“Yes, I do home-staging, and I take in strays now and then when I find them . . . or they find me.”
The woman thrust out her hand. “I’m Ruth Pennington.”
Caprice shook it. “It’s good to meet you.” At least she hoped it was.
“I’m so glad I saw you here today. There are three kittens in my backyard that are too small to fend for themselves. They need a home. I’ve already taken them to a vet and they’re healthy. They’re staying in our garage. My husband insists we can keep only one. Can you take the other two?”
The woman, who was staring at her with imploring eyes, added for good measure, “They’re really adorable. Three yellow tigers.”
She could easily picture them. Just how would Sophia and Dylan react to two kittens? She’d figure something out if she had to because she couldn’t refuse this woman. That’s what taking in stray animals was all about. “I’d be glad to take them.”
Ruth said, “I live at 423 Maple. I’ll be running errands today, and my husband and I have plans for tonight. Do you think you can pick them up tomorrow?”
Caprice thought about the funeral and her schedule. “How about tomorrow evening? Around seven?”
Ruth nodded happily. After a “See you tomorrow,” she went to the desk and paid her bill.
Yvonne began trimming Caprice’s bangs. She’d almost finished when the door to the salon flew open and a redhead in a short skirt and a tight T-shirt rushed in.
“You guys!” she called, apparently to all the stylists. “You won’t believe what I just found out. I went over to Valerie’s and she’s a mess. You know that guy she was dating? It was Ted Winslow!”
The shop went absolutely silent. The news was out. Just what would it mean for Roz?
Chapter Eleven
Caprice felt jittery late Wednesday morning with Grant standing to one side of her at the cemetery and Nikki on the other. Since her sister never made her nervous, it must have been her proximity to Grant.
Or else the antsy feeling originated in the circumstances—Ted Winslow’s memorial service at the funeral home and now the burial here at Peaceful Path Cemetery. There were two security guards from PA Pharm stationed at the cars to prevent reporters from intruding. How hard this had to be for Roz. But throughout the morning she’d been nothing but gracious to anyone who’d approached her.
Most of the people who’d come to the cemetery were now offering Roz final condolences under the canopy. She and Nikki and Grant had stepped aside. But Grant was watching Roz closely since Detective Jones and his partner were still part of the crowd.
Nikki laid her hand on Caprice’s arm. “I’m going to go too. I have to set up this afternoon for an engagement party.”
“Very different from this,” Grant muttered. “How can she act like a grieving widow with Winslow’s associates?”
Caprice automatically bristled. “What do you mean act?” In a much lower voice, she insisted, “Roz loved Ted in spite of his infidelity. This day is tearing her up inside. Maybe you need to search deep down for your compassionate side for the next hour or so. Then you can be as cynical as you want.”
After Nikki murmured, “Caprice, go easy,” and Grant cut a glance at her, then remained silent, Caprice couldn’t believe she had let her words fly out like that. On the other hand, hadn’t her mother advised her not to treat Grant with kid gloves?
More reasonably, Caprice asked, “What would you have Roz do? She said a private good-bye, then had a closed casket for the service. She kept the service short and sweet with the readings and then the minister listing Ted’s accomplishments before he said a prayer. The other prayers that he said here, Ted will probably need in the hereafter.”
“Maybe she shouldn’t have had a funeral at all,” Grant muttered.
Maybe Grant’s problem wasn’t with Roz at all, but with being at a funeral. Had today brought back raw memories?
“Ted Winslow was a prominent man in Kismet. She really had no choice.”
Grant tossed her a skeptical look.
“Okay, she had a choice. But I think she needed to do this for—”
“Don’t you dare say closure,” Grant directed her. “Burying someone does not bring closure.”
Now they were talking about Grant, and they both knew it.
Nikki broke the tension by pointing to Detective Jones and his colleague, who were standing by a tall sycamore, watching Roz say good-bye to men in custom-made suits. “So why are they still hanging around?”
