Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (13 page)

“We don’t look like thieves.”

He gave her a wry smile. “Most corporate thieves don’t. Whatever’s going on there, I don’t think you can fault Thompson for being a little put out.”

“More than a little,” she muttered. “I wish I could have switched on Ted’s computer.”

“It’s probably wiped clean. Especially if there was anything on there they wouldn’t want his replacement to see.”

“I’m surprised the police didn’t confiscate it.”

“It’s not that easy. That computer wasn’t Ted’s property. It belongs to PA Pharm. The police have Ted’s home computer . . . and probably his laptop, for that matter.”

Remembering the card she’d fetched from Ted’s desk, she withdrew it from her pocket. “I found this in that top drawer.”

Grant came closer as she turned the card right side up. At the name on the card her eyes widened and she gave a little, “Oh!”

“What?” Grant had moved beside her and was looking over her shoulder.

“It’s from Isaac’s shop—Older and Better. I shop there all the time.” Turning the card over, she saw “1700s Ottoman Empire Turkish dagger.”

“Something he was thinking about buying?”

“Or already bought. I didn’t realize Ted dealt with Isaac, but that would make sense—at least on a local level. I think I’ll drive over and talk to him.”

“Caprice—”

“Don’t give me that look,” she warned him.

He checked his watch. “I can’t come with you. I have an appointment in half an hour and I haven’t gone over the client’s case yet.”

“There’s no need for you to go with me. I’ve known Isaac for years.”

“Don’t tell him Roz is the main suspect.”

“I wouldn’t do that!”

“So what are you going to say?”

“That Roz is a friend and I’m looking into things. He knows I’m curious.”

“I know I can’t stop you. But helping Roz shouldn’t become your second job.”

“Why not?” she asked flippantly and didn’t wait for an answer as she rounded her car’s hood and unlocked the driver’s side.

He followed her and kept his hand on her door as she slid inside. “You will call me if you discover anything?”

“Maybe,” she tossed out, right before she closed the door.

 

 

At Older and Better, Caprice found Isaac hunkered down before a cupboard, rummaging on the lower shelf.

“Searching for something?” she joked.

After shooting an impatient glance over his shoulder, he responded, “Yeah. One of those early-sixties Woolworth’s five-and-dime teacups and saucers. Pink flowers. Customer called, left a message, and said it was in the oak china cupboard, bottom compartment. Like I don’t have more than one oak china cupboard.”

At least five of them were spaced at regular intervals around the room.

“Pay dirt!” he grunted and rose to his full height, cup and saucer in hand. “Did you come over to see if I found any more crystal? There’s a place in Philly where I can get a few of the plates. You were on my list to call tomorrow.”

“That’s great that you found them, but that’s not why I came over.”

His brows arched. “Looking for props?”

That’s what he called her staging furniture, and he wasn’t far off. “Not that either. I want to talk to you about daggers and swords and Ted Winslow’s collection.”

Isaac carried the fragile-looking teacup and saucer to his cashier’s desk and motioned her behind it. There was a small sitting area there with two walnut captain’s chairs that had red and black plaid upholstered cushions tied to their seats.

“Coffee?” He nodded toward the pot on a narrow table against the back wall. It was half-filled.

She knew she probably wouldn’t sleep tonight, but coffee and conversation went a long way with Isaac. “Sure. Lots of milk, though.”

Opening the mini-refrigerator under the counter, he pulled out a plastic jug of milk. “Terrible thing that happened to Winslow. You go way back with his wife, didn’t you say?”

“We were friends in high school.” She poured coffee into two mugs that looked as if they’d seen years of caffeine stains.

“So why do you want to know about Winslow’s collection. Is someone thinking about buying it?” He poured milk into his own mug and capped the jug.

“Could be. Did you procure any of the swords or daggers for him?”

“Sure I did.” Isaac put the milk away. “But Winslow found a lot of them himself too, at private auctions.”

“You mean physical private auctions or online?”

“Both.” Isaac picked up his mug and took a long swallow. “I know he sometimes planned his business trips to coincide with them. Chicago. New York. L.A.”

Caprice sipped her coffee and wanted to make a face at the stale taste but didn’t. “So if you found a piece for him he wanted . . .” She trailed off so Isaac could fill in.

“I got a finder’s fee. Winslow did tons of research and knew what he wanted.” After a thoughtful pause when they both drank coffee, the shop owner asked, “He was killed with one of them, wasn’t he?”

