“I don’t know if that’s enough to attract Bronson’s attention.”
“Then find it another way.”
Caprice and Roz were into another set when Bronson and a second man about his age came onto the court next to theirs. Caprice kept playing, not wanting to be obvious. This could be a very long exercise stretch if she wanted their meeting to seem casual.
She and Roz played. Bronson and his partner played. Finally, somehow they all managed to take a break around the same time.
Plucking a towel from a nearby bench, Caprice flung it around her neck and Roz did the same. Bronson and his partner were talking at a bench close by. When he looked away for a moment, their gazes connected. After a few seconds, she smiled and gave a little wave.
Bronson said something to his partner and came toward her. “Caprice, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. And you’re Bronson.”
He laughed. “So we both have a good memory, except . . . I’ve never seen you playing tennis here before.”
“Roz Winslow invites me to the Country Squire as her guest. I guess our court times have never matched before.”
He didn’t know this was her first court time.
He looked in Roz’s direction as Roz spotted a friend on another court and crossed to speak to her. “Mrs. Winslow. She was widowed last year, right?” He snapped his fingers. “You helped solve that murder, and now she’s dating your brother.”
“You are up to date.”
“Partly that. But Mrs. Winslow is a high-profile woman. She was before her husband was murdered, and she is now.”
“I don’t know if that’s good or bad.”
“People consider her a mover and shaker. Ted Winslow definitely was. She owns a shop in town, doesn’t she?”
“She does. All About You.”
Bronson gave a nod toward Roz again. “And she knows everybody under the sun. She has great public relations skills.”
“That sounds as if you wouldn’t mind dating her yourself,” Caprice observed.
“I wouldn’t. But I didn’t want to move in too quickly. Then she started bringing your brother around. I don’t horn in on another man’s territory.”
If he was being honest, she respected that. “Since we’re being so honest”—she gave him a somewhat flirtatious smile—“I have a question for you.”
“Go ahead. I’ll answer it if I can, especially if it’s about recreational vehicles.”
Always the salesman, she thought. “No, not about campers. It’s about Drew Pierson.”
“What about Drew?”
“I know you were good friends, and I know you let him work out of your kitchen.”
“I did. It was stupid of him to pay for another facility when I had that big kitchen that he could use.”
“Did you ever talk about his cooking with him?”
Bronson considered her question. “He tested recipes on me, and I tasted them. He said I should get some benefit from his cooking in my kitchen.”
“My sister says that Drew was an adequate cook but that he never created recipes, that he didn’t have that talent. Did you notice if he created in the kitchen?”
Moving his towel back and forth across the back of his neck, Bronson shrugged. “When I watched Drew in the kitchen, he usually had a recipe to follow, one printed off the Internet, or something like that. Does that help?”
“I’m not sure. Nikki claims he stole one of her recipes and served it at the wedding expo. Someone else who knew him claimed he stole his recipe. That’s why I wondered.”
“I just knew Drew was a good cook, not where his inspiration came from. Though if you’re talking about the barbecue sauce recipe, I know Mario Ruiz thinks Drew stole it from him. The two of them had a loud and serious argument a few days before Drew was killed. I came home from work and found them practically at each other’s throats. I didn’t want my place torn apart, so I told Mario to leave or else I’d call the police.”
“Do you think Drew did steal the recipe?”
“I don’t know. Drew wouldn’t talk about the fight afterward. He just muttered some comment about everybody was angry with him. Bertram Dennis was the other man who wanted a piece of his hide. Drew told me if Dennis came around, I should tell him I didn’t know where Drew was.”
“Would you have lied for him?”
Bronson didn’t hesitate. “I would have lied if it meant keeping Drew from getting beaten up or hurt. Sure.”
“Nikki believes that Drew was using her to get ahead. Do you think that’s something Drew would do?”
Bronson sighed. “I hate to admit it, but Drew could be a real cad with women, dating them if he thought he could gain something from it. We were friends, but that didn’t mean I approved of all of his tactics.”
In spite of her concerns about who killed Drew, Caprice found herself liking Bronson. He could be lying to her, that was true. But he seemed honest about his friendship with Drew, and what he thought about it.
Roz came back on the court about the same time Bronson’s partner stood at the bench and motioned to him.
Bronson gave Roz a wave, saying to Caprice, “If she ever splits up with your brother, let me know.” Then he smiled and jogged over to his friend, who was already on the court again.
When Roz came to meet Caprice at the bench, she asked, “Did you find out anything essential?”
“I’m not sure. He just confirmed a lot I already knew. Though he did tell me Mario and Drew had a fight a few days before Drew was killed—a serious fight. Mario neglected to tell me that.”
“He doesn’t want any suspicion coming down on him. Can you blame him?”
“No, but if the police talk to Bronson and find out, he’ll be under suspicion anyway, maybe doubly so.”
“Anything else?”
“Bronson could be interested in you.”
“You’re not serious.”
“Very serious. If you and Vince ever break up, he told me I should let him know.”
Roz glanced over at Bronson. “I never thought of him in that way. I mean, we see each other around here a lot, but he’s never shown any interest.”
“He was giving you time.”
