Drape Expectations (6 page)

At her home, Caprice exited the Camaro, then carried Mirabelle to the front door. She knew Lady and Sophia were intelligent and was certain their animal instincts would tell them a new feline was in that spare room when they reached under the door, smelled up the sides, just got any kind of whiff at all.

Mirabelle looked healthy, but Caprice would still like to have her checked out at Furry Friends Veterinary Clinic. Marcus Reed, her pets' veterinarian, would give her a true estimation of Mirabelle's condition. She trusted his advice.

Sophia, deep in sleep on her cat tree, paid Caprice no mind when she scooted up the stairs. In the spare room, Mirabelle just seemed tired from the whole day's activities. She jumped up on the single bed and plopped in the middle of the teal blue quilt. She meowed a few times as if to ask guest-type questions:
How long can I sleep? Am I safe here? Is it suppertime yet?

Caprice sat on the bed beside her, stroking her. She'd make sure Mirabelle felt comforted and loved for however long she was here.

Worried about Ace, she spent a few more minutes with Mirabelle; then she went downstairs and into the garage for an extra litter box. She called to Roz from the back screen door. “I just have to put food and water upstairs for my new boarder and then I'll be out.”

Sophia had watched Caprice go up and down the stairs, but she hadn't moved from her favorite spot on the top shelf.

Caprice was no sooner standing on the porch, watching Lady and Dylan chase after each other in the backyard, when her cell phone played. A photo of Ace filled the screen.

“I'm back home,” Ace said without preamble when she answered the call.

“That was quick.”

“Grant wouldn't let me say much. He's here. I told him I'd like you to sit in on our discussion.”

“Discussion about?” she prompted. At least Ace was home and hadn't been arrested.

“You've had some experience with murder investigations. You helped your friend and you helped your sister. So I'd like you to think about helping me. Can you come over?”

“Sure. Do you mind if I bring Lady?”

“You know I don't. She's your sidekick now. Everybody can see that.”

“I'll be there as soon as I can.”

After Caprice gave Roz thanks for her help and a huge hug, Roz and Dylan left. Caprice patted Sophia, then leashed Lady to take her to the van.

Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in Ace's living room on his black-and-white-striped sofa, where Grant had taken a seat, too. Lady lay between them on the floor. Ace lowered himself into a black leather club chair, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. She'd never quite seen him look so . . . tired.

When he lifted his head, he focused on Grant. “I'm their number one person of interest, aren't I?” he asked, obviously wanting a straight answer.

“You are,” Grant agreed without embellishment. “I cut the interview short because too much information sometimes can hang you.”

Ace winced at that, and Caprice felt a shiver go up her spine.

“But on the other hand,” Grant went on, “Detective Jones has a knack for finding out
everything
—everything you want him to know, and everything you don't want him to know. So I suggest you tell me what you don't think he should know.”

“I wasn't sure what to say,” Ace explained. “Alanna and I had a fight yesterday.”

“Where?” Grant asked.

“At the Country Squire Golf and Recreation Club. We were having lunch there.”

“Was it a serious fight?” Caprice asked.

“Serious enough for Alanna to run out in tears,” Ace admitted regretfully. “Everyone in the dining room saw us and saw her leave.”

There was silence for a few moments. When Grant didn't ask any more questions, Caprice stepped into the gap. “What was the fight about?”

Ace was silent.

“I can't help you if I don't have all the facts.”

Grant pounced on that statement. “You shouldn't be helping. You should stay out of this. If you want to support Ace as a friend, that's fine. But don't get involved in another investigation.”

“Ace asked for my help,” she said quietly.

Grant groaned. “You're not an expert.”

“I helped solved three murders. Maybe not an
expert,
but I might have a nose for this. I'm good at puzzles, Grant, you know that. And if Ace needs my help, I'm going to give it.”

Grant glared at her, but she didn't look away. If he didn't understand anything else about her, he should understand this—she was loyal to family and friends and helped them solve problems when she could.

Grant finally sat back against the sofa in resignation. “All right. Ace, what was the fight about?”

Ace looked torn that he even had to talk about this. But then he did. “The fight was about Trista. I'd planned for her to stay with me for two weeks at the end of the summer when I didn't schedule tour dates. I blanked out my schedule for her. But Alanna didn't like the idea at all. She wanted me to tell Trista I had changed my mind and that I was going to be . . . on a honeymoon.”

“You were that serious about Alanna?” Caprice asked gently.

“I was. We had a good time when we were together. She could make me laugh. And she had this Southern sweetness that was just so . . . alluring.”

