“Are you worrying about the open house? You know Nikki and I will do our best.”
“I’m not worrying about the open house, per se. I’m just worrying about life in general. Somehow it’s gotten more complicated as I’ve gotten older. Maybe I’m just feeling too old today. Valentine’s Day will make me young again. Chet and I always have a special celebration. This year, we’re flying to the Bahamas over the holiday weekend. A little R&R away from here will help us both. By the way, he has to go out of town tomorrow during the open house. He couldn’t postpone the meeting because negotiations to sell The Pretzel Party are at a critical stage. I’m just going to putter here in the greenhouse in the morning, and then I’ll clear out before Nikki sets up. A friend, Gail Schwartz, has invited me to her house for the afternoon. Since Rachel will be off for the day, Nikki has the key and the security code to get in. Of course, if you need anything, you can reach me on my cell. Garden Glory delivered the plants early this morning. Is there anything we haven’t covered?”
“I’m just going to go inside, take a last look around, arrange the plants to their best advantage, and make sure everything’s exactly the way we want it. I’ll give you a shout when I leave.”
“Perfect.”
If only everything had stayed perfect.
Caprice arrived at the Downing house the next day, glad the temperature had risen into the forties. The sun was even shining. She was eager to see Nikki. Excitement always swirled around an open house, right before all the guests started arriving. It could be quite a heady experience, with the food simmering in warmers, a party atmosphere abounding. That’s why their open houses were such a success.
Caprice passed Nikki’s van, knowing the waitstaff would be arriving soon. Pocketing the keys to her Camaro, she was surprised to see the garage door up, and Louise’s luxury sedan still parked inside. Louise had said she’d be leaving.
Nikki emerged from the kitchen door and motioned to the back of her van. “I’m ready for the food warmers. My assistants should be here any minute to help.”
Caprice went inside with her. “Louise’s car is still here. Have you seen her?”
“No.”
Puzzled, Caprice quickly searched through the first floor, then called up the wide stairway. “Louise?”
She received no answer.
Louise had said she was going to putter in her greenhouse this morning. Caprice gardened and her mom gardened even more. She knew how easy it was to become distracted by watering, examining, sorting. Maybe Louise was still in the greenhouse and was unmindful of the time.
“I’ll check the greenhouse,” she told Nikki as she passed her in the kitchen, her head deep in the refrigerator.
Caprice hurried to the greenhouse and saw the door was almost closed, but not completely. She pushed it open, calling, “Louise?”
There was no answer.
When she stepped inside—
She spotted Louise crumpled on the floor. She let out a loud “No,” ran toward the older woman, and stopped at her prone form, aghast at what she saw.
There was blood everywhere on the earth floor . . . and what looked like three bullet holes in Louise’s chest.
She was dead.
Chapter Four
Fortunately, or unfortunately—it all depended on one’s point of view—Caprice was now familiar with crime scene procedure. With a lump in her throat and a knot in her stomach, with a wave of depressive sadness washing over her, she stood by a patrol car while official personnel entered information onto the crime scene log, while both the detectives and the forensics unit efficiently gathered evidence. She knew better than to move around, talk to anyone . . . or drive away. Oh, yes, she was familiar with this kind of scene.
Detective Carstead, who had questioned her with regards to another murder last summer, approached her now.
He said wryly, “At least you know better than to contaminate the crime scene. You didn’t touch anything in the greenhouse, did you?”
“Not today,” she said solemnly.
“What do you mean—not today?”
Caprice explained how she knew Louise, how she’d been in the greenhouse many times, how she’d come to find the body. It was hard to think of Louise Downing that way. After all, she’d been like a favorite aunt.
Detective Carstead jotted down notes in his small spiral notebook. Distracting herself, she wondered if detectives would ever use e-tablets. But as she watched Carstead’s broad hand, his long fingers, the pad of his thumb, she figured he’d make lots of typos trying to input information on a tablet computer and writing was probably faster.
She glanced often at Nikki who was standing by the forensics van with Detective Jones. The tech had taken her fingerprints. They did that for everyone who’d been on the scene, for elimination purposes if for nothing else. Caprice’s were already on file with AFIS—the Automated Fingerprint Identification System—because she’d been involved in other crime scenes. Detective Jones was the one who had grilled Bella and Joe so relentlessly last summer. He didn’t even look her way. She guessed he didn’t like her very much. Detective Jones thought she was an interfering woman who should keep her nose out of police business. The problem was, when it came to protecting her friend, or her sister or brother-in-law, murder had become her business, too.
Detective Carstead was watching Caprice carefully. “Would you like to sit down or something? You look a little pale.”
“Of course I look a little pale. I found a body!”
