Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Smith, Karen Rose

  “You know this area?” Caprice asked her sister.

  “I’ve had catering jobs out here. Besides, I like to explore back roads in case traffic gets tied up. You know me. I try to always have Plan B.”

  The car that had been following sped by. Nikki waited until the vehicle was out of sight, then took the same road more slowly.

  Roz didn’t seem to notice as Nikki took another detour and emerged again beside one of the huge houses. Quickly she pulled out onto the road to town, checking her rearview mirror. Caprice could see no one followed them.

  Roz was too still, staring straight ahead, and Caprice felt she had to make contact. Maybe if she could get her talking . . . “Roz, are you still light-headed?”

  Her friend didn’t respond, so she tried something different. Maybe they should talk about what happened. “What did they ask you?”

  “Jones.” Roz said the name, still staring ahead.

  At first Caprice didn’t understand, then she did. She must be in a state of shock herself because she hadn’t recognized the name of the detective immediately. They’d introduced themselves when they’d arrived. Detective Carstead, the friendlier one, had interviewed her. Detective Jones had interviewed Roz. “What did Detective Jones ask you?”

  Roz just shook her head.

  Chafing at her friend’s inability to express herself—a condition so unlike Roz—Caprice tapped Nikki’s shoulder to speed up. With that sisterly communication they’d always enjoyed, she did.

  “Did you tell him what we saw?”

  Roz wrapped her arms around herself.

  Maybe she was still cold, a cold the car heat couldn’t penetrate.

  At the town limits, when Nikki waited at a red light, Caprice had a flash again of Ted’s dead body, the smell of blood and—

  She closed her eyes. All of it was so stark . . . so awful. If she was this rattled, she could hardly imagine how Roz was feeling, with grief settling in on top of the horror of finding her husband dead. Not just dead—murdered.

  Murdered.

  Caprice couldn’t quite wrap her mind around it—not only Ted’s death but the fact that Roz’s house was now a crime scene. She wanted to ask Roz a bunch of questions. After all, that was Caprice’s nature. She especially wanted to know what questions the chief and the detective had asked. But Roz didn’t appear to be in a condition to discuss anything. That’s exactly why they’d let her postpone more questioning.

  The urgent care center was located on the north side of Kismet. To Caprice’s relief, Nikki took a few side streets to bypass traffic lights and zipped over to Hickory Boulevard. Most of the streets in the north end were named after trees.

  Yes, both she and Nikki had a tendency to drive too fast through town. They were both on the road a lot to and from appointments, meeting with wholesalers and suppliers, scouting out sales and good deals. Usually staying within five miles of the speed limit, Caprice hadn’t been ticketed in years. Tonight, just let a patrol car try to stop them. From the looks of Roz, this was an emergency.

  The front parking lot at the urgent care center was practically empty, though a few cars were parked in front of the pharmacy next door. If she remembered correctly, the staff parked in the back.

  “Go around back,” she directed Nikki. Just in case someone had managed to trail them, Nikki’s car wouldn’t be visible out back.

  The building, with its white siding and peaked roof, was only about a year old. The pharmacy beside it was the only one in Kismet that was open until ten P.M. More emergency care companies were moving into the area as real competition to hospital ER services. This one was almost full-service, with a lab, X-ray equipment, a doctor and nurse on staff 24/7, and a physician’s assistant who filled in when needed. Bella brought her kids here when they fell or got sick in the middle of the night. She’d always been pleased with the care and service she’d received.

  While Caprice had been waiting for Roz’s statement to be taken, she’d thought about texting her sisters, maybe even Vince. But she hadn’t wanted to shock them. Now Nikki knew. There would be plenty of time to tell everyone else what had happened. Or at least some of it. The detective had warned her not to give away details, and she guessed Detective Jones had done the same with Roz.

  Parking between a red Honda and a white Ford Focus, Nikki didn’t switch off her wipers and heater. “I’ll wait here. If anyone finds me who shouldn’t, I’ll drive off, then text you.”

  Roz still looked shell-shocked, and Caprice squeezed Nikki’s shoulder in appreciation before she climbed out.

