Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 9

  “I didn’t want to leave her alone. She’s still settling in, and she’s pregnant.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “It happens,” Caprice said with a shrug and a little smile.

  “I don’t have a lot of time, Caprice, so you’d better tell me why you’re here.”

  Yes, Grant was a get-to-the-point kind of guy. “I thought you might want to know what I found out about Bob, or rather his murder.”

  Grant’s lips thinned in disapproval that she was snooping. But instead of scolding her—because he apparently knew that wouldn’t do any good—he asked, “You have suspects already? I should have known you’d find alternatives to Bella and Joe.”

  “The important thing is that the police find an alternative. And, yes, I have. It turns out Bob has kept up his lady-killer ways. He was dating Jackie Fitz, who works at Connect Xpress.”

  “And how did you find this out?”

  “Nothing illegal. I stopped in to talk to Eliza, and Jackie was there watching a video that Connect Xpress had taped of Bob. She was really upset and crying. She had real feelings for him.”

  “That’s a big jump to being a suspect. You think she could have murdered him?”

  “It’s possible. If she found out he was having coffee dates with Bella.” She hurried on, knowing her time was limited. “Then there’s this teenager at the community center who had a fight with Bob. Danny was working on the murals with him at the center. He wouldn’t tell me what they fought about, but he was suspended for a while because he took a few swings at Bob.”

  “Motive?” Grant asked.

  “That I’m not sure about. One thing I discovered was that Bob took credit for Danny’s artwork.”

  “In less than twenty-four hours you’ve come up with two suspects. I wonder how well the police have done.”

  “If they focus just on Joe and Bella, they won’t be looking any further. You know Detective Jones.”

  Silence filled the small office until an awkwardness fell over her and Grant. He shifted in his chair, gave Shasta another pat, then cleared his throat. “Vince told me you and Seth Randolph officially are an item.”

  Official was an odd word to use. So was item. “He joined me for one of our family dinners, and we meet for coffee as much as we can. But you know a doctor’s schedule.”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “He’s on call a lot. Some days he might work a twelve-hour shift.”

  Grant just cocked his head and nodded, but she wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. She and Grant had sort of become reacquainted friends during her last sleuthing adventure. Sometimes when they were together, she remembered the crush she’d had on him when Vince had brought him home on weekends from law school, and the way she’d buried it once Grant had gotten engaged and then married. When he’d moved to Kismet to join Vince in his law practice, he’d changed—had become guarded and distant—a different man than the more relaxed college guy she’d met when he’d been Vince’s roommate.

  Had he asked about Seth to make small talk? She couldn’t read his expression or the look in his unfathomable gray eyes.

  Tension always seemed to permeate their relationship.

  Uncomfortable with it, she knew the time had come for her to leave. When she stood, Shasta did too. “I don’t want to take up any more of your time. Since you’re advising Joe, I thought you should know what I was doing.”

  “And what’s next?”

  “I’m not sure. Bella doesn’t think Joe’s being straight with her. I’d like to find out where he’s been spending his time.”

  “If I tell you to be careful, will you listen to me?”

  “I’m always careful.”

  His chiding look made her shrug, and she went on. “I try to be. I’m not sure what my next step is going to be. You know me—go with the flow.”

  “And get washed down the river,” Grant muttered.

  She wrinkled her nose at him and led Shasta toward the door.

  He rose and followed her.

  Shasta went over to his feet, looked up at him again, and gave a yip.

  “She likes you.”

  He didn’t comment on that and instead just asked, “Do you think she was on the streets long?”

  “It’s hard to tell. But she has the sweetest disposition, and I think someone loved her.”

  Grant gave Caprice an odd look.

  She became so uncomfortable, she blurted out, “If no one claims her, are you interested in a pup when her litter arrives?”

  Without hesitation, Grant shook his head. “I don’t have the time a pet deserves.”

  “You could make the time. Your office isn’t that far from your town house. You could drive home at lunch to let a dog out.”

