“You were,” Thompson snapped.
Males locking horns, Caprice thought. Her brother and her dad did that now and then, though less often now than when Vince was younger.
“Mr. Thompson.” Her tone was conversational and non confrontational. “Roz would have come herself, but we felt this was something we could do for her. Is there any reason we can’t take the obviously personal items, maybe look through Ted’s desk for her? That is, if the police haven’t already confiscated everything.”
Thompson bristled. “The police were here asking questions, but they couldn’t take anything. They would need warrants and subpoenas.”
She waved to the desk with its one long top drawer and its three side drawers. “So I can look?”
“Quickly. I have to return to my meeting.”
In case he changed his mind, Caprice moved around the desk and opened the top side drawer—envelopes and a stapler. The second drawer didn’t hold anything of significance either, just stacks of Post-it notes, a container of paper clips, and a bag of rubber bands. Before Thompson could stop her from opening the bottom drawer, the file drawer and the one Caprice most wanted to scope out, she pulled it out.
It was empty. Absolutely empty.
Of course, it was. If anything shady was going on here, the upper echelon of managers would have covered their tracks before the police arrived.
From across the desk Grant was watching her. He gave a what-did-you-expect shrug. “Try the top one.”
She did. The long drawer slid out easily, and she didn’t expect to find more than she saw at first glance—a calculator, a highlighter, pens, and pencils.
Impatient, Thompson was checking down the hall. For raised voices?
Caprice slid her hand across the back of the drawer. She felt . . . a business card.
Thompson was half turned toward her and half turned away. Without even glancing at it, she palmed the card and slid it into her pocket. It might be nothing. It might be something.
“Finished?” Thompson called across the office.
Straightening, Caprice shut the drawer. “Yep. So we can take the painting on the wall too? I understand Ted brought that in.”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you think Rosalind Winslow needs a painting when she has a house full of collectibles?”
Thompson probably had been at the Winslow house for cocktail parties and the like over the course of Ted’s employment here. On the other hand, maybe he’d had a close-up look at Ted’s sword room when he’d killed his colleague. The idea that Caprice could be talking to Ted’s killer gave her chills.
“I think if it belonged to her husband, she’d like to have it.”
“Fine,” he said with a resigned sigh and a nod to Grant. “Take it. Seneft will escort you out. Don’t ever come back here again without authorization from the front desk.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to retort that they shouldn’t leave the front desk unattended if that was their policy. But she didn’t.
Thompson returned to the conference room while Seneft escorted them not only to the front desk but out the front door.
Once outside, Caprice asked, “Wasn’t that a little over the top?”
“Possibly.” Grant’s long stride kept her hurrying to keep up as he used the remote to unlock his SUV. However, he passed it and finally stopped at hers, two spaces away. “Do you want this in the backseat?”
Taking her keys from her purse, she unlocked the front door, then pushed the passenger seat forward so that Grant could deposit the painting inside.
When they were face-to-face again, he returned to her question. “If a visitor to our law offices didn’t stop at Giselle’s desk and just walked into our back offices, we’d be alarmed or at least cautious.”
“We don’t look like thieves.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Most corporate thieves don’t. Whatever’s going on there, I don’t think you can fault Thompson for being a little put out.”
“More than a little,” she muttered. “I wish I could have switched on Ted’s computer.”
“It’s probably wiped clean. Especially if there was anything on there they wouldn’t want his replacement to see.”
“I’m surprised the police didn’t confiscate it.”
“It’s not that easy. That computer wasn’t Ted’s property. It belongs to PA Pharm. The police have Ted’s home computer . . . and probably his laptop, for that matter.”
Remembering the card she’d fetched from Ted’s desk, she withdrew it from her pocket. “I found this in that top drawer.”
Grant came closer as she turned the card right side up. At the name on the card her eyes widened and she gave a little, “Oh!”
“What?” Grant had moved beside her and was looking over her shoulder.
“It’s from Isaac’s shop—Older and Better. I shop there all the time.” Turning the card over, she saw “1700s Ottoman Empire Turkish dagger.”
“Something he was thinking about buying?”
“Or already bought. I didn’t realize Ted dealt with Isaac, but that would make sense—at least on a local level. I think I’ll drive over and talk to him.”
“Caprice—”
“Don’t give me that look,” she warned him.
He checked his watch. “I can’t come with you. I have an appointment in half an hour and I haven’t gone over the client’s case yet.”
“There’s no need for you to go with me. I’ve known Isaac for years.”
“Don’t tell him Roz is the main suspect.”
“I wouldn’t do that!”
“So what are you going to say?”
“That Roz is a friend and I’m looking into things. He knows I’m curious.”
“I know I can’t stop you. But helping Roz shouldn’t become your second job.”
“Why not?” she asked flippantly and didn’t wait for an answer as she rounded her car’s hood and unlocked the driver’s side.
He followed her and kept his hand on her door as she slid inside. “You will call me if you discover anything?”
“Maybe,” she tossed out, right before she closed the door.
At Older and Better, Caprice found Isaac hunkered down before a cupboard, rummaging on the lower shelf.
