“I’m glad you’re here,” Roz said with a forced smile.
Caprice stepped into the foyer, practically the size of her own first floor. Gray, stone-paneled curved walls surrounded her. “Are you okay?”
“Better now, because you can help convince Ted he’s being ridiculous. He insists he wants to show off the room and his swords, not hide what’s in it.”
When decorating the interior of their “castle,” Roz and Ted had opted for an Old World look with heavy velvet draperies, giant gold tassels, and thick decorative rods with upholstered valances. Iron-framed chandeliers, some immense, were supposed to add rusticity. On top of that, they’d filled too much space with monstrous sofas, gigantic black armoires, and curio units as if they would run out of seating or surfaces on which to position sculptures and collectibles. It might have been a look they enjoyed, but the decor was one of the reasons the house hadn’t sold in the past six months.
After de-cluttering, Caprice had brought in furniture crafted from lavishly grained wood and draperies fashioned of pastel damasks, silks, and gentle wools. The overall feel of the interior now was warm, rich, bright and welcoming. But the de-cluttering process had occasioned a battle royal between her and Ted. His philosophy was that he’d paid an exorbitant amount of cash for the furnishings, sculptures, and paintings, and he wanted to show them off. But finally Roz, along with Caprice, had convinced him to put much of it in storage.
“I’ve hired the same security firm I always use out of York,” Caprice assured Roz. “They’ll mingle with the guests and not stand out. If I have to put a security guard just on Ted’s sword room, I can. You are putting your jewelry in your safe deposit box, right?”
When it came to her clients, Caprice would always rather be safe than sorry. She had a reputation to protect. One mistake, one robbery, one instance of vandalism could ruin the good name she’d developed over the past few years.
“I already took most of it to the bank. But Ted still has gold coins and silver ingots in the bedroom safe. He says no one will ever find it or be able to break into the triple-locking mechanism. He’s just so mule-headed sometimes . . .”
To Caprice’s surprise and dismay, Roz teared up. She clasped her friend’s arm. “What’s going on?”
Shaking her head, Roz murmured, “Nothing, really. I’m just—” She shook her head again. “I think Ted’s having problems at work and he’s grumpy all the time. On top of that, he’s been out of town so much this month. I feel like my thoughts echo off the walls here. Do you know what I mean?”
A bigwig in Pennsylvania Pharmaceuticals Incorporated, located just outside the Kismet town limits, Ted had high-pressure responsibilities in his position as senior vice president. Roz had told her that many times. But Roz hadn’t told her exactly why they were selling their dream home. Was it because Ted traveled so much and Roz felt lonely here? Or had Ted decided to sell it for some other reason?
Thinking about Roz’s question, Caprice realized she never felt as if her thoughts were bouncing off the walls. She had people she loved and pets around her most of the time. There was always someone to talk to, human or four-footed.
But she could empathize with her friend. “Staying here alone must be difficult.”
“A security system doesn’t make me feel secure,” Roz admitted. “Maybe if we have kids, I wouldn’t feel . . . abandoned,” she confessed, but then looked as if she was sorry she had.
“Is that Caprice?” Ted called from the cavernous interior.
“Yes,” Roz called back.
As she and Roz started for the great room, Ted emerged from the hall that led to his home office. “We need walkie-talkies,” he muttered. “That blasted intercom doesn’t function half of the time. Of course, if we had walkie-talkies, you’d probably forget to turn yours on,” he complained.
Ted was a least six feet tall and sharp-featured, and his heavy, dark brows were laced with some gray. He was ten years older than Roz, and Caprice had never seen him wearing anything but a custom-tailored suit, a dress shirt, and a designer tie. Today, however, he looked a little rumpled. Maybe it was just his fierce expression. He looked ready to growl or spit or take a good bite out of someone.
Often Caprice found herself in volatile situations. But she had two sisters and a brother—a family where Italian tempers sometimes flared. She could handle a disgruntled client.