Could Isaac possibly know she was there that night with Roz? Not necessarily. The police had released the information Ted was stabbed, so everyone was inventing his own scenario. Isaac’s happened to be right.

She kept silent.

“It’s out that his wife found him or—”

“She did
not
do it.”

“Spoken like a friend. And you think you can figure out who did?”

“Possibly.”

He laughed. “If anyone can, you can. So what do you really want to know?”

“About a few of Ted’s daggers. Roz has given me the history on some of them. The one with the rubies, diamonds, and emeralds in the handle interests me.”

“Did he get killed with that one?”

She kept silent once again.

“Okay. There’s things you can say and things you can’t.”

Not confirming or denying his conclusion, she answered, “Roz said Ted gave it to her for her birthday since rubies are her birthstone.”

“Now I remember.” Isaac squinted his eyes together as if he was thinking really hard. “Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and a hilt covered with gold. A sheath of pierced gold.”

“Wow. So it was worth a lot?”

“I got into a bidding war over it. Winslow kept egging me on. He really wanted that one.”

“Did he say why?”

“Because it was for the Mrs.’s birthday, I suspect. There was provenance with it. But I don’t specifically remember what. Indian Khanjar dagger, I think. I might have a copy somewhere. Those papers, from a couple of years ago, are all in boxes in the attic. Now it’s different. I put everything on the computer.”

While she thought about what he’d said, Isaac continued, “He had quite a collection. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was murdered for one of the pieces in it.”

Her thoughts exactly—rubies, diamonds, emeralds, gold. The question was—who knew about that dagger? Who killed Ted for it?

The following morning Caprice stood in the warehouse of the rental company she used, examining a white wicker settee with two high-backed arm chairs. The set would be perfect for her client who had decided on a tropical theme. The whole house would be reminiscent of a luxurious beach house in the Florida Keys. All pastels, floaty fabrics, bamboo, rattan, and shades of the sea. Besides what Caprice had chosen here, she could find the rest online. She’d encouraged Roz to come along with her today, but instead her friend had just wanted to stay at the house with the animals. The kittens were adorable, and the furry family seemed to be getting along . . . for now. This evening she hoped to start a phone chain to find homes for those kittens. And she hoped to nail down a family meeting with her sisters and brother for Monday night. They had to make plans soon; their mom’s birthday was only ten days away. She’d be able to pull everything together in a few days, but she wanted them all to agree on the details.

Now, however, she had another errand. Dave Harding had been at the Winslows’ open house as well as at Ted’s funeral. She wondered if he’d heard any scuttlebutt about the murder or Roz that she hadn’t. A friendly catch-up visit wouldn’t be out of the question as she shopped for a new garage door. Hers was the original that came with the house. It was wood and high-maintenance; the paint chipped and had to be scraped every summer. They could talk garage doors, and she might get some information to boot.

Her cell phone played as she ran between parked cars in the direction of Dave’s store. She checked the screen and smiled—Dr. Seth Randolph. He hadn’t forgotten about her.

Her voice carried a lilt she couldn’t hide. “Hi! I was thinking about you last night.”

“I hope you have caller ID,” he teased. “So exactly what were you thinking?”

“I do have caller ID, and I was just wondering if you’d forgotten about our date.”

“Obviously not,” he said seriously. “I wanted to make sure you were still available.”

“I’m available.” She realized how happy she sounded and how flirty. What was it about this man that caused that fluttery sensation in her stomach? She didn’t even know him.

“Is two o’clock still good? Why don’t we meet there? Then, afterward, we can get a bite to eat somewhere.”

“Two o’clock is fine. That should be a good time to play. The afternoon crowd will be thinning out and the evening crowd won’t have started.”

“Exactly what I thought,” he said. “See? We think alike.”

She laughed, “At least in matters of miniature golf.”

“We’ll find out in what other ways when I see you. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” As she ended the call, she really was.

She was still smiling as she approached Dave Harding’s storefront. It was crisp and clean, with a placard of hours on the door. When she walked inside, she spotted the long desk across the back and Dave behind it. To the right there were several displays with miniature garage doors and pamphlets with the history and explanation of each brand. To the left she spotted an actual garage door that she supposed would go up and down with a remote. That way Dave could explain its workings to his customers. It was a double-window model and was something like what she was looking for. She guessed it was his most popular style.