“I see,” Roz said seriously. “That was kind of him.”
Standing there together, they watched Bronson and his partner play. Anyone could tell Bronson was a consummate athlete. He handled himself, the ball, and the racquet to perfection.
“I certainly can understand why he’s one of Kismet’s most eligible bachelors,” Caprice said.
“But I’m dating your brother, and I like it that way.”
Caprice waved her racquet at the courts. “Have you had enough of this?”
“I have if you have.” A sly glint came into Roz’s eyes. “How about an ice-cream sundae from Cherry on the Top after all this good exercise? I’m not meeting Vince until eight o’clock.”
Caprice knew she shouldn’t. She should eat a healthy meal and forget the ice cream and toppings. But Roz was her friend, and she needed a breather from worry and work. An ice-cream sundae and chatting with Roz again could be just the break she needed.
* * *
The following morning Caprice did a last examination of the hacienda that was so much more than a house. Real estate agents would be here in about fifteen minutes to take a walk-through. They’d be snapping photos and shooting their own video footage. This was an absolute gem, and Caprice was sure she and Juan had done a beautiful job of staging it. It wasn’t trying to be something it wasn’t. The house had an earthy energy that flowed throughout. Its magnificence would come through easily in the photos and on its video. If the open house tomorrow didn’t sell it, the agents and the photos and Web sites would. She was sure of it.
The woven rugs Juan had found bore geometric designs in blue and orange and fuchsia, the same colors that dominated the tiles lining the staircase. As she climbed those stairs, she peered down over the railing into the living room. Juan had found sectionals in leather and wood in
a rich shade of royal blue. The end tables were topped with intricate mosaics in rust and orange. Somehow the splash of colors in each room worked together to coordinate the whole house.
She’d reached the master suite with its dark wood floor and brass bed, with a headboard that reached halfway to the ceiling, when her phone buzzed. She stepped into the master bathroom with its marble sunken tub and stand-alone shower big enough for two and pulled out her phone.
She saw Bella was calling. “Hi, Bee, what’s up?”
“We sold our house!”
“That’s wonderful. Tell me about it.”
“Two contracts came in at once, so we got full asking price.”
“I’m so happy for you, Bee.”
“I wanted to tell you because . . . I have a favor to ask.”
“What kind of favor? Do you need me to sit in on the paperwork?”
“I don’t know about that, but that’s not the favor. I know you’re busy, but I’ve been watching the stats on two houses that are online. One of them has been on sale for a year. Can you come look at them with me and Joe?”
Caprice checked her watch, estimating how long she’d be tied up here. “What time do you have in mind?”
“We’re open to what works for you.”
“How about five o’clock? That will give me all day here if I need it. I never know how long the real estate agents will take. Where do you want to meet?”
“My neighbor will be watching the kids, so why don’t you just come over here.”
“I’ll be there at five.”
“You’re the best.”
Caprice ended the call, smiling. Then she heard voices coming from downstairs. The house had a state-of-the-art alarm system, but she wasn’t the only one who knew the code. Denise Langford knew it, and she was probably letting all of the other agents in. Caprice took a last look around the upstairs and then went down to meet them.
Two hours later, after hearing more oohs and aahs, and everything in between, Caprice told Denise, “I’m going outside to the patio. I want to make sure nothing got moved around so it’s ready for tomorrow.”
She’d raised the outdoor umbrellas that would lend a festive quality to the back patio. Guests who filled their plates with Nikki’s food could go out there and sit too if they wanted. Fortunately, the weather was all clear and called for a sunny day tomorrow.
When Caprice emerged from the sliding glass doors off the dining room onto the covered terraced patio, she approved of Juan’s concept of using outdoor furniture with brushed copper frames and colorful orange, blue, and rust cushions.
She’d walked the perimeter and was studying the rest of the yard when the back door from the kitchen opened and a man dressed in a gray uniform with TROY’S DELIVERY SERVICE stitched onto the pocket of his shirt stepped outside. His gray cap matched.
He held up a large bag. “Are you Miss De Luca?” he asked.
The man was probably in his early twenties with a thin mustache and brown eyes that looked more sheepish than anything. He said, “You look like the woman in the photo I was sent.”
Caprice’s skin started to crawl. “What photo?”
“This was a crazy order,” the delivery man said, setting the bag onto the frosted glass-topped table. “I have a courier service in York. I received an e-mail telling me I’d get a big bonus if I delivered a package to this address and to you. Your photo was included in the e-mail. I think it had been in the newspaper. That was so I’d know exactly who to give this bag to.”
Chills ran up and down her spine now. “So you don’t know who placed the order?”
“Nope. I was just instructed that this bag would be sitting on the ledge outside of Rack O’ Ribs. I should pick it up and deliver it. No questions asked. Five hundred dollars for my trouble.”
“You didn’t think that was odd?”
“Sure, I thought it was odd. But money is money. My wife’s pregnant. We need it.”
She could certainly understand that. But still.... She studied the tall white bag and didn’t know if she wanted to know what was in it.
He motioned to the bag. “Aren’t you going to open it? It felt kind of hot underneath when I picked it up.”