  “Don’t start weaving my life for me, Caprice. I keep my life simple now.”

  Yes, he did. And he never talked about what had happened, a crisis that had brought loss and grief into his life in more ways than one.

  As Shasta once again rubbed up against Grant’s dress slacks, Caprice suggested lightly, “Think about it.”

  She didn’t give him time to say he wouldn’t because she left his office, waved at Giselle, and led Shasta outside.

  Chapter Seven

  When Caprice returned home, she decided to take Shasta for a walk. In spite of the heat, the two of them could use it. They were returning from an around-the-block stroll when she spotted her elderly neighbor kneeling on a garden pad alongside her house, her straw gardening hat shading her from the sun. She wore a wildly flowered cotton blouse and striped seersucker pants. Caprice didn’t hesitate to see what she was up to.

  “Hey, Josie,” she called as she approached her. “You shouldn’t be out in this heat, should you?”

  “I’m just pulling a few weeds, making sure everything is shipshape.”

  Now Caprice was concerned. Josie had often spoken about selling the house and finding a condo or something involving less maintenance.

  “Have you decided the yard’s too much for you and you want to sell?”

  Josie rose to her feet from her kneeling position. “Oh, no. Decided not to. Had a long talk with my kids. I’d have to give up too much to move. My gardening keeps me nimble. I like walking around this neighborhood. I like my independence. And the truth is, I don’t particularly want someone watching over me, not yet. So we’re going to do a couple of things. My son’s going to buy one of those medical alert devices. You know, you can hang it around your neck or carry it in your pocket. Then if you fall, you just push the button, and there’s three people on a list. The service calls each one of them, and if they can’t get anyone, they call an ambulance.”

  “That sounds like a wise decision.” Her Nana Celia had one of those.

  “And I’m having a security system put in the house. Just a precaution. After all, there have been two murders in Kismet since spring. I didn’t know the first victim, but one of Bob Preston’s crews painted my house. They did a good job. I just hate to think of someone I knew being killed.”

  Caprice understood exactly how she felt. When she thought of Bob, she just couldn’t fathom the fact that he wasn’t around any longer.

  “In fact, I was going to call his company again to paint my shed,” Josie went on. “Do you think someone in his business is going to keep it going?”

  That was a good question. Kent Osgood, Bob’s right-hand man, could probably take over the handling of the crews. It depended on the wording of Bob’s will, and if Kent would have to buy out the business.

  “I could just call Kent Osgood,” Josie said. “I have one of his business cards. One day when he was working here, he gave it to me, and he said he also painted small jobs when he could after hours. So I could call him, couldn’t I?”

  So Kent took jobs on his own. She hadn’t known that. She’d always dealt with Bob when she contracted with him. Was Kent trying to undermine Bob’s business so he could go out on his own? Or was he just trying to earn extra money?


  She thought about the best way to talk to him. The trim on her back porch really could use a coat of paint. After all, she had her neighbor’s recommendation to call him.

  “I have trim on my porch that should be painted. Do you have Kent’s number handy?”

  “I sure do. It’s on my refrigerator. By the way, you don’t have blueberries in your yard, do you?” Josie asked, changing the subject.

  “My mom does, but no, I don’t. Why?”

  “Because I have a bush that’s loaded with them, and I just don’t have time to pick them or do anything else with them right now. You’re welcome to them.”

  “Thank you so much for offering. I have a recipe for blueberry bread they’d be yummy in. I put it together when Mom started growing blueberries.”

  “You’ll have to give me your recipe.”

  “Of course. And it makes two loaves. Since I’m using your blueberries, you can have one of them.”

  “No, dear. A whole loaf will go to waste. My doctor says I can only have a small piece of a goody like that now and then. If it were up to him, I’d become a vegetarian.”

  Caprice laughed. “I guess we all should, but what fun is there in that? After I bake the bread and it cools, I’ll bring over one slice. How about that?”

