This development was part of a new neighborhood that would expand and grow. The problem with these newer neighborhoods, in Caprice’s estimation, was that they didn’t have tall trees already growing, or stately bushes out front. The landscaping with ornamental evergreens and unusual grasses was pretty but she much preferred mature oaks, ivy climbing up brick, hydrangeas that had survived many winters. Yep, she was old-fashioned in a lot of ways because she didn’t think “newer” was necessarily better. Yet there was something to be said for a family starting a life in a house that had never been lived in, with brand-spanking new roofs and siding and a picturesque gas fireplace instead of a sootier wood-burning one.
The idea of a fireplace brought back her conversation with Grant: whether or not he should look for a house with a fireplace. Would he actually go to the Valentine’s Day dance? Would they spend any time together there other than in polite conversation? Would he tell her any more than he had before about what he was thinking and feeling, maybe even hoping? Hopes were as private as prayers. You had to really trust someone to tell them your hopes. She trusted him. Did he trust her?
Caprice carried two boxes and three bags into the first model home, thinking about Nana’s smile when she’d left her with Lady. Her grandmother liked the cocker’s company.
When Caprice checked her watch, she realized Jamie from Garden Glory should be arriving shortly. Greenery as well as knickknacks warmed up a house. It didn’t have to be obvious. But even philodendron on a windowsill could add that homey touch.
Caprice arranged potpourri in the lead crystal nappies she’d found at Isaac’s. It was a combination of rose and cinnamon that seemed odd but went together really well. The gentle smell sifted through the living room. Positioning a cupid-shaped pillow on the window seat, she thought it might capture prospective buyers’ attention and encourage them to smile. When she arranged the heart-shaped milk chocolates in a glass-covered dish, it reminded her of one her mom used to have on her bureau. Isaac had claimed this one was from the 1950s.
Caprice was about to move on to the second model house when she heard a vehicle pull into the driveway. Crossing to the front window, she watched Jamie emerge from the Garden Glory delivery van. She went to the back, opened it, and hefted a carton into her arms. As she carried it toward the house, Caprice opened the door to let her inside.
“What do we have?” she asked of the knowledgeable nursery clerk.
“I have plants for sun and shade.”
Caprice understood that inside gardening was an art just as outside gardening was. You couldn’t put a sun-loving plant into a dark corner. You couldn’t put a shade plant in front of a sunny window. Just as with people, they had to be happy in their location.
“I have more in the car,” Jamie said, as she set the box on the floor. “Let me go get the money tree. That one doesn’t require much looking after. It’s great with bright indirect light. You can let the soil dry out between waterings. The only thing you have to be careful about is not to overwater it because it will get root rot. Hold on and I’ll get it.”
Two minutes later she was back.
“Oh, how pretty,” Caprice said. The thin trunks of this plant were braided and each leaf had five to seven more bright green leaflets.
“Sometimes the containers we put these in look a little too small, but they’re not,” Jamie explained. “You don’t want a big container that will hold too much water. If the plant starts getting brown leaves, it doesn’t have enough light. That’s not going to happen over one weekend. I’ll place it for you because we don’t want it near a heat vent or a cold-air return. In fact, this would be great for an office, too, because it thrives under fluorescent light. Do you have any of that here?”
“There’s fluorescent lighting in the kitchen in the next house. How about that?”
“I have a second one in the van. We can take that one over there. Now let’s look at what I have here. I’ve potted combinations of plants to give variety.”
She brought forth the container that held a Boston fern and a ponytail palm. She’d mixed the schefflera with trailing ivy and a cascading fern. The pièce de ré-sistance was a combination peace lily, which seemed to bring a sense of serenity to any space, combined with a broad-leafed dumb cane.
“Louise loved the peace lily,” Jamie mused. “She said she could breathe easier knowing it does an excellent job of purifying indoor air.”
“I wish it would have done a more peaceful job for her,” Caprice murmured, still thinking about what she’d seen in Louise’s greenhouse the day of the murder.