Caprice's gaze met Grant's for a moment and she felt herself blush without knowing exactly why. But this wasn't about her and Grant.

Grant looked a bit unsettled, too, and shifted in his seat, stooped to pet Lady, then focused his attention on Ace again. “You didn't know Alanna very long, and I know Detective Jones asked you this, but I want you to think hard. Did she have any enemies?”

“I've been thinking about that since I found her, since Carstead and then Jones asked. No enemies that I know of. But I didn't know much about her business—Goodwin Enterprises. She wasn't involved that much, but she did sit on the board of directors.”

Silence hung in the room for a few moments until Caprice said, “She might not have had enemies, but she had cohorts.”

Looking confused, Ace asked, “What do you mean?”

Caprice really didn't want to hurt Ace. He was a friend. He might have looked at Alanna as if she were a beautiful magnolia, but underneath that flower were prickles and maybe he needed to know that. After all, the woman had been murdered.

“You're not going to like what I know.”

“What do you know?” Ace asked, obviously puzzled.

Grant focused his attention on her, too.

“I left Alanna's in a bit of a huff the day of the open house.”

“Right. You found us kissing.”

“That wasn't why I left. She'd locked her cat in a closet.”

Ace's brows arched.

“But that's not what I'm talking about. I went to her house yesterday to apologize, because it just wasn't professional of me to leave so abruptly. The thing is, when I got there, I heard voices and went around the side porch. She was on the porch with a man, and I recognized his voice. It was Len. He and Alanna were plotting.”

“Plotting what?” Ace asked, totally perplexed.

Caprice told him about the phone conversation she'd overheard, as well as yesterday's interchange. She ended with, “They wanted to sabotage you, Ace. She wanted you to forget touring and she was going to make you do it any way she could.”

Ace looked as if every blood vessel in his face was going to burst. “Just wait until I find Len. I'll knock his head off.”

Grant sat forward on the couch. “Calm down. You have to seriously think about this. You can't have a confrontation with anyone right now. Detective Jones is going to be watching you carefully. Don't even think about an altercation with Len.”

“But what if he's the murderer? What if he killed Alanna?” Ace wanted to know.

“Even more reason to keep your distance,” Grant determined. “We don't want
you
to end up the same way as Alanna.”

Lady had risen to her paws, distressed by the tension in the air, as well as from the upset in Ace's voice. She went over to him, whined, and then sat on his foot.

When Ace looked down at her, he inhaled and calmed a bit as he patted her head.

“Just because Len and Alanna were plotting,” Caprice reminded him, “doesn't mean Len has anything to do with her murder. After all, Alanna could have been plotting with someone else other than Len. About something else. And
that
person could be the one who murdered her.”

Whether Ace knew about enemies or not, Caprice guessed Alanna might have had a few.

But how was she going to find out just who would make that list?

Chapter Six

Caprice leaned over the examination table at Furry Friends Veterinary Clinic the following morning and wiggled a toy mouse at Mirabelle.

“Come on. Come on out for Marcus. He has to examine you.”

Marcus chuckled and shook his head. “You really think that's going to do it?”

“She's scared. I'm not sure how well taken care of she was at Alanna Goodwin's. I think she has a pedigree, and I think Alanna kept her more as a status symbol than anything else. Just my opinion, mind you.”

Marcus glanced at the computer screen on his laptop on the counter. “Everything's in order in her medical records that were e-mailed to me. She's two years old. She was last seen six months ago by a veterinarian for her yearly rabies shot. Are you sure you don't want to keep her with the veterinarian she had?”

Caprice had called the two veterinarians in Kismet, one of whom was Marcus, to find out if they had treated Mirabelle. They hadn't. She'd spread her search to York, explaining she was now taking care of Mirabelle in case the veterinarians hadn't seen an account of Alanna's death. There weren't any HIPAA laws with animals. To have Mirabelle's records transferred, all she'd had to do was have Detective Carstead call the vet and verify that she was the one who now had custody of the cat.

“I trust you, Marcus, you know that. Mirabelle could become my new permanent adoptee.”

“Are you sure you want to take on another animal?”

He gently upended one side of the carrier so Mirabelle had no choice except to step onto the table. She looked up at Caprice and meowed.

Caprice protectively curled her arm around her and petted her, cooing, “It's okay, baby.” Then she addressed Marcus again. “Two cats and a dog. I can handle that. I put another litter box beside Sophia's in the laundry room. Upstairs, Mirabelle has one in the spare room and Sophia has one in the sewing room under the eaves.”