  “Now that sounds perfect. I have some quart boxes on my back porch. Just help yourself. I’ll get Kent’s number.”

  Caprice had a full afternoon. She had to visit Older and Better, the antiques shop, to find some rustic accents for a luxurious log home she was staging at the end of the week. But she couldn’t turn down fresh blueberries, and picking them would give Shasta even more time to romp around.

  After Josie went inside, Caprice took a quart container from her neighbor’s back porch and went to the blueberry bush. Shasta darted around Josie’s yard, never going very far afield.

  Caprice’s box of blueberries was almost half full when Josie came outside again holding an index card. “Here’s Mr. Osgood’s number. It’s different from the one I call for Mr. Preston.”

  She wondered if this was Kent’s home number. She was going to find out. Tucking the card in her pocket with her phone, she continued picking berries from the bush until she’d picked two quarts. She left one quart with Josie, who could just wash them and enjoy them au naturel. They were supposed to be chock-full of antioxidants.

  Josie’s smile was wide and her thank-you genuine as she waved and watched Caprice take her quart of berries to the gate in her fence with Shasta at her heels. After she closed the gate and reached her porch, she made a quick decision. Sitting on the fifties-style glider, she pulled out her cell phone.

  Then she dialed Kent’s number.

  Older and Better was one of Caprice’s favorite haunts. It was located on the outskirts of Kismet, and she often stopped there on her travels to and from Harrisburg or on a jaunt down to Lancaster. Maybe she just enjoyed getting lost in the past. Maybe the glassware and old furniture brought back memories of being a little girl. Everything in Isaac’s shop told a story, and she loved to listen to those stories.

  As usual, Isaac Hobbs was in his shop. He practically lived there when he wasn’t on a buying trip, though his main assistant, Julie Ann, as dedicated to his antiques as he was, kept a close watch when he wasn’t around. Today, however, he was.

  He smiled when the front door creaked open and a little buzzer went off.

  Today Caprice was interested in rustic but well-made furniture that might look a little distressed, but not too overused. Sometimes she just rented pieces from Isaac for the length of a staging. Other times, she bought a table or a chair, Waterford cordials, or an antique Victrola cabinet and kept them in her storage shed, ready for when she might need them.

  Isaac looked up from a glass case that held antique jewelry, smiled, and waved for her to come closer. “Just the girl I want to see. You’re going to want to see this ring.”

  Uh oh. She admired old jewelry, and Isaac knew it. She’d spent hours examining pieces in his shop. She’d bought Nana a 1940s brooch for her birthday last year. But rings? Rings could be her downfall. Today she was wearing a gold initial ring that her dad had given her one Christmas. She also wore a mood ring. They were coming back into fashion. Antiques endured. Fashions were cyclic, but classic was always classic.

  “You aren’t going to tempt me, are you?”

  “From what I hear, you’re making good money these days.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Hey, I’m just telling you what the scuttlebutt is. You stage a house and it sells, even in this market.”

  She was doing well, and sometimes good old Catholic guilt kicked in and she felt like maybe she shouldn’t be when so many others weren’t. But as her mom often told her, guilt was meant to push you toward the positive. So she did what she could to help others, especially her furry friends. Still, she didn’t know if she liked the idea of anyone talking about how well she was doing.

  “You’re not going to give me names, are you?”

  “Nope. I have a confidentiality agreement with my customers. You know that.”

  Isaac was sort of like the bartender at a tavern. He listened to everybody, took it all in, and kept it to himself. Most of the time, anyway. Unless it was public knowledge. She was counting on some of that public knowledge today, along with finding furniture for that log home.

  “So what do you have to show me?” she asked, really interested.

  He slid a ring from a black velvet box. This particular ring appeared so delicate and fragile in his big calloused hands. It was a beautiful pearl, about nine millimeters, set in a white gold band channeled with garnets. It was delicate and feminine and striking. She didn’t have any pearls in her jewelry wardrobe, not rings anyway. For handling animals and moving furniture around, she needed pieces that could withstand bumps or a good washing with a bar of soap. Pearls couldn’t.

