Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (10 page)

“This is a surprise.” Probably not the best opener she ever thought of.

As soon as she said it, Grant had a defensive tilt to his chin.

“I mean—” she quickly went on.

But Grant held his hand up to stop her. “Vince and I played one-on-one this afternoon. I said something about catching a game on TV and ordering a pizza, and he said I should forget the pizza, eat ravioli, and watch the game here with him, your dad, and Joe.”

“You’re welcome to come anytime.” Again the words were out of her mouth before she had time to filter them. All she could think about was that once Grant had been part of a family too, and now he wasn’t. Dinners in front of the TV were probably the norm.

“That’s what your mom said,” he admitted.

“She and I think alike
some
of the time,” she joked.

Then the air between them went silent even though conversations swirled around them.

Caprice had the strangest sensation that she needed to step away before—

Before what?

She didn’t know. She lifted the container she’d set on the table during the hugging fest. “I have to put the cannoli cream in the fridge and warm up the bread. I’ll talk to you later.”

When he nodded, she suddenly felt as if there was a gulf as wide as the continental United States between them.

After a quick trip to the kitchen, she entered the dining room again and, to her surprise, saw that Vince was the one talking to Roz. Caprice watched from across the room as her brother said something and Roz smiled. Good for Vince. He could use his “charm” gene for once today. She looked from her brother, who was usually grinning, to Grant, whose expression gave nothing away. Both men were dressed in jeans and T-shirts. Both were tall enough to make a game of one-on-one really interesting. Both could easily get weekend dates with a casual invitation. Vince did every weekend. Grant didn’t. Two very different men.

She thought about her date with Seth next weekend. He seemed like the type of man who knew how to have fun. Did Grant? Or would someone have to teach him how to have fun all over again?

That question was unsettling.

A half hour later, Caprice’s father sat at the head of the table and asked for a quiet moment of thanks for the food before them and for mothers everywhere, particularly their own. Afterward Caprice passed the ravioli mounded high on the platter, the antipasto, broccoli casserole, and homemade bread. Conversations chased each other around the table. Nikki had taken the chair on Caprice’s right and Bella the one on her left. Grant sat between Joe and Vince on the other side of the table.

To keep her focus from drifting to Grant, Caprice concentrated on Joe, wondering if Bella had told him she was pregnant. He didn’t seem bothered by anything and was joking with Vince about sports teams, as he always did. Bella, on the other hand, seemed quieter than usual. After she cut Megan’s ravioli into bite-size pieces she could handle, she reached over her daughter to tap Timmy on the shoulder, making sure he had everything he wanted. As Caprice had noticed many times before, Bella was such a good mom. Although acerbic and sometimes impatient with her siblings, she never seemed to mind fulfilling her children’s needs.

And Joe? He paid attention when he had to.

Apparently trying to make conversation with everyone around the table, Vince caught Bella’s eye and asked, “So what was wrong with your car this time? I heard it was out of commission.”

“Heard from whom?” she asked tersely.

Vince looked perplexed at her tone. “From Dad. Or Joe.” He glanced at Joe, but he was recapping a baseball game with Grant.

Bella eyed Caprice, then answered her brother’s question. “A head gasket.”

Vince let out a slow whistle. “You might as well put that money into a down payment on a new car.”

Bella rose quickly to her feet and pushed her chair back. “Maybe
you
could do that. But we can’t afford that kind of bill every month. I’m going to cut more bread. The basket’s almost empty.”

Before Caprice even had time to register what
that
was all about, Bella had disappeared into the kitchen with the basket.

Nikki started rising to her feet to go after Bella, but Caprice laid a hand on her sister’s shoulder and stood herself. “I’ll talk to her.” If Bella hadn’t told anyone else she was pregnant, she sure wouldn’t confide in anyone right now.

In the kitchen, Bella was sawing at the loaf of bread as if her life depended on it.

“What’s wrong?” Caprice asked, keeping her tone low.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bella,” Caprice said with some exasperation. “Everyone can see something is. Have you talked to Joe?”

