Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Read online

  “Could be I told him to stick to the sixties and seventies. I know that’s some of your favorite music.”

  Dusk had fallen, and the moon was already a whitish-silver ball hanging in the black sky. Caprice didn’t know if she’d ever been anywhere as romantic, if she’d ever been with anyone as romantic. Seth wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close for a kiss. They were in their own world, surrounded by the falling night.

  Nevertheless, when he leaned away, he didn’t look happy.

  “What’s going on, Seth?” she asked quietly, needing to know.

  “I have something to tell you. The truth is, I don’t know how you’re going to react.”

  She definitely didn’t like the start of that. “Do you want to tell me here, or do you want to tell me in private?” Now she was feeling a little scared.

  He must have decided “here” was as good a place as any because he said, “I’ve applied for a one-year trauma and surgical critical care fellowship at Johns Hopkins in Maryland.”

  Her stomach jumped. “One year starting when?”

  “Starting in September.”

  “That’s only a month off.”

  “I know. Someone dropped out of the program. I read about it and applied. I’ll find out soon.”

  Baltimore wasn’t that far away—about an hour and a half tops. But Caprice had been burned by a long-distance relationship once before. Still, she cared about Seth a lot.

  Seth took her hand again. “It might not come through. If it doesn’t, nothing will change. But if it does . . . then we’ll both have a lot to think about.”

  Yes, they would.

  Seth must have seen the disappointment in her expression, and maybe more. He asked, “Do you want to go, or do you want to stay?”

  Caprice was all about enjoying the present moment, as much as any she might forfeit or gain in the future. “That depends,” she said, shoving worry onto the back burner for later. “Are you going to share a piece of that chocolate cheesecake the Blue Moon is known for with me?”

  “I’ll do better than that,” he said, standing. He held out his hand to her. “Will you dance with me?”

  She took his hand, stood, and went to the postage-stamp-size area of the deck where a few couples were dancing. When Seth took her into his arms, she chose not to think about tomorrow.

  Caprice waited in the garden behind Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church on Sunday morning for her parents to extricate themselves from their many friends. She really should get going. She had an open house to see to.

  But after Mass, her mother had leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I have some news you’ll want to hear. Meet me near Saint Francis.”

  Saint Francis was one of Caprice’s favorite saints. Maybe her love of animals had been nurtured through her mom’s and Nana Celia’s stories about the saint, and his connection with furry creatures. The statue of him had been in the center of the garden in the back of the church for as far back as she could remember. It had been refaced and refurbished like so many things about the old church. But it had withstood the buffeting of time.

  The rectory’s housekeeper saw to the bright flowers that surrounded it during the growing season. Right now, the saint, the bird on his shoulder, and the little bunny at his feet were surrounded by red and white geraniums.

  She often stood out here after an early Mass feeling the morning breeze on her face, sitting on the concrete bench near Saint Francis, thinking about all the things one should think about after church and before the day shifted into high gear. She wondered if Joe and Bella would be coming to a later Mass, or if they weren’t venturing out today. Nikki and Vince often attended Saturday night services to keep their Sunday free. But Caprice enjoyed this early-morning quiet and the well wishes of friends and parishioners she’d known all her life.

  Caprice’s mom, dressed in a pale blue summer skirt and blouse, left the group where Nana and her dad were still talking to friends. She sat down next to Caprice on the bench. “I know you need to get going, but I thought you might be interested in what I found out.”

  Suddenly her mom was on her feet again, waving to a woman who’d come out of the back of the church. She called, “Melinda,” and motioned the blonde to join them.

  Caprice recognized Melinda Barnhart, the director of the community center.

  “I was talking to Melinda this morning before church,” her mom explained. “She told me that Bob was excited about a new project he was involved in, some kind of smartphone app.”

  It seemed funny to hear those words roll off her mom’s tongue, but more and more people her age were becoming tech-savvy. As a teacher working with teens, her mother prided herself on knowing the latest lingo.