“It isn’t the first time,” he commented.
She could have punched him, really she could have. Was he being totally insensitive or did he just want to get a rise out of her? Was he giving her grief because she’d solved two other cases before they had?
“Louise Downing was a good friend of my mother’s.” She heard her voice crack, and that annoyed her as much as his attitude. “She was . . . she was . . . she babysat me, for goodness’ sakes. She liked my dog, and she loved hearts and flowers—” She stopped because Carstead was looking exceedingly uncomfortable now. Well, he’d started it.
He said in a softer voice, “Would you rather do this down at the station?” His dark brown eyes were almost kind as he tried to get the conversation back on track.
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m fine.”
After another penetratingly thorough study of her, he nodded. “Run through it all again for me from the moment you arrived.”
Caprice did—how she’d arrived and gone inside the house with Nikki, how she’d called up the stairs for Louise, how she’d suspected Louise had lost track of time in her greenhouse, how she’d gone in there and seen—
She remembered now what else she’d seen, besides Louise’s body on the ground. She’d seen a few seedlings that had been knocked over, maybe by Louise’s collapse to the floor. Blood had been everywhere, and Caprice had been careful not to step in it. It had been more than obvious Louise was dead—from her unseeing eyes to her lack of a pulse. Caprice had carefully checked before she’d dialed 9-1-1.
Carstead wanted every detail, and she gladly gave it to him, hoping that would wipe it from her mind.
“Let me ask you this,” he finally said. “When you drove up the street to come here, did you see any cars driving away from the Downings’ house?”
She thought about it. “No. I didn’t see any other vehicles.”
“And you said you did have to use the security code to get inside the house?”
“I didn’t. Nikki might have.”
“Or was the house still open when she arrived?”
“Possibly. That would make sense if Louise was still here.”
“And while you and your sister were inside the house, you didn’t hear anything unusual?”
Caprice felt at a loss. “Like what?”
“Like raised voices coming from the greenhouse, gunshots, anything that would have gotten your attention.”
“No, nothing like that. I mean, Nikki’s main focus was setting up the k
itchen for the food, and I was concerned everything else was in place as I walked through looking for Louise.”
He noted that. “Was anything out of place?”
Caprice concentrated on the rooms she’d quickly canvassed. “I don’t think anything was out of place. I was focused on the arrangement of the furniture, the greenery that had been delivered, the heart pillows I’d added, and a vase of flowers for table adornment. Nothing was on the floor or disheveled, if that’s what you mean.”
He nodded as if that was what he’d meant. He made another notation in his book. “You said the deceased and your mother were good friends. Do you have any information on Louise Downing’s closest relatives?”
“Her husband had a business meeting today. I have his cell number on my phone.”
“Would you mind giving that to me?”
She was sure Carstead could get the information a million other ways, but if she gave it to him, he could notify Chet more quickly that his wife—
That his wife was dead.
Pulling her phone from a pocket in her fifties-style full skirt, Caprice scrolled through her contacts and read off Chet’s number.
After Carstead noted it, he asked, “Any children?”
“No. But they have a housekeeper. Rachel had the day off. I’m sure Chet knows how to contact her.”
“Was she a day worker?”
“No, she has a little apartment off the kitchen.”
“You could be an asset to our investigation since you knew the deceased so well. Are you willing to come in if we have questions or we want to verify something?”
“If I can help you, I will.”
“But you won’t go looking for the killer yourself.”
That wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement, and it seemed to carry an inherent warning.
She said with some heat, “Right now I’m just concerned with notifying my mother. Her friend is dead.”
She had no idea how she was going to do that.
Then something suddenly hit her. She glanced at her watch. “Oh my gosh. Security for the afternoon, as well as guests, are going to be arriving soon.”
“That could be a madhouse scene,” he muttered. “Who is the security company?”
“Bradford and Associates, out of York.”
He nodded as if he was familiar with the security firm. “Do you have any idea who these guests are?”
“No. This is open to the public, though most will be high-end clients with luxury real estate brokers. I can contact agents and they can see if they can contact their clients. Some of these prospective buyers are coming from a distance.”
“Do that. I’ll call in more manpower to block off the street and barricade the driveway. Crime scene tape won’t be good enough if we get a crowd. How long is this open house supposed to last?”
“From two to five.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to sit in one of the patrol cars? It’s cold out here.”
She did not want to do that. Those back doors on the patrol car automatically locked and even if the door remained open, she’d feel claustrophobic. It wasn’t too cold for him, so it wasn’t too cold for her.
“I’m fine,” she assured him and started scrolling through her phone again as he moved away to speak with an officer ensuring the integrity of the crime scene.
