Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (12 page)

“Look, Miss Brisbane. I just picked up two stray kittens who need a home. I’d like to get them settled. Mrs. Winslow has other friends too, some with a lot more conveniences than I have. If you want to find her, maybe you should stretch your net. But keep in mind, if you do, she’s still not going to answer any questions.”

“And what about you? Were you at the crime scene?”

“Whether I was or wasn’t isn’t an issue. Because I’m not answering your questions either.”

“I could help,” the reporter suddenly said.

“Help with what?”

“I could help find out who the killer is. I don’t think Roz Winslow did it, even though she’s the prime person of interest.”

Caprice kept silent again. Most people didn’t like silence and rushed into the vacuum. Maybe she could learn something.

“Word on the street says she had means, motive, and opportunity.”

Everything in Caprice urged her to pose a denial and do it loudly. But she kept quiet. Maybe she could trust this woman and maybe she couldn’t. But she wouldn’t risk saying the wrong thing to the wrong person.

Marianne blew out a long breath. “All right. So you’re being loyal to your friend. Believe it or not, I admire friends who stick up for each other.” She took a business card from the pocket of her slacks. “If you change your mind, give me a call.”

Caprice just stared at the card. “Miss Brisbane—”

She extended it farther. “We were on a first-name basis when we did your interview. It’s Marianne. You never know when you can use my help. And . . . I’m always looking for a good source. I’ll warn you now, I’ve heard the D.A. is building a case against your friend. If I hear anything else, do you want me to let you know?”

She was not going to make a deal with the devil. Grant had contacts in the D.A.’s office. He’d gather the same information as this reporter, wouldn’t he?

As if Marianne Brisbane read her mind, the reporter said, “Lawyers don’t always have the skinny first.”

Caprice took the reporter’s card but didn’t commit.

Marianne Brisbane gave her a conspiratorial smile and returned to her car.

Not glancing around, Caprice heard the engine start. She hurried up her porch steps and unlocked the front door. Once inside, she set the cat carrier in the middle of the living room and waited, murmuring to the kittens. A few minutes later, she saw the reporter’s car pull away. As soon as it did, Caprice closed the blinds in the living room and the dining room’s bay windows. Once Roz came back inside with Dylan, she didn’t want anyone to know her friend was here. Thank goodness, Roz hadn’t picked up her car after the forensic team had finished with it and the crime scene.

Going to the back door, she called to Roz, “The coast is clear for now. I don’t know if she’ll be back. I closed the blinds.”

“I hate hiding out. Maybe I should go back to the house so you don’t have to deal with this kind of thing.”

“I’m okay, Roz. You can’t stay in that house.”

“I just can’t believe anyone would want to hurt me too.”

“You can’t take any chances.”

After a long, silent moment, Roz said, “Let Sophia meet her new housemates. Dylan and I are playing ball. Just give a shout or text me when you want us to come back in.”

After stopping in the laundry room to change her blouse—she been handling the kittens and she didn’t want Sophia to smell them on her yet—and then washing her hands at the kitchen sink, Caprice went upstairs to her bedroom to fetch Sophia. The cat was sprawled on Caprice’s bed on her side, her paws stretched out as if she was reaching for one of the shoestrings Caprice used as a teaser when they played. She’d heard the door open and lifted her head from the quilted spread. In moments she was on her paws.

Caprice sat beside her and fluffed her mostly white ruff. “You’re such a pretty girl. And you take such good care of yourself.” Her ruff was usually pristine white. She was a fastidious cat.

After her cat was purring happily, Caprice said, “Let’s go downstairs and see what Dylan is doing.”

As Caprice stood, Sophia jumped from the bed onto the swirled pastel, hand-braided rug. Her bedroom was colorful in a more muted way than the downstairs, but she’d chosen each piece of furniture with the same enthusiasm and fervor—from the brass four-poster bed to the antique yellow armoire hand-painted with hummingbirds and roses.

She and Sophia jogged down the steps together, Sophia making it to the bottom of the stairs first. But she immediately went on alert.

As soon as Caprice had set the carrier on the floor, the kittens had quieted. But now as they heard her and sensed another cat, they began meowing once more.

“What’s this?” Caprice asked with surprise in her voice. “Someone must have left us a present!”

Sophia turned her head slightly toward Caprice, then slowly padded toward the carrier. Suddenly she crouched low, examining the case with the newcomers.

“Aren’t they adorable?” Caprice asked Sophia. “They look like they need a friend.”

