Gilt by Association (5 page)

When Nikki saw Caprice's look, she decided, “I'll call Vince.”

 

 

Icy slush crunched under Vince's sedan's tires as he pulled into Caprice's driveway. Just like visiting her childhood home where Mom and Dad and Nana lived, Caprice found the same welcoming sense of homecoming when she landed here at her own house after a busy day. The 1950s-style Cape Cod had unique features that set it apart—such as the stone around the arched door and the copper roof above the porch. Winter was the only season when bright color didn't dot the gardens. In spring, azaleas under the bay window bloomed. In summer, zinnias and geraniums danced in the wind in the sunny gardens while clumps of impatiens spotted the shaded ones.

They all climbed out of Vince's car without a word and went up the curved walk to the small front porch. Lady began barking from inside.

“I have to break her of that habit,” Caprice mused.

“She's a dog,” Vince muttered. “Dogs bark.”

“She's a pup who still has some manners to learn. When I undo the gate and let her out of the kitchen, do not let her jump up. Turn away if she does. I've almost broken her of that.” Caprice inserted the key in the lock in the door.

“You and Grant with these pups. You treat them like kids. I don't know how it's going to go when he starts bringing Patches to the office. But clients don't seem to mind having a dog around when Grant meets them in his town house. I've asked them.”

“I'm glad it's working out for him. My neighbor was going to check on Lady at three and take her out for a walk. The Kong toy filled with doggie goodies and her kibble release ball would have kept her busy until then. I'll have to call Dulcina and tell her she won't have to come over.”

“I suppose you taught your neighbor how to give her commands and treats?” Vince said with wry disdain.

“Now you're sounding like Bella,” Nikki warned him.

Once inside, Caprice had Lady sit and then lie down before giving her a treat and releasing her. Lady wove in and out of their legs, wagged her tail against them, yipped with delight that she had company again, but didn't jump up on any of them.

“Good dog,” Caprice said, over and over, because praise and rewards definitely worked with this pup.

Caprice's first floor had a circular walk pattern. The powder room and Caprice's home office were down the hall to the left. The hall stretched past the stairway into the living room and small foyer. To the right, she could see through the dining room into the living room. Lady took advantage of the circular floor plan when she needed exercise. Sometimes, Sophia joined in. But right now, her long-haired, strikingly colored calico cat was sprawled on the seat of the oversized dark fuchsia chair. She was eyeing her floor-to-ceiling, turquoise-carpeted cat tree as if that might be a good place to perch with the invasion of humans that had disrupted her afternoon.

Caprice went over and scratched the ruff around her neck that was pristinely white and fluffy. “I can see you've been good. I'll put some crunchies in your dish in case I'm late getting back for supper.”

Sophia's large golden eyes seemed to accuse her of abandonment again, so Caprice answered, “I'll give you an extralarge dollop of cream tonight. I promise. You won't have Lady to contend with because we're taking her with us.”

At that, Sophia stood up on all fours, arched her back, jumped down, and headed for her cat tree, which she climbed in two seconds flat.

Vince said, “I'll take Lady out back while you change.”

Nikki added, “I'll put the crunchies in Sophia's dish.”

Fifteen minutes later, Caprice had called her neighbor, telling her she didn't have to stop in. She knew Bella would never approve of her outfit, but then Bella wasn't going to be present at her mom and dad's. She'd changed into a pair of wide-legged jeans, and added a sweatshirt from a Pennsylvania wolf sanctuary, opting for practical clothes. After all, her nod to retro could go beyond the Beatles and her collection of John, Paul, George, and Ringo T-shirts. Vintage styles had become a pastime for her, and she enjoyed mixing and matching eras, falling back into styles that could still be classic or funky. Bella often criticized her sense of style because it was unique. Tonight she didn't care about “unique.”

By the time she ran downstairs, she could smell coffee brewing and Vince was calling Lady inside.