“Searching for something?” she joked.
After shooting an impatient glance over his shoulder, he responded, “Yeah. One of those early-sixties Woolworth’s five-and-dime teacups and saucers. Pink flowers. Customer called, left a message, and said it was in the oak china cupboard, bottom compartment. Like I don’t have more than one oak china cupboard.”
At least five of them were spaced at regular intervals around the room.
“Pay dirt!” he grunted and rose to his full height, cup and saucer in hand. “Did you come over to see if I found any more crystal? There’s a place in Philly where I can get a few of the plates. You were on my list to call tomorrow.”
“That’s great that you found them, but that’s not why I came over.”
His brows arched. “Looking for props?”
That’s what he called her staging furniture, and he wasn’t far off. “Not that either. I want to talk to you about daggers and swords and Ted Winslow’s collection.”
Isaac carried the fragile-looking teacup and saucer to his cashier’s desk and motioned her behind it. There was a small sitting area there with two walnut captain’s chairs that had red and black plaid upholstered cushions tied to their seats.
“Coffee?” He nodded toward the pot on a narrow table against the back wall. It was half-filled.
She knew she probably wouldn’t sleep tonight, but coffee and conversation went a long way with Isaac. “Sure. Lots of milk, though.”
Opening the mini-refrigerator under the counter, he pulled out a plastic jug of milk. “Terrible thing that happened to Winslow. You go way back with his wife, didn’t you say?”
“We were friends in high school.” She poured coffee into two mugs that looked as if they’d seen y
ears of caffeine stains.
“So why do you want to know about Winslow’s collection. Is someone thinking about buying it?” He poured milk into his own mug and capped the jug.
“Could be. Did you procure any of the swords or daggers for him?”
“Sure I did.” Isaac put the milk away. “But Winslow found a lot of them himself too, at private auctions.”
“You mean physical private auctions or online?”
“Both.” Isaac picked up his mug and took a long swallow. “I know he sometimes planned his business trips to coincide with them. Chicago. New York. L.A.”
Caprice sipped her coffee and wanted to make a face at the stale taste but didn’t. “So if you found a piece for him he wanted . . .” She trailed off so Isaac could fill in.
“I got a finder’s fee. Winslow did tons of research and knew what he wanted.” After a thoughtful pause when they both drank coffee, the shop owner asked, “He was killed with one of them, wasn’t he?”
Could Isaac possibly know she was there that night with Roz? Not necessarily. The police had released the information Ted was stabbed, so everyone was inventing his own scenario. Isaac’s happened to be right.
She kept silent.
“It’s out that his wife found him or—”
“She did not do it.”
“Spoken like a friend. And you think you can figure out who did?”
“Possibly.”
He laughed. “If anyone can, you can. So what do you really want to know?”
“About a few of Ted’s daggers. Roz has given me the history on some of them. The one with the rubies, diamonds, and emeralds in the handle interests me.”
“Did he get killed with that one?”
She kept silent once again.
“Okay. There’s things you can say and things you can’t.”
Not confirming or denying his conclusion, she answered, “Roz said Ted gave it to her for her birthday since rubies are her birthstone.”
“Now I remember.” Isaac squinted his eyes together as if he was thinking really hard. “Rubies, diamonds, emeralds, and a hilt covered with gold. A sheath of pierced gold.”
“Wow. So it was worth a lot?”
“I got into a bidding war over it. Winslow kept egging me on. He really wanted that one.”
“Did he say why?”
“Because it was for the Mrs.’s birthday, I suspect. There was provenance with it. But I don’t specifically remember what. Indian Khanjar dagger, I think. I might have a copy somewhere. Those papers, from a couple of years ago, are all in boxes in the attic. Now it’s different. I put everything on the computer.”
While she thought about what he’d said, Isaac continued, “He had quite a collection. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he was murdered for one of the pieces in it.”
Her thoughts exactly—rubies, diamonds, emeralds, gold. The question was—who knew about that dagger? Who killed Ted for it?
Chapter Thirteen
The following morning Caprice stood in the warehouse of the rental company she used, examining a white wicker settee with two high-backed arm chairs. The set would be perfect for her client who had decided on a tropical theme. The whole house would be reminiscent of a luxurious beach house in the Florida Keys. All pastels, floaty fabrics, bamboo, rattan, and shades of the sea. Besides what Caprice had chosen here, she could find the rest online. She’d encouraged Roz to come along with her today, but instead her friend had just wanted to stay at the house with the animals. The kittens were adorable, and the furry family seemed to be getting along . . . for now. This evening she hoped to start a phone chain to find homes for those kittens. And she hoped to nail down a family meeting with her sisters and brother for Monday night. They had to make plans soon; their mom’s birthday was only ten days away. She’d be able to pull everything together in a few days, but she wanted them all to agree on the details.