“I heard you found the body,” Jamie said, in a little voice as if she almost didn’t want to utter the words.
“It was awful.”
“I suppose the police are still working on what happened.”
“I haven’t heard anything. A friend of mine has a contact in the D.A.’s office. Maybe I’ll find out something this weekend.”
Jamie looked around the living room, seeing the touches that Caprice had added. She seemed to put Louise’s murder out of her mind. “Valentine’s Day weekend. That’s a special one for lots of people. How about you?”
“It’s going to be a busy one. I don’t know how special it will be. I’m helping with the Give-from-the-Heart Day food drive. I am going to the Valentine’s Day dance, but I’ll probably just spend time with friends. How about you?”
“I’m too old for Valentine’s Day dances.”
“You’re never too old for a Valentine’s Day dance. Who knows? You could meet someone there.”
“Heaven forbid!” Jamie said with a negative shake of her head.
Caprice laughed.
“I’ll arrange these plants, then move on to the other houses,” Jamie assured her, already doing it. “We’re pretty busy at work today, so I can’t dawdle.”
Fifteen minutes later, Jamie had left and Caprice was arranging more chocolates in a pretty dish when her cell phone rang. Slipping it from her pocket, she smiled. Ace Richland.
Ace was a former rock star now making a comeback. He’d bought a house that Caprice had staged last summer. She’d also redecorated some of the rooms for him, including his twelve-year-old daughter’s. Trista had come to visit Shasta’s pups after they were born and had fallen in love with them. When they were old enough, Ace had delivered one to her at her mom’s place in Virginia and Trista had named her Brindle. Caprice hadn’t seen much of Ace since then, but that wasn’t unusual. Though she did try to keep in touch with former clients. Ace had even given her a recommendation for her Web site.
“How are you?” she asked, after his initial “It’s Ace.”
“I’m pretty good. I know this is short notice, but I’m calling to invite you to a party I’m throwing to debut my new single. It’s Monday.”
She loved music, and she even liked Ace’s old stuff. She’d had some of it on her playlist before she’d even known he was moving to Kismet.
“I’d love to come.”
“Well, score one for my side,” he said, sort of grumpily now.
“That doesn’t sound good. Don’t tell me you’re having problems finding guests who want to listen to this new single?”
“No. Even though my label decided to roll this out early on short notice, the guest list is filling in.” He sighed. “But I don’t think my ex is going to let Trista attend the party.”
“Why not?” She knew since summer he’d intended to try harder to connect with Trista as a dad should bond with his daughter.
“I don’t know. Trista and I are good. She seems to have a swell time now when she visits. Especially when she brings Brindle. I assured Marsha that the party’s going to be tame. But she won’t budge, and I can’t push too hard if I want to see my daughter, can I?”
She knew Ace was in a tough spot. He hadn’t been an exemplary dad when he was married to Marsha and his ex-wife maintained full custody. He’d like to change that, but again, he didn’t want to push too hard. And after all, he
was a rock star. Just how would a judge look at that?
“Is there anything I can do?” Caprice asked.
“If there’s anything you can do, I’ll let you know. My family will be there. You met them at the pool party last summer.”
“I did.”
The pool party he’d thrown then had been the same night that Lady was born. It had also been the same night she and Grant had become friendlier.
“I just hired your sister to cater before I phoned you,” Ace informed her.
Nikki was probably over-the-top excited about that.
“This isn’t a huge party, Caprice,” he went on. “That will happen in L.A. next weekend. But I wanted you to be among the first to hear ‘Second Chances.’”
“I’m honored you included me.”
“I like you,” Ace said and Caprice could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll see you Monday at seven P.M. My place.”
After Caprice said good-bye, she thought about Ace and his ex and Trista. So many families were broken apart. So many kids had to shift from one parent to the other. That’s what happened when a marriage disintegrated.