“Maybe they know something we don’t. I heard through the grapevine that everyone who signed the guest list for the Winslows’ open house is being interviewed.”
Suddenly, there was movement near the lineup of cars that stretched along the well-tended burial plots.
“Uh oh,” Nikki said. “Isn’t that—”
Uh oh, indeed! Caprice practically groaned. She was pretty sure the woman dressed in the short, black, sleeveless dress, high heels, and veiled, large-brimmed hat was Valerie Swanson.
“Trouble with a capital T,” Grant said without moving a muscle.
“We have to do something.” Caprice started forward.
But Grant caught her arm. “You stay put. You’re not getting in the middle of a catfight.”
“Then you do something.”
“If you stay here with your sister.”
“Caprice, listen to him,” Nikki advised her.
“I’m going with you,” she stubbornly told Grant. “I’ll stay out of it, but I’m going to let Roz know she has my backing.”
Shaking his head, stepping out ahead of her, Grant headed for the canopy and an unsuspecting Roz.
It was practically impossible to intercept Valerie. There were at least fifty funeral-goers still milling about, grouped between the canopy and the gravel lane. Roz was standing near the casket at the end of the row of folding chairs. Tall flower arrangements from gladioli to chrysanthemums to carnations and roses had been positioned in a broken circle around the casket.
Even though Valerie’s heels sank into the grass, she moved fast, winding her way in and out of mourners and flowers like a soccer player intent on a goal. Caprice knew condolences weren’t on this “other” woman’s mind. She and Grant, however, couldn’t reach Roz before Valerie did.
Ted’s mistress zoomed in on Roz and stepped into her personal space. Her vitriol spat out in a torrent. “You’re standing there like a queen as if Ted belonged only to you. He didn’t belong to you at all! He was going to be mine. He was going to leave you behind like an old shoe and marry me. As soon as your monstrosity of a house sold, we were going away together.”
Roz was stunned and speechless. So was everyone else.
Except for Grant.
He moved quickly and took Valerie’s elbow firmly in his grip. “Ms. Swanson, you’re making a scene. Surely, you don’t want Mr. Winslow’s funeral to be remembered for your outburst.”
She yanked away from him. “Yes, I do. He loved me, not her. I want the world to know that.”
Grant’s expression grew grim. “It’s too late for that. Ted Winslow is dead. Rosalind is his lawful wife. That’s what matters.”
Caprice suspected Grant wasn’t being purposefully cruel but was trying to convince Valerie to see the reality of the situation. Whatever promises Ted had made to her didn’t matter much now.
“What we felt for each other matters!” she wailed, looking around at everyone for a consensus.
But Ted Winslow’s friends, acquaintances, and coworkers remained silent.
“Why don’t I walk you to your car?” Grant asked calmly.
Valerie could apparently see her outburst had set her apart from everyone else. After another long look at the polished walnut casket, she let Grant lead her away.
Caprice put her arm around Roz’s shoulders. “Are you all right?”
“Other than being humiliated and embarrassed, I’m fine.”
“Grief can do strange things,” Nikki said, casting a pity
ing glance toward Valerie.
“Do you think she could have staged that on purpose?” Caprice wondered aloud. “To throw any suspicion away from herself ?”
“Grant can probably answer that. Vince always says he’s a good judge of character,” Nikki reminded Caprice.
“Except men can be fooled by someone like Valerie,” Roz said. “They don’t always think with their brain.”
Caprice heard the bitterness in her friend’s voice because she was putting the blame for Ted’s infidelity where it belonged—with him.
When one of Roz’s neighbors stepped up to say good-bye and tell Roz how sorry she was for everything that had happened—including Valerie—Caprice and Nikki moved away from the canopied area. Out of the corner of her eye, Caprice could see Dave Harding speaking to Roz after her neighbor stepped away. It was nice of him to come.
“I really have to go,” Nikki said. “I’m looking forward to tonight and seeing a happy couple.” After a hug and a promise to call soon, Nikki left Caprice alone, studying the group that was still waiting to speak to Roz.
