Drape Expectations (3 page)

Bella was thinking that over, and Caprice was about to tell her that she'd invited Grant to their Easter family dinner. Suddenly, from behind the bar, Roy Butterworth called, “Breaking news.”

Roy was in his forties, but had already gone bald. His black-rimmed square glasses made him look more like a professor than a coffee shop owner. He was leaning over the shelf where the scanner was located.

“A unit was dispatched to Ace Richland's place,” he announced. “My brother's on the force. He's on duty this morning. I'll give him a call and see what he knows.”

Caprice and Bella sipped their lattes until he waved his phone and said, “Got a text back. He doesn't know much. Something about stolen guitars.”

Stolen guitars. Ace had a couple hanging in his office, but the valuable ones were in his secure room.

“Didn't you say he keeps them in some sort of safe room?” Bella asked.

“There's a security code to get into the estate, and a security system on the house. The safe room has a code of its own. I'll give him a call and see what's going on.”

Ace answered on the first ring. “How did you hear?” he asked.

“The Koffee Klatch.”

“Jeez, already? I'm learning all about small-town chatter channels. The police just got here, asked a few questions, and now they're examining the secure room. But there's no doubt in my mind how this happened.”

“How?”

“I had a party last night and some of my friends brought guests. I don't always keep that room locked. I mostly keep the guitars in there because of the temperature control.”

“What's missing?”

“Two of the most valuable ones. They're insured. I have bigger problems than the stolen guitars,” he complained.

She wondered if his problems had something to do with Alanna.

“One of my band members just quit last night, and I have to find a replacement for Zeke for the tour,” he went on. “It revs up in a few weeks.”

“I'm sure you have a line of musicians waiting who want to sign up.”

“I still have to interview them, hear them play, see how they fit in with the rest of the guys. Just when I thought I had all my ducks in a row.” He sighed. “Alanna tells me you sent her a proposal last night and she accepted. The open house is Sunday?”

“I'm working on it. I'm headed over to Alanna's this afternoon.” Last night, she'd managed to get hold of the luxury-real-estate broker she usually used. “A moving crew is going to put some of her pieces in storage. Denise Langford and video cameras are coming in tomorrow.”

“Thank you for fitting her in. I know you have a tight schedule.”

“You're welcome. Maybe sometime you can meet my nana. She likes your music, too.”

“Just name a time,” he said with a laugh. “I guess I'll see you at Alanna's open house on Sunday.”

“I'll definitely be there. Nikki and I are coming up with a food menu later today.”

“Alanna likes cheese grits.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

After Caprice ended the call, she made a mental note to tell Nikki about the cheese grits, sure her sister could work them into the menu somehow. Would Alanna appreciate that?

Caprice doubted it.

 

 

On Friday, Caprice's morning walk with Lady took them around her neighborhood. Lady had learned to heel quite well, though Caprice still kept a few treats in her fanny pouch as an incentive for Lady to stay in that square beside her. She kept the leash loose and Lady rarely pulled on it.

Caprice was nearing her home, analyzing her mental list to make sure everything was ready for Alanna's open house on Sunday, when she saw her neighbor on her porch across the street.

Dulcina spotted her, too, and waved. “Need me to pupsit?” she called.

Dulcina had become quite fond of Lady and often pupsat when Caprice had an open house or was going to be away for an afternoon or evening.

“Are you free Sunday?” Caprice called back.

“Freer than I want to be. Rod's taking his girls to visit his sister.”

Dulcina had begun dating at the start of the new year. Since her new male friend had two daughters, they were taking it slow.

Caprice crossed the street. Lady rushed forward with her, eager to see Dulcina, too.

“I have an unexpected open house. It's from two to six.”

“That's no problem at all. I'll bring Lady over here. We'll have a good time.” She stooped down and ruffled the fur around Lady's ears. “Won't we, girl?”

Lady gave a little yip.

At that moment, Caprice's cell phone played a Beatles tune—“Here, There and Everywhere.” What could she say? She'd been feeling a little romantic when she'd chosen it.