Sophia made a complete circle around the carrier while the kittens meowed. Finally she stole closer and sniffed. She sniffed again. Padding around to the other side, she did the same.

“What do you think?”

Sophia sat beside the carrier, peering in at the furry, meowing creatures. Then she stretched out beside the kittens and Caprice took that as a sign. “Want to meet them?”

Sophia stared up at her with her beautiful golden cat eyes, looking almost eager.

Caprice bent down and opened the door.

After a minute, the kitty nearest the door realized she was free. She ran out and took off in a streak across the living room. Sophia streaked after her.

Caprice kept a close eye, but kitten and older cat raced under the end table, circled the coffee table, and around the perimeter of the room. Kitten number two tentatively ventured out of the carrier and meowed at Caprice. All she wanted to do was scoop her up into her arms, but she wanted Sophia to acknowledge her first.

The chase ended when kitten number one almost ran headlong into the carrier. Suddenly Sophia was aware of the second newcomer. She stared at her for a few moments, sniffed her back, then meowed.

“Do you like them? We’ll have to name them. Who wants to chase a ball?” Out of her pocket, Caprice produced a plastic ball with a bell in the center and tossed it.

Kitten number two came to life and raced to Sophia, pawing the ball first. While the three felines pushed around the ball with playful abandon, Caprice went to the back door.

At her call, Roz brought Dylan inside.

In the doorway to the kitchen, Dylan shook his fur out as he usually did, then sensed something was different. He spotted Sophia on the coffee table . . . and then he saw them—two orange, yellow, and white fur balls who hadn’t been in the room before he left.

He didn’t even glance at Roz or Caprice. He took off toward the kittens. At the base of the coffee table, they scattered.

Caprice wasn’t sure how to handle this introduction. She knew cats better than dogs. But she could see almost instantly that Dylan didn’t mean the newcomers any harm. He wanted to get to know them and play.

When Dylan barked, they moved deeper under the sofa and meowed.

Caprice ordered in a firm voice, “Dylan, sit.”

He looked up at her and wiggled his tail with excitement.

She held out her hand and waved downward. “Sit.”

After another bark and wiggle, he did what she’d asked of him.

She praised him with several repetitions of “Good boy,” and said, “They might come out if you’re quiet.”

“Or they’ll fall asleep under there,” Roz said, sitting in the wide fuchsia armchair and crossing her legs. “What did the reporter want?”

“She found out my car had been at the police garage. She saw me at the funeral with you and put two and two together. She believes I know where you are. She’s the reporter who did that article about me, and she wants an exclusive. Her name’s Marianne Brisbane. Do you know her?”

Roz thought about it. “Isn’t she the one who broke the scandal on the town council awhile back?”

A bribe had been paid to a member to have a property rezoned. “That was her. Great reporting. Not supposition, but all facts.”

Dylan rested his head on his paws as if he’d decided he was there for a long wait.

“I guess she wanted to talk to me about what happened. Grant said I shouldn’t talk to anyone. But maybe it would help if I got my side out there.”

“Your side?”

“Yes. That I came in from running and found Ted—” Abruptly, she stopped.

Grant would blow his stack if Roz did that. “Talking to anyone isn’t in your best interests.”

“Even if someone came forward who saw me running?”

One of the kittens scurried out from under the couch and darted across the living room. Dylan jumped up, yipped, and scampered toward the kitten, who suddenly turned and faced the dog. Dylan went still as the two animals eyed each other warily. Dylan inched closer, and the cat’s back arched, her tail fluffing fuller. After two sniffs, Dylan sat and just watched his new friend. The kitten’s tail became its usual size. She came forward out of the corner and sidled up to Dylan.

Caprice watched in fascination as dog and cat became friends.

Roz said, “I think they’re going to be okay here together. Do you think the other one will come out?”

“I have to set up their litter box. And I’ll put out some food. She’ll come out. If she sees her sister and Dylan are getting along, she’ll be okay.”

Sophia had settled on the coffee table, her tail curled around her, and was watching all with a knowing eye.

Caprice turned to Roz to continue their conversation. “I don’t think you should talk to the reporter. Let Grant and me learn what we can at PA Pharm tomorrow. After that, we’ll decide what to do next. Going public could do more harm than good.”

Roz didn’t look convinced. Caprice hoped she’d take her lawyer’s advice. Her freedom could be the price she paid if she didn’t.

