Gilt by Association (12 page)

Besides that complex, small cottages dotted postage-stamp-sized lots. The campus was well-maintained with spring, summer, and fall gardens overflowing with knock-out roses, pansies, and marigolds. In the winter, twinkle lights blinked around Stonegate Corner's massive stone entrance. It was a pleasant place to live with no outside upkeep or inside repairs. Of course, residents of the community paid a fee for that, but Nikki said it was well worth it.

Oh, yes, and it was a pet-friendly environment, though there were limits on the number of pets a resident could have.

Caprice leashed Lady and then walked her into the entrance of Nikki's building through double glass doors into a foyer that opened to the elevator. To the left was a fire door that led to a staircase. Briefly Caprice thought about running up the staircase to the second floor where Nikki's condo was located. But . . .

She didn't feel like exercise right now. She'd make time to go for a swim on Sunday. She really would. She'd joined Shape Up because swimming was the one exercise she minded least. But winter, wet hair, and swimming didn't always go together. Still she knew she needed the exercise. Maybe after church on Sunday.
Yes, Sunday,
she promised herself.

Stepping into the elevator with Lady, she moved to the back. The doors swished shut and Lady gave a small yip. The first few times they'd done this, she'd barked constantly until they'd arrived at Nikki's floor. But Caprice's “eh-eh's,” a shake of her head, and her frown, along with no treat, had soon convinced Lady that keeping barks to a minimum was a better way to go.

A treat handy in her pocket now, Caprice gave it to Lady and patted her on the head. “Good girl. Very good girl. No barking in the elevator.”

Lady's big brown eyes and the cock of her head said she got it now. If she kept quiet, there'd be another treat when those doors opened again.

Another treat and a short walk to the door of Nikki's condo and they were there. Caprice knew she should have called or texted Nikki, but sometimes unexpected drop-ins between sisters were the best visits.

Caprice rethought the drop-in idea when she rang the bell and the door flew open. A handsome man stood there with raised brows. His hair was mussed in that new run-your-hands-through-it-but-gelled way. He was wearing a football jersey, jeans, and a white chef 's apron that had a few spatters. Just what had she interrupted?

Obviously nothing that required supreme privacy because Nikki called from her kitchen, “Who is it?”

The man called back, “I don't know, but she's got a dog.”

Her sister called, “Is it a golden cocker spaniel?”

“Looks like it,” he called back.

Enough of this. Caprice stepped inside around him and said, “It's me, Nik. What's up?”

“Cooking,” her sister responded with a smile. “Drew and I are experimenting. Come on in. This food isn't going to clients so Lady can be in here. And I do have news for you. I'm catering a party at Ace Richland's estate.”

The aroma of sautéeing onion and peppers, along with simmering meat, had Lady's nose up in the air as she sniffed her way to the kitchen. Caprice followed, noticing the food spread out on the counters. The mixer head was standing up and ready as if Nikki had been about to stir up baked goods in there.

“You said you're not cooking for clients?”

Drew glanced at Lady as if wondering if she was friendly or not and crossed to Caprice. “She's interviewing me.”

Caprice waved to the counters. “Some interview. Not name, rank, and serial number.”

Nikki laughed. “No, more like past food preparation history and can-you-pass-me-the-salt when I need it.”

Drew grimaced. “Coordinating work in a kitchen sometimes is a little tough, but I think Nikki and I are getting it down.” His green eyes twinkled with something other than food preparation.

“Do you mind if we mix up this batter before we talk?” Nikki asked her. “I'd like to get it into the oven.”

“Go right ahead. I'll watch you work.”

Drew groaned. “Oh, no. Two De Luca sisters interviewing me.”

“Sorry I didn't introduce you,” Nikki said. “Drew Pierson, my sister Caprice, though it seems you recognize her from my description.”

So apparently Nikki and Drew had talked about her family. Maybe this wasn't their first “interview.”

“Both of you come up whenever anybody talks about food and your open houses with a feast. Those open houses are always gossip among real estate agents, from what I hear. Finding a job as a chef or sous chef these days isn't easy, especially if I want to do more than flip burgers. So when I heard Nikki was looking for a partner, I decided to apply.”

At least he was honest. Maybe. Men and honesty didn't always go together. For some reason, Caprice remembered Travis's declarations that he and his wife were finished. After all, they'd been divorced for two years. After all, there had been muddy water under their bridge. But their child had kept them glued together, and an old attraction had brought them back together. Had Travis been lying to her all along? Had he known those old feelings had still been there? It had seemed that way to Caprice.