“I won't hold you up,” Dulcina said. “I'll see you on Sunday.” Then she went inside, as Caprice recrossed the street with Lady.

When she checked the phone's screen, she saw Trista's picture. Why was Ace's daughter calling her?

“Trista! Hi. Are you in Kismet?”

“We sure are. The teachers had an in-service day and I asked Dad about coming up today, but he obviously forgot.”

Forgot? Ace? Not where Trista was concerned.

“Isn't he there?”

“Oh, he's here, and so is Mrs. Goodwin. She's still in her nightgown. Oh, wait, she's not anymore. She's leaving. And guess what? Mom and Dad are fighting. Even Brindle's upset.”

There were two ways to look at that. Yes, Brindle could be upset by the commotion ... or Trista was projecting onto Brindle because
she
was upset.

Caprice was at a loss on how to respond to this one. Was Ace so enamored with Alanna that he'd forgotten about his daughter?

She didn't think that was possible. “Maybe your signals got crossed somehow,” she suggested.

“Hold on a minute.”

Caprice could hear raised voices in the background.

Trista said, “Dad's sure Mom said we were coming this afternoon. Mom's yelling back that we were supposed to be here this morning. Standstill. They'll be at this all day. Can you come over and break it up?”

Wasn't that a new one? Caprice didn't know if peacemaker was on her résumé. But she cared about Trista and her feelings, and Ace was fast becoming a friend. So she had to help, right? Just like she sometimes helped in her own family?

“Okay, honey. I'll be there as soon as I can pack up Lady in the van. She and Brindle can play. Why don't you take Brindle out back, and let your mom and dad handle their differences. They could have it all worked out before I arrive.”

“I doubt that,” Trista mumbled. “I'll play fetch with Brindle until you get here.”

“Is Mrs. Wannamaker there?”

“She's in the kitchen.”

“Make sure she knows where you go, so if your parents come looking for you, they can find you.”

“All right,” Trista agreed, but she obviously didn't want to.

 

 

Ace's estate was about a mile out of Kismet proper. The road was deserted most of the time, and that's the way Ace wanted it. After all, the estate was a getaway.

At the gate, Caprice punched in a code. Ace kept her apprised as to what it was. She had the feeling too many people might have that code. That wasn't her problem.

She parked in the wide driveway, let Lady out of her crate, and waited until the pup jumped to the ground. Then they went to the door, side by side.

When Caprice rang the bell, the housekeeper answered. She was frowning. “Trista told me you were coming. Mr. and Mrs. Richland are in the den.”

That would be Ace's office.

“Is Trista out back with Brindle?”

“She is. They're having a fine time with a tennis ball. You could let Lady join her.”

Five minutes later, after a hug for Trista and praise and affection for both dogs, Caprice wound her way to Ace's den. She could hear voices as she approached the room.

“You don't give us any consideration at all,” Marsha was saying.

“Of course, I do. Trista's my daughter and I would never forget about her. You told me you'd be here after noon.”

“I told you
morning.
Who would expect your ... your
lover
to still be here the day your daughter's supposed to arrive.”

Caprice knocked on the door frame. Both Marsha and Ace swung toward her.

“Hi, Marsha,” she said cheerily. “Ace. Lady is playing with Brindle and Trista out back.” Then dropping all pretense, she explained, “Trista called me. She was upset you were arguing.”

Marsha looked embarrassed. Ace just looked stubborn and determined, and his whole body was rigid.

“Did you say Trista went out back?” Marsha asked. “I should go check on her.”

Caprice said, “That would probably be good.”

After Marsha exited the room, Caprice said to Ace in a calm tone, “You must care for Alanna if she's going to move in. But this happened so fast. Maybe Trista and Marsha need time to get used to the idea.”

Obviously still perturbed about his argument with his ex-wife, Ace snapped, “My personal life is none of your business.”

Although Ace was bristling, Caprice wasn't going to let that bristle
her.

“Trista made it my business when she called me. Should I have told her I didn't have time to come, or wasn't concerned about her feelings, or she could handle it on her own? She's twelve, Ace. She looks up to you and her mother. Whether this was a misunderstanding today or something else, she deserves to come first. Isn't that what you decided?”

