Thank goodness her dad had a good friend with a badge who owed him at least one favor!
Detective Jones had Dave Harding cuffed in a matter of minutes.
As Chief Powalski surged toward Caprice, he looked as worried as her father would have been. “Are you okay?”
Shakily, she nodded. She’d been connected to the chief’s line the whole time. Even though she’d muted him, with the phone on speaker he’d been able to hear her.
Detective Jones crossed to the chief while Harding was read his rights by one of the officers. Pulling latex gloves from his pocket, he snapped them on and addressed Caprice. “The chief should arrest you for obstruction of justice.”
“You didn’t have a case,” she protested.
“We were keeping an eye on him.”
“And on Roz too,” Caprice tossed back, determined not to let the detective intimidate her.
With a frustrated shake of his head, Jones stooped to pick up the dagger.
The jewels glimmered in the end-of-day light streaming through the bottom half of the window.
As Harding was led toward the door, the chief said, “Nobody’s heart’s desire is worth murder.”
Caprice stared at the dagger, suddenly realizing how dangerously close she’d come to being murdered herself. Her knees wobbled and Chief Mack Powalski, who’d pushed her on a swing when she was a child, caught her before she sagged to the floor.
Epilogue
The open house on Sunday was as much fun as a Caribbean vacation. While Nikki served frozen strawberry and banana smoothies, waiters in flowing white shirts passed trays of roasted pork with pineapple, brown sugar and mustard–coated salmon, and coconut-garnished fruit salad. Caprice’s multicolored dress floated around her as she made sure all ran smoothly.
Often she was stopped by an attendee who recognized her from the photo that accompanied the article Marianne Brisbane had written. The piece had been picked up by several newspapers and the story had fleetingly flown by on cable news—AMATEUR SLEUTH HELPS POLICE IN STING TO CATCH AN ALLEGED KILLER. Caprice knew the furor would die down soon, though the Office of Regulatory Affairs, another center within the FDA, was starting a field investigation into PA Pharm’s practices.
The capiz-shell chandelier tinkled above the guests’ chatter, jiggled by the huge ceiling fan in the adjoining room. Back in her element, Caprice felt like her old self again—her pre-sleuthing self. She was ashamed her nerves hadn’t held up until she’d left Dave Harding’s house and gotten home.
Soon Roz and Dylan would be moving into a town house with a yard and Caprice would be living with only Sophia again. This whole crisis had changed her friendship with Roz. They were best friends now, with a bond that would last.
She was hoping she and Seth were working on another bond that would last. They’d had another coffee date, discussing everything that had happened—not only her confrontation with Dave but Bella’s situation too. Everyone had seen the tension between her and Joe when they’d returned to the party. Caprice just hoped they could talk about their problems instead of letting them come between them.
As Caprice threaded through prospective buyers to the atrium with its wicker furniture, pastel fabrics, and sisal rug, she was grateful for a bit of solitude. Everyone else seemed to be looking and mingling in the more expansive rooms at the front of the house. Caprice was still a bit introspective, still considering everything that had happened, including the police finding the key to Ted’s curio cabinet in the drawer where Dave had kept the stolen dagger; she stood at one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, peering into the sunny, late-afternoon view of a pool and patio that stretched across the backyard.
“Thinking about going for a swim?” The deep male baritone was easily recognizable, though in this setting Grant’s voice seemed foreign.
“I don’t have my swimsuit. What are you doing here? Thinking about buying a house?” When she turned toward him, their gazes locked.
He shook his head. “Not yet.”
Not yet? What did that mean? She hadn’t seen or spoken to Grant since her mom’s birthday party.
Grant broke the sudden silence. “I stopped by because I wanted to see what you do. Quite a shindig!”
“I try.”
“I know you do. I’m impressed.” He shifted on his Docksiders, then came a little closer. “I also wanted to congratulate you on solving Winslow’s murder. But . . .”