  Thank goodness Caprice hadn’t told Roz about Ted and Valerie. She’d have that weighing on her along with everything else. With a sense of urgency, she rounded the car’s hood and opened Roz’s door.

  Her friend just sat there.

  Ducking inside the car, Caprice unfastened Roz’s seat belt, then rubbed her arm. “We’re going to see the doctor to make sure you’re okay. Can you come with me?”

  Finally, reacting to Caprice’s voice, Roz looked up at her. “Ted is . . . dead.”

  “Yes,” Caprice responded because Roz’s voice held a hint of uncertainty, as if it had all been a dream.

  Roz’s gaze met hers, and tears welled up in her eyes.

  Caprice was glad they were here because she wasn’t exactly sure what to do next. After she took Roz’s elbow, she helped her out of the car. Roz let Caprice guide her, and she was thankful for that as she pulled open the heavy rear door that led into a hallway and the waiting room. She thought she heard a bell ring inside.

  Security measure?

  In the waiting room, Caprice noticed the green and tan tile, the cream wallpaper with its green splashes in abstract designs. The color combination was probably supposed to be welcoming, but it still projected “clinical.” Two reception windows opened on opposite sides of the waiting area, where upholstered chairs with tan and green tweed fabric offered a little comfort. The glass window to the left was topped by a sign in thick black letters—LAB. The sign on the window across from it read PHYSICIAN SERVICES.

  Taking Roz’s arm, Caprice led her to the clipboard and sign-in sheet for a physician’s services.

  The receptionist shoved the window open. “I can register you now. Name?”

  After Caprice gave Roz’s name, the older woman with frizzy gray hair asked, “Do you have your insurance card?”

  Caprice hadn’t thought about that. Roz didn’t even have her purse.

  But Roz seemed to rouse herself as she reached into the pocket of her running pants and pulled out a slim card keeper/change purse. “I carry this and my phone. I once fell . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  What was she remembering? Caprice wondered. Did the memory involve Ted?

  While the receptionist waited, Roz’s fingers fumbled. She couldn’t seem to pluck out the right card.

  Caprice took the wallet and found Roz’s insurance card between her driver’s license and credit card.

  After the receptionist put information into the computer and printed out a terms-of-service agreement for Roz to sign, she motioned for them to have a seat.

  A few minutes later, an LPN showed them to the cubicle with the requisite exam table, taupe counter, and sink, where she asked why they were there and jotted down notes. She’d just asked Roz if she was taking any medication when there was a sharp rap on the door. When it opened, Caprice’s nervous system seemed to go on overdrive.

  Adrenaline was already speeding through her body because of finding a dead man, outmaneuvering someone who might be following them, and worrying about Roz as they’d rushed here.

  Now as she gazed up into very blue eyes, she had a weird feeling in her tummy. As she canvassed the handsome, square-jawed face and rumpled blond hair, she guessed maybe she was in shock like Roz.

  “I’m Seth Randolph—doctor on call tonight.”

  His smile was friendly rather than practiced, and Caprice liked him right away. She wasn’t swayed by good looks, was she? It was h
is medical skills that mattered.

  Since Caprice got around—from stores to professionals to her many clients—she’d heard there was a handsome new doctor working here. The tidbit that had burned up the Kismet gossip grapevine was memorable because he was supposedly single.

  Recovering her good sense if not her equilibrium, Caprice stretched out her hand. “Caprice De Luca. This is my friend Rosalind Winslow. She’s had a . . . shock.”

  Seth Randolph’s grip was strong as he shook her hand. His blue eyes held hers for a heartbeat before he turned to Roz. “It’s good to meet you—” He checked the form. “Mrs. Winslow. Were you in an accident?”

  Roz shook her head but didn’t say any more. Rather, she stared at the floor as if she didn’t want to think about why she was here or recall any of it.

  The physician glanced at Caprice for an explanation.

  There was no way to sugarcoat this, so Caprice blurted out, “We found Roz’s husband. He was dead. Murdered. She gave a statement to the police, but the longer it went . . . She didn’t feel well . . . was light-headed . . . couldn’t seem to answer questions. So I brought her here.”