So, no, she didn't always trust what men said.

As Nikki creamed butter and granulated sugar, Drew stood by, ready with a cup of brown sugar. Then he handed her the two eggs as if he'd been doing it all his life. Nikki used a spatula while he poured in a dry ingredients mixture, a quarter cup at a time. What looked like melted chocolate went in next. After a minute of letting the mixer do its work, Nikki was finished.

Drew had a loaf pan floured and ready, and slid it over to Nikki while she lifted the bowl. He held the pan while she poured in the batter. They worked as a unit, and Caprice knew that's what Nikki was looking for. Maybe this partnership would work out. That is, if romance didn't get in the way.

Nikki had opened the oven door, and Drew was slipping the pan onto the rack when Caprice's cell phone played. She didn't recognize the number. Then she spotted the name—Pearl Mellencamp.

“Excuse me a minute?” she asked Nikki and Drew, then said, “Come,” and patted her hip so Lady would follow her into the living room.

Nikki closed the oven door. “Go ahead. We're in the middle of everything.”

After Caprice's “hello,” she heard an abrupt “Are you sure you didn't tape our conversation?”

So Pearl must be worried that Caprice was going to use her words against her. Should she end this call quickly, or try to find out more?

Her curiosity always urged her to find out more.

Caprice thought about lying, but that simply wasn't her style. “No, I didn't record it. I had my line open with my sister and dog in the vehicle, just in case I might need backup.”

There was a pause as if Pearl was absorbing that. After she cleared her throat, she said, “If you want to know who shot Louise, you might want to talk with Don Rodriguez. He and Louise were friendly.” Pearl made the word sound as if it were a major crime.

“And how do I find this Don Rodriguez?”

“You can look him up. I'm sure that fancy phone of yours can help you find his number.” Then she heard Pearl sigh. “He owns a body shop in Kismet that's open from seven to eleven on Saturdays, eight to five rest of the week. It's not in the safest part of town. It's over near the community center. You might want to take along that dog.”

“How will I recognize him?”

“Thick black mustache and heavy brows.”

After that bit of information, Pearl ended the call.

Caprice had thought about thanking her.

She'd have time tomorrow morning to stop in at the body shop before she went to the social hall to help sort food donations and decorate for the dance. The question was, Did she want to go to Rodriguez's shop alone . . . or did she want to take Lady?

Chapter Twelve

It really was a no-brainer whether or not she should take Lady along to visit Don Rodriguez's Body And Auto Repair Shop. A dog usually helped and didn't hinder. A dog was an object of conversation. A dog could protect. And anyone on the outside of Caprice's circle didn't need to know that Lady
was
an absolute lady.

Caprice had arisen early because she had a full day. She found arriving at Rodriguez's shop at eight
A.M.
as a benefit because there wasn't much activity. She supposed most drivers didn't want to take their cars to a mom-and-pop shop, but rather wanted one of the bigger dealerships with the benefits of computer analysis. Rodriguez probably had a steady round of consistent customers who knew what he could do and liked what he could do. That's the way these shops stayed in business.

Lady seemed to understand that she should act like a more mature pup this morning. She walked side by side with Caprice and waited patiently while her mistress opened the heavy door that led into the small complex. Three chairs dotted the waiting area, if you could call it that. They looked like they'd been stolen from a hospital lounge. Orange vinyl, they could easily be cleaned. The counter was L-shaped with one half of it built against the wall. That half stored the computer. There was a corkboard behind the counter with hooks, and a few sets of keys dangled there with numbers attached to them. The place seemed clean enough but the two bays that were just beyond the outer area sent smells of grease and oil and lubricants and car motors and car parts into the reception area.

Caprice wrinkled her nose. Not really her kind of place.

Except today it might be.

The man sitting at the desk on a stool, studying what looked like a manual in front of him, matched Pearl's description. He had a thick black mustache, black hair that was gray at the temples, and dark bushy brows. To top it off, his red name tag with the white lettering read DON.

When he glanced at Caprice as she walked in, his gaze traveled down to Lady and he smiled. That was a good sign.

“Can I help you?” he asked, with what sounded like a Texas drawl.

Texas. Pay dirt? Of course, an accent didn't mean anything. Someone from Virginia could have a drawl.