She held up her hand to stop him. “My family, Chief Powalski, and Roz have already raked me over the proverbial coals many times. You don’t have to do it too.”
She held up a tray of little coconut-walnut pastries for him to sample one. But he took the wooden tray from her and set it down again.
“I didn’t come to eat. I came to get your promise that you won’t do something that dangerous again.”
Everyone who’d cared about her had been afraid for her. Had Grant felt that moment of fear when he’d learned what she’d done?
She still wasn’t sure if she’d done something foolish or something brave. Yet seeing Ted’s murderer in handcuffs, knowing Roz was in the clear, hoping her friend could move on, she knew she had to be honest with him.
“I have no intention of solving another murder.”
“But?” he prompted.
“But I can’t promise that, given the chance, I wouldn’t do it again.” There had been both an adrenaline rush from the danger and satisfaction in helping a friend. But how often in a person’s lifetime did anything like this happen?
Grant studied her for several moments. Then he nodded. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” He headed for the doorway that led to the hall and the part of the house where the open house was most successful.
“Grant?”
Stopping, he waited.
“Friends accept each other for who they are.”
“Is that what we are? Friends?”
“I hope so.”
After a half smile that seemed truly genuine, he left her alone in the atrium.
She smiled too.
ORIGINAL RECIPES
Nana’s Minestrone Soup
2 tbsp. extra-virgin olive oil
1 pound ground beef
1 cup medium pasta shells
1 cup onion, chopped
1 clove of garlic, grated
1 tsp. salt (to taste, depending on the broth you use)
½ tsp. oregano
A pinch to tsp. crushed red pepper
2 cans diced tomatoes with juice (14–16 oz. each)
1 cup tomato juice
1 quart chicken broth
1 quart beef stock
½–1 pound fresh endive or escarole, snipped or cut into ½ inch pieces (leafy green part only)
1 can Great Northern beans (drained)
1 cup celery
1 cup shredded carrots (I buy them this way)
1 cup shredded cabbage (I use cole-slaw mixture)
1 cup sliced zucchini
1 cup cut green beans (fresh or frozen)
1 bay leaf
Romano cheese to sprinkle on top
Brown ground beef on medium heat in olive oil in an 8-quart soup pot. When browned (no pink remaining), add chopped onion, grated garlic, oregano, and crushed red pepper. Stir for a minute to mix flavors. Add tomato juice, tomatoes, and salt, and stir. Add beef stock and chicken broth, then bring to a boil. Stir in Great Northern beans, celery, carrots, zucchini, cabbage, and green beans. (If using frozen green beans, bring soup to a boil again before adding endive.) Add endive last.
Bring soup to a boil again, add bay leaf, then simmer, covered, on low for 30 minutes. Bring to a boil again, remove bay leaf, add pasta, stir once more, and cook until pasta is the way you like it, usually 10–12 minutes, without lid. Stir a few times while pasta is cooking.
Sprinkle each serving with Romano cheese and serve with crusty bread. Makes 12–15 servings.
Caprice’s Tuna Cups
2 5 oz. cans chunk light tuna in water, drai
ned
2½ tbsp. mayonnaise
2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
2 tbsp. pickle relish
½ cup celery, chopped
1 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
10 slices of bread
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix tuna, eggs, and celery in bowl with mayonnaise and pickle relish until well blended. Press one slice of bread into each cup of a regular-size muffin tin. Fill each cup with tuna mixture. Bake for 15 minutes at 350. Remove from oven and sprinkle each cup with cheese. Bake another 7 minutes.