“Not yet. I’m just not ready. I thought
you
told Vince about the car and maybe about my pregnancy.” The last was said on almost a whisper.

“I wouldn’t do that. I told you I’d keep your secret.”

Bella looked guilty for a moment. “I didn’t keep yours. But I thought you’d want Nikki to know you were going on a date.”

Caprice kept silent but transferred the bread Bella had cut to the basket.

“I’ll tell him soon,” Bella assured her.

Giving Bella a few more minutes to compose herself, Caprice returned to the rest of her family.

Nikki tossed her a questioning look, but Caprice just shrugged.

To her relief, Nana was asking Vince, “So who did you take out
last
night?”

Nana’s dark brown eyes were alight with mischief. She always wore her long, gray-brown hair in a knot to one side of her nape, and today tortoiseshell combs decorated with seed pearls held it in place. Although wrinkles across her forehead and around her eyes hinted at her seventy-five years, her voice held the vibrancy of someone much younger.

“How do you know I was out last night?” Vince returned with a grin.

“If it was Saturday, you were out.”

He gave up sparring. “I took Janet Grayson to a club in York.”

“Where did you meet her?” Nana persisted.

Vince might have shut down the questions with anyone else, but not with Nana. “I met her at the convenience store. There was a long line and we started talking.”

Forestalling the next logical question, he added, “She works at the home improvement store.” He wiggled his brows. “She can get me a discount if I want to repaint my place.”

“So you’re going to take her out again?” Nana wanted to know.

“We’ll see.”

“I’m not ready to give up on you yet, young man. When you bring one of your dates to our dinners, I’ll know you’re ready to settle down.”

Studying everyone at the table, Caprice could see Roz appeared comfortable now, seated between Nana and her mother. They were keeping the focus off her, and that’s just what she needed.

After everyone had their fill of the main course, Caprice filled the cannoli, garnishing them with the requisite shaved chocolate, pistachio pieces, and chopped, glazed cherries. Nikki and their mom brought in the coffee, and then all of them presented their mom and grandmother their photo albums. After comparing the pictures, which were different in each album, Caprice served dessert while her mom and Nana opened their cards. Conversations eventually dwindled. The kids had already been excused, and the grown-ups began clearing the table.

Vince, Joe, and her father migrated to the living room and the large, flat-screened TV. Caprice, Bella, and Nikki urged their mom and Nana to sit and talk while the sisters rinsed dishes, stowed away food, and loaded the dishwasher. When Caprice returned to the dining room to remove the tablecloth so she could dump it into the washing machine, she found Grant standing at the triple set of casement windows overlooking the tiered backyard. Bushes and flowers adorned the upper level, while the vegetable and herb gardens spread across the lower level.

“Not watching the game?” she asked lightly, wondering if he was going to leave because all of her family was too much for him.

“I was hoping to catch you. Roz has given me permission to talk openly with you about her case.”

“Has something happened?”

“Not specifically. Not substantially. But I spoke with a friend in the D.A.’s office and he’s reliable. Apparently Roz seems to be the main person of interest.”

“But there
are
others.” She hurriedly told him about the parent in her mother’s school who’d been laid off as well as the confrontation in Secrets of the Past.

Grant rubbed his chin. “Maybe Detective Jones discovered her husband’s affair.”

Caprice thought of something else he might have discovered. She moved a step closer to Grant and caught the scent of soap rather than cologne. “Did Roz tell you Ted’s life insurance policy would keep her comfortable for life?”

“No, she didn’t.” Grant stuffed his hands into his jeans’ pockets. “She’s in trouble. They have more than enough motive.”

“That’s why I’m going to PA Pharm and fish around.”

Surprised dismay on his face, Grant took her arm. “No, you are
not
.”

She stared him squarely in the eyes and stated firmly, “Yes, I am.”

He must have heard the you-can’t-tell-me-what-to-do determination in her voice because he said with just as much determination, “Then I’m going with you.”