  The compassion in Dr. Randolph’s eyes was genuine as he pulled his stethoscope from his lab coat pocket and hung it around his neck. “I’m so sorry for your loss.” After a respectful silence, he said, “Let’s draw some blood, do a little exam, and make sure everything is working as it should be.”

  As Caprice watched them, Dr. Randolph moved efficiently and quickly. He put data into the computer while the tech drew a blood sample. Then he took Roz’s blood pressure and pulse and listened to her heart. As he moved around the table, Caprice was aware of his lean, basketball player–like physique, his broad shoulders.

  He spoke to Roz as he shone a penlight into her eyes. “How long were you married?”

  “Almost five years,” Roz murmured. “We were going to fly to Cannes next month for our anniversary.”

  The doctor must have had magic powers because that was the longest sentence she’d heard from Roz since they’d stepped into Ted’s sword room.

  “Have you been there before?” the physician asked nonchalantly.

  It was apparent he was trying to bring some kind of normalcy back into Roz’s world.

  She nodded. “Ted always said I was—” She stopped as if maybe she shouldn’t mention Ted’s name.

  “What did he say?” the doctor asked with interest, obviously trying to keep her talking.

  “He said I was a celebrity hound.”

  “Why did he say that?” Picking up the mallet in a stand on the counter, he moved to the foot of the table to check Roz’s reflexes.

  “I read Star Spotters’ online blog. It listed where celebrities were staying, if they were on yachts, sailing.”

  “You tried to spot them?”

  “Sometimes.”

  Obviously observant, he asked, “Are you a jogger?”

  She nodded again.

  “When did you last eat or drink?”

  “Had a protein bar at lunch. Water before I left to run before—”

  Going to the door, he opened it and called, “Jenny? Can of juice and crackers in here.”

  The LPN was there almost instantly.

  Caprice was thankful this was apparently a slow night for urgent care. “Quiet night?” she asked as Dr. Randolph popped the juice can tab and handed it to Roz.

  “Drink that.”

  Roz did as she was told without a murmur, which was telling in itself.

  As the doctor’s gaze met Caprice’s, he gave her a half smile. “We’re not busy right now. Give it five minutes. Eat the crackers too,” he directed. “Do you always have low blood pressure?”

  She shrugged as she pulled open the snack. “I haven’t been to the doctor for a while.”

  “You’re sure you’re not on any medication?”

  “None.”

  “Are you allergic to anything?”

  She shook her head, then nibbled on the crackers.

  “I think you’re dehydrated. Your sugar plummeted because you hadn’t eaten. On top of that you had a terrible shock. You need to go home, drink lots of fluids, and eat. You shouldn’t be alone.”

  “I can’t go home,” Roz said. “The police are there.”

  Caprice was quick to jump in. “You’re coming home with me. You can stay as long as necessary.”

  “A new Chinese restaurant opened up down the block—the Peking Duck. The takeout is great,” he offered as a solution to the food problem. “That is, if you like Chinese.”

  “I do,” Caprice said. “But I cook. I’ll make minestrone to ward off the chill.”

  The look of assessment Dr. Randolph gave Caprice was a bit unnerving. He seemed to be trying to gauge exactly what kind of person she was.

  Finally he said, “I’m glad Mrs. Winslow has someone to take care of her tonight. I’m going to give you a prescription for sleeping pills. Just a week’s supply.” To Roz he said, “If you need more than that, you should see your family doctor.”

  A commotion suddenly erupted outside the door. A child was crying.

  “Quiet spell over,” he said.

  Roz had finished the snack and juice. Dr. Randolph took the wrapper and can and stowed it in the trash. “If anything sinister shows up on the blood work, someone will call you.”

  He helped Roz down from the table, then his gaze met Caprice’s again. “It was good to meet you, Miss De Luca.”

  He’d remembered her name. And maybe he was trying out the “Miss” to see if she’d correct him.

  There was nothing to correct.