“Roz relayed your concerns about your sword room,” she began diplomatically. “And I know about the gold and silver you want to leave in your safe. I’ll make sure a guard keeps a significant eye on the master suite. But do you really want your antique weapons available to be handled by strangers? Maybe no one will steal anything. But someone could damage a valuable collectible.”
They’d gone over this before, but sometimes she had to repeat common sense like a broken record to clients until it sunk in.
“You sound like Roz, talking as if these are toys that might break.” He waved his arm toward the east wing of the house. “Come with me.”
Keeping her temper in check—Caprice didn’t take dictatorial orders very well—she followed with Roz behind her. But they’d no sooner reached the sword room when Ted’s cell phone buzzed.
He grabbed it from the holster on his belt under his pin-striped suit jacket. “Winslow,” he barked.
Caprice stepped into the room. These walls had been treated to the specialty paint effect. The painter had used a gray base coat and added highlights and shadows with differing degrees of gray. The mortar lines must have been tedious to draw.
Caprice’s gaze had just settled on a foot-long dagger with a decorated scabbard when she heard Ted’s raised voice.
“If he does that, Thompson, I’ll kill him.”
Chapter Two
Caprice watched the color drain from Roz’s face. Had Ted ever turned his anger on her?
Caprice might have appeared to be listening to more of the conversation out of sheer curiosity, so Ted shot an annoyed glance at her and moved out of the room and down the hall, his voice still growly.
Roz laid her hand on Caprice’s arm and drew her farther into the sword room, away from her husband’s voice.
“I don’t know what to do.” Roz look defeated. “He won’t tell me what’s going on.”
“At work?” Caprice wanted some clarification on what was happening between the couple. This tension could affect plans for the open house the following weekend and potentially the sale.
“I don’t know if it’s just at work. Ever since we decided to sell the house, he’s been . . . different.”
“Maybe he doesn’t really want to sell it. The two of you designed it together. Or maybe he thought it would sell much sooner.”
“I just don’t know.” Roz’s breathy sigh let out a wealth of frustration.
Heavy footfalls tapped the tan terrazzo, and Caprice steeled herself for another confrontation with Ted.
He strode into the room, glanced around, and concluded, “I don’t have time to deal with this now. I have to get to the office. Put an extra guard on the room if you must. I’m not packing any of this away. It took me too long to collect it.”
To Roz, he said, “I have my travel bag in my car. I’ll be driving to the airport from the office.”
“Did you leave me the info for where you’re staying?”
“You have my cell number. That’s all you need.”
“Don’t want me checking up on you?” Roz asked, straightening her shoulders as if she’d had enough of all of it.
Ted’s anger seemed to deflate. “No. That’s not the reason. Truthfully, I just don’t remember which hotel it is. I’ve stayed in so many over the past few weeks that I can’t keep them straight. I’m flying to Cleveland, but the hotel reservation is in my briefcase.”
Roz’s face lost its sad look with his change in tone. “You will be back in time for the open house next Sunday?”
“I’ll be home by Friday, in plenty of time to get ready for the open house.
I won’t leave you and Caprice stranded. Now I’ve really got to run.” He dropped a quick kiss on his wife’s lips and disappeared again down the hall.
Feeling awkward about everything she’d just witnessed, Caprice drifted toward the locked glass case and wondered how much everything in this room was worth. The monster swords on the walls were daunting. Some rested on brackets; others were mounted directly on the wall. There were also a few stone pedestals that held single specimens. Caprice didn’t know the real ones from replicas, but they all looked forbidding—especially the dagger that stood by the burled wood credenza. Sheathed in a leather scabbard, its home was a four-foot wrought-iron stand.
A moment later, Roz stood by the glass case with her. “Sorry about that.”
“Marriage is complicated,” Caprice acknowledged with a shrug. She’d witnessed Bella’s struggles. And she understood that even though her parents were devoted to each other and their marriage was rock-solid, raising four children hadn’t been easy, and they hadn’t always agreed on how to do it.