When Caprice and Monty Culp pushed the rust and blue sofa into place facing the fireplace at the Gentrys’ house on Monday, Caprice finally admitted the room was almost ready. Monty had been a huge help and was a good worker.

So why had he and Ted argued? Simply about cutting hours?

Monty was in his late twenties, with limp, sandy hair that was usually falling over his eyes. He was wiry, but strong, and had hefted furniture like a mover. When she’d called him, he’d jumped at the chance to help her. They’d met at the storage locker, where they’d loaded everything they’d need into her van. Over the weekend, the couple had put into storage everything Caprice had suggested.

Before she’d arrived today, Bob had finished painting the kitchen the palest blue, a backdrop for the rental company’s distressed white baker’s rack. Marge’s dining set was perfect the way it was. By evening the house would be ready for sale. Caprice had scheduled the open house for Sunday of the Memorial Day weekend. They’d moved fast because Grover and Marge were anxious to find their dream estate and move. Denise Langford was an expert at publicity for these open houses. Tomorrow, she’d have a crew shoot photos and video for her Web site.

Monty wiped his brow and glanced up at the high ceiling and the wall of windows, which let in magnificent sunlight. “Nice place,” he said as if seeing it for the first time.

“Yes, it is. Not as uniquely different as the Winslows’, but beautiful in its own right.” She was hoping to encourage Monty to talk about Ted. She hadn’t wanted to just jump into the conversation earlier, but now with everybody else gone, the timing seemed right.

“You were a friend of theirs, weren’t you?” Monty asked, eyeing her curiously.

“I’m a friend of Roz’s.”

“Mrs. Winslow’s nice. She gives a guy an even break.”

Monty had possibly seen her around when she’d visited Roz, but he probably didn’t know she’d been with Roz when they’d found the body. That information hadn’t been released. And Caprice was glad because that meant no reporters were hounding her. Yet Roz had gotten call after call on her cell phone that she hadn’t answered. Thank goodness, the journalists hadn’t found her. After the funeral, that might be a different story. Roz wanted to keep the service at the funeral home and the cemetery private, but everybody noticed when a hearse traveled through Kismet.

“So Mr. Winslow wasn’t fair?” she asked Monty after he moved a library table in place behind the sofa.

“He didn’t know the meaning of fair. After I worked for him for four years, he was cutting me loose.”

Now that surprised Caprice. “Altogether?”

“He said they’d be selling the house soon, and he didn’t need somebody full-time. I pointed out he’d still need somebody to cut the grass every week, but he was hiring some kid to do it. He was going to pay him under the table, probably less than minimum wage.”

Caprice wondered if that would be news to Roz too.

“Was that the first you’d . . . disagreed about something?”

“Hell, no! Usually he wasn’t around, and that was fine with me. Mrs. Winslow knew what she wanted, and when I did it, she was happy. But Mr. Winslow . . . He would come home from one of his trips, ask why I didn’t do this or how come I didn’t do that differently. He was a pain in the . . .” Monty stopped.

“I get it,” Caprice said with a smile to show she understood. After all, sometimes she’d had overly critical clients who could be more than a thorn in her side.

There was no easy way to ask her next question delicately, so she just asked it. “Were you on the property at all the day Ted was murdered?”

Monty gave her a long, studying look. “Why do you want to know?”

How much to say? How much not to say? But since Monty liked Roz, and since most people knew the spouse was suspect number one, she responded, “Mrs. Winslow needs someone to help account for her whereabouts that day. I was just wondering if you saw her.”

His body stance seemed to relax a bit. To her dismay, he shook his head. “No, I didn’t see her. I was there that morning early, to dump some mulch in a couple of the flower beds. But I was gone before anybody was up.”

Of course, she couldn’t tell for sure, but he seemed to be telling the truth.

Until he offered nonchalantly, “I did come by the next morning, though. I hadn’t heard about what happened. When I got there, there were police cars and that yellow tape all around. They wouldn’t let me on the property.”

