Drape Expectations (5 page)

“We'd better eat in the kitchen,” Caprice said. “With all these little paws around, someone might get the idea they want to try our Thai. It will be easier to guard it if it's on the table.”

A short time later, Sophia lounged on the chair beside Caprice, every once in a while lifting her nose to take a whiff at what was on the table. Dylan and Lady sat between Roz's and Caprice's chairs, hopeful they'd drop something, or have a bite left over.

But Caprice said to them now, “Too spicy, kiddos. I'll give you each one of your cookie treats when we're done.” Perky Paws had the best peanut butter cookie treats, and both dogs loved them.

Sophia meowed and Roz just raised her brows.

Caprice told the feline, “Fine, an extra dollop of cream for you.”

Roz shook her head. “Vince says we treat them like kids, and he's right.”

“He protests a little, but I bet you one day he'll have a dog or a cat, or maybe the two of you will,” Caprice slipped in slyly. “How's it going?”

A slight blush colored Roz's face. “It's going. We sure do have fun together.”

“Dating prerequisite number one.”

“And what's number two?” Roz asked warily.

“That you both have the same idea where you're going.”

“That's the tough one, because we don't know. It's only been a year since Ted died. Not even.”

That anniversary was coming up for Roz, and Caprice knew it would be a difficult one. She stayed quiet and listened.

“I don't know if I feel guilty because I'm moving on with Vince, or because I made such a mess of my first marriage and don't know if I ever want to try that again.”

“Does Vince know where you're coming from?”

“He does, but he's never been married. I don't know if someone who hasn't been married can understand all the implications of it.”

Caprice thought about her and Grant. He'd been married. She hadn't. Then she considered Seth. He hadn't been married, but he
was
married to his work.

They were digging more deeply into their Thai food when Caprice's cell phone played.

“I'd better check this,” she said to Roz. “Juan is at the house we're going to be staging and he might have run into a problem.”

But when she glanced at the screen, she saw Ace's face. Uh oh, just what was she going to say to him? She swiped the screen and put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Ace. What's up?”

“Caprice . . .” Ace's voice sounded strained and very strange. “I'm at Alanna's house,” he continued, sounding as if there was something wrong with that.

She was sure he'd been at Alanna's house a lot lately. “Does Alanna need something?”

“No, she—” There was silence ... absolute silence.

“Ace? What's going on?”

“Alanna's here, Caprice, but the thing is—she's not breathing. Her eyes are wide open. She has no pulse. I think she was strangled!”

Chapter Five

“Ace? Are you there?” Caprice was afraid Ace had passed out, shut down, blanked out.

“I'm here,” he said in such a low voice she could hardly hear him. “I called 9-1-1. But I can't remember what the operator told me to do. I hung up. I probably shouldn't have. . . .”

He was in shock. She knew how finding a body had rocked her world, and if he really loved Alanna . . .

“Ace, listen to me. Back away from the body and step out of the room, but stay put until the officers or detectives arrive. Do you understand?”

“I don't want to leave her.”

“Ace, you have to. That's not Alanna anymore. I'll call Grant and we'll stay outside the perimeter and wait for you. If you feel the police are asking questions other than what you saw and heard when you came in and found Alanna, say you want a lawyer. Just call me back and I'll be there with Grant or somebody to help you. Do you understand?”

“I should call you if they ask questions other than what I saw and what I heard?” he repeated.

“If you feel the police think you're a suspect, call me. I'll be outside.”

She heard a long, in-drawn breath. “Okay.”

As Ace ended the call, Caprice hoped he could hold together. She hoped Detective Jones wasn't the detective who would appear to take his statement. Detective Jones could be confrontational. Knowing Ace, Caprice realized, he'd be confrontational right back.

“What happened?” Roz asked, knowing something was amiss from Caprice's side of the conversation.

Caprice quickly told her, then pushed her chair back. “I have to call Grant.”

Roz said, “Vince is tied up in court. I hope you can reach Grant.”

When Grant picked up, she said, “I need you.”

Before he could misinterpret those words, she went on to explain Ace's predicament.

With his cool, professional, usual composure in circumstances like this, he assured her, “You gave him the right advice. Are you on your way?”

“I'll stay here with the animals,” Roz said. “I have my laptop in my car. I can go over purchase orders. You go.”

“Thank you,” Caprice said gratefully; then she answered Grant, “I'm leaving now. I'll meet you at Alanna's place in fifteen minutes or less.”

Almost fifteen minutes later to the minute, Caprice parked at the edge of the property line leading to Alanna's mansion. Patrol cars zigzagged across the boundary of the property. An ambulance held a prominent position, too, but Caprice was afraid it wasn't necessary. She was sure the coroner was on the way, as well as the county forensics unit.