She went toward the kitchen, still feeling numb. She knew the feeling from before. She'd known the victims in the other two murders she'd solved, too, but not the way she'd known Louise. Louise had practically been family, hadn't she? As an adult, Caprice hadn't seen her around as much, hadn't visited her as much, hadn't talked to her as much. But like all good memories from childhood, when you saw someone who'd been in your life that many years, a warm feeling bumped around your heart. Now, thinking of Louise lying there on the earthy floor of the greenhouse, Caprice felt sudden tears burn in her eyes again.

Stopping in the living room by the cat tree, she petted Sophia. Sophia seemed to understand something was wrong because she bobbed her head into Caprice's hand and then licked her thumb. Caprice stroked her feline's silky fur for a couple of seconds until Lady bounded in, wet paws and all, and stood at her feet.

Animals understood. They really did.

But her sister and brother did, too, so she joined them in the kitchen.

Usually the buttercup vintage-style appliances made her feel as cheery as the kitchen looked. But not now.

Nikki took one glance at her and nodded to the coffeepot. “I thought we should talk a little bit before we go see Mom. We have to absorb what happened before we can comfort her.”

Vince pulled lime green, yellow, and turquoise mugs from the mug tree and set them on the table. “You two haven't told me much, and I think you ought to go over it for me again, just in case the police call you in for questioning.”

“Detective Carstead said he might want to talk to me again because I knew Louise,” Caprice said, heading to the refrigerator for the cream. Situations like this definitely called for sugar and cream, even though Nikki had probably used one of her chocolate-flavored coffees. Comfort came in many packages, and chocolate-flavored coffee, cream, and sugar were one of them.

Vince spied the round, brightly colored, tightly lidded canister that sat on the counter and peeked inside, finding more of the cranberry and white chocolate cookies that she had baked for Bella's family. A little stale? Vince would probably dip them in his coffee.

“Help yourself,” she said.

Vince did and looked thoughtful. “You told me Louise was shot three times. All in the chest?”

Caprice sank into the chair at the table. The yellow braided seat covering slid a little as she made herself comfortable and crossed her legs.

“Three times in the chest. It was awful.”

“You said there was a lot of blood, but was she like totally torn apart?”

“Vince,” Nikki reprimanded. “We're supposed to be absorbing it, not reliving the gory details.”

Caprice shook her head. “I think there was lots of blood because of where the bullets hit, so I don't think it was a shotgun or anything like that, if that's what you're getting at. But I have no idea what caliber the gun might have been.”

“You didn't see a weapon lying around?”

“I only got a quick look but no, I don't remember a gun lying on the floor.”

“That brings us to the next question,” Nikki said. “Who would do it?”

Vince took his coffee black. Once Nikki had poured coffee into all three mugs, he lifted his, blew on it, then took a sip. He made a face.

“The only person I know anymore who drinks straight coffee without some exotic flavor is Dad.”

Nikki and Caprice just stared at him.

“Maybe this would be better with a shot of bourbon,” he decided, possibly having trouble with the idea of Louise Downing's murder, too. “Do you have any? It wouldn't hurt the two of you to have a swig either.”

Her brother, who was mostly a wine connoisseur, seemed to be shaken up. He was the oldest sibling. He'd known Louise longer.

“I have the rum I use in my rum cake. How about a dash of that?” Caprice asked.

“Sounds good.”

After their coffee was topped with the liquor, they thought again about the question Vince had asked.

“Who might want to murder Louise?” Caprice repeated. “I just don't get it. Louise has collectibles sitting around—Waterford crystal, Limoges china, sterling silver even. So I think the bigger question is, not only who killed Louise, but did the killer
know
her? Did a stranger shoot her or was there motivation for murder that went deeper for a family member or an employee? Maybe an enemy of Chet's because of business dealings. He has the reputation for being a shrewd businessman.”

Nikki chimed in, “He's in the process of selling The Pretzel Party. What if those meetings aren't going so well? What if someone's angry about that?”