“I guess the honeymoon can’t last forever,” Roz mused, her disappointment evident.
Maybe that was what most people thought—that the honeymoon couldn’t last forever. That was a realistic and practical way of thinking. Yet Caprice did remember her paternal grandparents’ marriage and still witnessed firsthand her parents’ marriage. There was real affection and, yes, passion. If she ever did get married—and that was a very big if—she wanted a marriage like theirs . . . binding, faithful, and true. Yep, she was a dreamer in that area of her life.
She also knew it was a good reason she was still single.
Changing the subject, because she suspected Roz would be more comfortable if she did, she commented on the collectibles in the glass case. “Tell me about these so I know what we’re dealing with.”
“I think these are what Ted cherishes most.”
Does he cherish you? Caprice wondered. Yet his fond farewell said he still might.
Moving to the side of the tall curio case with a key-lock that didn’t appear that difficult to jimmy, Roz gestured to a thin-bladed knife inside. “That’s a seventeenth-century Italian stiletto dagger. It has a bull-horn handle.”
“Seventeenth century,” Caprice repeated, actually thinking about it.
“And that—” Roz pointed to a piece resting in a dark green velvet box. “That’s a Chinese carved jade dagger pendant dating back to the Ming dynasty.”
“Ming,” Caprice murmured, totally impressed. “I don’t suppose you wear it,” she joked.
“I wore it once. We went to a costume party at one of our neighbors’ houses. It’s insured, of course, as are all of his artifacts. I imagine that’s why he’s not so worried about the open house.”
Roz’s husband might not be worried, but Caprice was. Her gaze slid to another unusual-looking knife. “What’s that one?”
“Fantastic, isn’t it? That one’s a late-seventeenth-century or early-eighteenth-century Indian Mughal Khanjar dagger with rubies, diamonds, and emeralds set in a gold-covered hilt. I really can see why Ted enjoys collecting these and the history behind each one. I just know the labels. He’s an authority on each piece. That particular one he gave me for my birthday two years ago.” She got a faraway look, as if her relationship with her husband had been good then.
Caprice had never really gotten to know Ted. Obviously, he was a complicated man with many layers. Maybe she could make a point of having a conversation with him at the open house.
“C’mon,” Roz said. “Let’s have a cup of coffee. Do you have time?”
She did. She didn’t have an event this weekend. Several were in the works, but they would come together within the next week or so as she and her clients chose themes and she shopped and rented everything she needed for the stagings.
“Coffee is good. I don’t have anywhere I have to be for the next couple of hours.” Though she did want to get home to spend some playtime with Dylan. She didn’t want him to feel lost again or abandoned.
As they crossed the hall and entered the main portion of the house, Caprice was satisfied with the choices she’d made to brighten up and maximize the highlights of the kitchen. Staying with the Camelot theme, she’d displayed wooden bowls on the counter and replaced the abstract art, which had seemed incongruous in their type of decor, with a softer, medieval-styled still life. She’d also removed a heavy draw drape that had concealed the merits of the back of the property with filmy panels topped by a navy and mauve brocade valance.
“I found a tapestry for the wall in the breakfast nook. I think you’ll like it. I’m going to have it cleaned before hanging it.”
Roz opened the freezer and removed a sealed bag with a packet of coffee. “Blackberry brandy?” she asked with a wiggle of her brow.
Caprice laughed. “It really tastes like that?”
“I think it does. I don’t have any lemon biscotti like you and your family bake, but I stopped at the Cupcake House. Red velvet was the special.”
“I’ll skip supper and go for it.”
It was funny that a woman in Roz’s Manolo Blahnik shoes would still take advantage of a special. But then she’d had very few advantages growing up. Her mom had raised her on her own. In their senior year of high school, Roz’s mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer. The summer after their graduation, putting flight attendant training on hold, Roz had waitressed while she’d taken care of her mother. When her mom was on her deathbed, she had made Roz promise to follow her dreams. After Joan Hulsey had passed away, Roz had left for the training, happily flown wherever the airline scheduled her, then had met Ted about six years ago. They’d been married for five.
