Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Smith, Karen Rose

  “You look incredible today,” Seth said, right before she swung.

  The ball careened off the side barrier of the green, and she didn’t know whether to be annoyed with him or totally flattered. “Did you say that so that my first shot would go wild?”

  He grinned and came closer to her. “It just came out because it’s what I was thinking. Don’t you believe me?”

  He was close enough that she could almost feel his body heat. She could definitely smell his aftershave. He was dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved, cranberry-colored Henley shirt. He was so good-looking she still couldn’t believe she was on a date with him.

  “I don’t trust easily,” she said casually.

  “Hmm. I’d like to hear that story. But I’m not sure this is the place for it. Maybe later over an early dinner you can tell me why trusting is hard for you.”

  She liked the fact he was willing to listen. She liked the fact he was talking about later. Speechless for a moment, she realized he was looking at her as if he wanted to . . . kiss her.

  But he didn’t reach out to touch her. Instead he said, “Since I distracted you, you could take the shot over.”

  She studied her ball, which had stopped on the wrong side of a miniature mountain. She’d have to go around the mountain before she could shoot up a little bridge, over a lake, and into the cup. “I don’t need an extra shot. If I don’t make up the stroke on this hole, I’ll make it up on the next.”

  “Confidence,” Seth said with a chuckle as he stooped and put his own ball down. “I like that. But we’ll see how confident you are after I play this hole under par.”

  “Have you been practicing?” she demanded when his ball zoomed through the mountain and halfway up the bridge.

  “I’ve only been here a few times in the last couple of months. But my photographic memory records every hill and bump.”

  As she walked to her ball, she asked, “Seriously? A photographic memory?”

  “Close to it. It’s not a talent. It’s a gift.”

  “A gift most people would like to have.” She whacked her ball so it lined up with the hole through the mountain.

  “I think what you do is a gift. I can’t imagine staging a whole house. Do you move everything out and what you want in?”

  “Sometimes. But usually I just modify what the owner already has. I switch it around a little, add different throw pillows, maybe drapes and accent pieces.”

  “Is that what you did with the Winslows’ mansion?”

  “Pretty much. Why?”

  “I stopped for coffee at the Koffee Klatch yesterday. I heard your name mentioned.”

  “Do I want to know why?” she asked jokingly.

  “I’m not sure. Two men were talking and I heard ‘Caprice.’ You’ve gotta admit that’s not a common name. So I listened.”

  “And.”

  “The one man said you were snooping around PA Pharm and no one there liked it.”

  “I wasn’t snooping. I was just collecting Ted’s personal items for Roz.”

  “Did you ask questions?”

  “A few. But that was natural under the circumstances, don’t you think?”

  He studied her. “I don’t know. I do know Ted Winslow was murdered. If that was in any way connected to something going on at his company, you could be stirring up a hornet’s nest.”

  “Well, somebody has to,” she muttered. “This murder won’t get solved any other way.”

  “Aha! So you are snooping.”

  “Are you going to tell me I shouldn’t be?”

  This time he approached her slowly. This time he did touch her. He brushed her hair from the front of her shoulder to the back, his long fingers causing a tingling sensation where he’d touched. “I’m not going to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. But I do know those two guys in suits looked seriously ruffled. So you might want to try asking your questions more discreetly.”

  Maybe going to PA Pharm like that with Grant had been a mistake because their questions had put Ted’s colleagues on notice.

  “Do you go to the Koffee Klatch often?”

  “I run in and out practically every morning. Why? Do you like the place? I could rise and shine a half hour earlier and meet you there sometime.”

  That sounded like a nice idea. Maybe even a second date.

  Stepping away from her, Seth went to his ball, adjusted his stance, and hit it into the cup.

  She had the feeling Seth Randolph was going to be terribly hard to beat . . . and terribly hard to resist.

  Some holes on the course were more challenging than others. She made par on hole five, with its windmill. But at hole six, the course had too many sand traps and . . . she was distracted by Seth. Although his attention was on her a lot of the time, he still managed to maintain his focus. On hole nine—at a waterfall—they both studied it, planning their strategy. He played first.

  But after he set his ball down, he glanced at her and asked, “So what house are you staging next?”

  “A country theme. The open house is next weekend.”

  “A country theme. Let me guess, flowers and distressed wood.”

  “And you said you don’t know anything about home-staging.”

  “My mother likes the country look.”

  “Does she live around here?”

  “In Virginia. Dad’s a GP there.”

  “So you followed in your dad’s footsteps?”

  “I was in and out of his office a lot as a kid. I can remember being fascinated by his stethoscope. He didn’t push me into medicine or anything. I know he’d like me to join him in his practice.”

  “But you don’t want to?”

  “I needed to be out on my own for a while. I’m still not so sure I might not like to get involved in trauma medicine. I was thinking about applying for a fellowship.”

  If he applied for a fellowship, he’d probably move to a city where there was a teaching hospital. Johns Hopkins wasn’t too far away, but he could be thinking of a fellowship anywhere. “So why Kismet?” she asked, becoming more curious about him the longer she was with him.