She went right up to the desk and Lady sat as if she was waiting for the questioning to begin. Caprice almost smiled at that thought . . . but didn't. Instead she extended her hand. “I'm Caprice De Luca.”

“Are you selling something?” Rodriguez asked with a raised brow.

Maybe she
should
sell something. Did investigators always get that question?

“No, I'm not. I thought about bringing my car in so I could strike up a conversation with you. It's a restored Camaro. But you might not have been able to take it today, or we might not have had time to talk, so I thought the direct approach might be better.”

“Direct approach?” He looked perplexed. “If you're not selling anything, why do I need a direct approach?” He glanced down at Lady again. “Unless you think I need a watchdog.”

Okay, so he had a sense of humor. That could be good. She'd see how he reacted to her next sentence. “I understand you knew Louise Downing.”

A defensive rigidity came into his shoulders under his red plaid flannel shirt. His jaw tightened and his lips compressed. Even under the mustache, she could tell that. His dark brown eyes became more wary. At six-two and with those shoulders, he could easily throw her out of his shop. However, he didn't.

He returned politely, “And just why does it matter if I did or didn't know Louise Downing? Are you a cop?”

She attempted to lighten the mood. “Do I look like a cop?”

He didn't smile, and his posture remained rigid.

“No, I'm not a cop,” she responded.

“A private investigator?”

“No, not one of those either, though I am investigating. Louise was a friend of the family. She and my mother were good friends. Francesca De Luca.”

There was a glimmer in his eyes that told her he might recognize the name. Just how friendly had he and Louise been?

“In addition to being around her as long as I can remember,” Caprice added, “she was also my client. I was staging her house to sell. I'm the one who found her dead in her greenhouse.”

Now an expression came into Rodriguez's eyes that could only be labeled as sad. “I'm sorry you found her like that. That had to have been difficult.”

“It was. My mother needs some answers. My family needs some answers. I'm trying to figure out who might have killed her.”

Rodriguez opened a drawer under his computer, and Caprice wondered if he was going for a gun.

But instead of a weapon, he pulled out a pair of glasses and settled the black-framed spectacles on his nose. “I thought you looked familiar. Your picture was in the paper. You solved that murder last summer.”

“I did. But I had lots of help along the way. People answering questions and giving me clues. So that's why I'm here. I need leads.”

He cocked his head and studied her speculatively. “Just who gave you my name?”

“I'd rather not say.”

“Then maybe I'd rather not talk.”

Lady whined a little and Caprice glanced down at her. She pointed to the rubber mat that lay in front of the desk.

“Down,” she said firmly with a hand signal.

Lady obeyed and Caprice quickly took a treat from her pocket and gave it to her pup. “Good girl. You're smart!”

Then she returned her focus back to Rodriguez. “Someone told me you and Louise were friendly. If you were friends, then you'll want to help me. I intend to get to the bottom of this whether you do help or not. But if you don't want to help, then I have to wonder why.”

He looked away for a moment and grimaced. “There are lots of reasons why I don't want to say anything, and none of them have anything to do with my guilt or innocence.”

“Anybody can be a suspect. Give me a reason not to make you one.”

He crossed his arms in front of him on the counter and glared at her. “What do you want to know?”

“Let's start with something easy. When did you meet Louise?”

Now he took off his glasses and fiddled with the side piece. “About twelve years ago.”

“Did you meet her here?”

“Where else would I meet her? Do I look like I'm anywhere in her league?”

Caprice ignored that. “Did she come in to get her car fixed?”

“Not in the way you mean. She came in one winter day, something like this, all upset. She was so shaken up she was almost crying, all because she'd sideswiped a mailbox, scraped some paint off her fancy car, and didn't want to tell her husband. I honestly don't know what brought her here to this shop. I do believe serendipity plays a part in some of our lives.”

He stared out the window of the door as if remembering that particular day. “She promised she'd pay cash. I needed cash, so I told her I could fix it right away. When I was trying to give her an estimate, she kept me talking. I finally realized why. She asked where I was from. When I told her Austin, she was interested in the goings-ons there, like she missed it. She said she'd grown up around there. After that, when I listened to her talk, I could hear that little bit of Texas in her voice. So I fixed her car good as new.”

“But you continued to see her after that? She stopped in again?” Caprice guessed.