When he spied her, he raised his hand in greeting. “Hi there. How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“Do you need a garage door?” he asked.

“Actually, I do. I hope to pick up some brochures and decide on the style.”

“Maybe we can trade services. I’d like to do some redecorating at my place and I hear you’re the go-to person for that.”

Trading services. She’d be open to that. “If you’re serious, I can drop by sometime.”

He moved from behind the desk out into the open part of the showroom. Then he walked with her over to a stand with brochures. “Sounds like a plan.” He started plucking out a few of the pamphlets. “You’re looking for a traditional garage door?”

“I suppose, but one with some of those pretty hinge-looking things might be good too.”

He laughed. “Only a woman would describe them that way.” He plucked out another pamphlet. “How’s Roz?” he asked. “I saw you were with her at the funeral. I only had a short time to talk with her because of all the people. It was hard to tell how she’s really holding up.”

“I think she’s coming through this remarkably well.”

“She’s staying with you, isn’t she?”

When Caprice remained silent, he shrugged. “I know you probably don’t want to say, reporters and all that, but I certainly won’t tell anyone.”

Caprice made a calculated decision to trust him. After all, he’d already guessed. And it really wasn’t that much of a stretch to figure out Roz was staying with her. At least not for any of her friends.

But rather than actually confirming it, she said, “Roz is keeping a low profile.”

“And you’re helping her do that?”

“Any way I can.”

“So is it true the police suspect her?”

“I hope they’re looking at lots of suspects.”

“At the funeral I heard some of those men from PA Pharm talking.”

“About what?” she asked, knowing this could be the information she was hoping for.

“The one said Ted had a lot of enemies. Another one, the guy talking to Roz after I did, looked really troubled about a detective calling some of them in for questioning.”

“Chad Thompson?” Caprice murmured.

“Yeah, that’s the guy. I heard somebody say his name.”

“I should have circulated more,” Caprice admitted. “But I didn’t want to get too far from Roz.”

“You’re a good friend. That guy you were with, so he’s her lawyer?”

She remembered Grant had announced that when Valerie came on the scene. “Yes, he is.”

“Is he good?”

She said simply, “He’ll steer Roz in the right direction.” If Grant couldn’t help Roz himself he’d make sure he’d hook her up with someone who could.

“I can’t believe that woman barged into the funeral.” Dave’s brows furrowed and his lips pursed. “So Winslow was having an affair?”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“Maybe his mistress killed him.”

“I suppose that’s possible. We can only hope the police sort it out soon. Since I was occupied most of the time at the open house, I didn’t wander around. I wondered if you might have heard anyone arguing with Ted.”

Dave thought about it. “I didn’t see him much that night. After I spoke with Roz, I left. That’s what I told the police too, when they called me. I guess they were talking to everybody who was there.”

“That’s what I heard.”

Dave handed her the pamphlets. “All we can do is hope everything turns out okay.”

Caprice nodded. Yet she knew everything was not going to turn out okay for someone.

 

 

Caprice was on the first hole of the miniature golf course Saturday afternoon ready to swing when she felt Seth’s gaze on her. She’d worn the blouse she’d bought at Secrets of the Past with lavender capri pants that were the same color as a shade in the blouse. Her hair swung over her shoulder as she adjusted her sandals on the green turf, ready to tee off.

“You look incredible today,” Seth said, right before she swung.

The ball careened off the side barrier of the green, and she didn’t know whether to be annoyed with him or totally flattered. “Did you say that so that my first shot would go wild?”

He grinned and came closer to her. “It just came out because it’s what I was thinking. Don’t you believe me?”

He was close enough that she could almost feel his body heat. She could definitely smell his aftershave. He was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved, cranberry-colored Henley shirt. He was so good-looking she still couldn’t believe she was on a date with him.

“I don’t trust easily,” she said casually.

“Hmm. I’d like to hear
that
story. But I’m not sure this is the place for it. Maybe later over an early dinner you can tell me why trusting is hard for you.”

She liked the fact he was willing to listen. She liked the fact he was talking about later. Speechless for a moment, she realized he was looking at her as if he wanted to . . . kiss her.

But he didn’t reach out to touch her. Instead he said, “Since I distracted you, you could take the shot over.”