Ace's lips were still tight and his jaw set. Finally he sighed. “Marsha told me she'd arrive after noon. She's never early. Alanna was here and we were ... making plans, talking about the open house.”

Caprice waved her hand as if she didn't want to know any more, and she really didn't. She said simply, “Trista's upset.”

“I'll make it up to her. Maybe I can keep her tomorrow night, too. Even if I miss Alanna's open house.”

Ace really did have a good heart. He just had to figure out where Alanna and his daughter fit into his life.

Chapter Three

Caprice knew her open houses sometimes hit snags. It was the nature of the business. However, she didn't expect her client to be a huge impediment.

Alanna Goodwin was a
monumental
impediment.

Never mind that Alanna insisted that when the open house was over, she was wrapping her draperies with the fringed tiebacks once more. Never mind she'd wanted her stamp of approval on all of Nikki's Southern dishes. Never mind she was underfoot and in the way at least half the time Caprice had been staging her house. They'd had a royal battle about moving out the two settees that crowded the room. Caprice had won that turf war by bringing in one love seat from her own storage shed to help de-clutter the space.

The theme of Antebellum Ecstasy was perfect. The only thing that could have enhanced it would have been century-old live oaks with Spanish moss hanging from their boughs in the front yard. There were “oohs and aahs” from prospective buyers about the grandeur of the house, the beautiful white pillars, the expansive veranda around the back, the porcelain knickknacks, and the velvet and brocade fabrics.

Nevertheless ... Alanna wouldn't stay out of the mix. She was dressed to the nines in pearls and polished cotton, perfume, and hot pink nails, inviting everyone inside as if she had been expecting them for tea. She was talking to prospective buyers and not just talking, but overselling with overkill.

Denise Langford, the luxury-property real estate broker who had listed the house, sidled up to Caprice. “Can't you cage her? She's going to run off clients who are actually interested. When it's a done deal, the buyer sometimes wants to talk to the seller. But not at this stage. What are we going to do?”

“Underneath that pretty lipstick, Alanna isn't all soft-spoken words,” Caprice explained, if Denise didn't understand that already. “She'll get what she wants any way she can. I've had to work with her this entire week, and, believe me, it hasn't been easy. The only thing I like about Alanna Goodwin is her cat, Mirabelle. I don't know how the poor thing puts up with her.”

Denise actually gave a small smile. “Is Ace coming? Maybe he can distract her.”

“He wasn't going to, but then he called me this morning. He asked his daughter if she wanted to stay overnight last night. She did, but then her mom arrived for her first thing this morning. And it
was
first thing. Trista had to be at some sort of youth service today. So now Ace is free to come.”

“If he's with Alanna, that could keep her away from the other clients, don't you think?”

“If we both circulate and pull clients away from her when she monopolizes them, we may be able to avert any disasters.”

Caprice hadn't been through every room in the house yet today, and she had a question. “Have you seen Mirabelle? She's a white Persian. She followed me around for the past week whenever I came into the house, but I haven't seen her today.”

“I haven't seen a cat, but that doesn't mean one isn't here. Don't they like to hide under beds?”

When they are frightened or wanted peace and quiet, they did. Could Mirabelle be hiding? Or had Alanna tucked her away safe and sound somewhere, like in one of the upstairs bedrooms? Yet she hadn't seen her there.

As soon as Caprice checked the kitchen, food, and serving staff, maybe she could find Mirabelle, as well as head off Alanna before she did any damage with prospective clients.

In the huge kitchen, the counters were laden with food servers and warming dishes.

“Are we ready?” Caprice asked Nikki as she looked around.

“More than ready. As we discussed, I concentrated on turkey and pork dishes that were popular from the American Colonial period to the Civil War.” She pointed to celery in lead crystal vases and a huge cranberry mold. “I found a description of a plantation dinner and replicated it.” She nodded to one of the warming dishes. “Take a peek at the scalloped oysters.”

Caprice did. “You've outdone yourself, as usual.”