  After Caprice and Melinda exchanged a greeting, Fran directed Melinda, “Tell Caprice what you were telling me.”

  Melinda glanced around to see if anyone else was listening. “Bob told me to keep the news under my hat, but now that he’s dead . . . It’s such a shame. He was such a friendly young man. He related so well to the kids.”

  “So you and Bob were close?” Caprice asked, unsure where this was headed.

  Melinda thought about it.

  “Not close as in good friends. But . . . he lost his mother when he was a teenager. When we were working with the kids, he talked to me about that a couple of times, explaining how he understood where they were coming from, especially the sullen and alienated ones. Apparently he’d gone through a stage like that himself. So I guess in some ways, though I hate to say it because it makes me feel old, he looked on me as a mother figure. He often asked my advice when working with the teens and ran ideas by me before the board meetings.”

  “I see,” Caprice said, and she did. She didn’t know what she’d do without her parents. If she didn’t have them, she’d always be trying to fill the void. Maybe Bob had done that too.

  Her mother seemed to know what her daughter was thinking because she squeezed Caprice’s arm as if to say, I’m always going to be around, one way or another.

  Melinda saw the gesture and smiled approvingly. She went on, “Anyway, Bob told me about this phone app he’d invented. Apparently it was going to be hooked to sales in a chain of home-improvement stores. You could go to the app and take a picture of a color you’d like to see in a paint. The color of that object would be digitally matched and transferred to the store for paint preparation. He’d confided he’d be receiving a tidy sum for the deal.”

  After Caprice thought about that for a moment, she asked, “Did he say what he was going to do with the money?”

  “No, he didn’t. But he was excited and more than a little happy about it. Who wouldn’t be? He gave the impression it could fund anybody’s retirement, but he didn’t say specifically that’s what he was going to do.”

  “Did he mention if anyone else knew about it?”

  “No. And because he asked me to keep it a secret, I assumed nobody did.”

  That was an assumption Caprice couldn’t make. A tidy sum from a phone app could be another motive for murder. Just who would gain from it? Who would have gained from it if Bob died?

  Those were questions Caprice was going to find the answers to.

  It was almost nine o’clock that night when Caprice’s doorbell rang. Sophia was sprawled across her lap as she stretched out on the sofa, reading through a few articles she’d printed out about the latest trends and decorating innovations. Shasta lay on the floor beside her, and every once in a while, Caprice dropped her hand and petted her head, thinking about the log home’s open house and how well it had gone. Denise was pretty sure an offer would come in tomorrow.

  Shasta seemed to be on alert moments before the doorbell rang. Sophia, on the other hand, complained with a loud meow when Caprice nudged her up so she could answer the door. She switched on the porch light and peered through one of the four small glass windows set into the door. She couldn’t have been more surprised. Grant stood there.

  When s
he opened the door, he didn’t smile a “hello.” He simply said, “I’m concerned about Joe and Bella. Can we talk?”

  She might have expected this visit from Vince, not from Grant.

  “Sure, come on in. Has something happened?”

  “Not specifically.”

  He stooped over and patted Shasta, who was already rubbing her head against his leg. Grant wore a chambray shirt with the collar open and his sleeves rolled up. His jeans appeared to have seen many washings.

  “What does ‘not specifically’ mean?”

  He didn’t answer her. He didn’t give Shasta another pat. He did ask, “When is she due?”

  “My vet says probably a few weeks.”

  “How many pups will she have?”

  “She could have five or six.”

  “If you don’t find her owner, do you think you can find homes for all of them?”

  “I will find homes for all of them, though I might keep one.”

  “And Shasta?”

  “Well, of course and Shasta. I’m still hoping her owner might see one of the flyers I made and pinned on bulletin boards in grocery stores and places like that. I also placed a notice again in the community paper.”

  “But you’ll keep her if you can’t find where she belongs.”

