Drape Expectations

by Karen Rose Smith

Mirabelle had made a bed for herself on an old quilt on the floor. She seemed quite contented there, especially when the door to the room was open.

  Since Lady was right by her side, Caprice said to the cocker, “I think you scare her.”

  Lady looked up at her as if she had no idea why that might be.

  As Caprice considered the past few days, she realized Sophia never seemed to venture near the room when the door was open. She seemed to be under the impression that if she ignored Mirabelle, the Persian might go away. If she turned her back on her, the other cat wasn’t there.

  Caprice knew patience was important in a situation like this, but she also had to use common sense, too. If what she had done so far wasn’t working, she had to change what she was doing.

  So patting her hip, she said, “Come on, girl” to Lady, then walked out of the spare room and into her bedroom. Lady followed. She didn’t close the spare room door. She knew Lady was ready for a good night’s sleep because she settled in her bed on the floor beside Caprice’s bed.

  Caprice’s bedroom, like every other room in the house, brought a smile to her face when she entered it. There was the yellow armoire with hand-painted hummingbirds and roses, the pastel braided rugs in blue, pink, and yellow. With the yellow-flowered swag valances topping sheer pink panels, which coordinated with colors in the valance, Caprice had given the room a light, airy feel.

  “I’m about as ready for bed as you are,” she said to Lady as she changed into draw-stringed pajama pants printed with kittens and a pale pink matching T-shirt. “But I’m going to read for a while and see if Mirabelle joins us.”

  She had decorating magazines she wanted to page through, as well as a few on her e-tablet. She tried to keep up with the trends, though they didn’t dictate how she decorated anything. It all depended on the personality of her client and his or her likes and dislikes.

  However, before Caprice could even page through two magazines, the day took its toll. She fell asleep with the magazine open on her lap, her e-tablet beside her, and Lady snoring in her bed on the floor.

  To her surprise, when she awakened around 2:00 A.M., Mirabelle was on her bed! She’d snuggled close to Caprice’s leg.

  “You came out,” Caprice said, delighted.

  Mirabelle blinked her golden eyes and didn’t twitch a whisker.

  “And you expect me to protect you,” Caprice added.

  Just then, there was a meow from the top of the chest of drawers by the window. Sophia perched there.

  “Hey, there,” Caprice said, stifling a yawn. “There’s room on the bed.” But Sophia just blinked her eyes, swished her tail, and stared at Caprice and Mirabelle accusingly.

  “You all sleep where you want. I’ve got to get some shut-eye. See you in the morning.”

  With that, Caprice turned out her light, closed her eyes, and easily fell back to sleep.

  In the morning, Mirabelle stayed upstairs. She seemed perfectly content on Caprice’s bed. To her relief, Lady didn’t jump up on the bed to rout her out. The cocker simply put her paws on the edge of the mattress and sniffed a couple of times. Mirabelle moved to the middle.

  When Caprice called to Lady, her dog followed her downstairs, as did Sophia, who must have spent the night on the chest of drawers. Her feline complained loudly before she ate her breakfast.

  “We’ll get used to this,” Caprice assured Sophia as she opened the door to take Lady outside.

  The early-April morning was cold, though “cold” was a relative term. The temperature had dropped to the forties and Caprice’s light jacket didn’t seem warm enough.

  Lady, of course, was just fine as she snuffled among the daffodils, which were popping up, and sniffed at the crocuses in the corner.

  Caprice took her cell phone from her pocket, hesitated only a moment, then called the Kismet Police Department. When she asked for Detective Carstead, she was advised she could leave a message on his voice mail. She did.

  To ignore her chill, Caprice exercised with Lady, running across the yard with her, throwing her ball over and over again. Lady never tired of bringing that tennis ball back to Caprice’s feet. Lady was hunched down, her head on her front paws nosing the ball, her hind end still raised, when Caprice heard her name called from beyond the yard’s gate.

  “Caprice?”

  It was Nikki’s voice.

  The gate opened and her sister stepped into the yard, bundled in her red winter jacket and jeans.