“I guess there’s no way of knowing how many house buyers will come to look.” Roz took milk from the refrigerator and poured it into a stoneware creamer.
“Some will come just for Nikki’s catering.” Her sister Nicoletta, Nikki for short, always created inventive dishes to go along with Caprice’s themes.
“That’s just it. How many people will come to gawk, and how many are serious about buying?”
Caprice transferred the stoneware sugar bowl from the counter to the eat-at island in the center of the kitchen. “We’ll find out. You have to remember, this is just the beginning. It’s as if you put the house on the market all over again. Maybe even clients who came through before will look at it with fresh eyes because of the changes we’ve made.”
“I’m tired of thinking about it. Let’s talk about something fun. I saw Sherry Raddison last week.” Another of their classmates, Sherry had been living in Lancaster.
Caprice sat on one of the high island chairs. “She’s a dental hygienist, right?”
“Yep. We dated some of the same guys in high school. I guess you could say we were rivals back then.”
Unlike her own high school dating history—she’d hooked up with one guy and dated him for two years—Roz had dated a different guy almost every month.
“I wouldn’t be able to name all the boys you dated.”
“But I can name yours—Craig Davenport. Whatever happened to him?”
“Don’t know. That’s why we broke up. He didn’t keep in touch.”
“But you were high school sweethearts!”
“Yes, we were. But I couldn’t compete with Stanford and a life in California.”
“Would you have been willing to follow him anywhere?”
Caprice had often asked herself that same question, and she always came up with the same answer. “Probably not. I don’t think I could have left my family.”
The state-of-the-art coffeemaker hissed just like any other coffeemaker. The aroma of the blackberry brandy coffee was temptingly delicious.
“Do you ever see Travis Bigelow?”
Although Roz’s travels and then her marriage to Ted had put a damper on the friendship she and Caprice had shared in high school, they’d still kept in touch. So Roz had known about Travis, who had been one of Caprice’s biggest
mistakes. At times, she still felt the pain of their breakup two years ago.
“Since he and Alicia moved to Harrisburg, I don’t have to worry about running into him,” Caprice admitted. “But I often wish I could see Kristi. Just curious.” The truth was, as Nana more than once had pointed out, Caprice probably missed Travis’s daughter, Kristi, more than she missed Travis.
“You would have made a great mom. It’s a shame he went back to his ex-wife. I guess divorced men are forever on your no-no list.”
“You’ve got that right.” Talking about the past wasn’t something Caprice liked to do. She’d much rather move ahead. “Let’s break out those cupcakes.”
Roz gave her a conspiratorial wink and went to the pantry to get them.
After spending a madcap week scheduling two new clients, shopping for staging accessories, and perfecting plans for the Winslows’ open house, Caprice stood under the mansion’s portico Sunday afternoon, peering out at the circular drive. Three valets took the keys of the house hunters who parked in the drive, then moved their cars to a grassy area to the rear of the house. Whether this unique house was the draw or the Winslow name associated with it, the event was attracting quite a crowd. Roz and Ted’s real estate broker, along with an associate agent, were busy mingling, showing interested guests every design advantage and unique feature inside and out.
Certifying that all was well outside, Caprice toured the first floor, passing a wandering minstrel strumming a lyre. Smiling, she gave him a thumbs-up sign. As she passed through the immense dining room, she found clients and guests seated around the long, rectangular table with a tapestry runner trailing down its center. They were enjoying wine or ale in pewter goblets and hors d’oeuvres—crusty bread filled with roast beef and venison. Another dish that sat between pillar candleholders was dauce egre—fish in a sweet and sour onion sauce. That was accompanied by a platter of meatballs spiced with fennel and marjoram. To top off the medieval delights, Nikki had created something called a chiresaye, an elegant dessert made with fresh cherries. Her sister had really outdone herself.
Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 2
