“Are you saying he was ruthless?”
“I’m not sure about ruthless. I am sure about determined and motivated. At least, since I knew him.”
Very different from the teenager he’d been, Caprice surmised. Could love of cooking make that kind of change in a person? Only if that’s what they chose for their vocation. Only if there was more behind it than dollar signs.
* * *
That evening, Nikki stopped at Caprice’s house around dinner time. She hadn’t been able to stay away, and she wanted to know everything Caprice had learned.
After the reception at Rowena’s, Caprice had driven to Grocery Fresh and bought tomatoes, a pepper, and a new bulb of garlic. When Nikki arrived, the aroma of garlic, onions, and simmering tomatoes permeated the air.
“A salad with this, or fresh broccoli?” Caprice asked her sister.
Nikki set a bag on the table. “I stopped at the Tasting Totem and got a bottle of that peach balsamic vinegar you like so much. Let’s just do salad.”
“Baby greens in the fridge,” Caprice assured Nikki.
Nikki washed her hands and then went to the refrigerator to pull out ingredients for their salads.
“You’re restraining yourself, aren’t you?” Caprice asked with a smile.
“You bet I am.”
Lady had run into the kitchen with Nikki, but Caprice shook her finger at her. “You already had your dinner. I promise that Nikki and I will play a game of chase with you after we eat if you let us talk now.”
Lady cocked her head at Caprice, one ear flapping. Her big brown eyes seemed to say, I’d like your attention now, but I understand if I have to wait. After a little yip, she ran off toward Caprice’s office, where Caprice knew Mirabelle was lounging on her chair.
“I’m glad she and the cats keep each other company,” she said as she stirred the sauce another time. “Maybe their relationship will last as long as Drew’s and Bronson’s and Larry’s.”
“So you met them?”
“I did. And they seem to have a genuine fondness for Rowena.”
“What did you learn?”
“Nothing concrete. But the three of them were fast friends. I could tell there was a bond between Larry and Bronson. You know, that “guy” thing? They exchanged looks a couple of times, and I got the impression they knew what the other was thinking.”
“Sort of like sisters?” Nikki jibbed.
“Actually, yes. It was sort of like that. Bronson invited me to tour Happy Camper whenever I’d like. I might take him up on it.”
“Rowena had told us that Larry had fallen on hard times. So how does he fit into Bronson’s world? Their lifestyles are so different,” Nikki mused.
“I don’t know. Maybe Bronson’s helping him out.”
“And what does Bronson get in return?”
“If they’re like brothers, maybe he doesn’t need anything in return. Or maybe it strokes his ego to be the big man on campus, so to speak, and help out his friends. I did learn that Drew had dated Tabitha Dennis.”
Nikki looked puzzled. “Should I know the name?”
“She’s the daughter of the Rack O’ Ribs manager, and the hostess there.”
Nikki whistled through her teeth. “Do you think that has something to do with the barbeque sauce?”
“I don’t know, but it’s certainly an avenue to pursue. He didn’t introduce her to Rowena, though. He just sort of snuck her in at night. That makes me wonder why. If he liked her and he was dating her, why wouldn’t he bring her to meet Rowena?”
“Maybe he was dating her for a purpose. You know, the same way he made a pass at me for a purpose.”
“His purpose with you was that he found you attractive.”
“I’m not saying that doesn’t go along with it. But I’m beginning to think Drew was a lot more calculating than I ever gave him credit for.”
“Except he messed up with you,” Caprice pointed out.
“He underestimated me. Before I drove over here, I got a call from Detective Carstead. I have to go to the police station again tomorrow for more questioning.”
“On a Sunday? Do you want me to come along?” She was supposed to meet Juan at a house they’d be staging, but he could take a preliminary tour without her. She knew if she went with Nikki, she’d probably have to sit on that hard bench in the lobby. But if Nikki needed the support, she’d be there.