“But would they take it out on his wife, rather than him?” Vince asked.

“Maybe that's the easier thing to do,” Caprice decided. “Unfortunately I don't know much about Louise's life the past few years. Mom might.”

“Do you think she'll be up for questions?” Nikki asked.

“I think she's going to want some answers.”

Vince eyed Caprice. “I think she's going to want
you
to find some answers, and I think this time, you should stay far away from it.”

Weren't they famous last words?
Caprice wondered. She'd been warned before. But this time would she heed Vince's warning?

Chapter Five

Caprice saw the evidence of her mother's tears when she, Nikki, and Vince arrived at their childhood home. Seeing her mother hurting made her feel helpless. Usually it was her mom fluttering around with something to eat or drink, but tonight her dad did that with Nana's help.

From the moment they'd walked in the side porch to the foyer that led to the living room, dining room, and upstairs, Lady had made a beeline into the dining room and Caprice's mom.

In Caprice's experience animals just seemed to sense when someone was hurting and they wanted to give comfort.

The cuckoo clock in the dining room struck six. That clock had been there ever since Caprice could remember. This house had seemed like an albatross to most market-goers at the time when her parents were ready to buy one. They had known it would be a fixer-upper for most of their lives.

In Pennsylvania, the pale yellow stucco exterior was an anomaly, along with the red barrel-tiled roof. Its Spanish style with black wrought-iron railings, a first-floor Juliet balcony off the library, and a second-floor balcony protruding over the downstairs sunroom were unusual in this area. However, they'd needed a house with some room for three children and bargained for a good price. Since Caprice's dad was a brick mason, he was skilled in a lot of the work that had to be done or had friends who were skilled in ways he wasn't. The tall casement windows in the dining room and living room certainly hadn't been energy efficient then and weren't now, but they had a European charm that her parents loved. A few years ago, they'd built on a side apartment for Nana Celia so she could move in with them, not worry about stairs and be independent yet close enough for them to discreetly watch over her.

The long mahogany dining room table had seen so many family dinners when Caprice and her brother and sisters were still living here. Her mother believed in family dinners as the best method of communication, and that's why her parents and Nana hosted a family dinner once a month and expected all of them to be there. It was just something that the De Luca family did to stay close. They bonded over food and wine and conversation, and Caprice believed that's what kept them strong as a family. Sure, they had their squabbles and rivalry, but the bottom line was they'd do anything for each other.

After they'd piled their coats on a chair in the foyer, Caprice sat beside her mom at the dining room table while their father poured them all a glass of wine. She supposed he thought they needed a bracer for whatever they were going to talk about. Nana Celia sat across from Fran, Caprice's dad on her mom's other side, while Nikki and Vince took seats at the table, too. Lady sat halfway under Caprice's chair and halfway under her mom's.

Her mom stooped down to pet the cocker and Lady licked her hand.

That little gesture of doggie kindness almost made her mom's face crumple. Her dark brown hair was laced with a bit of gray and fell softly in waves around her face, helped by a body perm every now and then. She was still attractive at age fifty-seven, and didn't dye her hair. She was fashion conscious, though, and usually wore classic styles. Tonight she'd wrapped herself in a comfortable old tan sweater of Caprice's dad's that she said was out of style for him, and just right for her. It was one of those go-to garments on a chilly night . . . or on a night when she needed comfort.

Nick De Luca wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders. “She has a lot of questions,” he told Caprice.

“We all do,” Caprice responded. “I still can hardly believe what I saw. Why would anyone want to shoot Louise?”

Her mom just shook her head, but Nana said sagely, “Everyone has enemies, even if they don't know they do.”

Was that true?
Caprice wondered. Did
she
have enemies? Did Nikki? Sure, Vince might because of his law practice. Sometimes it was adversarial in nature. But she tried to please her clients with home-stagings. Nikki tried to make food everybody would enjoy. Nana Celia certainly didn't have any enemies. Did she?