Caprice was particularly interested in the man who’d just taken Dave Harding’s place and was now holding Roz’s hand. He was one of the expensively suited men Caprice had wondered about earlier.
She heard Roz say, “Chad, thank you so much for coming.”
Chad’s response was, “Ted was a wonderful colleague. We’ll all miss him.”
Caprice could hardly keep from rolling her eyes. “Ted” and “wonderful” weren’t two words she’d use in the same sentence. Was this the Chad Thompson whom Ted had been talking to the day Caprice had overheard the “If-he-does-that-I’ll-kill-him” conversation?
Grant’s tall, broad-shouldered physique caught Caprice’s attention as he walked toward her. His charcoal suit fit him well. He glanced toward Roz, saw she was still occupied by Ted’s coworkers, and came to stand beside Caprice.
“Did Valerie drive away?” Caprice asked.
“She did. But before she did, she gave her number to a reporter lurking on the fringes.”
“Terrific. Is anyone else talking to the reporter?”
Grant shook his head. “Most people know not to go near a journalist, especially when murder is involved. And the reporter knows someone like Roz has enough clout to have her escorted off the premises.” Without missing a beat, Grant asked, “Who’s that? You’re watching him like you want to know more about him.”
“That’s Chad Thompson, I think.” Caprice told Grant about the conversation she’d overheard.
“You really saw what Ted said as a threat?”
“You should have heard him. He was really upset.”
“And you’re still planning to go to PA Pharm to fish around, even though it’s a bad idea?”
She looked directly into Grant’s stormy, gray eyes. “I am. The question is—do you still plan to go with me?”
Caprice had offered to stay at the house with Roz this evening—she could pick up the kittens another time—but Roz had insisted she get them. Kittens could give them both a distraction from the draining day. One of the reporters at the funeral had tried to elicit comments from Roz as they’d walked to Grant’s SUV, but Grant had intervened. Caprice could hear his deep voice now in her head as he’d warned them all—“There is an ongoing investigation and you’d better not interfere in that. Mrs. Winslow is not making comments to the press.”
And he was going with Caprice to the drug company. However, he still disapproved.
Thank goodness, the press hadn’t yet figured out Roz was staying with her. Taking a circuitous route home from the funeral, Grant had again made certain they weren’t followed. Roz could have gone back to her castle-like home now if she’d wanted to, but she didn’t want to, and both Caprice and Grant believed rambling around that mansion alone with a killer on the loose seemed like a very bad idea.
At the funeral, Caprice couldn’t help thinking that any one of the mourners could have been the murderer.
The first place Caprice stopped after she made certain Roz ate some dinner was Perky Paws, Kismet’s pet-supply store, to pick up a litter box just for the kittens, kitten food since they required different nutrition than adult cats, and a few toys. Sophia might not want to share hers.
There was a particular strategy when introducing a new cat or cats into a family that a veterinarian had shared with Caprice when she’d first begun taking in strays. Roz would be helping her with it. At Caprice’s phone call, Roz would secure Sophia in Caprice’s bedroom and take Dylan out back to play until Caprice gave her the signal to bring him in. She said she’d take one of Caprice’s paperbacks with her and wouldn’t be bored.
Less than an hour later, Caprice listened to the two adorable kittens—she guessed they were about ten weeks old—as they meowed in the carrier on the floor of her van.
She saw the taupe sedan parked in front of her house as soon as she turned the corner onto her street. Pulling up beside it, she recognized the auburn-haired woman inside. She was Marianne Brisbane, the reporter who had interviewed Caprice a couple of months ago about her home-staging business, as well as taking in strays. As a human interest article, it had attracted readers.
The reporter didn’t simply stick to the lighter stories. She’d broken the scoop on a scandal in Kismet too.
But whether Caprice sort of knew this reporter or not, a reporter was the last person she wanted to talk to.
Where was Roz? She’d called her just five minutes ago to start the new-kittens-in-the-family ball rolling. She picked up her phone and pulled into her driveway wondering how fast she could text.