“There’s no point in you coming along,” Nikki muttered. “I know they’re going to want to question me alone. I really think Detective Carstead is a good guy who just wants to find the truth.”
Caprice’s conversations with the detective had led her to the same conclusion. Still, this was her sister’s freedom that was at stake. “You should take Vince along.”
Nikki went to the pantry for Caprice’s salad spinner. When she came back out, she dumped the salad greens into it and added water to wash them. “I’m not going to ask Vince. I think Detective Carstead is right. Taking a lawyer along makes me look guilty. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Even if that was true on some level, Caprice didn’t like the idea of Nikki talking to the police without her brother present. Carstead might be a good guy, but just like Jones he wanted to pin the murder on someone.
She just hoped it wasn’t Nikki.
* * *
The house was amazing. Caprice toured it slowly on Sunday, appreciating every detail. Then she went outside to the front yard again to wait for Juan. Plans for staging it seemed to materialize before her eyes.
She’d staged many houses, and each had its own beauty. That’s why she gave them unique themes. But this one, with its Spanish-style design and architecture—
Her theme for this house staging was easy to devise—Hacienda Haven. The 5,500-square-foot, two-story edifice, including a four-car garage, had a wondrous story to tell. At least that’s the impression Caprice wanted to give any buyer who might come in. She wanted them to see a possible home that was all about hearth, family, rusticity, and old-world charm.
The house was empty now, except for the beauty that was innate. But she could envision exactly what she wanted to do with it. This structure was about more than a Mediterranean feel. She wanted Hacienda Haven to manifest a culturally rich home that invited family to gather, talk, and play.
As she faced the front entrance, the sun shone on the sprawling home with its red-tiled roof. Its villa ambience was made unique by interesting angles. Rooms weren’t just square or rectangular. There were rounded walls, high ceilings, arches, and wrought-iron lacy grillwork. With five bedrooms—three downstairs and two upstairs—a loft, a media room, and even a meditation room, the house could appeal to a host of prospective buyers. The exposed beams, the dark wood flooring and unique tiling, the brick and stone, terra-cotta tiles, rough edges, and textured plaster gave the illusion of comfort and ease, even though every detail had been done to perfection.
No, Caprice could never afford a home like this, but she knew exactly what she would do with it if she could.
Juan arrived, parked in the circular drive, and met her at the heavy dark wood door. When they walked inside, he gave a loud whistle. The entranceway was magnificent with its thirty-foot ceiling.
“Have we ever staged anything like this before?” he asked her.
“Remember the castle house that Roz owned?”
“That’s different. Nobody would want to live in that one. But this . . .” He sounded in awe of the architecture, the style, and the materials.
On the left, a doorway opened into a den or study. It was almost a trapezoid shape with a hexagonal front window and a rounded roof. If they went down the hallway in that direction—the left wing of the house—they would find the master bedroom and bath, a powder room, and a set of stairs to an upper level. If they walked straight ahead, they would find the seven-sided family room. If they stepped through the doorway on their right, they’d enter the dining room that led into a grand kitchen with a breakfast nook and family ea
t-in area large enough for a dinner party. The staircase that led to the loft was incredibly beautiful with traditional tiling used in Spanish homes. The tiles ranged in design colors from orange to blue, taupe and fuchsia . . . handmade, no two identical. She wouldn’t change the multilayered wrought-iron chandeliers swinging from the vaulted ceilings.
“I want to stage this house with color,” she offered. “Vibrant color. No neutrals here. There’s enough of that in the stonework and the tile and the brick. Think yellow and orange, pink and blue.”
Juan ran his hand over a wall. “Plaster skimmed with a whitewash?”
“Specialized paint, for sure. It looks like something you might find in a Mediterranean villa, but this will withstand the cold and heat of Pennsylvania. I want to find woven rugs in the same colors as those tiles on the staircase.”
“You’re not asking for much.”
“Do I ever?”