Yet something in Nana's eyes told Caprice that what she'd said was all too true.

“Louise was a little bossy sometimes,” Nikki said softly, as if she was afraid she'd offend her mom. “But that's just part of who she was, wasn't it?”

“No one at the Garden Club would want to kill her for that,” Vince said. “There are a lot of bossy women there.”

Nana gave him a scolding look and he shrugged. “You know it's true. Get a group of women together and you have ‘bossy.'”

This time Caprice's father cleared his throat as if to warn Vince to be quiet.

“Louise was confident,” Fran said, as if that explained it all. “That confidence came off sometimes as arrogance, I guess.”

“You knew her a long time, Mom. Was she always like that?” Caprice asked.

Her mother seemed to consider the question carefully. “When I first met Louise, we were both so young. We'd volunteered to decorate the church for Advent. That's how we met. Thinking about it now”—she stopped—“Louise wasn't at all confident. In fact, the opposite, really. She was a little shy and stayed to herself. I even had to coax her to come to dinner. But when she did, I think she enjoyed being part of our family.”

“What about
her
family?” Vince asked. “Didn't she have any?”

Their mom's brow crinkled. “No, she didn't. In fact, she never wanted to talk about herself. Now that I think about it, I don't even know where she moved here from. After she met Chet, she talked about
him
most of the time, and her work for The Pretzel Party. Come to think of it, her confidence grew as her relationship with him grew. Over the years, our lives here and now were important, not what had happened in our past.”

Fran looked pensive. “But you know, I don't know
anything
about Louise before she started her life in Kismet. I remember thinking when I met her that she had a slight accent. Maybe a touch of a Texas drawl.” She shrugged. “But I could be wrong. Sometimes I can't tell a North Carolina accent from a Texas one.”

“What was her maiden name?” Caprice asked.

“Her maiden name was Benton.” Suddenly her mother reached for her hand. “Are you going to investigate her murder?”

Vince said, “Mom, you know she shouldn't. You know what happened last time.”

“This is different,” Caprice said. “Louise is a family friend.”

“You'll go too far, you always do,” he protested. “Besides the fact that you almost got yourself killed, I have a feeling if you step on Jones's toes this time, he'll toss you in jail.”

Caprice's father studied her with worry in his eyes. “Honey, you are apparently good at finding answers. But we don't want you putting yourself in danger to do this. Do we, Fran?”

“Of course not. I don't want you in any danger. But you know how the police work so slowly, and this just seems to be very complicated.”

“Most murders are,” Vince maintained. “If it was simple, it would be a crime of passion and the killer would be obvious. But that's not the way of it.”

Her mother's shoulders straightened. “I know that house inside out. I'd know if anything was taken. Maybe I should go through it.”

“As I told you, Detective Carstead might want to talk to you about Louise, her house, everything. But I don't think you should offer,” Caprice advised her.

“I have so many questions, honey,” Fran said. “I want to know what she was doing in her greenhouse. She should have been ready to leave. I want to know why Chet couldn't have pushed that meeting to next week. She'd just spent time in the hospital. He should have stayed with her and made sure she was okay. If he'd been there, this wouldn't have happened.”

Maybe,
Caprice thought.
Or would he have been shot, too?
“If I would start investigating,” Caprice responded, “I'd want some of that past history that you don't have. I don't want to stir up more grief with Chet right now, but he could possibly tell me where she came from. If I find out anything, it has to be through the people who knew her the best and the longest.”

“I don't know when will be a good time to talk to Chet,” her mother said. “He's probably so grief-stricken, he can't think straight.”

“I know that,” Caprice agreed. “In the meantime, maybe Rachel could give me some information. She's been with the Downings for years.”

“I really don't think you should poke around,” Vince warned her and exchanged a look with his father.

But Caprice's dad just shook his head and said to his son, “You know if you tell her not to, she'll be even more determined to do it.”