Fast enough.
She turned off the ignition and quickly typed in—Lay low with Dylan out back. Reporter in front. I’ll get rid of her.
Roz texted back—OK.
Never more grateful for the poplars along the sides of the house camouflaging the fence, Caprice opened her door and climbed out. After sliding open the van door, she lifted the carrier holding the kittens.
Marianne Brisbane met her on the path to the front door.
Caprice could have gone into the garage, up to the back porch, and into the house that way. But the reporter would still be sitting outside in her car, watching and waiting.
“Hello, Miss Brisbane. How can I help you?”
One of the kittens meowed.
Caprice shifted the carrier from one hand to the other so the reporter would understand she wouldn’t be standing here long.
“We meet under different circumstances than the last time. Can I come in?”
They had done the interview in her house over coffee and biscotti. But Caprice wouldn’t be inviting her in today.
“This isn’t a good time. I’m bringing home stray kittens, and I don’t know how my cat will accept them.”
“I’ll get straight to the point then. I believe your car was parked at the Winslows’ the night of the murder.”
Caprice kept silent. That night she’d been parked to the side of the garage and suspected it would have been difficult for anyone to see her car unless they’d breached the crime scene perimeter.
“One of my sources saw your car in the police garage. And you are Rosalind Winslow’s friend. You even arrived with her today at the funeral.”
“With her lawyer.”
Marianne’s green eyes narrowed. “Mrs. Winslow isn’t staying at her house. Is she here with you?”
Both kittens were meowing loudly, and Caprice didn’t blame them. “Do you see her?”
Dusk was falling now. No lights were on in the house, but a person walking past the windows would have been noticed.
“No, but—”
“Look, Miss Brisbane. I just picked up two stray kittens who need a home. I’d like to get them settled. Mrs. Winslow has other friends too, some with a lot more conveniences than I have. If you want to find her, maybe you should stretch your net. But keep in mind, if you do, she’s still not going to answer any questions.”
�
��And what about you? Were you at the crime scene?”
“Whether I was or wasn’t isn’t an issue. Because I’m not answering your questions either.”
“I could help,” the reporter suddenly said.
“Help with what?”
“I could help find out who the killer is. I don’t think Roz Winslow did it, even though she’s the prime person of interest.”
Caprice kept silent again. Most people didn’t like silence and rushed into the vacuum. Maybe she could learn something.
“Word on the street says she had means, motive, and opportunity.”
Everything in Caprice urged her to pose a denial and do it loudly. But she kept quiet. Maybe she could trust this woman and maybe she couldn’t. But she wouldn’t risk saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.
Marianne blew out a long breath. “All right. So you’re being loyal to your friend. Believe it or not, I admire friends who stick up for each other.” She took a business card from the pocket of her slacks. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”
Caprice just stared at the card. “Miss Brisbane—”
She extended it farther. “We were on a first-name basis when we did your interview. It’s Marianne. You never know when you can use my help. And . . . I’m always looking for a good source. I’ll warn you now, I’ve heard the D.A. is building a case against your friend. If I hear anything else, do you want me to let you know?”
She was not going to make a deal with the devil. Grant had contacts in the D.A.’s office. He’d gather the same information as this reporter, wouldn’t he?
As if Marianne Brisbane read her mind, the reporter said, “Lawyers don’t always have the skinny first.”
Caprice took the reporter’s card but didn’t commit.
Marianne Brisbane gave her a conspiratorial smile and returned to her car.
Not glancing around, Caprice heard the engine start. She hurried up her porch steps and unlocked the front door. Once inside, she set the cat carrier in the middle of the living room and waited, murmuring to the kittens. A few minutes later, she saw the reporter’s car pull away. As soon as it did, Caprice closed the blinds in the living room and the dining room’s bay windows. Once Roz came back inside with Dylan, she didn’t want anyone to know her friend was here. Thank goodness, Roz hadn’t picked up her car after the forensic team had finished with it and the crime scene.
Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 14