More than once, she’d wondered exactly what had happened with Grant’s marriage. Who had wanted out? Who had blamed the other? Who had said, “I want a divorce”?
She knew divorce wasn’t always the final ending. Her relationship with Travis had proven that. She’d fallen in love with his little girl as well as with him. When he and his ex had gotten back together, that had left Caprice bereft from losing both relationships.
Divorced men meant baggage and trouble. She’d have to keep that in mind whenever her interest in Grant became a little too keen. She’d have to keep that in mind if she saw him at the dance.
She would concentrate on solving Louise’s murder and not on what she and Grant had in common. Because at the end of the day, it really wasn’t that much.
Chapter Eleven
Caprice was getting a manicure.
On her way home from the model homes, she’d made the decision to stop at the Nail Yard where Louise had had her nails done. Going over the murder scene in her mind, everything her family had said, everything Pearl had said, everything Rachel had said, Caprice wanted to push forward.
A manicurist was very much like a hairdresser. These professionals could be sounding boards because they knew how to listen. They were neutral, usually accepting any information without judgment. Therefore, they could become confidantes. Now, it was quite true that Louise might not have confided anything in her manicurist. On the other hand . . .
Of course, it wasn’t so easy to go to a stranger and inveigle information. But Caprice had an “in.” Nikki went to Judy Clapsaddle—also Louise’s manicurist—at the Nail Yard. She wasn’t above cashing in on that sisterly bond today.
As she entered town, she glanced at the Arts And Crafts Mall that was topped by the Blue Moon Grille, remembering again the evening she’d spent there with Seth. Pushing those thoughts aside, she drove through the oldest part of town.
Downtown Kismet reeked of tourist charm, rooted in its early 1900s heritage. Stark white trimmed the windows and eaves of the redbrick buildings. Many businesses had agreed to showcase oval wrought-iron signs that were less garish than larger placards to advertise their service or goods.
She glanced at Secrets of the Past. A few more storefronts down the street, she gave her attention to the old movie theater that ran marathon film fests. Nearby, the ice cream parlor—Cherry on the Top—was another of those date places where she’d spent time with Seth. Sighing, she quickly focused on a deli where Vince bought take-out, and the old school transformed into condos where he lived.
The Nail Yard wasn’t part of one of those glitzy chains set up in malls. Nope. It was tucked into what used to be a bicycle shop. It was a narrow little space, with plate glass windows on either side of the entrance. Judy Clapsaddle, the manager, had decorated the storefront in a frothy way for Valentine’s Day with a large hand-drawn sign surrounded by red paper hearts. It proclaimed the Valentine’s Day Special—ANY COLOR, FREE ADORNMENT, $12.99. GIFT PACKAGES TO $100. GIVE A LITTLE MANICURE LOVE TO A SPECIAL SOMEONE TODAY.
Clever, really. What woman didn’t like to be pampered and have her nails looking like a model’s in a fashion spread? In fact, she hadn’t found anything in the hospital gift shop, so this could be the perfect gift for her mother. This was going to be a multipurpose stop. Her mother’s spirits needed to be lifted. A few sparkles on her nails could at least make her smile.
Caprice parked along the curb in front of the store. She didn’t frequent the Nail Yard, for a multitude of reasons. The smell was the main one. Even though an exhaust fan labored to rid the shop of the odors, even though new polishes weren’t as noxious as the old ones used to be, paint was paint. It carried fumes. Still, as she walked into the Nail Yard, she realized business must not be booming. There were no other clients waiting, and there was only a faint smell.
Pleasantly surprised, Caprice smiled at Judy who sat at a narrow table reading a magazine. She was flipping the pages of a national tell-all, not something Caprice read on a regular basis, though she really was intrigued by the alien stories sometimes.
Judy looked up, immediately asking, “How can I help you?” She was a short redhead with a pixie-cut hairdo and freckles. Her small frame and turned-up nose, her skinny jeans and sequined T-shirt, made her look about sixteen. But she knew, from what Nikki had told her, that Judy was closer to twenty-five. Twenty-five seemed like ages ago.