“Security isn’t as tight as I thought it would be,” Grant said to Caprice as he held the door that led into a two-story office building.

“I did some research on PA Pharm last night,” she told him. “Research and Development takes place in that separate building in the back. You can’t get in there without pre-authorization.”

The lobby was expensively appointed with tan ceramic-tile flooring, muted brown wood paneling, and deep chocolate leather captain’s chairs around granite-topped side tables. A high counter with a clipboard and sign-in sheet overlooked the reception desk.

But no one was stationed there at the moment. The sign-in sheet was devoid of signatures.

“No visitors today,” Grant noted as he and Caprice both peered down at the sign-in sheet, their elbows brushing.

Caprice glanced up at him. They’d met in the parking lot. As always, she’d noticed his well-tailored suit, crisp white shirt, and striped tie. He looked like the consummate lawyer. But was he? Did all that intensity under the surface stem from losing his family? Had he still been in love with his wife when they divorced? Or had
he
been the one who had stopped loving?

Bringing her focus back to the task at hand, she said, “I wonder where the receptionist is.”

“Bathroom break?” Grant suggested with a slight smile.

She smiled back, feeling a little extra thump in her heart rhythm. That wasn’t because of Grant. Their mission was important and maybe even a little dangerous.

“Let’s explore.” His smile faded as he was again a lawyer with a busy schedule and a limited amount of time to spare.

A doorway led to the first-floor offices. But the three small offices in a row before them were empty. None of them had Ted’s name on a window. In fact, there were no names on those three windows.

Caprice moved to the right while Grant headed to the left, where corridors led to more work spaces.

“Do you want to split up?” Caprice asked.

“We can cover more territory,” he agreed matter-of-factly.

She gave him a little wave and started down the hall, imagining they’d meet at the south end of the building where the corridors converged.

Where was everyone?

The offices along this longer hall were bigger, and names were painted on the doors. She recognized one—Chad Thompson—and paused. That was the man Ted had been speaking to on the phone the night he’d gotten upset and then abruptly left. Chad Thompson’s title was Vice President—Sales.

After passing another office on her left and one on her right, she found where everyone had gathered. In the conference room, she counted fifteen men and women seated around a large table. The voices that came through the door were agitated as several conversations seem to zing across that table.

This was a perfect time to explore.

At the corner office at the end of the hall, she spotted Ted Winslow’s name painted on the door—not in black like all the others, but in gold.

She tried the knob on the door.

It turned.

Just like that she stood inside his office. Now if she just knew what to look for. If she had time to switch on the computer and scroll through files . . . None of it would probably make any sense at all to her.

She’d walked around the L-shaped desk and was staring at a photo of Roz and Ted on some tropical island when a woman’s voice cracked sharply into the office. “Can I help you?”

Caprice spun around ready to spurt out the cover story she and Grant had decided on. At the last moment, before her tongue went into action, she realized she knew this woman. Well, actually she didn’t know her, but she’d met the slim honey-blonde at Roz’s open house and seen her yesterday talking to Roz at the cemetery.

With a smile she said, “I think we’ve met, haven’t we? At the Winslows’ open house. I’m their home-stager, Caprice De Luca. And you’re—” This was not the time for her memory to blink. Then she remembered. “You’re Lonnie Hippensteel.”

She never knew when an open house attendee could become a client so she had to remember names . . . and personalities. Lonnie had been friendly and talkative, telling Caprice all about her mother, who painted the rooms in her house a new color almost every year.

“I do remember you,” Lonnie admitted, coming to stand beside Caprice. “I just can’t believe Ted was there that night and now we’ve buried him.”

She actually looked broken up about it. Had Ted showered extramarital charm on her too?

“I was his assistant,” Lonnie explained as if she needed someone to talk to. “Now they don’t know what to do with me until they hire someone else. For the past few days they’ve been running me around town on errands and using me as a go-between with R&D and the managers.”

“If you were Ted’s assistant, you must have been important to him. Who’s taking over his responsibilities?”

Lonnie seemed to like the idea that Caprice had recognized her importance to Ted. “Mr. Thompson and Mr. Jimenez are splitting the job load. But they don’t seem to want any input from me. I feel extraneous, and I guess I could be let go. They sent me to R&D to ride the back of one of the lab techs about a late report while they called a meeting here. That’s where everyone is—in a strategy meeting about the glitch.”