Before she could open her car door, Grant pulled up right behind her and hurried to her car.

She rolled down the window.

“Stay in your car,” he said. “I'll get in with you. It could be for a while and the wind is picking up again.”

She didn't think Grant had ever been in her car before. After he opened the passenger door and slid in, he adjusted the seat to accommodate his long legs. His head practically touched the ceiling.

Their eyes met and that unusual awareness that occurred when they were this close in a confined space unsettled her. Yes, they could have a long wait.

Together.

One of the officers standing guard came over to the Camaro.

Before he could tell them they couldn't be here, Grant said, “I'm Ace Richland's attorney. If he asks for me, please tell whoever is on this case that I'm here.”

Caprice couldn't see the officer from her side of the car, but she heard him say, “Stay in the car.”

“Got it,” Grant answered, cooperating.

Again, a heart-thumping awareness overtook the two of them. As always, when she felt disconcerted, she made conversation. “What did you do with Patches?” Since Grant had adopted the pup, he'd been mostly working from his home, taking Patches to his office in the building with Vince now and then.

“Don't worry. My neighbor's taking care of him. What about you?”

“Roz was having lunch with me. She's going to stay awhile. . . .”

“Did you call Vince before you called me?” Grant asked. There seemed to be an underlying message there. They had both done legal work for Ace.

“No.” For some reason, she added, “Roz told me he'd be in court all day.”

“She's right,” Grant confirmed. “They probably know each other's whereabouts most of the time now.”

Making conversation, Caprice said, “Vince has been less obsessive about work since he's been dating her. He tries to leave the office at a decent time so they can have dinner together.”

“That's what finding the right woman will do. Work just doesn't mean quite as much.”

She blinked. Grant's work had seen him through a difficult time. Did Grant feel work didn't mean as much as it once did for him, too?

“Vince needs to have a life as well as his work,” she agreed. Then she added, “You do, too.”

With one of his shrugs, he confessed, “Patches has saved me from eighty-hour weeks. When I worked in Pittsburgh in corporate law, there were sometimes hundred-hour weeks. That's one of the reasons—” He stopped abruptly.

“One of the reasons what?”

Looking out the window toward Alanna's house, he was silent for a while, and she thought he was going to ignore her question. But then in a gruff voice, he answered, “Work was one of the reasons I wasn't paying enough attention when Sally died. I hadn't taken parenting classes. I hadn't had enough experience. I didn't realize a dad has to be there as much as a mom, for all the everyday things as well as the birthday parties. My ignorance cost us our child.”

She turned toward him. “Oh, Grant, you can't blame yourself.”

After a moment, he responded, “I don't blame just myself. Naomi and I were both to blame. But if I'd have been awake at the wheel, I could have prevented it.”

She doubted that. Sometimes tragedy couldn't be prevented, no matter how much you wanted to think otherwise.

This was the first time Grant had ever talked about what happened to his little girl. This was not where Caprice would have expected him to do it. But she wasn't going to stop him if he was willing to share.

It seemed, though, that this little bit had been quite enough of sharing because he turned away toward the house again and his mouth grew tight. She knew from the straightness of his shoulders and his erect posture that he didn't want to say more.

A little sharing was better than none.

Two officers were running crime scene tape around the property—up the driveway and across the front lawn. Although she couldn't see them, they'd most likely wrap it around the side veranda and across the backyard, too. Crime scene techs from the York County Forensics Unit would let no square inch of the grid they devised go unturned.

A half hour passed and no one came to the car again, though Caprice had seen Detective Brett Carstead arrive and go inside. Roz had texted Caprice, telling her that Lady and Sophia were fine. Grant received a similar text from his neighbor.

“So Donna's home from school this week for spring break?”

Grant's neighbor was a secretary in the Kismet public-school district. The week before Easter was considered spring break.

“Donna's not taking care of Patches. Simon is. He's really good with him.”

Caprice had met Donna when Grant's neighbor had given a home to two stray kittens, who had ended up in Caprice's care. Grant had recommended her and her little girl; and after a visit with Caprice, Caprice had okayed the adoption. But since then, she'd wondered exactly how close Grant and his pretty, divorced neighbor were. Simon Treadwell, his neighbor on the other side, was retired and liked dogs, too.

“Ace just came out,” Grant suddenly told her, opening the car door.

They both climbed out.

Ace made a beeline straight for Caprice's yellow Camaro.

Running his hand through his already-disheveled hair, he explained, “They want me to go to the police station. The detectives are going to question me further there. I thought I should have a lawyer with me.”

