“In Lahaska?”
“Yep. I’ve had it in my storage shed for about a year.”
“Those lounge chairs you located for around the pool—patterned with vines entwined all over the cushions—are perfect. How do you get your ideas?”
“I don’t know. And that’s the fun of it. I see a wall and know what I want to put on it. I see a sofa and love seat and can envision the exact coffee table that should be there. Nana tells me not to think about it too much because that will upset the mystery of it. I believe she’s right.” She was having tea with Nana tomorrow afternoon and was looking forward to it. Maybe Nana would have insight into what had happened at the model home before Mr. Gastenaux arrived. Maybe she’d just agree that Caprice was paranoid.
“Speaking of mysteries . . .” The real estate agent’s expression became very serious. “I heard there wasn’t going to be a funeral for Bob Preston. Is that true?”
“He left instructions with his lawyer that he didn’t want anything at all. He was cremated, and I don’t have any idea what happened to his ashes. I guess they’ll be buried without a service.”
“How odd,” Denise said.
“Maybe not so odd. He didn’t have any family.”
Nikki suddenly waved to Caprice from the kitchen, and she looked a bit frantic. Nikki never looked frantic, not when she was catering anyway. With her brown, highlighted hair and her wide, golden-brown eyes, she was the pretty girl next door. For this bash she wore a black, short-sleeved Oxford shirt and black slacks that sort of matched the background. All the servers were dressed the same way.
Caprice excused herself from her conversation with Denise and went to Nikki, who grabbed her arm and led her to the quiet corner of a room that wasn’t occupied—yet. Soon they’d all be occupied with the crowd that seemed to be pouring in.
She said, “I have Jocelyn watching the boar paninis and the bison meatballs. Mom just called.”
Caprice reached into her flowing, calf-length skirt—leopard-print, of course—for her phone, but Nikki stayed her hand.
“No, she called me. She thought I wouldn’t be quite as busy as you.” She rolled her eyes. “Bella stopped in and she was pretty upset.”
“Bella told me she didn’t want to involve Mom and Dad.”
“I know, but I guess we weren’t available, so Mom’s the next best thing.”
“When I asked Bella about her and Joe’s first counseling session, she gave the impression it went okay.”
“Okay’s a relative term. Father Gregory listened to them both, had them listen to each other, and then made a suggestion.”
“Which was?”
“Every day they’re supposed to spend a half hour talking to each other and looking at each other straight in the eyes, while someone else watches the kids. He doesn’t want them to do it late at night when they’re both tired.”
“Okay,” Caprice said warily. “So what’s the problem?”
“Apparently Bella, Joe, and the kids, Mom and Dad all went to noon Mass. Then Mom and Dad took the kids home with them. Well . . . when Joe and Bella came to pick them up, there was a whole lot of static in the air. Bella was close to tears. Apparently Joe asked her if this baby is his!”
Caprice gasped and then realized if she was that shocked, she could only imagine how her sister felt.
“He thinks it’s Bob’s?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. But I don’t know how they’re ever going to get over this one. Father Gregory might have to call down a few saints. Don’t give me that look,” Nikki added. “I still pray to Saint Jude for anything impossible I want to do.”
Caprice almost smiled, but then she shook her head. “I don’t know how to help them.”
“I don’t think we can. But if the real story behind Bob’s murder came out, I think it might help. Maybe then Joe can see Bella was just looking for a little innocent attention. Who are the suspects?” Nikki asked.
“Jackie Fitz was Bob’s girlfriend. The way Bob flirted and dated, she could have a motive, even if it isn’t his coffee date with Bella.”
“You met with Jackie?”
“Briefly.”
“Does she seem the type?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got calculated murder on the one hand, or . . . a crime of passion on the other. Who knows what a woman’s capable of when she’s riled up enough, or a man for that matter? On the male side of the equation, we have Bob’s partner, Kent Osgood. I’d like to find out what happens to Bob’s side of the business now that he’s dead. From what I understand they haven’t been partners very long. And then there’s Danny Flannery. He had an argument with Bob before Bob was murdered. He’s sullen and defiant enough to get into a fistfight, but I can’t imagine him swinging a ball-peen hammer. My guess is the murder weapon was one of the tools lying around for the construction and remodeling at the center. The police confiscated some of Joe’s tools, but if they found blood on them and analyzed it, he would have been arrested by now.”
“Unless the labs are backed up.”
“I just don’t think it was Joe. I can’t believe that.”