Ten minutes later, she’d done what she could with the real estate agents. Now she turned to the phone call she didn’t want to make. Her mother.
Her mom picked up on the second ring. “Aren’t you in the middle of Louise’s home-staging?” she wanted to know.
“We’ve had to cancel the open house.”
There was a beat of silence before her mom asked, “Is Louise sick again?”
Maybe she should have done this in person. Maybe she should have driven over there. But she wasn’t sure if Detective Carstead was really through with her yet. “Is Dad there?”
“You want to talk to him instead of me?”
“No, I just want to know if he’s there.”
“He’s in the living room watching TV. Why?”
“Go in there with him and sit down.”
“I won’t be able to hear you with the TV blaring.”
“Mom, go in there and sit down. Please. Ask him to mute it for a few minutes.”
“If you’re playing some kind of game—”
“No game. Just do as I ask, okay?”
A few seconds of silence passed, then Caprice heard the sound of the TV and heard her mom asking her dad to turn it down.
When all was quiet, Caprice said softly, “Mom, Louise is dead.”
There was stark silence.
“Mom, give the phone to Dad.”
“I will not,” her mom protested vehemently. “Tell me what happened. Did she have a heart attack?”
“No. She was murdered.”
Caprice heard the small gasp. She heard her mother turning to her dad and repeating what Caprice had said.
“Tell me what you know,” her mother ordered.
“I don’t know much. Nikki and I came for the open house, and I went to the greenhouse and found her.”
“How was she killed?”
“I’m sure the detective doesn’t want me talking about this.”
“Caprice, I’m your mother. I’ll keep my mouth shut if I have to. How was she killed?”
“She was shot. Three times.”
“Oh my goodness. In her greenhouse?”
“Yes.”
“Was anything taken?”
“I don’t think so. Nikki and I were in the house looking for Louise and nothing was disturbed.”
“There’s a safe in Chet’s office, and Louise has one of those boxes that look like a book where she keeps jewelry that isn’t in her safe deposit box. That’s in her bedroom on the bookshelf. You might want to tell the detective that.”
“I’ll do that. He might want to question you since you were a good friend, especially since you know where her safe was and that kind of thing.”
“Just so it isn’t that Detective Jones. I’ll give him a piece of my mind if he tries to bully me.”
Her mother knew what Roz as well as Bella and Joe had gone through with Detective Jones, and Caprice had no doubt her mom would give him a piece of her mind.
Detective Carstead was coming her way.
“Mom, are you going to be okay?”
“Of course I will, dear. Your dad’s here, and I . . . I’ll go tell Nana. She’s going to be so shocked. I just can’t believe Louise is—” Her voice broke.
“Mom, I’m so sorry. I know Louise was your best friend.”
“Can you stop over . . . later?” her mom asked, with a catch in her voice.
“Sure, I can. Nikki will, too.”
Detective Carstead watched Caprice end her call and pocket her phone.
“The real estate agents are going to do what they can?” he asked.
She nodded, and then said, “I called my mother, too.”
“But you didn’t give her every detail, right?”
“She wanted to know how Louise was killed and I told her, but she won’t tell anyone else.”
He rolled his eyes toward the sky. “This is one of the reasons Jones doesn’t want you involved. You’re a big family. And . . . you all know Captain Powalski.”
Captain Powalski, who was chief of police, was also a good friend of her dad’s, and he kept his distance when Caprice was involved in an investigation. Except . . . he had helped her out on the first murder she’d solved.
“What about Captain Powalski?”
“He doesn’t want us to have to haul you in for obstruction of justice.”
“I never obstruct justice.”
Detective Carstead gave her a look that told her she’d better just keep quiet. Still . . . keeping quiet wasn’t her strong suit. “My mother told me something you might want to consider.” She related the information about the safe and Louise’s jewelry.
“I made a note of it,” he said.
Caprice spotted Nikki wandering toward her, looking a little dazed herself.
“Do you need us, or can we go?” she asked the detective.
“You’re going to have to come to the station to sign statements. Tomorrow is okay for that. And you can’t take your vehicles. You know the drill.”
She sighed. Vehicles had to be searched since they were on the property. She and Nikki would need a ride home.
When Nikki was beside her, she reminded her, “We can’t take our cars. Who do you want to call?”
Nikki seemed to shake off her daze. “You could call Grant.”
Yes, she could, but she didn’t want to. Relying on him just wasn’t in her nature, maybe because she had a trust issue where most men were concerned. Her last serious relationship had been with a divorced man with a child. He’d ended up going back to his ex, and Caprice had been left out in the cold. Whenever she was with Grant, she couldn’t help remembering that he was divorced, too. Not only that, but there was a painful story in his background.
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.
Gilt by Association Page 5