“I'll go with you,” Grant assured him. “And Caprice should go home.”

“I'm not going home. I'll go to Ace's estate and wait there. The press won't let him alone if they know he's involved in a murder.”

As she thought about Alanna's murder, she suddenly remembered Mirabelle. She asked Ace, “Did you see Mirabelle inside?”

He thought about it, but she imagined all he could envision was Alanna's dead body.

“I don't remember, Caprice. Really, I don't.”

Caprice didn't hesitate to go to the officer at the boundary tape. Detective Carstead was inside. She had to talk to him.

“Officer, I need to speak with Detective Carstead.”

“He's quite busy, ma'am. It will have to wait.”

“It can't wait. There's an animal in the house, and I need to talk to him about her. I know I can't go in. Could he please come to the tape and talk to me?”

The officer gave her a skeptical look.

She said, “Give him my name, Caprice De Luca. I've been involved in other investigations, and he knows me.”

“So
you're
the one,” the officer muttered, and Caprice had no idea what that meant. He got on his mobile device and not five minutes later, Carstead was walking toward them.

“This better not be a ploy to get inside,” he said right away.

“I don't use ploys, Detective. There should be an animal in the house, a white Persian cat with golden eyes named Mirabelle. If you can't find her anywhere out in the open, there's a utility closet down the hall, off the kitchen. Alanna stuck her in there during the open house, so it wouldn't surprise me if she had a meeting—and she apparently had some kind of a meeting—that she might have stowed the cat in there again. There was a cat carrier there. I just want to make sure she's not hurt. I can take her with me.”

Carstead studied her for a long minute, then glanced at Grant and Ace, who'd moved toward Grant's SUV for a private conversation.

“I'll check,” he said tersely.

A short while later, Carstead walked down the drive, looking a bit sheepish. He was carrying the pink cat carrier. Mirabelle was protesting loudly from inside.

Detective Carstead, who was much more human than Detective Jones, informed Caprice, “The cat was inside the closet.” Then after a moment of considering what he should say, he explained, “We've contacted the police in Mississippi to notify Mrs. Goodwin's sister of her death. Once she gets in contact with me, I'll ask her if she'll take the cat. In the meantime—”

Mirabelle was exceedingly upset. Her meow was high-pitched and wailing.

Caprice cooed to her. “Everything will be okay, baby.” Maybe it would be even better than okay because she wouldn't have to stay in a closet, if Caprice had anything to say about it.

She asked Carstead, “Can I take her—until you know whether her sister wants her or not?”

Carstead thought about it. “It's well-known you take care of stray animals in Kismet. I'd just have to call animal control if you don't take her, and who knows where she'd end up? The thing is, Miss De Luca, what if Alanna's sister can't take her? Then what happens?”

“I'll find her a home, one way or another. I promise.”

“Don't you already have animals?” he asked.

Just how much did this detective know about her? “What am I, an urban legend?”

“Close to it. You've solved three murders.”

That had nothing to do with her animals.

“My cat's going to be put out. My dog will be curious. But I'll keep Mirabelle separated to give her some time to adjust to new surroundings before I introduce her to them. After all, maybe Alanna's sister will want her. What's her name again?”

“Her name is Twyla. Twyla Horton.”

Grant and Ace were already getting into Grant's SUV to drive to the police station.

Caprice took the carrier from Detective Carstead. “Do you have my number?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew how stupid a question it was. “Of course, you do,” she murmured.

She thought she saw Carstead's lips quirk up a bit, and he looked amused for a moment.

He said, “How is it that when there's a murder in Kismet, you're somehow involved?”

She shrugged. “Kismet's a small town and I get around.”

He rolled his eyes at her quick comeback. “I guess you do. Believe me, we have you on our Rolodex and on our computer.”

After a last glance at the cat carrier, he walked back to the house. As Caprice took Mirabelle to her car and felt the perimeter guarding officer's eyes on her, she decided that these days Big Brother
was
watching.

Grant waved as he drove off and she waved back. He or Ace would let her know what was happening, she felt sure.

Caprice texted Roz that she was bringing Alanna's cat home. Roz texted back that she'd take Dylan and Lady to the backyard.

Mirabelle meowed during a good part of the drive, even though Caprice spoke to her. She knew Persians could be talkative. She wasn't sure how Lady and Sophia would like that. She did know she was going to settle Mirabelle in her spare room upstairs, until the cat could adjust to being somewhere new. After all, maybe Alanna's sister would want her. Maybe Ace knew something about Twyla Horton.

Ace—he was going to be grilled. Detective Jones wouldn't waste any time if he was on the case, too. Just how much would Grant let Ace say? The bigger question was:
Would Ace listen to Grant?