  “We’ve already formed a little family here. No, Sophia’s not really happy about it, but she’ll adjust. Pets aren’t really that different from people. It just takes time. Would you like something to drink?”

  “Actually, I would. The temperature out there isn’t dropping much.”

  “I’ve got fresh-squeezed lemonade or iced herbal peach tea.”

  “Lemonade.”

  “Oh, and I made blueberry bread. Would you like a slice of that?”

  “Sounds good.”

  As she led Grant through the dining room into the kitchen, she wondered if Seth was eating his blueberry bread. It seemed a little odd that she was giving it to both men right now. Not really odd. A coincidence.

  She shook off any thoughts of comparing the two men. There were no comparisons to make. Grant was here on business. Mostly business.

  After she filled the lime green and fuchsia-striped glasses with ice and poured the lemonade, she placed one in front of Grant on the table.

  He took a few swallows. “This is great, thanks. It tastes like my mom’s.”

  “Is that good?”

  “It brings back memories of when I was a kid.”

  He didn’t talk much about anything personal, so she waited, seeing if he’d open up more. Taking the blueberry bread from the refrigerator, she cut off two slices, put them on a napkin, and set them in the microwave.

  “It’s better warmed up. It will go great with the lemonade. Trust me.”

  He gave a shrug, and thirty seconds later, she placed a slice in front of him.

  “One thing I don’t understand about you,” Grant said seriously, as if she were a terrifically complicated puzzle, “and there are a lot of things . . . is how you can take an animal in and then give it away. I mean I saw you give up those kittens. That was hard for you. Certainly you’re going to get attached to Shasta’s pups. Then you’ll have to give them away. Doesn’t that sense of loss do something to you?”

  She wondered exactly what he was getting at. Maybe not her sense of loss as much as his.

  “What you’re really asking me is do I get over it. Not exactly. But knowing the animals I’ve placed in good homes are happy is the important thing for me, not what I feel when I let them go. And I tell myself, I have to let them go.”

  “You can tell yourself that over and over again, and still not believe it. Not where it counts.”

  He sounded almost resentful about that fact. Was he thinking about his ex-wife . . . his daughter?

  Before she stopped herself, she asked, “Do you ever see your ex-wife?”

  “I didn’t mean to get into that kind of conversation,” he muttered.

  When she remained quiet, he took a few more swallows of lemonade, then he said, “No, I don’t see her.”

  But did he still have feelings for her? Caprice had been involved with a divorced man, and she’d gotten burned badly. She’d fallen in love not only with him, but also with his child. When he’d returned to his wife, both relationships had fallen apart.

  Maybe Grant hadn’t really let go. Maybe that bond of losing a child would always tether him to his ex-wife.

  He stared down at the blueberry bread and the way the blueberries had puffed in the oven, spreading their sweet goodness throughout the bread. When the bread was warm, the blueberries tasted even better, and so did the pecans. He tore off a corner of the bread and popped it into his mouth, maybe hoping to end the conversation.

  He chewed and then smiled. “You do know how to bake.”

  “I was taught by the best. Nana and Mom also taught us that no matter what happens, we can be stronger and do better because of it.”

  He leaned back in his chair, and his expression didn’t become grim, as she thought it might. It became almost amused. “Are you giving me a lecture?”

  “Would it do any good if I was?”

  “Probably not.”

  “So are you going to tell me why you’re concerned about Bella and Joe?”

  “I can’t explain specifics, but I can tell you I’ve heard rumors. There’s talk about an arrest warrant.”

  “Do they think they’ve found evidence from what they’ve collected?”

  “That’s possible.”

  “Which one’s in more danger?”

  “I can’t really say.”

  “No, you can’t say. But Joe’s your client, so Joe has to be the person of most interest.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh, Grant, quit it. You don’t have to be secretive with me. If Bella had the problem, Vince would have already talked to me.”