“That should do it ...
if
the animals all get along.”

“You know they eventually will. It's just going to take time.”

“And patience. But you have that.”

Marcus Reed was big, burly, and black, with a wide smile and a buzz cut. In his forties, he was an experienced vet and had helped out Caprice on many occasions. Now he gently but confidently examined Mirabelle from teeth to ears, from coat to heart.

“From her records and from what I've observed here,” he said, “she seems in good health. I couldn't see a flea treatment in her recent past, but since she was an inside cat, that doesn't surprise me.”

As soon as Marcus was finished with Mirabelle, the cat curled up close to Caprice again and huddled under her arm.

“Do you know what food she was on?” the vet asked.

“No, I don't. I'll put her on Sophia's diet and see how she does—a good wet food and crunchies in between.”

“If Detective Carstead helped you with the records transfer, it sounds as if you two are getting along.”

All of it had been businesslike. “He wants me to focus on the cat and keep my nose out of the investigation.”

Marcus's brow inched up. “But you won't, will you?”

“Ace could be their number one suspect. I know he didn't kill Alanna.”

Now Marcus appeared worried. “Are you sure? Maybe they had a lovers' quarrel gone wrong.”

“Ace can be a hothead, but I just can't see him hurting somebody he loves,” Caprice responded with a confidence she felt in her soul.

“I bet the press is having a field day with this.”

“Ace had to hire extra security to keep them away from him and his property. He's going to feel like a prisoner until this is resolved.”

“Where are you going to look first?”

“I need to learn some background on Alanna. I think that will be a good place to start.”

“Google?” Marcus asked with a quirk of his brow.

Caprice shook her head. “This time, I think I need to talk to those who knew her best. I just have to figure out who they are.”

 

 

An hour later, Caprice was at home again with Mirabelle ensconced in her guest bedroom. After her outing, the cat just wanted to sleep. With Marcus's okay, Caprice knew she could introduce her to Sophia and Lady soon.

After Caprice gave Sophia petting attention and took Lady outside for the necessities—a game of fetch, as well as training on all her basic commands—she settled at her computer to work on floor plans, purchase orders, and rental agreements. She was hardly aware of time passing as Lady played with her kibble ball, and Sophia washed herself in a patch of sunlight.

When her cell phone played, she picked it up and sat at complete attention when she saw the name—
Twyla Horton.

“Hello,” she answered quickly. “This is Caprice.”

“Miss De Luca, this is Twyla Horton.”

The deep Southern accent was very much like Alanna's. Twyla went on explaining; her voice was a bit husky now. “Your number came to me in a roundabout manner. A detective from Kismet, Detective Carstead, notified the police department here about what happened to Alanna.” Twyla stopped, as if she'd gotten choked up by the news she'd received.

“I'm so sorry, Miss Horton.”

After a moment, Alanna's sister said, “Oh, please, call me Twyla. Our local police chief came to the house to inform me about what happened, but he gave me Detective Carstead's contact information so I could find out more about it.”

“Have you spoken with Detective Carstead?”

“I have. He was very kind. He told me what he could. He has questions for me, personal information he wants filled in, I guess, about Alanna.”

“Detective Carstead is very thorough.”

“I imagine he has to be. I told him I'd be flying into BWI Airport tomorrow and can meet with him.”

“Again, I'm so sorry for your loss.”

Whether or not Alanna was liked in Kismet, she'd been this woman's sister. Caprice knew all about sisters because of her two, Bella and Nikki. They'd always been her best friends. She couldn't even contemplate what losing one of them would be like.

“Thank you,” Twyla responded. “I can hardly wrap my mind around this. I just saw her over Christmas. I had off from work and stayed over the holiday vacation.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

“I'm an account manager with an office furniture store in Biloxi. Since I used my vacation days over Christmas, it's not easy for me to get off. But I have no choice, of course. Alanna's lawyer wants to make her last wishes known. Apparently, the police need that information, too. I'll call Mr. Travers next.” She stopped. “Sorry I'm rambling. I can't seem to think in a straight line.”

“When I spoke with Detective Carstead,” Twyla went on, “he said I should give you a call because you have Mirabelle.”

“Yes, I do. Will you be taking her, once everything is settled?”

“That's why I had to call you. I'm afraid I can't. I'm allergic to dogs and cats. Whenever I stayed with Alanna, I had to take allergy medication. Oh, I didn't mind. It was worth it, of course, to spend the time with her. But I wouldn't be able to handle Mirabelle twenty-four hours a day.”