Juan laughed as they climbed the curved staircase leading to the second floor. Once there, they stood at the loft railing looking down on the floor below. “We’re both going to have to look through Spanish artwork and even videos of flamenco dance, maybe study paintings by Dali, Goya, and Picasso. Those will give us design images. I’ll look through the rental company’s Web site for pieces in that flavor. But I also want to use pottery—lots of it—as well as sconces, unusual headboards, dark wood, and wrought iron.”
“How about leather? Think metalwork too. And Spanish landscapes,” Juan advised.
She nodded, already picturing it all. “Most of all, I want each space functional with not too many items. The covered porch on the back is going to need its own treatment as if it were inside the house instead of outside.”
As Juan stared down below, he said, “I can imagine sectionals . . . maybe leather trimmed with wood. Possibly a couple of large mirrors to reflect those chandeliers.”
“We might also want to think about framed tapestries with bold designs. Greenery too in the arched crooks and crannies. Soft wool throws in whatever color we decide is dominant.”
“When do we have to be ready to put this on the market?”
“I think it will take us at least a couple of weeks to collect everything. So let’s give it a two-week time frame.”
“Aren’t you going to be tied up with a new murder investigation?”
She remembered all too well her last investigation and what had almost happened. In fact, she’d found herself in danger every time she’d insinuated herself into an investigation. That’s why Grant and her family wanted her to stay out of it. But with Nikki at the police station again right now—
She wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted to do next. “I want Nikki to be in the clear, but I don’t want to create enemies for her or for me. I’m waiting for some kind of lead. Do you know what I mean?”
“One of your signs,” Juan determined wryly.
“I guess so. Let’s face it. In the past, I’ve jumped in and started wading around and made gigantic waves. I didn’t know what I was doing. I still don’t. But this time I want to make sure I don’t put anybody in danger . . . including myself . . . and especially not Nikki. I have to be as unobtrusive as possible.”
“That’s kind of tough when you go around wearing lime green bell-bottoms and tie-dyed T-shirts, never mind the jeweled flip-flops.”
She wrinkled her nose at him. “You sound like Bella.”
He laughed. “So what are you going to do next?”
“Grocery Fresh is hosting a raspberry festival on Saturday. Since Nikki is involved in the investigation and word is going to spread that she and I found Drew’s body, I would expect if we just mingled there, go from stand to stand, chat people up, we could find out tidbits without even trying. I don’t have to ruffle feathers that way if I just listen. As it is, I think Bella and I ruffled Jeanie’s feathers—Drew Pierson’s sister. She believes Nikki did it. And if she goes spreading that rumor all over town, it could catch more fire. More fire, more pressure on the police department to solve this.”
“Is Nikki going to be serving anything at this raspberry festival?”
“I don’t think so. It’s better if she keeps a low profile. But Nana’s entering the raspberry dessert contest. I might too.”
“Speaking of food, do you have any ideas what you want to serve at this open house?”
“I’ll leave that up to Nikki. Maybe churros—Spanish fritters. While I was waiting for you, I also read something about a garbanzo and chorizo stew. I saw a picture of these long cigar-shaped sweetbreads too, which originated in the region of Valencia. I’m sure Nikki will have a ton of ideas. This house is going to generate one idea after the other. Can’t you just see it, Juan?”
He gave her an affectionate smile. “Can I see your vision? Sure, I can. Down to a tall acilino on a credenza.”
The strands of “Let It Be” played from Caprice’s pocket. She slipped her phone out and saw Nikki’s photo. “I have to take this,” she said to Juan. “It’s Nikki.”
“I’ll go downstairs and explore outside. Maybe the landscaping will provide ideas for the covered porch furniture.”
As he loped down the stairs, Caprice connected with Nikki. “Are you finished at the police station?” she asked her sister.
“I’m done for now. I doubt I’m finished for good. They took me over the same ground repeatedly. Finally Detective Jones left and it was just me and Detective Carstead.”
“Are you wishing Vince had been there?”