Hot. Oh great. Maybe she should get the hose or the fire department or the police department.
But the delivery man said, “It feels like one of those boxes like Rack O’ Ribs gives you when you go through the drive-thru.”
She approached the table warily. The white bag was folded down at the top, and she opened it slowly. When she peeked inside she did see the Rack O’ Ribs box. What the heck?
She tore the bag wide open around the container and studied it carefully. It didn’t look threatening. Not at all. It even smelled good. It smelled like barbecued ribs. She slipped open the flap that closed the container.
Inside there was indeed a rack of ribs. But that wasn’t all. There was a waxy paper with grease pencil lettering on it. It was attached to the ribs with a paring knife. The note read, Stop asking questions or this is what will happen to you.
Caprice must have given a little squeak because the delivery man looked at her and said, “Are you going to faint?”
But she didn’t faint. She pulled out her phone and speed-dialed Detective Carstead.
Chapter Sixteen
A half hour later, Caprice and the delivery man stood on the patio with Detective Carstead as the detective listened intently to what had happened.
“And the bag was just sitting on the ledge by Rack O’ Ribs?” Detective Carstead asked.
Troy Weyland answered quickly, as if he wanted to make sure the detective knew he wasn’t the perpetrator. “Those were my instructions. Pick up the bag sitting outside the door on the brick ledge at Rack O’ Ribs. I wasn’t supposed to look inside or anything—just pick it up and deliver it here.”
“And this is your business, courier service, so to speak?”
“Yes, I have two trucks. A friend and I went into business together about a year ago. We mostly deliver legal documents, like from lawyer to lawyer, and that kind of thing. But we’re a courier service. We don’t ask questions. We just do our job. The more deliveries we make, the more money we make. This seemed to be a simple one. I thought it was a birthday gift or something.”
“Some gift,” Caprice muttered, staring down at the rack of ribs with the knife protruding from it. Detective Carstead had brought a tech along with him, and now he nodded to him.
“Bag it all up and record it. We’ll have it analyzed for fingerprints.”
“This isn’t going to affect my open house is it?” Caprice asked the detective.
He looked angry for a minute. “You’re worried about the open house rather than your life?”
“They’re not in the same category,” she snapped, then was sorry she had. “Look, Detective, there’s nothing I can do about this. Apparently someone knew I was going to be here. That wasn’t any secret. It’s the day before an open house. I have a lot to get ready. I’ve spent valuable work time on this, and I don’t want it messed up because some idiot is trying to scare me.”
“You think that’s all it is? Scare tactics? What if it’s more? What if it’s a prelude? What have you been doing, Miss De Luca, to cause this?”
With a sigh, she told him about her conversation with Bertram Dennis, and then about “running into” Bronson on the tennis court.
To her relief, Carstead didn’t ask about how she’d come to be playing tennis on a court next to Bronson’s.
He said, “We knew about Bertram Dennis’s daughter. We’ll follow up again with him and with her about the package.” He shook his head. “I’m not sure how you get the information we do.”
“I want to clear Nikki from your persons-of-interest list.”
He scowled, gave her a narrowed-eyed look, and then maintained, “We have to consider anyone who had contact with the victim.”
“But my sister tops your list?”
“I’m not going to
say.” He turned to Troy. “I have your information. I’ll give you a call if we need to go over this again. Thanks for letting me examine your phone and retrieve the number where the call came from.”
“It’s probably a burner phone,” Caprice muttered.
This time the detective gave her a look of respect. “We’ll check into it, but you’re probably right.”
The tech had taken charge of the bag. He’d used some kind of electronic device and fingerprinted the delivery man so they could distinguish his fingerprints from others. The police already had Caprice’s on file with AFIS—the Automated Fingerprint Identification System.
The detective nodded to Weyland. “You can go. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”
The tech went into the house at the same time, and that left Caprice with Detective Carstead. He’d come through the inside of the house, and now he gazed over the vast yard, with its butterfly bushes, hydrangea, and uniform flower beds planted with pink geraniums.
Although Caprice expected Detective Carstead to give her more warnings, he didn’t. Instead, he said, “I can’t quite imagine living like this. Can you?”
“You mean the largesse of it?”
“Yeah. It’s almost too big to contemplate. A house with enough rooms to get lost in, and probably so many bathrooms no one would ever use them all.” His arm swept over the landscape. “This kind of yard where a dog or a kid would be out of sight in a minute.”
That was interesting. It sounded as if Detective Carstead dreamed of a house with a yard where he could have a family, including a dog and a kid.
She asked, “Do you have a yard now?”
He gave her a look that said he didn’t know if he should answer or not. But then he did. “Not my own. I rent an apartment on the first floor of an old house. I cut the grass for the landlord once a week, but that’s about it.”
“I know real estate agents,” she teased, “if you’re ever looking for a house to call your own.”
He actually gave her a smile. “I guess you do.” He stared at her a few moments, shifted on his feet, and then asked, “Is your sister involved with anyone?”
Thinking about his question, studying his almost embarrassed-looking expression, she asked, “Is that a question for the investigation, or is it personal?”
Silence of the Lamps Page 20