  “It’s not too large and not too small. At urgent care, I get a taste of emergency medicine.”

  “So this is temporary for you.” She suddenly thought of Craig in California and his “Dear Caprice” letter.

  “I’m not sure yet,” he said honestly.

  Their gazes met.

  He seemed to forget about his ball. Instead of playing the hole, he took hold of her hand, pulled her toward him, then let go of her hand, and slid his hand under her hair. “Everything’s in flux, but my life is mine to make. My choices depend on what happens next.”

  “Are you talking about opportunities?” His fingers were light but warm on her neck, his hold a bit possessive.

  “I’m talking about everything,” he said.

  When he tipped her chin up and ran his thumb over her lower lip, she felt as if she’d collapse right there on the green.

  But he didn’t kiss her. He just tapped her on the nose, gave her a sly grin and went back to considering how he’d play his ball.

  She felt totally rattled. Why hadn’t he kissed her? Because he wanted to prolong the tension for them both? Or because he wanted to find out why she didn’t trust easily first?

  Maybe she wanted to rattle him a little. “What was your longest serious relationship?”

  He stopped mid-swing. “You’d like to have that conversation here . . . right now?”

  A family of four had approached the green behind them. As the scents of freshly mown grass rode on the air, she responded, “It only requires a two-word answer.”

  “If I give you the two-word answer, you’ll stop there?”

  The question seemed light-hearted, but she couldn’t be sure. “I’ll stop there . . . for now.”

  “We have caves, more waterfalls, and dogleg holes up ahead. I don’t know if I can concentrate with questions like these.”

  “Your lack o
f concentration means I’ll win.”

  He burst out laughing. “All right. But I have to give you five words, not two. My most recent serious relationship lasted a year and a half.”

  Her next question popped out. “How long ago . . . ?”

  “Remember,” he warned her. “You said you’d stop for now. No more serious stuff until we finish these eighteen holes. Then we can get down to business at the Blue Moon Grille. Okay with you?”

  The Blue Moon Grille was situated in the oldest part of downtown Kismet. It was located on the second floor above an arts-and-crafts mall, and there were tables on the deck that were usually packed full, especially when the moon was out. She liked the idea of sitting there with Seth . . . a lot.

  “The Blue Moon Grille it is. I’ll try to keep any more questions from popping into my head. Does the winner buy dinner?”

  “You couldn’t stop asking questions if your life depended on it. Yes, the winner gets to buy dinner.”

  Seth’s blue eyes twinkled in a way that told her he was definitely going to be the winner.

  And he was.

  An hour later, they were standing at their cars in the parking lot, weighing the pros and cons of taking one car or two to the restaurant when Seth’s cell phone beeped. He checked the screen, then said, “Sorry, I have to take this.”

  She nodded that, of course, she understood.

  He paced about ten feet away, listened, then secured the phone back on his belt.

  With a frustrated expression, he approached her. “The questions will have to wait. So will the Blue Moon. I’m needed at the clinic. We’re short-staffed, and when it’s quiet, that’s fine. But they have about ten patients waiting, and since I’m due in there in a couple of hours anyway—” He stopped and assessed her expression.

  Sure, she was disappointed. But she did understand. “It’s okay, Seth. It’s your job. It’s what you do.”

  “You won’t delete my name from your phone’s contact list?” he joked.

  “Not for this,” she assured him.

  “That’s a relief. I’ll call you. Maybe we can have that coffee some morning . . . before I get called in to see patients.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He could have kissed her then, she supposed. But they were standing in the middle of the parking lot with evening golfers parking, climbing out of their cars, flowing in a stream of families and couples toward the cashier’s kiosk, ready for an evening of fun.

  So Seth didn’t kiss her. He climbed into his car, gave her a wave, and in a spit of gravel drove away.

  On Monday morning, Caprice ended the call on her cell phone and glanced over at Roz, who was sitting at the kitchen table examining a list of possible apartments. Dylan sat at her feet, while Stripes—one of the kittens—nestled in her lap. Sophia and Creamsicle—that’s what they had named the other kitten—were batting about a tinfoil ball in the living room.

  Roz looked up and saw Caprice’s smile. “Good news?”

  “Great news! An offer came in on the vacant house I staged.”

  “Wonderful! You are so talented. I wish I had your knack.”

  “You have talents too. I will never look as put together as you do. Your fashion sense is impeccable. Maybe you should open a boutique.”

  Roz considered Caprice’s suggestion as Stripes jumped off her lap. “Maybe when this is all over, I’ll look into it. What’s on your agenda this morning?”

  “I’m meeting with Teresa Arcuri around noon. At your open house she asked me if I could redo her kitchen and dining room. Her theme is sunflowers. It was a cinch to gather up ideas for that. I don’t do much just plain decorating anymore. Dave Harding asked if I’d consider doing his place.”

  “Did he? He has a cute little house over on Sunset.”

  “You’ve seen it?” Caprice asked.

  “No, but he was telling me about it. It was good reconnecting with him at the open house. He was very kind when he came to the funeral. He didn’t go running off after Valerie’s appearance, like some people did. We’re going to have lunch sometime.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Stay here,” Caprice said. “Just in case it’s Marianne Brisbane.”