“No. They didn’t try to trip me up or anything. They’re just checking every little detail. Detective Carstead had a list. When did I meet Drew? How often did I work with him? When did I stop working with him? It’s a good thing I keep accurate work notes on my tablet so I could tell him the exact dates.”
“But you had told him all that before.”
“Yes, I had. And, at times, he seemed almost apologetic for asking again. You know, he’s really kind of cute.”
“Brett Carstead? Cute?” Every woman had her own idea of cute. “You didn’t flirt with him, did you? That could get you into big trouble.”
“No flirting. I controlled myself. It’s too serious a situation to even think about it. But after this is all over, who knows what could happen?”
Caprice thought she heard hope in Nikki’s voice. Her sister had been so down . . . first about Drew’s competition and then about what had happened. She was glad to hear positive energy from Nikki, even if it had to do with the hunkiness of Detective Carstead.
Do you know anything about him?” Nikki asked. “Like, is he married?”
“Don’t know,” Caprice said. “Never asked.”
“He doesn’t wear a ring. But that might have to do with his work.”
“Or not,” Caprice suggested blandly. “Grant might know.” Then she remembered what was going on with her and Grant. “But now isn’t a good time to ask him . . . anything.” She’d already told Nikki about Grant’s ex-wife and what he planned to do.
“Aren’t you two talking?” Nikki asked, sounding surprised.
“There’s nothing to talk about right now. Not until this is all over. Not until he makes decisions.”
“Whether he wants a serious relationship with you?”
“Even more important, he has to decide whether his bonds with his ex-wife are cut or if he wants to keep those threads.”
“And if he does?” Nikki asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what that will mean for either of us or for both of us together.”
“Don’t give up,” Nikki counseled her.
“I’m not giving up. I’m just afraid to hope. I’m going to concentrate on staging this Spanish-themed house. And figuring out who might have murdered Drew. I want you to mingle with me at the raspberry festival and see what we can learn.
“At least we’ll have raspberry delights to munch on while we snoop.”
Raspberry delights. She’d like to be sharing them with Grant.
Chapt
er Twelve
Caprice had been keeping tabs on Dulcina and her new adoptee through text messages. But she wanted to see for herself how Halo was faring. She knew Dulcina was a kind, gentle person. But not everyone was a cat person. Maybe she’d thought more about the responsibility of caring for a cat with kittens and had changed her mind.
On Monday morning while Lady played with her kibble release toy and Sophia and Mirabelle napped, Caprice crossed the street to Dulcina’s house. After she rang the bell, it took her neighbor a few minutes to come to the door. Caprice was almost ready to text her to see if she was home when Dulcina opened it. She looked a bit harried. Instead of her hair being tied back, it was loose around her face and a bit flyaway.
“I was in the closet upstairs looking for old towels,” she explained. “They’re fine for Halo but not for the kittens. I think receiving blankets would be better, from what I’ve read on the Internet. Their little claws won’t get caught in them.”
Caprice had to smile as Dulcina motioned her inside. “So you’re going to visit the baby store?”
“No, I found a good deal online. They’ll be here in two days. I’ll have everything washed up and ready. I have one of those storage bins. I’m going to line it with newspaper and put the receiving blankets on top.”
Caprice followed Dulcina into her sunroom, where Halo was sitting on a new condo in front of the window. “How’s she doing?”
“This morning she let me pet her. She didn’t back away from my hand.”
“That’s a good sign. Is she eating for you?”
“She gobbles everything down like she hasn’t eaten for months.”
“Marcus said she was malnourished. She might eat like that the whole way through her pregnancy and while she’s nursing. Are you still willing to do all of this?”
“Yes, I am. I downloaded a book about cats having kittens, and I’ve watched a few videos. I know there’s a possibility that things can go wrong. If for some reason she’s not a good mother, I might have to hand-feed the kittens every two hours. But, Caprice, it feels so good to be giving time to nurturing this little being. Do you know what I mean?”
Silence of the Lamps Page 14