  The next minute he was gone, moving on to another medical problem. They’d be the proverbial ships passing in the night.

  Such was life.

  “Let’s get your prescription filled and go home,” she said to Roz, dropping her arm around her friend’s shoulders again. Maybe they could help each other recover from what they’d seen. Maybe she could somehow comfort Roz and help her start the grieving process.

  “Do you want to come in?” Caprice asked as Nikki pulled into her driveway.

  “No, it’s probably better if I don’t. You and Roz can talk. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  After a quick hug for her sister, Caprice led Roz to her front door.

  As always, Dylan was ecstatic at anyone’s arrival. The main thing Caprice loved about dogs was their unconditional friendship and love. Cats expressed those same qualities in a quieter, more independent way.

  Now as Dylan yipped, then took time to sniff at Roz’s sneakers, Caprice saw her friend was distracted by him, and that was a good thing. Roz bent down to him and ruffled his fur in such a way that Dylan looked up at her with adoring eyes.

  “He’s cute,” she said. “I know you told me he was. I guess I just didn’t imagine what he actually looked like.”

  “I’ll let him out. Why don’t you curl up on the couch while I start the minestrone.”

  After a quick glance around, Roz sighed. “Your house invites anyone to come right in. I know you changed ours so it would have more of that . . .”

  The word “ours” seemed to stand out. Roz and Ted. There was no couple anymore. Roz’s expression changed and became so sad. But she didn’t cry. As she took a few steps toward the sofa, Dylan started to follow her.

  Caprice snapped her fingers—a signal he knew now—and he stopped, turned toward her and wagged his tail. “C’mon,” she said. “You can sit with her after you come back in.”

  As Roz sagged onto the sofa, Dylan followed Caprice to the kitchen.

  Nana’s recipe for minestrone soup was vegetable soup at its finest. Like her mom and grandmother, Caprice kept produce in her fridge. She tried to visit Kismet’s Grocery Fresh Market at least once a week.

  Waiting patiently, she watched Dylan hurriedly do what he had to do. Afterward, he scampered inside as if he knew Roz needed him. Caprice suspected that Sophia was curled on the office chair, waiting for her owner’s nightly c
heck of e-mail. She’d fed them both before she’d left.

  Dylan ran to the living room, where Caprice saw him jump up on the sofa, yip once, then sit beside Roz.

  Caprice couldn’t help thinking about everything that had happened as she washed up, then pulled out a pack of ground beef she’d bought, expecting to make burgers. Along with that, she picked up endive, a pack of grated carrots, and a bag of shredded cabbage. She found a zucchini in her produce drawer and yanked frozen green beans from the freezer. As she set everything on the counter, she ran over the murder scene in her mind.

  The glass case where Ted had kept his most valuable collectibles had been standing open. Did that mean the murderer had robbery on his mind? From what she could recall, the case hadn’t been emptied. How many pieces had been taken? Any? Maybe the murderer had just surprised Ted in that room. But that meant he or she would have had to have broken in. Could a woman have done this?

  Caprice moved to the pantry, where she grabbed an onion from a basket and wiggled a clove of garlic from a cheesecloth bag. There were so many questions about what had happened to Ted. Would they ever have the answers? Another trip to the pantry closet produced beef and chicken broth, and cans of beans, diced tomatoes, and tomato juice. Then she began washing and chopping.

  A few minutes later, she poured two tablespoons of olive oil into the bottom of the soup pot and added the ground beef. With satisfaction, she noted its sizzle. When it was almost browned, she added the chopped onion, grated the garlic, pinched in the red pepper, and added the other spices, tomatoes, and all the liquid. The aroma wafted through the kitchen. A hearty soup was just what Roz needed to ward off the damp chill and brace her for whatever came next.

  No, food couldn’t solve problems, but its preparation could show caring and love.

  After the soup came to a boil, Caprice added the cut endive, plopped the lid on the pot and set the burner on simmer.

  When she went to the living room, Roz was staring into space, petting Dylan, who had sprawled across her lap. Caprice sank into the dark-fuchsia upholstered chair nearest the multicolored, narrowly striped sofa.