Goodness. When had she started thinking about approaching middle age? She had a lot to accomplish and experience before she even hit thirty-five. No, she was still on the first step of a young adult life. She had a ways to go before approaching any hills.
“Do you have time for a manicure? My sister Nikki comes in here all the time, and she told me you do a beautiful job.”
Judy checked her watch. “I have a client in half an hour. We can accomplish a lot in that amount of time.”
Caprice laughed. “I imagine we can.”
Two displays of nail polish stood on either side of Judy, with multicolored bottles of polish that were for sale and color palettes to choose from. In addition, placards beside the bottles showcased charts with adornment possibilities. Caprice studied them now, wanting to choose something that would complement her new dress, that would look a little vintage yet glamorous. No small feat.
As she perused the displays, Judy said, “I saw the articles about you in the Kismet Crier. I think it’s wonderful you take in stray dogs and cats and give them homes. Do you have a network for that?”
So Judy was one of the residents of Kismet who actually read the paper. She’d had others recognize her from the articles Marianne Brisbane had written about her—both human interest and murder-solving. “Mostly friends, neighbors, and family are my network. A veterinarian, Marcus Reed from Furry Friends, is a big help, too. Do you have any pets?” Caprice asked.
“No. I live at home with my parents, and I’m not there very much. I don’t want to give them extra work.”
Because of the economy, young adults were living longer at childhood homes before they went out on their own. “I certainly understand that. When I was a kid and brought home a stray, my mom would roll her eyes, then say, ‘You’re going to take care of him or her.’”
Judy laughed. “Nikki has told me stories about growing up with two sisters and a brother.”
“I’ll bet she has.”
As Caprice was deciding on the color of nail polish, Judy pointed to the brass clothes tree. “Take off your coat and get comfortable.”
Caprice was unbuttoning her coat as Judy arranged everything she’d need on her table. “The last two articles I read were about the murders you helped solve.”
Caprice had given Marianne Brisbane an exclusive both times. Marianne could be a big help when she was digging around for clues. At first, Caprice had been afraid to trust her, but the reporter had proven to be
a competent research source, as well as a journalist who was just looking for the truth.
“I don’t know how I got involved in both of them,” Caprice admitted, deciding to go with a silver-toned polish instead of trying to match a color to her dress.
She held it up for Judy to see. “I’m wearing a fuchsia dress for the Valentine’s Day dance. It mimics a forties design. What appliqués might go well with this?”
“I guess you don’t want little red cupids.”
“Not hardly.”
Judy glanced at the placards. “What about a layer of mother-of-pearl stars to top off the silver?”
Stars, a glamorous dress, and Valentine’s Day? They seemed to go together. “Sounds good.”
Caprice checked out the massage chair sitting in the corner that seemed to take up half the shop.
“Shiatsu massaging,” Judy explained. “After you get up from ten minutes on that, you feel as if a masseuse has worked magic.”
“Is that included in one of your gift packages?”
“Absolutely.”
As Caprice settled on the white stool, Judy said, “Let me see your left hand, and we’ll get started.” Judy examined Caprice’s hand. “A little dry. You must wash your hands a lot.”
“With pets, I have to. I do a lot of cooking, too.”
“Like Nikki.” Judy picked up a sanding block. “Are you involved in Kismet’s latest murder?”
Caprice supposed that was an obvious question since they’d been talking about the articles. “I knew Louise well. She was a family friend. I understand you were her manicurist?”
“Yes, I was,” Judy said somberly. “She was very particular, sometimes made me do her nails over. But she tipped well because we often went overtime.”
“You had a lot of get-to-know-you time.”
“Once a week, ever since the shop opened three years ago. She didn’t want anything to do with those acrylic nails that last longer.”
Caprice nodded. “I don’t want anything to do with them either.”
“I can understand that,” Judy said neutrally.
Gilt by Association Page 13