Now, however, she had another errand. Dave Harding had been at the Winslows’ open house as well as at Ted’s funeral. She wondered if he’d heard any scuttlebutt about the murder or Roz that she hadn’t. A friendly catch-up visit wouldn’t be out of the question as she shopped for a new garage door. Hers was the original that came with the house. It was wood and high-maintenance; the paint chipped and had to be scraped every summer. They could talk garage doors, and she might get some information to boot.
Her cell phone played as she ran between parked cars in the direction of Dave’s store. She checked the screen and smiled—Dr. Seth Randolph. He hadn’t forgotten about her.
Her voice carried a lilt she couldn’t hide. “Hi! I was thinking about you last night.”
“I hope you have caller ID,” he teased. “So exactly what were you thinking?”
“I do have caller ID, and I was just wondering if you’d forgotten about our date.”
“Obviously not,” he said seriously. “I wanted to make sure you were still available.”
“I’m available.” She realized how happy she sounded and how flirty. What was it about this man that caused that fluttery sensation in her stomach? She didn’t even know him.
“Is two o’clock still good? Why don’t we meet there? Then, afterward, we can get a bite to eat somewhere.”
“Two o’clock is fine. That should be a good time to play. The afternoon crowd will be thinning out and the evening crowd won’t have started.”
“Exactly what I thought,” he said. “See? We think alike.”
She laughed, “At least in matters of miniature golf.”
“We’ll find out in what other ways when I see you. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” As she ended the call, she really was.
She was still smiling as she approached Dave Harding’s storefront. It was crisp and clean, with a placard of hours on the door. When she walked inside, she spotted the long desk across the back and Dave behind it. To the right there were several displays with miniature garage doors and pamphlets with the history and explanation of each brand. To the left she spotted an actual garage door that she supposed would go up and down with a remote. That way Dave could explain its workings to his customers. It was a double-window model and was something like what she was looking for. She guessed it was his most popular style.
When he spied her, he raised his hand in greeting. “Hi there. How are you?”
“I’m good.”
“Do you need a garage door?” he asked.
“Actually, I do. I hope to pick up some brochures and decide on the style.”
“Maybe we can trade services. I’d like to do some redecorating at my place and I hear you’re the go-to person for that.”
Trading services. She’d be open to that. “If you’re serious, I can drop by sometime.”
He moved from behind the desk out into the open part of the showroom. Then he walked with her over to a stand with brochures. “Sounds like a plan.” He started plucking out a few of the pamphlets. “You’re looking for a traditional garage door?”
“I suppose, but one with some of those pretty hinge-looking things might be good too.”
He laughed. “Only a woman would describe them that way.” He plucked out another pamphlet. “How’s Roz?” he asked. “I saw you were with her at the funeral. I only had a short time to talk with her because of all the people. It was hard to tell how she’s really holding up.”
“I think she’s coming through this remarkably well.”
“She’s staying with you, isn’t she?”
When Caprice remained silent, he shrugged. “I know you probably don’t want to say, reporters and all that, but I certainly won’t tell anyone.”
Caprice made a calculated decision to trust him. After all, he’d already guessed. And it really wasn’t that much of a stretch to figure out Roz was staying with her. At least not for any of her friends.
But rather than actually confirming it, she said, “Roz is keeping a low profile.”
“And you’re
helping her do that?”
“Any way I can.”
“So is it true the police suspect her?”
“I hope they’re looking at lots of suspects.”
“At the funeral I heard some of those men from PA Pharm talking.”
“About what?” she asked, knowing this could be the information she was hoping for.
“The one said Ted had a lot of enemies. Another one, the guy talking to Roz after I did, looked really troubled about a detective calling some of them in for questioning.”
“Chad Thompson?” Caprice murmured.
“Yeah, that’s the guy. I heard somebody say his name.”
“I should have circulated more,” Caprice admitted. “But I didn’t want to get too far from Roz.”
“You’re a good friend. That guy you were with, so he’s her lawyer?”
She remembered Grant had announced that when Valerie came on the scene. “Yes, he is.”
“Is he good?”
She said simply, “He’ll steer Roz in the right direction.” If Grant couldn’t help Roz himself he’d make sure he’d hook her up with someone who could.
“I can’t believe that woman barged into the funeral.” Dave’s brows furrowed and his lips pursed. “So Winslow was having an affair?”
“That’s what it looks like.”
“Maybe his mistress killed him.”
“I suppose that’s possible. We can only hope the police sort it out soon. Since I was occupied most of the time at the open house, I didn’t wander around. I wondered if you might have heard anyone arguing with Ted.”
Dave thought about it. “I didn’t see him much that night. After I spoke with Roz, I left. That’s what I told the police too, when they called me. I guess they were talking to everybody who was there.”
“That’s what I heard.”
Dave handed her the pamphlets. “All we can do is hope everything turns out okay.”
Caprice nodded. Yet she knew everything was not going to turn out okay for someone.
Caprice was on the first hole of the miniature golf course Saturday afternoon ready to swing when she felt Seth’s gaze on her. She’d worn the blouse she’d bought at Secrets of the Past with lavender capri pants that were the same color as a shade in the blouse. Her hair swung over her shoulder as she adjusted her sandals on the green turf, ready to tee off.
Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 16