Nikki shook her head, “I can’t either. You mentioned Danny Flannery. I know his mom, Sharla. She works at the Cupcake House. She’s blunt and honest, and I think if you talk to her, she’d probably tell you the truth.”
“About her own son?”
“She’s spoken to me now and then about his problems in school. He doesn’t get along with the other kids. She thinks it’s because he’s artistic, and that could be. Different doesn’t sell well.”
Caprice knew that firsthand. She’d gone to Catholic school, and she’d tried to be the good little girl who didn’t ask too many questions and took everything on faith. But she just wasn’t that type. The years she hadn’t had teachers who understood her curiosity were rough. Classmates who didn’t want to rock the boat didn’t like her. It wasn’t until she’d graduated from high school and gone to college that she realized her questions kept her excited about life. Her desire to search—for something better, something new, or something old—enlivened all of her experiences. She hung around with kids who liked her quirks, and she found being unique was not a bad thing. As an older sister, Nikki had seen that transformation in her and had applauded it. Nikki herself didn’t much like rules and regulations, so they could be a real pair. Maybe that’s why Bella had taken an overly traditional route for her life.
But now Caprice wasn’t so sure she was happy with it. “I’ll make sure I stop in at the Cupcake House tomorrow. Roz often buys their specials.”
All of a sudden, something in the house seemed different to Caprice. When she’d joined Nikki, there had been groups of house hunters conversing. Noise of one sort or another was generated from every room. But now there seemed to be a stark silence.
“Do you hear it?” she asked Nikki.
“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”
“That’s exactly my point. Something must have happened or the house wouldn’t be so quiet. I can’t believe everybody would have left.”
“What if there’s another murder?”
“Don’t even think it.”
Caprice and Nikki rushed from the room toward the hall. They could see into the living room and to the foyer beyond. Everyone was standing still, the crowd all turned toward the door.
“I wonder if this is Denise’s famous client.”
As Caprice and Nikki approached the living room, chatter began again. But it was all chatter aimed at the individual who’d walked in with two men at his side. One, big and burly, looked like a bodyguard. He had a full beard and appeared tough enough to wrestle anybody to the ground. On the center figure’s other side stood a shorter man in a yellow linen jacket, white slacks, and a royal blue tie. A manager maybe? Caprice wondered, because she now recognized the man who had caused the fuss.
Ace Richland was a rock star from the eighties. He’d appeared on a reality show last year, and social media as well as an e
xcellent publicist had given his career a huge upswing. Caprice had heard he’d planned a comeback tour. She recognized him because she liked his music and played his old stuff. Everything from “Gotta Keep Her Yours,” to “Zingy Chick” to “Swinging for a Future” and “Wrestling the World.” She could even sing some of the lyrics.
Denise must have been watching for him because she rushed over and shook his hand. She shook the hand of the man in the yellow jacket too, but not the big, burly guy’s. Then, scanning the crowd, she spotted Caprice. She asked the burly guy to make way for her, which he did.
Seconds later, Caprice stood before Ace Richland, staring at his spiked-brown hair, which was stiffer than some of the plants in her garden. His earring was at least two carats of sparkling diamond. He was dressed in designer jeans matched with a navy silk shirt that clung to a body that had seen a lot of workouts. Ace might be hitting fifty, but he’d kept himself in shape. Or else he’d gotten back in shape to go on that reality show, and it had paid off.
When Denise introduced Ace to Caprice, she felt herself blush a little. She couldn’t be star-struck, could she?
Ace was a tall, lean man, and there was a lot of power in his handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss De Luca. Denise told me you came up with the theme for this staging.”
“I did. I just thought it seemed to fit. Many of the leopard spots and stripes can be removed, leaving a cream background for black leather furniture that would go well in anyone’s home. Accents are usually the start.”
When he released her hand, she looked up into his green eyes and said, “I read the reality show article. You related your experience in the jungle as you searched for a route out. You turned introspective about the experience.”
“Yes, I did. During that god-awful isolation, when I was crawling up trees to find food to survive, I decided if I ever got out of there, I’d plan a comeback tour.”
“I’d love a front-row seat,” she said, before she could filter her thoughts.
“You’re young to be familiar with my music.”
“I like all music. I’m familiar with the Beatles, Chad and Jeremy, Paul Revere and the Raiders. Your group kind of reminded me of them. Your harmonies. Your guitar skill.”