Nikki’s Pasta, Sunflower Seed,
Avocado & Tomato Salad
Salad Ingredients
½ cup sunflower seeds
¼ cup chopped red onion
¼ tsp. salt
1½ cups piccolini (wheel) pasta (boil in 4 quarts of water)
2 cups (about 30) cherry or grape tomatoes
1 avocado
1 tsp. salt (for pasta water)
½ cup crumbled feta cheese
1 tbsp. fresh oregano minced, or ½ tsp. dried
Dressing Ingredients
½ cup white balsamic vinegar
½ cup olive oil
¼ tsp. pepper
½ tsp. sugar
Mix vinegar, oil, pepper, and sugar
Pasta
Bring 4 quarts of water and 1 teaspoon salt to a boil. Add 1½ cups of piccolini (wheels) pasta. Boil for 7–8 minutes. Drain. Run cold water over it and drain again. We don’t want it to melt the feta!
Halve cherry tomatoes. Add to large bowl. Halve avocado, remove seed, scoop from shell, and cube. Add to tomatoes. When pasta has cooled (you can run cold water over it and drain), add that and then the sunflower seeds, salt, onion, and oregano. Mix dressing, stir, and pour it over all. Toss lightly. Add crumbled feta cheese and toss lightly again. Refrigerate.
Serves 6–8.
Please turn the page
for an exciting sneak peek of
Karen Rose Smith’s
next Caprice De Luca mystery
coming in June 2014
from Kensington Publishing!
Chapter One
“It’s a crime to cover that up!”
Caprice De Luca watched Eliza, with her symmetrically styled, sleek ash-blond hair, anchor her hands on her slim hips and pout.
As a home-stager, Caprice often had battles with her clients about de-cluttering their homes to present them in the best form to the buying public. In this case, however, de-cluttering wasn’t the issue . . . color was. Eliza Cornwall had decorated her mansion in countless shades of purple. The deep purples especially had made Caprice’s eyes roll more than once.
Before she could respond with just the right amount of tact, Bob Preston ordered, “Stop complaining, Eliza.” The painter was balanced on a ten-foot ladder, but that didn’t stop his flow of words. “Caprice told me Baroque Bedazzle is your theme. Everything will show up better with this cream and pale green as its backdrop.”
“It really will, Eliza,” Caprice reassured her client. “You know we’ve discussed this color scheme backward and forward.” Caprice thought about the hours she’d invested in this particular home-staging process.
“And upside down too, I imagine,” Bob wisecracked with a wink for Caprice.
Caprice often used Bob and his painting crews. Bob himself wasn’t averse to personally picking up a paintbrush and working hard when he was short-handed. He had light brown hair and myriad muscles, and was six feet tall. He could also charm the paint off the wall. Caprice knew about his lady-killer tendencies because her sister, Bella, had dated him seriously years ago. Today he wore a red, chest-hugging T-shirt and jeans that weren’t any too loose.
The way Eliza was looking at him . . . the way Bob spoke to her with familiarity . . . Caprice suddenly wondered if Eliza and Bob had hooked up. Eliza was in her late thirties, so she might be six to eight years older than Bob, but in this day and age, that difference didn’t much matter.
“What if the house doesn’t sell?” Eliza asked with panic in her voice. “What if I have to stay in Kismet instead of moving to L.A.?”
“I can’t imagine Christmas in L.A.,” Bob remarked laconically, as he expertly wielded the paint roller toward the ceiling. “Are you sure you want to trade Pennsylvania’s seasons for sunny weather all year, not to mention mudslides, earthquakes, and wildfires?”
When Caprice saw the corners of Bob’s mouth twitch up, she knew he was teasing. Another reason to believe he and Eliza could have once been involved . . . or were maybe involved now.
“I won’t miss the ice and snow, or Kismet’s small-town gossip mill. Not one little bit,” Eliza muttered.
Caprice thought about Eliza’s comment. Kismet, located outside York and a bit farther from Harrisburg, did have a grapevine that tangled through its neighborhoods with more accuracy than most residents gave it credit for. But the town also had community spirit. Neighbors helped neighbors. Eliza had moved here about five years ago and started Connect Xpress, a video and online dating service. If the worth of this mansion was an accurate indicator, she was a multimillionaire.