“I understand that.” Caprice couldn't imagine being allergic to animals. What a terrible loss. “Do you know if Alanna had any good friends who might want Mirabelle?”

“No, I don't. Alanna had friends she played tennis with and had lunch with. But since Barton died, she kept to herself a lot. So I don't know that she had a best friend or anything like that. Detective Carstead said you were quite fond of animals. Are you interested in keeping Mirabelle? I want her to go to someone who will really care for her. She's such a beautiful cat with a sweet personality.”

That she was.

“I am fond of animals. Right now, I have a cat of my own and a cocker spaniel pup, who's less than a year. I think Mirabelle will fit in, once she gets used to them and they get used to her.”

“I don't want to see her going to a shelter,” Twyla said with a catch in her voice. “That would be just too awful, because then if she wouldn't get adopted—” She stopped abruptly. “Well, you know.”

Yes, Caprice did know, and she wouldn't want to see that happen, either, not to any animal.

“I'll be glad to keep Mirabelle and start acclimating her here. In the eyes of the law, animals are considered possessions and I didn't want to overstep my bounds. Ace is a good friend and I want to help him any way I can, too.”

“Mr. Richland is a hoot. I met him when he picked up Alanna to take her to a New Year's Eve dance. Of course, I Googled him and downloaded much of his older music. Alanna was happier with him than I've seen her and heard her in a long time. She had so many plans for them.”

That was the problem, Caprice thought. Alanna's plans might not have been Ace's. And if the police got wind of that, Ace could even be in more trouble. But she didn't want to delve too deeply in her first conversation with Twyla. After Twyla Horton arrived in Kismet, she could get to know her better.

Then maybe she could figure out who had killed Alanna Goodwin.

As Caprice pulled up in front of her childhood home, she realized it was always a haven when she was unsettled, mixed up, and had to think something through. That's why she'd driven here this evening.

Her parents had invested in the house when she was almost too young to remember moving in. Its architecture was unusual for Pennsylvania. It was a Spanish-style home, with casement windows, yellow stucco, a red-tiled roof, and more repairs and upkeep than any house should have. But that's how her parents had been able to afford to buy it, and they all loved it. Even more now, since her parents had added an addition that Nana lived in.

The house was on a corner. Its double-bay detached garage, matching the house architecture, stood to the rear of the property. Her parents and visitors had the habit of parking along the curb, across the lawn from the side porch, and that's where she parked now.

Caprice didn't recognize the green sedan that was parked in front of her dad's truck advertising his business,
DE LUCA MASONRY.
He was handy around the house and took on a lot of the repairs himself. To her mother's relief, he mostly spent his time in his company's office now and let his crews handle the brickwork contracts. But he still knew his way around a saw, hammer, and trowel.

Lady trotted beside Caprice as they approached the side porch and the dark brown, ropelike pillars, which supported it. This entrance led into a foyer. The living room, a sunroom, and a library stretched on the left. To the right, a staircase with a landing led upstairs. Straight ahead was the dining room. It had always been the center of the house, but there was an eat-in area off the kitchen, too.

After Caprice opened the door and unleashed Lady, she heard voices coming from the dining room. Lady headed that way and so did Caprice. However, the moment she faced the large mahogany table, the antique china cupboard, and the casement windows along the dining-room wall, she knew there was trouble.

The tension in the air was so thick, even Lady stopped, sat beside Caprice, and looked up at her, instead of going to one of the adults sitting around the table as she usually did.

Caprice didn't know what was going on, but she hadn't seen her uncle Dominic in a very, very long time. He was seated at the table with her mom and dad and Nana. But no one looked very happy.

Spotting her, her dad rose to his feet. “Caprice, come on in.”

Hmmm, she wasn't sure that was a good idea.

In his late fifties, her father was still a handsome man, and he cared very much about his family. His black hair was laced with gray now and had receded a bit at his forehead. Putting in more time at his desk at work, he'd added a few pounds over the past couple of years. But he was still fit and strong, a quiet leader in their family. Now he forced a smile and motioned her to the table, where coffee cups and the remains of a pie sat.

He said jovially, “Look who's here.”

He, of course, meant Uncle Dom.

Out of the De Luca family habit, Caprice went to her uncle, with Lady following close behind, and gave him a hug. He wasn't quite as tall as her father. Once thin, he had now added more pounds than her dad. Lots of lines creased his face. His thick tortoiseshell-framed oval glasses sat high on his nose.

He hugged her back with the enthusiasm that she remembered as a child.

When the hug was finished and she caught a glimpse of her mom's face, as well as Nana's, she definitely knew all was not well.