  Lady ran over to her immediately and rolled over at her feet.

  “I wish everyone greeted me that way,” Nikki said wryly, crouching down and rubbing Lady’s tummy.

  After a few minutes of that, she stood and Caprice could see something was on her mind. “You’re out and about early,” she prompted.

  “I had to talk to somebody or I’d burst.” Nikki’s hands were balled into fists and she looked more agitated than Caprice had seen her in a while.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Drew Pierson is what’s going on.”

  Nikki was usually fairly unflappable. Right now, she looked as if she was ready to strangle someone; and from her statement, that person was Drew Pierson. Her sister’s hair was disheveled, appearing as if Nikki had been running her hand through it, and she couldn’t seem to stand still as she shifted from one sneakered foot to another.

  Stooping, Nikki picked up Lady’s ball and tossed it.

  Lady ran after it, happy to be playing again.

  “What did he do? Call you and tell you he wants to combine your businesses? Or did he call you and ask you for a date?” Caprice suspected that sparks between Nikki and Drew had been the real reason she’d turned him down as a partner. She definitely did not want to mix business with pleasure.

  “Either of those two I could have dealt with,” Nikki muttered. “But since he started up his catering jobs, I’ve lost two clients to him. One was a wedding reception for a couple I’d met at one of your open houses. The other was a cocktail party for Melba and Colin Brown.”

  Melba and Colin practically ran the entertainment agenda for the country club. That couple was influential and a definite loss.

  “I met Melba when I catered a luncheon at Country Squire Golf and Recreation Club,” Nikki explained. “She liked what I offered and the way I presented the food. And I thought I had the party locked down. I followed up with a call to her and discovered she’d signed on with Drew.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “No, but I got the impression that someone had talked down the way I prepare food. Also, she did say Marlow Bernstein and his wife recommended Drew.”

  The Bernsteins were also patrons of Country Squire. “In fact, don’t they run the social calendar, like scheduling bridge club events and garden society dinners?”

  “Exactly. I asked Mom if she knew them. After all, many of the St. Francis of Assisi parishioners do attend Country Squire shindigs.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said she thought Drew’s mother’s maiden name was Bernstein, so that could be it—a family connection. But those were two important clients to lose, and not catering their parties will leave a hole in my budget.”

  With a rush of motion, Lady brought the tennis ball back to Nikki, dropping it before her sneakers.

  Another caterer in town was definitely going to cut into Nikki’s profits. On top of that, the fact that her competition was Drew, whom she’d cooked with and talked with and joked with and considered taking on as a partner, made this situation that much worse and even galling.

  “You could try talking to Drew,” Caprice suggested.

  With a sigh, Nikki snatched up the ball and tossed it in a different direction than the last time. “What good would that do? He’s not going to close down a business he started because I can’t cut it.”

  “That’s not true. You can cut it. You’re acquiring catering jobs in York and even Lancaster. You need to expand those markets.”

  Caprice had learned a lot si
nce she’d started her own home-decorating business and now home-staging business. Nikki couldn’t just sit by and rely on clients in Kismet if she wanted to continue catering and make a living doing it.

  Watching Lady race after the ball, root it out, and snatch it up, Nikki agreed with Caprice’s assessment. “You know, that’s exactly what I was thinking. If Drew and I are going to be in competition, then we’re really going to be in competition. He’d better watch out, because I’m not going to let him cut down my business. I stewed about it all day yesterday and all last night. I don’t think I got a wink of sleep. But coming over here today, I came up with a few ideas. I need the name of your Web site designer.”

  Caprice smiled, liking the way Nikki was revved up now. “Going to revamp?”

  “Exactly. Instead of the basics, my site is going to have buttons and newsfeeds and maybe even a video of me cooking. I’m going to create a whole new Web presence.”

  When Lady plopped the ball at Nikki’s feet again, Caprice had to smile. This is what the De Lucas did. They didn’t take adversity lying down. They got up, shook themselves off, and figured out what to do next.

  “If you want social media feeds, then I imagine you’re going to get involved and post a few times a day? We can cross-post.”