She studied her ball, which had stopped on the wrong side of a miniature mountain. She’d have to go around the mountain before she could shoot up a little bridge, over a lake, and into the cup. “I don’t need an extra shot. If I don’t make up the stroke on this hole, I’ll make it up on the next.”

“Confidence,” Seth said with a chuckle as he stooped and put his own ball down. “I like that. But we’ll see how confident you are after I play this hole under par.”

“Have you been practicing?” she demanded when his ball zoomed through the mountain and halfway up the bridge.

“I’ve only been here a few times in the last couple of months. But my photographic memory records every hill and bump.”

As she walked to her ball, she asked, “Seriously? A photographic memory?”

“Close to it. It’s not a talent. It’s a gift.”

“A gift most people would like to have.” She whacked her ball so it lined up with the hole through the mountain.

“I think what
you
do is a gift. I can’t imagine staging a whole house. Do you move everything out and what you want in?”

“Sometimes. But usually I just modify what the owner already has. I switch it around a little, add different throw pillows, maybe drapes and accent pieces.”

“Is that what you did with the Winslows’ mansion?”

“Pretty much. Why?”

“I stopped for coffee at the Koffee Klatch yesterday. I heard your name mentioned.”

“Do I want to know why?” she asked jokingly.

“I’m not sure. Two men were talking and I heard ‘Caprice.’ You’ve gotta admit that’s not a common name. So I listened.”

“And.”

“The one man said you were snooping around PA Pharm and no one there liked it.”

“I wasn’t snooping. I was just collecting Ted’s personal items for Roz.”

“Did you ask questions?”

“A few. But that was natural under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

He studied her. “I don’t know. I do know Ted Winslow was murdered. If that was in any way connected to something going on at his company, you could be stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

“Well, somebody has to,” she muttered. “This murder won’t get solved any other way.”

“Aha! So you are snooping.”

“Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t be?”

This time he approached her slowly. This time he did touch her. He brushed her hair from the front of her shoulder to the back, his long fingers causing a tingling sensation where he’d touched. “I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. But I do know those two guys in suits looked seriously ruffled. So you might want to try asking your questions more discreetly.”

Maybe going to PA Pharm like that with Grant had been a mistake because their questions had put Ted’s colleagues on notice.

“Do you go to the Koffee Klatch often?”

“I run in and out practically every morning. Why? Do you like the place? I could rise and shine a half hour earlier and meet you there sometime.”

That sounded like a nice idea. Maybe even a second date.

Stepping away from her, Seth went to his ball, adjusted his stance, and hit it into the cup.

She had the feeling Seth Randolph was going to be terribly hard to beat . . . and terribly hard to resist.

Some holes on the course were more challenging than others. She made par on hole five, with its windmill. But at hole six, the course had too many sand traps
and
. . . she was distracted by Seth. Although his attention was on her a lot of the time, he still managed to maintain his focus. On hole nine—at a waterfall—they both studied it, planning their strategy. He played first.

But after he set his ball down, he glanced at her and asked, “So what house are you staging next?”

“A country theme. The open house is next weekend.”

“A country theme. Let me guess, flowers and distressed wood.”

“And you said you don’t know anything about home-staging.”

“My mother likes the country look.”

“Does she live around here?”

“In Virginia. Dad’s a GP there.”

“So you followed in your dad’s footsteps?”

“I was in and out of his office a lot as a kid. I can remember being fascinated by his stethoscope. He didn’t push me into medicine or anything. I know he’d like me to join him in his practice.”

“But you don’t want to?”

“I needed to be out on my own for a while. I’m still not so sure I might not like to get involved in trauma medicine. I was thinking about applying for a fellowship.”

If he applied for a fellowship, he’d probably move to a city where there was a teaching hospital. Johns Hopkins wasn’t too far away, but he could be thinking of a fellowship anywhere. “So why Kismet?” she asked, becoming more curious about him the longer she was with him.

“It’s not too large and not too small. At urgent care, I get a taste of emergency medicine.”

“So this is temporary for you.” She suddenly thought of Craig in California and his “Dear Caprice” letter.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said honestly.

Their gazes met.

He seemed to forget about his ball. Instead of playing the hole, he took hold of her hand, pulled her toward him, then let go of her hand, and slid his hand under her hair. “Everything’s in flux, but my life is mine to make. My choices depend on what happens next.”

“Are you talking about opportunities?” His fingers were light but warm on her neck, his hold a bit possessive.