  “I looked into Kent Osgood,” Grant said. “He is what he seems. He’s from Allentown. He lived there all his life. He took vocational courses in high school, and when he got out, he started apprenticing on a paint crew. He worked in a home-improvement store for a while, but then decided he liked to paint.”

  “Why did he come to Kismet?”

  Grant shrugged. “He never knew his dad. His mom died with complications from lupus a couple of years ago. He wandered a bit, but he came here because he said he liked the looks of the town online. He figured people here valued good work, and he knew he was a good painter. Bob hired him on, and the rest is history.”

  “What about Danny Flannery? Did you talk to him?”

  “If you can call what he and I did talking. He’s a teenager. I couldn’t engage him in chitchat or conversation about Bob. He clammed up tight.”

  “So what’s the bottom line?” Caprice asked. “Why did you come over?”

  He looked her squarely in the eyes, hesitated a few minutes, then finally revealed, “The murder weapon was a ball-peen hammer. Can you imagine Bella swinging one of those? I’m hearing that Joe is the one without an alibi. He also had a strong motive and the opportunity. So I’m here to tell you, we could be in this for the long haul. Joe could be arrested, and I want you to be prepared.”

  How could she ever prepare for a member of her family being charged with murder?

  Chapter Ten

  Some nights Caprice just grabbed a quick supper, which meant thawing a wedge of lasagna she’d frozen and mixing up a salad, or grabbing a container of White Rose Dairy strawberry yogurt from the refrigerator and sitting at her desk with it while she worked. Healthier than ice cream, right?

  Sophia definitely agreed. Shasta thought anything Caprice ate was a treat for her too.

  After a peek into the fridge on Monday evening, Caprice grabbed an egg and a dish of steamed broccoli. All right, she’d eat healthy. Well, sort of healthy. A frocia would be perfect. Her dad liked it made with asparagus, but Caprice wasn’t picky.

  As she whipped the egg with a fork, she thought about the
top suspects for Bob’s murder. There was Jackie, Bob’s girlfriend. There was Danny, an angry teenager. Possibly Kent, who had recently become Bob’s partner, but that wasn’t common knowledge. Why? Because it had happened recently, or for some other reason? Then she considered Joe. She just couldn’t believe her own brother-in-law was capable of murder.

  When Caprice had whipped the egg into a froth of foam—she wielded a wicked fork—she set the small bowl on the counter. She was rummaging in the cupboard for a cast-iron pan when her cell phone played its Beatles’ tune.

  Shasta barked, a new habit that was supposed to alert Caprice to the call . . . or else Shasta was a connoisseur of Beatles’ music.

  With the frying pan in one hand, she picked up her phone from the counter with the other. It was Bella.

  “How are you?” Caprice asked.

  “I need you. Can you come to the urgent care center? Mom’s phone is going to voice mail, and Joe isn’t answering either.”

  “Take a breath and tell me what’s going on.”

  “It’s Timmy. He got hurt playing baseball. Seth sent him to X-ray, and he’s trying to schedule us an appointment with an orthopedic doctor.”

  So Seth was on duty this evening. She pushed their last conversation out of her head, as she’d been doing ever since he’d told her he might be leaving Kismet. Her heart was heavy with the idea just when she’d been feeling so hopeful.

  Timmy. Her focus should be on Timmy. “I’ll be right there.”

  She didn’t know what else to say. Bella had experienced her share of stress lately, that was for sure.

  Five minutes later, she’d warned Shasta and Sophia to behave as she locked the door and headed for her Camaro, no worse for the wear after being impounded.

  This time of day, the Kismet urgent care center was parked up and busy. The center needed two doctors on a shift at a time, but Seth had admitted they didn’t allot funds for two. Is that why he was considering taking a fellowship? Because the job here was too hectic?

  The scene inside the waiting room was controlled chaos. Every seat was taken. Three patients were lined up at the registration window. How was she going to get back to Bella and Timmy?