“I know stewed apples don't sound particularly appetizing, but the recipe I found added cream. That should be one of the first desserts to run out, along with the brandy and walnut tube cake. The coconut pudding—” She wobbled her hand back and forth. “We'll see.”

“Any cheese grits?” Caprice asked, amused.

“I paired them with braised okra and came up with a baked dish. From the looks of Alanna, she'll be too busy even to taste them.”

“It wouldn't surprise me if she came in here and tasted every dish before you serve it.”

“I did include biscuits and hush puppies. I would expect most guests would anticipate those being here.”

Caprice stopped by the Crock-Pot and lifted the lid. “Now that smells spicy and heavenly.”

“Sweet potato soup.”

“All of these guests were screened by real estate agents. If nothing else, they're going to be delighted with the food.”

A few of the wait staff passed through the kitchen and Caprice had to smile. They were dressed in period costumes. The men wore red waistcoats over close-fitting trousers held up by suspenders. The bodices of the long dresses the female staff wore fastened in front with buttons running up to the high necks. The sleeves were full, widest at the elbow, but narrow on the forearm and wrist. Many of them were trimmed with ribbon. Most of the women servers wore their hair parted down the center and drawn back with small buns pinned on each side of their faces.

The blue china on the table resembled early-1800s dinnerware, with country scenes and rose patterns. Pressed-glass goblets were reproductions of an 1850s pattern with tulips. Soon guests would be seated at the huge table enjoying Nikki's concoctions.

Leaving supervision of the kitchen and dining area to Nikki and her staff, Caprice got caught up in welcoming clients who entered the beautiful house for a tour. Mingling, she answered questions and pointed out particularly intriguing features. As she showed a couple through a sitting room made quaint by French doors opening onto the veranda, she was jolted by what she saw when she opened the doors.

As far as she knew, Ace hadn't arrived yet. His band hadn't been included on the guest list. Nevertheless, one of the members of his band—Len Lowery—was seated outside. Len, with his long blond hair and surfer good looks, played keyboard for Ace—always with a flirtatious eye on the fans. From what she'd heard around town, he flirted with any woman within five miles. At this moment, he and Alanna were huddled on a white wicker settee at the far end of the veranda, speaking in low tones that Caprice couldn't hear.

Just what did Alanna and Len have to talk about?

None of my business,
Caprice reminded herself.

The couple behind her took a brief look at the veranda and didn't seem interested in going outside. So Len and Alanna's little confab wasn't disrupted. They were so engrossed in their discussion that they hadn't heard the doors open.

After a last look their way, Caprice asked the couple what else they would like to see and proceeded to direct them to the many bedrooms with their four-poster beds.

Caprice continued to wonder about Len and whether or not he'd come through the front door. The two valets there had checklists. If anyone who did not appear on that list arrived, they weren't admitted.

Had he and Alanna made arrangements to meet on the back veranda?

None of my business,
Caprice reminded herself again.

Around four o'clock, with two hours left to go, Caprice realized she still hadn't spotted Mirabelle. She'd been in all the rooms, hadn't she? Was the cat really hiding?

Caprice returned to the kitchen once more. The only place she hadn't explored was the short hall that led to the laundry room, a utility closet, and a back entrance. She stopped by the laundry room, with its high-tech silver appliances that didn't fit in with the antebellum theme. The cupboards and shelves and pull-down ironing board made the space useful. She was about to turn back toward the kitchen, when she heard a faint meow.

Then another meow.

That was Mirabelle. She couldn't be in the utility closet!

But she was. The closet wasn't as large as the laundry room and was cluttered with mops, brooms, buckets, laundry detergent, dishwashing detergent, a sweeper ... and a luxury pink cat-carrying case, with black embroidery, stuffed on a shelf. There was a litter box positioned near the mops. Poor Mirabelle sat on the tiled floor, pitifully looking up at Caprice.

She meowed again.

Caprice immediately stooped to pick up the cat, cuddling her in her arms. “Were you stuck in here all by yourself?”

The cat meowed as if in answer, saying,
Yes, I was.