  But that didn’t mean she couldn’t admire them. That didn’t mean she couldn’t look at this ring and wonder what she could wear with it the night of the awards dinner.

  “It’s beautiful, Isaac. What’s the price tag?”

  “Three hundred dollars.”

  No, that wasn’t exorbitant. But in spite of what she made or didn’t make, she wasn’t careless with her money. She always thought about need versus want, and this was certainly something she wanted but didn’t need.

  “Try it on,” he encouraged her.

  She knew she shouldn’t. And miraculously, as if it were made for her, it slid right onto her finger. She sighed. “Well, of course it fits.”

  Isaac laughed. “Why don’t you drop a hint to that doctor you’re dating that you’d like it. Christmas isn’t that far away.”

  Christmas and Seth. Those two words seemed to go together so well. “I don’t know if we’re that far along yet,” she said honestly.

  “I heard somebody saw you two smooching outside of Cherry on the Top.”

  She felt heat crawl up her neck. Kismet was the ultimate small town. Nothing went unnoticed—not her yellow Camaro, or her practically psychedelic van, or the penchant she had for taking in strays. She moved her hand this way and that so the ring would catch the light shining through the window.

  “I didn’t come in here today to look at rings,” she said, looking at it anyway.

  “How often do you buy what you actually came in here for and not something else?”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “I need occasional tables, maybe a coffee table. I’m staging a log house in Reservoir Heights.”

  Reservoir Heights was one of the ritziest areas of town. Her best friend Roz had lived there before her life had changed. The houses were magnificent, each somehow unique and built on enough property to give them an estate feel.

  “If you can’t find anything in here, you can check the storage rooms. I bought furniture at two public sales last weekend and filled them up pretty well.”

  Last weekend brought back memories of what had happened to Bob. When
she thought about Bob, Caprice felt a tightness in her chest and fear that Bella could be charged with his murder.

  She slipped off the ring and handed it back to Isaac. “So have you heard any scuttlebutt about my sister?”

  Isaac focused his attention elsewhere and took his time settling the ring in the little black velvet box.

  “Isaac?” she asked.

  “How about some coffee?”

  It was July and Isaac’s air-conditioning unit was running full force. Coffee wouldn’t be her beverage of choice on a day like this.

  But Isaac talked better over coffee, so she agreed. “Coffee it is.”

  He kept two chairs behind the counter for this exact purpose, a tête-à-tête with a customer or an old friend. Isaac was older than her parents, but she still felt he was a friend.

  He poured two mugs of coffee, and after he’d added milk and sugar to Caprice’s from a small refrigerator under the counter, he handed it to her. The walnut captain’s chairs they sat in were surprisingly comfortable with their red-and-black-plaid cushioned seats.

  “Some people think she might have done it, others don’t,” he revealed with a shrug. “But the flagrant rumor going around is that she had an affair with him.”

  “Oh, Isaac. It’s not true.”

  “I’m old enough to know rumors can have a spark of truth, but not much else.”

  “They were friends,” Caprice explained lamely.

  “Old friends, right? She used to date him.”

  “Do you have a good memory, or did someone dig that up too?”

  “It doesn’t matter, does it?”

  “No.” She took a few swigs of stale coffee and didn’t make a face, even though she wanted to. “Did you know Bob?”

  “I knew him some. He painted this place a couple of years ago. A few months ago, Kent Osgood painted my kitchen after I had a leak in an upstairs bathroom. Bob stopped by the day he was working and helped him finish up.”

  “Did they seem to have a good working relationship?”

  “Seemed so to me. They laughed and joked like guys do, talked about baseball teams. I think Kent was five or six years younger than Bob, but I got the idea they did some stuff together outside of work too. You know, like an Orioles game or a nightcap at Susie Q’s.”