  Nikki had often scoffed or pooh-poohed the time Caprice spent on her social media pages, but she’d found communicating with clients any way she could mattered, and Nikki was going to find that out, too.

  “You’re going to have to teach me about sharing and liking and tweeting and retweeting.”

  “It’s really not complicated. But it can be a time sink. You’ll have to figure out the best way to do it effectively, and you’re not going to build a following overnight. It will take time. I can help you with that, putting out calls on my pages, but you still have to put the time in.”

  “Oh, I’ll build my following, all right. At our house stagings, I’m going to make a concerted effort to have promotional materials ready, not just my business card. I’m thinking about having a pamphlet printed.”

  “A rack card might be more economical to begin with. I know a good online site you can use. We can either design it together, or my webmaster can do it for you.”

  Lady hunkered down with the ball, expecting another toss.

  “That’s enough for this morning,” Caprice told Lady. The tone of her voice, as well as her words, informed her pup that play had ended. Caprice snatched up the ball, patted her hip, and said, “Come on, we have to try and entice Mirabelle downstairs for breakfast.”

  Nikki asked, “Do you have time to go over the best venues to place ads?”

  “Sure. You ought to see if you can link to local businesses and their Web sites.”

  “Link?”

  “I’m sure Isaac would let you link to his Web site.”

  “You think somebody looking at an antique shop Web site would care about a caterer?”

  “You never know. You get your nails done at the Nail Yard. Maybe Judy would link with you, too. And what about the Cupcake House? We sometimes use Dana’s cupcakes at our open houses.”

  “You’re full of ideas.”

  “I try.”

  Once inside the kitchen, Caprice started a pot of coffee and fed Lady her breakfast. Sophia had finished hers long before and was already lounging on her cat tree in the living room.

  Caprice took a small can of cat food from the pantry, spooned half of it onto a dish, then went into the stairs and called, “Mirabelle? I have something for you to eat. If you don’t come and get it, Lady will eat this, too.”

  There was silence.

  “Mirabelle?” Caprice called again.

  Suddenly she heard a thump and Mirabelle appeared at the top of the stairs.

  “Come on. Meet me halfway. Then you can decide if you want to take an after-breakfast nap upstairs or downstairs.”

  Mirabelle’s nose twitched.

  Caprice had cheated with the food. Instead of Sophia’s usual diet of chicken or turkey, Caprice had chosen a can of cat food with tuna in it. Most cats couldn’t resist tuna, and Caprice knew Mirabelle liked it from the hungry way she’d eaten the real thing on the day of Alanna’s open house.

  Caprice called into Nikki, “Keep Lady occupied for a few minutes, will you?”

  “Will do.”

  She glanced into the living room at Sophia, who didn’t seem to give a hoot what she was doing with Mirabelle. Yet, Caprice knew better from the swish of her long-haired calico’s tail. Sophia was attuned to exactly where Mirabelle was sitting and the attention Caprice was giving her.

  “Come on,” she coaxed Mirabelle again, waving the dish a little. Then she set it on the sixth step.

  Mirabelle came down the top step slowly, one paw at a time.

  “We’re good,” Caprice cooed. “Lady’s in the kitchen with Nikki. Nobody’s going to bother you.”

  After looking all around just to make sure, Mirabelle tentatively stepped down another step, then another, then another. Soon she was on the step with the dish, lapping up the food eagerly.

  “Aha!” Caprice said with satisfaction. “Hunger and tuna help every time.”

  In no time at all, Mirabelle had lapped up all the food. She sat on the step, washing and licking her lips. Every once in a while, she glanced up at Sophia to see if she’d moved a whisker or a paw. But all was quiet.

  Still, when Caprice lifted the dish, Mirabelle meowed. Caprice petted her, rubbed her under the chin and behind her ears. “Are you going to stay down?”

  Mirabelle took another look at Sophia and then scampered back upstairs.

  Progress. That’s what mattered.

  On her way back to the kitchen, Caprice heard her cell phone play. She snatched it from her pocket. “Hello?”