Caprice again took a look at the litter box and glanced around, hoping to see a pillow or blanket for Mirabelle to sit on, as well as food and water dishes. But there were none of those things. She kept petting the cat, who seemed to be sighing with relief as she laid her head against Caprice's shoulder and gazed up at her with eyes more golden than Sophia's.

“I'm going to find you comfort, as well as food and water. We don't want you to get stepped on or let out by mistake, but you need a few conveniences in here, too.”

Mirabelle meowed again as if she wholeheartedly agreed.

Since Mirabelle was compliant and seemed to want to stay in Caprice's hold, Caprice carried her into the laundry room and opened a few cupboards. She found two fluffy green towels. Holding on to Mirabelle, she managed to lay the towels in a wash basket. Then she put Mirabelle in it and carried her to the closet.

“Make it your nest. I'll be right back with food and water.”

Without bothering Nikki, Caprice found the cupboard that held soup bowls and dessert dishes. She plucked up one of each. She'd seen the pantry closet and now opened that. No cat food. But ... there were cans of tuna fish. She grabbed one of those. Mirabelle could just have a special dinner today. What cat didn't like tuna fish?

Nikki cut her a questioning look when she saw Caprice dishing out the tuna and then filling a bowl with water.

Caprice merely said, “For Alanna's cat. She's made her a prisoner for the day.”

Nikki's understanding look said Caprice didn't have to explain further. Animals were gentle beings who needed care, not isolation. Caprice couldn't do much about the isolation for now, but she could make Mirabelle comfortable.

She reentered the utility room and was placing the dishes near the wash basket when Denise Langford peeked in. “Nikki told me I could find you here. What are you doing?”

“I'm taking care of Alanna's cat because she isn't.”

“You could be helping to promote the property. Maybe Alanna doesn't want her cat fed.”

“I've been promoting the property for the past two hours.”

Mirabelle had already climbed out of the wash basket and was gobbling down the tuna.

“From the looks of Mirabelle, she needed food as well as water,” Caprice explained. “There wasn't even a place in here for her to sit.”

“She's a cat,” Denise said again.

That statement didn't endear her to Caprice at all. Denise obviously wasn't an animal lover.

“Yes, she is, and a lonely one right now. As far as promoting the property, you're the one who sells the houses. I just stage them. I'm going to stay in here a few minutes longer and make sure she's okay. I'm sure you can get along without me.”

“Just wait until I spread the word you're becoming a diva.”

A diva? Because I care about a cat?
She shook her head. “Denise, you do what you have to. For the next fifteen minutes or so, you know where you can find me.”

Denise gave a little sniff, took another look at the cat, then left the closet and closed the door.

Caprice sat cross-legged on the floor while Mirabelle ate.

“I know I need to keep good relationships with the real estate agents, but sometimes they expect me to do their job,” she explained to Mirabelle. “Sure, it benefits us both when the house sells. But I contract for my work with my clients, and I've already finished it here.”

Mirabelle stopped eating and looked over at Caprice as if in total agreement. She blinked and then went back to the tuna.

Caprice sighed.

Maybe March was just a turbulent month for relationships. She thought about herself and Grant. Would he really come to Easter dinner at her parents' house next Sunday as her guest?

Next she considered Seth and his fellowship, his quick visit home on Valentine's Day, and the bracelet on her arm. Could their relationship ever be more than a romantic dream?

Then there was Ace and his sharp comments that his personal life was none of her business. That had hurt. When she established a friendship, those friends became like family. But maybe Ace, formerly Al Rizzo of Scranton, Pennsylvania, didn't want any more family. He had one of his own, with two brothers and parents who thought he hung the moon. Maybe her friendship with him should just stay a surface one.

Caprice checked her watch, a reproduction of one that Jacqueline Kennedy had worn. It was gold-toned with a rectangular case and a white mother-of-pearl dial. There were black Roman numerals at each hour, and it had an expansion band. Round, clear crystals lined the top and bottom of the bezel. Just like everything else about Jacqueline Kennedy, the watch was classically elegant and seemed to fit today's open house. Yet, sitting on the floor of the utility closet while petting Mirabelle, Caprice knew she wasn't being classically elegant. Time to get back into the fray.