Her father's gaze met Caprice's and she saw knowing and love there.

“I'll be careful,” she assured him.

“Stay under the radar,” her father warned her. “If you just act like a concerned friend, you should be okay.”

Yes, she should be. But Caprice knew one thing her father didn't. If one clue led to another, and then another, she'd have to follow each one.

Suddenly she realized that maybe he did know that. He was just playing this low-key because he didn't want the rest of her family to worry.

Hopefully she wouldn't give them anything to worry about.

 

 

Caprice sat in her home office around eleven
P.M.
with her two housemates. She knew she wasn't being very good company to either of them. She'd had caffeine and would be awake for a while. They, of course, hadn't. Lady was curled at her feet, her head across Caprice's toes. Since she had the habit of going barefoot in the house, even in the winter, the feel of Lady's warm head on her skin was comforting. Sophia, on the other hand, had settled on top of her printer, which was a favorite spot of hers.

Caprice was trying to take her mind off of her mother's sadness . . . and the murder. At least for a little while. At least until tomorrow when they gathered at her mom and dad's for dinner and would go over it all again. She turned her attention to her computer and her Web site.

Time was getting short before Valentine's Day, only a week away, and Caprice had to give the okay for changes to her Web site. Her webmaster had redesigned it for Valentine's Day, creating a special badge that led to a separate page for Give-from-the-Heart Day. Anyone going to the Web site could make donations from there. Every penny was welcome.

“You two can help me think up my daily posts and tweets for the campaign. We're going to bring in lots of money for food and clothes.”

At the word
food,
Lady lifted her head.

“Uh oh. I said a code word.”

Caprice's cell phone lay by her keyboard. It began vibrating as well as playing “Good Day Sunshine.” Bella's picture appeared on the screen.

Caprice swiped across it and answered the call. She had a sixth sense some of the time, but she didn't need it tonight to know what Bella was calling about. She probably felt left out, even though Caprice had called her while she was at her parents' house and filled her in.

“How's Mom?” Bella asked.

“She's taking it pretty hard. Vince dropped me off at home, but Nikki is going to stay the night.”

“I should have been there, too, but with Benny just getting over his cold, and bringing over the whole brood, and having to talk about—I don't know what we would have been talking about, but it wouldn't have been happy. It just didn't seem like a good idea. Yet it didn't seem right not to be there either. Even Joe said so.”

After a few moments of silence, Bella asked, “Do you know when the viewing and funeral will be? I'm going to have to get sitters.”

“Since this is a murder investigation, I don't know when they'll release Louise's body. My guess is a few days at least. It depends on what the detectives find, and how much Chet pushes.”

“Does pushing really help?”

“No one's going to answer that one, but I do know Chet has some powerful friends—state representatives and state senators. I really don't know how much politics is involved in running the police department. Dad says Mack never talks about that.”

“Knowing Mack when we were kids, and knowing him now, are definitely two different things,” Bella agreed.

Caprice sank back in time as she thought about Louise and how much
she'd
been around when they were young. “Do you remember those dresses Louise gave us to play in when we were kids?”

“When we went to her house and played dress-up?”

“Yeah. They were all taffeta, voile, and frothy.”

“She hadn't worn them very much. They were like new,” Bella remembered.

“She always said Chet didn't like to see her in the same dress more than once when they went to a party.”

“Do you remember that white dress she had that hung in the back of her closet, and she wouldn't let us dress up in it?” Bella asked.

Caprice took a journey back, thinking about Louise's bedroom, the huge walk-in closet, the way it was organized and divided. That white dress had been separated from all the others. It had looked like . . . Caprice thought about it. It had looked like a First Communion dress for a sixteen-year-old.

“She would never answer us when we asked her what it was for. What do you think it was for, Bee?”

“You know more about old fashions than I do.”

“Not old, vintage.”

“Yeah, well, vintage. It sort of looked like a dress that a girl might wear to a prom back then.”