  “If she pushes her way in, I’ll duck outside.”

  Caprice hadn’t seen the reporter again, nor received any phone calls. She’d wondered if she’d given up. Yet she knew reporters didn’t give up.

  As Caprice opened the door, she had a pleasant surprise. The young man standing there carried a vase filled with red roses and baby’s breath, along with a few ferns. “Caprice De Luca?” he asked.

  “That’s me.” Glancing around for the animals, she saw Stripes had clawed her way up the cat condo and was lounging on the first shelf. Creamsicle scampered after Sophia up the stairs. Caprice didn’t want any of them darting out the door.

  The man with the flowers handed her the vase and said, “Have a good day.” As he returned to his van, she saw the flowers had come from Posies, one of the two local flower shops.

  Closing the door, Caprice carried the vase into the kitchen. She suspected whom it might be from but didn’t want to jump to any conclusions. After all, her clients might have been glad about their sale and sent her the bouquet to thank her. Or the real estate agent might have done the same. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  Still they were red roses. Not mums or carnations, not even something exotic.

  “So what’s this?” Roz asked with a quirked blond brow.

  “I’ll soon find out.” Caprice plucked the white envelope from the plastic card holder and found her heart was beating way too fast for early morning. She just held it between the tips of her fingers for a few seconds.

  “Open it,” Roz coaxed. “We know who it’s from. Let see what he said.”

  When she’d returned home after her date, Roz had given her the third degree, and Caprice had happily related every detail about it. “We don’t know that it’s from Seth.”

  Roz gave her a get-real look.

  Caprice slid the card from the small envelope. The scrawl was difficult to read—a doctor’s handwriting. She smiled, feeling an excited warmth fill her.

  Caprice—Thinking of our date and the next one. Seth

  She read the message aloud, knowing Roz would expect nothing less.

  “What a great start. I hope you two can go out again soon.”

  Taking the vase to the sink, Caprice filled it with a little more water. “I don’t know. His schedule sounds heavy. But it’s possible we could have an early morning coffee date.”

  “At least the flowers show you he had a good time.”

  “Is that what they show me? I’m not very experienced at starting new relationships, Roz. When I’m with Seth, I’m afraid I’ll put my foot in my mouth.”

  “That’s because you like him. And my guess is you feel some vibes coming back from him too.”

  Caprice thought about when he’d almost kissed her. At least she thought he’d almost kissed her. Not only didn’t she trust men, but she was unsure of her self-confidence when she was with them. Was past experience a good teacher? Or did past experience just cause doubts and uncertainties that could derail a future relationship? She certainly didn’t have the answers.

  “I know this is probably something you haven’t thought of. It’s so soon after Ted died. But do you think you’ll ever be able to trust a man again?”

  When Roz stood, Dylan trotted into the living room to find animal company. Going to the sink where the vase was sitting, she picked it up and took a whiff of the roses. “I can’t believe everything Ted and I had was a sham. What we had at the beginning seemed so real. So perfect. My guess is when something is perfect, you really should doubt it.”

  Caprice was old enough to know nothing was perfect, at least for not very long. “I’ve been thinking about you and Ted a lot. I don’t think he would’ve built that house for you if he didn’t love you. He put so much attention to the details in it, details that he
thought would please you. A man doesn’t do that for a woman he doesn’t love.”

  “I don’t know when he stopped loving me,” Roz said in a small voice with a catch in her throat.

  “Maybe he didn’t stop loving you.”

  “Do you think he loved me and Valerie? That’s hard to swallow. And when I think about the time we spent together in New York, I wonder if he was pretending to love me.”

  “Maybe he didn’t love Valerie. Maybe she was just a distraction because of everything else going on in his life—the troubles at work and the tension that caused with you.”

  “She was some distraction. But she thinks he loved her.”

  “Is that so unusual when a man has sex with a woman? Doesn’t the woman sometimes delude herself that it’s love?”

  “I did. But we’ll never know in their case.”

  “If you never know, then you’ll have to choose what you believe about Ted. Wouldn’t it be better to believe that he really loved you and just got off on the wrong track somehow?”

  Roz’s face showed surprise. “I never thought you’d stand up for him.”

  “I’m not standing up for him. I’m standing up for you. There’s a big difference.”

  “Yes, I guess there is,” Roz said. “But to answer your question—”

  Caprice’s cell phone sounded from her pocket. “I don’t have to get that.”

  “Go ahead. It could be important.”

  When Caprice took her phone from her pocket and glanced at the screen, she looked again to make sure she was seeing correctly. She didn’t recognize the phone number, but she did recognize the name—L. Hippensteel.

  She quickly put the phone to her ear. “Lonnie.”

  Lonnie’s voice was low. “Can you meet me somewhere?”

  “Where?”

  “Someplace inconspicuous. How about the parking lot at Country Fields Shopping Center?”

  “What time?”

  “How about three, at the south end?”

  “I can do that. Do you want to tell me what this is about?”