. “Are you Ms. Duncan?”

The mom's face was stoic. “Why do you want to know?”

“This is your daughter, correct?” Caprice asked, showing her the photo.

Finally the little girl's mom admitted, “It's Sherry's performance photo. How did you get it?”

“It was in Alanna Goodwin's desk.”

Ms. Duncan paled considerably, her face almost going white. She asked, “Are you with the police?”

Caprice wished she could lie, but it just wasn't in her nature. “No, I'm not. But I'm helping a friend who cared about Alanna and is being questioned in connection with the murder. Can you tell me your connection to Alanna Goodwin?”

“No, I can't,” the woman said adamantly.

“You can't, or you won't?”

“I can't
and
I won't.”

Caprice took out another business card and handed it to Ms. Duncan. “The detective in charge of the murder investigation doesn't know about this photo yet. He doesn't know your connection to Alanna Goodwin. Maybe the photo means something and maybe it doesn't. But if I don't hear from you by Monday, I'm going to give this photo and your name to the homicide detective investigating the case.”

A panicked look entered Ms. Duncan's eyes. “You have no right to interfere.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But Alanna's murderer needs to be brought to justice. The only way we can do that is if we have all the facts.”

She waited, hoping the woman would fill her in on how she knew Alanna. But she didn't.

However, she did slip Caprice's card into her purse. “We're done here.” Then she hurried to the ladies' room, which was down the hall across from the studio.

Caprice would give the woman the weekend. But then she would do what she said she was going to do. She'd pass the photo to Detective Carstead.

Since the dance studio was located in West York, Caprice decided to stop at one of her nana's favorite shops. It was one of those gift stores that sold handmade craft items, trinkets, and a little bit of home décor. Caprice shopped there, too, looking for incidentals for stagings. She was happy to find some of Nana's favorite sachets created with rose petals. Her mom's birthday was coming up in May and she spotted an embroidered table runner that she knew she'd like. It was easy to spend an hour examining all the nooks and crannies, the mugs and key chains, necklaces and scarves.

But Caprice had another stop to make as well—an Italian deli nearby, which sold mortadella, prosciutto, salami, and other favorites that seemed more flavorful than the ones she bought at the grocery store. She was almost tempted to buy the wedding cookies in the glass case—macaroons rolled in pine nuts, fragile almond crescents, leaf-shaped chocolate wafers. But she resisted. She bought a frozen container of whipped topping from their refrigerator case, and now she stuffed that, with the meats surrounding it, into a cooler that she kept in her trunk. After zipping it up, she was ready to head back home to her animals and the possibility of solving Alanna's murder, once Sherry Duncan's mother called her. If she was any judge of character, she was pretty sure Sherry's mother would.

Because this was a high traffic time, Caprice decided to take back roads to Kismet instead of staying on Route 30. The landscape was coming alive with spring. In this area of York county, she also passed many farms that were slowly giving way to urban sprawl, but hadn't yet.

Still thinking about her canceled weekend with Seth and her confused feelings about the whole matter, she stared straight in front of her, her gaze on the ribbon of road. It wound up and down and around curves. She barely noticed the trees budding with green leaves, the red barns, the horses dotting the landscape now and then.

Her gaze suddenly spotted a pretty chestnut filly, with a black mane, running along the roadside fence.

She wasn't sure when she noticed the sound of something behind her. Maybe it was when the chestnut loped out of view. Maybe it was when she glanced at the dashboard to see what speed she was going. Maybe it was some sixth sense, or, most likely, the sound the vehicle behind her made. That
vroom
didn't project from her Camaro.

As the
vroom
became louder, Caprice's gaze shifted to her rearview mirror. Her heart seemed to leap to her throat. The rusty brown mud-splashed pickup truck approached fast. At first, Caprice thought it was going to pass her. A speed demon eager to get home from work?

But then, the speed-demon truck surged forward and hit the back of her Camaro!

She knew everything there was to know about her car's handling. The whiplash effect didn't affect the car as much as her sense of balance and her confidence in what she should do next. Speed up? Pull over? Duck down?