  “Miss De Luca?”

  She recognized the voice. “Yes.”

  “This is Detective Carstead. I understand you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I’d like to discuss the Alanna Goodwin investigation.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” he said firmly.

  “I know you can’t tell me anything, but I might have a few things to tell you.”

  Was that a sigh she heard?

  He responded, “I’m on my way out now. But how about if you meet me back at the station around noon?”

  “That sounds like a plan.”

  “I’ll see you then.” He didn’t say good-bye; he just hung up.

  At least he hadn’t dismissed her. At least he was willing to listen to her.

  At least ... she hoped so.

  Caprice had been at the Kismet police station many times before, under more stressful circumstances. She’d sat on that hard bench in the reception area for hours. But today she went right up to the desk and said, “Caprice De Luca to see Detective Carstead.”

  The on-duty officer, whose name tag read, OFFICER CARSON MENDEZ, looked down at a printout on his desk and nodded. “He’s back. I’ll buzz him.” He did; and a minute later, Detective Carstead was in the doorway motioning to her.

  Generally speaking, she knew how this meeting was going to progress. He’d be terse and gruff and he’d want her out of there fast. That was just fine. She’d say what she had to say and leave. He could either take the information and do something with it ... or not.

  The detective didn’t lead her to the interrogation room, but rather to his office. It was small and messy. Folders topped two file cabinets and also straggled across his desk. Binders filled a bookcase, but the top shelf held a photograph of an older couple. She imagined they were his parents. In another photograph, she recognized a younger Brett Carstead. His arm circled a boy about the same age as he was. His brother, maybe? She didn’t know much about Detective Carstead, just that his attitude wasn’t as arrogant and terse as Detective Jones’s. She’d seen compassion in his eyes more than once, and she was glad of that.

  He motioned to the wood-and-fabric chairs in front of his desk. She settled into one and watched
him as he sat across the desk from her. His gaze seemed to see everything about her in a glance, from her Beatles T-shirt (she had several) to her russet flared slacks, from her tapestry vest with the copper-colored fringe to her pocketbook. When his gaze fell upon her macramé purse, she wondered just what he was thinking. Some guys thought the way she dressed was strange.

  Seth didn’t.

  She didn’t think Grant did, either. He’d come to accept it as part of who she’d come to be. But she’d seen the looks and stares about her clothes, not about her. She walked to the beat of a different drummer. What could she say?

  “You’ve never come here before to share information,” he said.

  “Before, I never felt I had information that I needed to share.”

  He shook his head. “Are we going to go round and round?”

  “Absolutely not. I have something to tell you about Alanna Goodwin and Len Lowery.”

  Carstead shuffled over his desk and found a folder. He opened it. “Lowery is one of Ace Richland’s band members. What does he have to do with Alanna Goodwin?”

  “That’s the whole point, Detective Carstead. When I went to Alanna’s house for the staging, I found Alanna and Len huddled outside on the veranda, away from everyone else. I couldn’t hear what they were talking about and I had prospective buyers with me, so I backed off, backed away, and forgot about it.”

  “And why did you remember it again?” He picked up a pen and was playing with it now, switching it on, then off again.

  Her moments were numbered if she couldn’t get him interested. “I didn’t leave the open house with as much professional aplomb as I would have liked.”

  His eyes assessed her once more. “Do you mind if I ask you why?”

  This was why she was here. “I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, but Alanna was not taking care of Mirabelle, at least not in the right way. Her cat,” Caprice reminded him.

  He nodded and waited for her to go on.

  Caprice did. “Sure, Mirabelle had a roof over her head. She had shelter and food. But I’m not sure how much loving she got, or what else went on when Alanna was and wasn’t there. I got the feeling that every time she had a meeting or women in for afternoon tea and she didn’t want to bother with Mirabelle, she stuffed her in a closet. That’s where I found her the day of the open house. This tiny cubicle of a closet, with no food or water and no place to nap, not even a towel crumpled on the floor. Did you ever hear of such a thing?”