Caprice had dealt with quite a few of those in her high-end staging business. Before she signed on with a client, they decided on a unique theme that would help the house stand out and sell more quickly than others in the same price range.
Bob, who had been born and bred in Kismet, must have agreed with Caprice’s assessment of the town rather than Eliza’s because again he quickly said, “Give it a rest, Lize. Kismet’s been good to you.”
Lize? Caprice had never heard the entrepreneur called by that nickname . . . or any other.
Eliza moved closer to Bob, ready to give as good as she got, when a reverberating gong traveled through the house. In the empty living room, the hollow sound echoed off the walls.
“No housekeeper,” Eliza said, as if reminding herself. “I gave her the week off because of all the rearranging and painting.” She started toward the front of the mansion.
Bob peered down at Caprice and lowered his voice. “She must be low on estrogen today.”
Although Bob’s attitude was friendly and conspiratorial, she wouldn’t be drawn into a discussion of her client. Uncomfortable with Bob’s comment, thinking about the best way to be diplomatic, Caprice brushed her straight, long, dark-brown hair over her shoulder. The seventies hairdo with bangs was a nod to the retro-fashion sense she appreciated the most.
As Bob eyed her fifties-style summer dress and white sandals, he considered her silence and shook his head. “You women know how to stick together. But that’s a good thing, I guess.” He grinned as he stretched to reach an unpainted area close to the ceiling.
Changing the topic of conversation, he asked, “Taken in any strays lately? That article the reporter did on you a few months back was pretty good. Of course, the tie-up of the murder you solved at the end of May was even better. You sure do know how to get press for your business.”
“What an awful thing to say!” Caprice erupted, tired of trying to be diplomatic. “I take in strays because they need a home, not to get publicity for my business. And as far as the murder—Roz was a good friend and I had to help her.”
“Whoa,” Bob said, holding up his roller to stop her. “I was just yanking your chain. Maybe Eliza’s mood is rubbing off on you. Or maybe we’re behind schedule and you’re freaking out.”
Yes, they were behind schedule, but she was not freaking out.
He went on, “Think about that doctor you’re dating. That will mellow you out. I spotted the two of you at the Koffee Klatch the other morning. You didn’t need caffeine to get revved up over each other. That was obvious.”
Caprice felt a flush creeping into her cheeks. She’d been “dating” Seth Randolph for almost two months, but they hadn’t enjoyed many full-fledged dates. With his schedule at Kismet’s urgent care center, a morning coffee or an evening ice cream was about all they’d managed after their initial miniature golfing date. She’
d fallen for Seth quickly, and most of the time, the depth of their attraction and their rapport scared her.
Bob laughed. “When a girl blushes about a guy, she’s hooked.”
Caprice was about to tell Bob he was out of line today in several respects, but she was kept from doing so by the voices approaching the living room. Eliza’s voice was the loudest, but she thought she recognized the other one—
Eliza and Bella, Caprice’s sister, entered the living room, chattering. Caprice didn’t think they were acquainted. After all, Eliza Cornwall and Bella Santini didn’t move in the same circles.
Bella was saying, “I always wondered about matchmaking services and how you pair people up.”
Caprice took a deep breath. Was Bella wondering about matchmaking because her marriage was in trouble?
“I have a sophisticated computer program that does the initial matching,” Eliza explained. “But I also use my instincts with the video footage we shoot.”
“They must be great instincts if you’re going to open a Connect Xpress in L.A. How exciting that must be. And moving to California—I’ve always wanted to take a vacation there.”
“You should,” Eliza encouraged her.
“With two kids and a budget, that’s not in the cards right now.” Bella’s hand went to her stomach, and Caprice knew her sister was thinking about the child she carried. She wasn’t showing yet at three and a half months. But she was looking tired and a bit frazzled. In jeans and a wrinkled blouse with her black, curly hair tied back, Bella wasn’t her usual well-put-together self.
Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 25