“You mean they wouldn’t let you near the house.”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I came up the back road to the place, and I guess they weren’t expecting that. So I was in the backyard before I realized I shouldn’t be. They were doing stuff around the back of the house.”

Caprice suspected that “they” were York County’s forensic team. “Did you see anything different that morning? Different from when you were there the last time?”

“Yeah, I did. It was a break in the side hedge where it looked like someone had pushed through. I know those bushes. I trim them every couple of weeks.”

A break in the hedge. She remembered the evening of the murder and the open back door. Studying Monty now, looking him over from his lank hair to his oversize T-shirt to his baggy jeans, she had to wonder if he could’ve been angry enough with Ted to stab him.

 

 

Caprice was attaching a curtain tie-back into place two hours later when her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket, hearing Monty moving around in the kitchen. He was emptying the cartons of place settings, the cookie jar for the counter, and some woven place mats.

When she saw Grant’s number she pressed TALK. “Hi! Are you ready to do some sleuthing with me?” she asked.

Grant’s answer was quick. “No, I’m still trying to talk you out of it, remember?”

“What if I told you I don’t need you to go along to PA Pharm?”

There was a beat of silence. “If you’re determined, we can set up a time. I have my schedule for the week in front of me. But I think it should wait until after the funeral.”

“The funeral? Was Ted’s body released?”

“Roz hasn’t told you?”

“I’m working, Grant. I’m on site. I wasn’t with her this morning. But she hasn’t called me and that worries me.”

“Give her some space, Caprice. She has arrangements to make and a hundred and one things to do. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. I can’t go with you out to PA Pharm until later in the week. Roz has asked me to accompany her to the services. I don’t want Jones or anyone the chief might have called in to assist to catch her in a weak moment.”

“She didn’t do it, Grant.”

“I don’t make that determination. I’m just protecting her rights.”

Was he really that cold? Or was this a tough-guy act that he put on for the world so they wouldn’t see what was really inside?

He didn’t wait for a response from her, but added, “My guess is the funeral will be on Wednesday. Giselle is going to rearrange my schedule. If it is, I’ll have about an hour or so Thursday afternoon around three if you insist on going to PA Pharm.”

“I insist.”

“I thought you might. It will probably be easier if I meet you there. I should be able to spot your car in the parking lot.”

Was that sarcasm or a bit of humor? It was hard to tell.

“Three o’clock Thursday is okay with me. You’ve got ten minutes leeway. Beyond that I won’t wait.” She could be as tough as nails if she had to be too.

“Have you always been this . . . strong-willed?” he asked with some irritation.

“I’ve developed that very good quality over the years.”

He made some kind of a noise, but she wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean. Then he said, “Once funeral arrangements are made, I might have to act as chauffeur to make the situation easier. Roz and I will figure it out. She’ll probably want you with us. Try to stay out of trouble until then.” He hung up.

It was probably good he didn’t know she was going to go to Curls R Us tomorrow to do some questioning. If he knew, he might want to go along there too.

But she doubted it.

 

 

The following afternoon, Caprice dropped off a casserole at Juan’s apartment, checking in on him. He was doing as well as could be expected, learning to use his crutches. Afterward, on the way over to Curls R Us, she’d decided to be a walk-in appointment. Curls R Us was one of those salons where a client could call for an appointment or walk in and take the next stylist who wasn’t busy.

Ted’s memorial at the funeral home and his graveside service was scheduled for tomorrow. Fitting in this visit today had seemed to be the best idea. Hairstylists liked to talk. They talked more freely in the course of a hairstyling than they did if someone came in off the street and asked them questions.

Bella had told her about the sign-in sheet as well as some of the stylists who worked there. Their shifts varied, and sometimes they covered for each other.

As Caprice parked in the small side lot and approached the salon, she hoped this was Valerie’s day off. Bella had told her Valerie usually didn’t work on Tuesday.

The salon wasn’t fancy. The hours on the door were painted in black block lettering under
CURLS R US.
The heavy glass door pulled hard.