“Now and then. She came to visit because we seemed to connect on some level. Or maybe she missed Texas. After a year of visiting every few months, I met her at a coffee place on the way to Harrisburg. She sometimes went there to meet with a financial advisor.”

More and more questions were popping up about Louise's insecurity about money. What was that about? “These meetings with you. Were they ever overnight?” That was the most subtle way she knew to ask if they were sleeping together.

“No,” he said loudly and firmly.

That resounding no told Caprice it had more than information behind it. It had Don Rodriguez's integrity behind it. She'd better step back from that one.

When Don gazed at Caprice, she saw a man who'd lost someone important to him. She saw a man who was grieving in his own way.

“How often would you see Louise?”

“She was always so busy. And we didn't like to be seen around town. That's why we went up to Harrisburg. She'd have a meeting and then we'd meet at the coffee place. Sometimes we were there two or three hours. It didn't matter much. Her husband worked long hours, never called her in between, which I didn't get. They'd been married a long time. He couldn't phone or text her and ask her how her day was going?”

“You would do that?”

“Sure, now and then. But not so much anyone would notice.”

“There's one all-important question here. Did Chet Downing know about your friendship with Louise?”

Rodriguez thought about it. “Louise didn't tell him when she came in here. She certainly didn't tell him about our meetings near Harrisburg.”

“But did Chet
know
about them, even if she didn't tell him?”

“That's possible,” Rodriguez readily admitted. “If her husband checked her phone, he'd see my number during times when the body shop wasn't open. Louise and I called each other sometimes when she was lonely in the evenings. It was a simple friendship.”

Simple or not, that friendship could have gotten Louise killed if Chet had known and been jealous enough.

She and Rodriguez were doing a defensive dance. He was trying not to tell her any more than he had to, and maybe there wasn't any more to tell. But on the other hand, all those years of friendship had to have resulted in something.

“It sounds as if you knew Louise pretty well. You said you talked about Texas. Did she confide anything to you about her life there before she moved to Kismet?”

He quickly shook his head. “Louise was funny about that. She talked about places she knew in Austin and even Houston, but she always skirted around personal stuff. I didn't want to poke because that wasn't what we were about. We kept everything easy . . . kind . . . and just plain friendly.”

Caprice didn't want to leave with Rodriguez regretting anything he'd told her. After all, she might need him again for further information. If he felt involved, he'd want to solve the crime, too. She found the Texas aspect intrigued her.

So she stopped the questions for now. “I might want to talk to you again. Is it okay if I stop back?”

She thought he might say “no.” But then he peered over the counter at Lady. “If you bring her, you're welcome.”

As she safely put Lady in her crate in the van and gave her praise and a treat for being so cooperative, Caprice could understand why Louise had liked Don Rodriguez. There was a gentlemanly courtliness about him. Before she climbed in her vehicle, she pulled her phone from her pocket and scrolled down her contact list for Rachel. She had some questions.

Once she was behind the wheel, she dialed. The housekeeper answered quickly.

“Hi, it's Caprice,” she said. “Do you mind if I ask you another question?

“No, go ahead.”

“Did Louise have any friends who visited with Texas accents?”

“Texas accents? I don't know if I'd really know a Texas accent, me being from here and all. But I can't remember anybody with any accents, except . . .”

“Except who?”

“Except there was this man who would call every once in a while. The call always came in to Louise's cell phone, but now and then if she was busy or her hands were full of dirt, she'd ask me to pick up the cell and answer. So I did. That man did talk differently, and after Louise spoke with him for a while, this little thing would happen to her voice.”

Voices mirroring each other, especially if it was natural for them to do so. “That's the only one?” Caprice asked.

“I can't remember anybody else.”

The other thing that was really bothering Caprice was Louise's sudden visit to the hospital the week before she was killed. What had
really
sent her there?

“I'm looking at some other avenues, too,” Caprice told Rachel. “I know this might seem a little odd, but what did Louise have to eat the day she got sick?”

Rachel easily gave her the rundown. “Louise had her usual breakfast of yogurt and granola. Then I went out shopping, and I didn't get home until midafternoon. But she'd had lunch with someone who brought organic chicken wraps, a favorite of Louise's. I know that because Louise had left half of one in the refrigerator. It was still in the deli wrap.”

Just who had Louise had lunch with that day? Had something she'd eaten made her sick?

“Of course you threw that half of chicken wrap away, right?”

“Oh, yes, down the garbage disposal.”

A dead end.