The hairs on the back of Caprice’s neck prickled. Nana had told her that was a sign of her sixth sense at work. Whether it was or not, Caprice asked, “What glitch?”

Lonnie shrugged. “I don’t know.” She lowered her voice. “Ever since Ted died, everyone seems so secretive.”

Knowing a good contact when she saw and heard one, Caprice opened her yellow vinyl purse and extracted a business card. Not knowing how much to say, she finally settled on, “Ted’s wife, Roz, is in a tough place right now.”

“Do the police think she killed Ted? Everyone knows they suspect the spouse. We all watch enough cop shows.”

There didn’t seem to be any jealousy attached to Lonnie’s comment or her demeanor. She really did just seem curious and interested.

“The police have questioned her. We’re just trying to piece it all together.” She handed Lonnie her card. “If you would happen to find out what that glitch is, I’d really like to know. Call me anytime. Both my cell and home numbers are there.”

Lonnie was just about to respond when Grant suddenly appeared in the doorway, accompanied by a security guard. The security guard wore a scowl and glared at them all.

Grant tried to appear unruffled and calm. Maybe he was practiced at that demeanor.

“Seneft . . .” He gestured to the guard’s security ID badge. “. . . doesn’t believe I have a good reason for being here.” Nodding to Caprice, he went on, “But I told him you’re Roz’s best friend, and she gave you permission to come here and collect any personal mementoes Ted kept in his office.”

That was their cover story, and they were sticking to it.

Immediately Caprice picked up the photograph, then pointed to a stein on a shelf. “They bought that on their travels to Luxembourg.” Roz had told her about their vacation there and the set of steins she’d had shipped home. Caprice assumed this was one of them.

The guard studied the photo and the stein. Looking to Lonnie, he asked, “You know these folks?”

Caprice held her breath as Grant’s mouth tightened with worry.

But Lonnie answered easily, “Caprice was Roz and Ted’s home-stager.”

Seneft looked blank.

“To help them sell their house. Caprice and this man were with Mrs. Winslow at Ted’s funeral.”

“I’m Mrs. Winslow’s lawyer,” Grant reported to Lonnie. Then with one of those crooked half smiles, he said, “It’s good to meet you, Miss—”

“Lonnie Hippensteel. Ted’s assistant.” She turned to Seneft. “Certainly they can take Ted’s personal things, can’t they?”

But the security guard shook his head. “I’m gonna pull someone out of that meeting. I don’t want to lose
my
job.”

The emphasis he put on
my
told Caprice he was pretty sure Lonnie would lose hers . . . as others had.

“Don’t wander anywhere,” he ordered in a stern voice.

Caprice felt like wandering just to spite him, but that was her rebellious nature kicking in. Instead she reached to the shelf for the stein while quickly taking inventory of everything in the office.

Grant seemed to be doing the same as he asked, “Is the wall art Ted’s or does that belong to the company?”

Caprice’s gaze lifted to the painting Grant was asking about—an oil painting of a rustic barn set amid rolling green hills.

“Ted bought that last year,” Lonnie responded. “He said the painter was local.”

“He is,” Grant confirmed. “He had a show right after I moved to Kismet.”

“You go to art shows?” Caprice asked with some surprise.

Grant looked a big discomfited by her question. “I was getting used to life in Kismet and at loose ends one weekend.”

What else did Grant do for recreation? Or had he preferred any distraction—even an art show—rather than being alone with his thoughts?

Glancing down the hall, Lonnie said, “I’d better scoot. My next task is to make copies of the year-end profit projections. I don’t want anyone to think I’m not busy.”

Caprice reminded her, “Call me if you hear anything about that glitch.”

After Lonnie checked the card in her hand, she didn’t respond, simply scurried down the hall in the opposite direction of the meeting.

“What glitch?” Grant asked.

“That’s what I want to find out. If we do, maybe we’ll discover what Ted was upset about work-wise before he was killed.”

Follow-up discussion with Grant had been on the tip of her tongue, but she went silent as Chad Thompson came in with the security guard.

Thompson didn’t begin with pleasantries. After giving Grant and Caprice a quick once-over, he stated, “You have to leave. You’re unauthorized.”

Stepping into the man’s personal space, Grant argued, “We were authorized by Rosalind Winslow to pick up Ted’s personal items. Why would we have to get permission for that?”

Thompson was apparently not used to being contradicted, because his frown lines cut even deeper around his mouth. “Not just anyone can wander around these offices.”

“We’re not wandering.”

“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.”