As soon as she walked in, she could see the whole shop. There were about ten black vinyl and chrome chairs. Two of the stations were special cubicles for washing hair. To the right, a wall holder held books with all different kinds of hairdos for both men and women. There were magazines too, scattered on a low table under the front plate-glass window. To the left were shelves of styling products—mousses, gels, shampoos, and conditioners from at least two different suppliers. Bella had told her there wasn’t a receptionist per se. Each stylist checked her own customers in and out. Whoever was free and nearest the phone picked it up. It was definitely a low-overhead shop.

Caprice spotted the clipboard on the black Formica desk with its pencil attached by a string. No one waited in the reception area. Seven out of the eight stations—four along each wall—were occupied. One client was having her hair frosted or highlights added, however you wanted to look at it. The tinfoil wrapped in her hair made her head look as if she were going to receive signals from outer space. Another woman was having a full color treatment. One was getting a perm. The others were in various stages of the wash, dry, and style process.

Caprice didn’t particularly want a strange stylist cutting her hair. Yet just a wash and dry wouldn’t take enough time. And with a hairdryer blasting, they couldn’t talk. If she asked for just a slight trim, she should be safe enough. The bottom line was that Bella had her hair trimmed here, so they must do a good job. Bella was a perfectionist, and she wouldn’t keep returning if she didn’t like the service.

The stylists all wore black smocks. The patrons were covered in pink aprons. She could certainly tell who was who. She just wished—

In some ways she wished she didn’t have to do this investigating. She wished she could just comfort Roz, support her through this ordeal, and not have to deal with more. However, Roz herself couldn’t figure out what had happened. She was too deep into lies and betrayal and love and memories and grief. Now that she had to plan the funeral too, Caprice could see that. When she’d come home to check on Roz yesterday, the first thing Roz had said to her was, “I played with Dylan outside and I fed Sophia. You don’t have to worry about them.”

Caprice had said, “I’m worried about
you
. Grant called me. Are you okay?”

“As okay as I’m going to be. I spoke with the representative of the funeral home. And the minister came over while you were gone. I hope that was all right?”

“Of course it was.”

“I have to spend some time today deciding on readings for the service. I just have such mixed feelings about all of it.”

“But you did love Ted.”

“Yes, I did.” Roz’s voice had trembled and tears had come quickly.

“Do you want me to stay here with you? I can finish up at the Gentrys in the morning. Afterward I’m going to Curls R Us and question a couple of the stylists.”

“I can’t believe you’re doing this for me.”

“If I were in the bind you’re in, I’d want someone to look out for me. I’m just trying to find the answers, Roz. That’s all.”

And now Caprice wondered what those answers might be as she studied the clipboard and the form there. She could probably get more information out of everyone who had worked around Valerie, rather than Valerie herself, whom she didn’t see anywhere. She could be in a back office. Or she could be off. Caprice wanted to hear the buzz, the rumors, and the facts as Valerie’s employees saw them. She guessed those would be very different than what came out of Valerie’s mouth.

A young stylist who had to be younger than twenty-five, her blunt-cut, chin-length hair swaying against her cheeks when she walked, came toward the desk and smiled at her. Caprice knew where she was going to start. “Hi! A friend told me I could just walk in, get a trim, shampoo, and style. Is that true?” The name tag on the stylist said
YVONNE
.

“Yes, that’s true. Did you have anyone in mind?” In a lowered voice, she confided, “If you did, you’ll have to wait.”

“My friend said I should try to get Valerie. She owns the place, right? My friend said she’s very good.”

Yvonne gave a little sniff. “Valerie’s good because she owns the shop. Her rep gets gossiped about more than ours. But the rest of us are talented too.”

“So Valerie isn’t here today?”

“She hasn’t been in since last week.”

“Vacation?” Caprice asked innocently.

“We’re not sure.”

Thinking she better dial it back a notch, Caprice asked, “So you’ll be my stylist?”

“If you’re okay with that and don’t want someone else.”