“Wow, you are a fan! I bet you might even know my real name.”
“I do. It’s Al Rizzo, and the reason I took an interest in it is because I’m Italian, too.”
“And cooking is everything?” he asked with a twinkle in his eye.
“I don’t know about everything, but it’s a lot. It brings our whole family together.”
“Mom makes me lasagna whenever I get home.”
Denise said, “Why don’t I show you around the property.”
“If you don’t mind, can Miss De Luca do it? If she arranged all this furniture in here, I’m sure she’s familiar with it too. I just have to decide if I like it. When we’re done and if I do, I’ll talk to you about price.”
Denise looked a little flustered, and Caprice wasn’t sure how to handle this. The real estate agent always took over at the showing, and this was the first time a client had asked her for a tour.
“I’m Ace’s manager,” the man in the yellow suit said, shaking Caprice’s hand. “Trent Jarvick here. I’ve spoken with Denise on the phone. Why don’t I get all the paperwork and statistics from her while Ace takes a look around.”
Ace looked over his shoulder. “Charlie can stay with you.”
“Ace . . .” Trent warned.
“No one’s going to assault me here. Look at this crowd. They’re in their Sunday best. They know I’m here, but the novelty will wear off. Come on, Miss De Luca, let’s take that tour.”
What choice did she have?
As they passed through the dining room, with its giant pedestal table, swivel rattan chairs, and six-foot hutch layered with colorful pottery and collector’s items, Ace asked, “Did you know I was coming?”
“Denise told me someone important was coming, but she didn’t tell me who.”
He thought about that as they walked. “You can call me Al or Ace. I answer to both.”
She laughed. “You can call me Caprice.”
“That’s an unusual name. It suits you.”
He studied her maxi-dress, a throwback to his era, though the colorful beads were as popular now as they were then. “You’re as interesting as your surroundings.”
When she looked up at him, he shook his head. “That wasn’t a come-on. That was just a statement. I had my midlife crisis a few years ago when I got my divorce. Now I don’t date anyone who’s more than two years younger than me.”
“This is a big house for one person.”
“Maybe. But I just want a place away from the glitz, where I can have a quieter life. With my divorce, I received partial custody of my daughter. I need a house she can enjoy too. I’ve toured other properties the past few months, but none were just right. This one possibly could be. I especially like the idea of the pool. I’ve seen the pictures of it.”
“How old is your daughter?”
“She’s eleven, and I don’t know Trista as well as I should. I can’t even blame touring for that because I’d almost stopped touring until the reality show. In lots of ways, that’s what shook up my world.”
“It sounds as if the past few years haven’t been very settled.”
He gave a grim laugh. “Settled they were not. I got a divorce the year before the reality show. Trista was nine then. Between nine and eleven I missed a lot. That’s going to change now. She might even respect her old man again.”
There seemed to be a lot of story he wasn’t telling, and Caprice wondered if alcohol or drugs might have been involved too.
She imagined it was difficult to be in the spotlight, and then suddenly that spotlight was gone. How did a man keep his pride, keep his ego shored up, keep his head on straight? Ace seemed like he was thinking clearly once more.
In the media room, Ace stopped before a wall decorated with panels that were two feet wide by four feet high, one in a tiger-skin motif, one in leopard, one in zebra, and one in giraffe. The animal-print rug on the floor coordinated with those, and the black leather seating blended right in. There was a chest at one inset wall, painted in a gold and leopard motif. A floral print in a gold frame hung above it, and leather-bound book volumes stood on it next to a brass compote holding coconut shells.
He smiled. “How long does it take you to do something like this?”
“The media room?” she asked.
Though the huge flat-screen TV was the main component, it didn’t overtake the room because of the prints.
“Not just this room. The whole place.”
“The actual staging can be done in a couple of days.”
“I mean finding everything to stage the house.”
“This took about a month. Of course, I was handling other stagings, and living life in between.”
“Living life,” he said with a sigh. “This new tour my manager set up cuts into that. I’m not as young as I used to be.”
“But only as old as you feel.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you one of those optimists I hear about?”
Now she laughed. “I try to be. Don’t you want to do the tour?”
“Oh, yeah, I want to. For the past year since the reality show, my manager’s been booking me on late-night TV, morning talk shows, that kind of thing. At the end of the interview I perform, and it feels great. But a solid year of it . . .”
He glanced around the house again. “That’s why I need a place away from the lights. This isn’t about money for me. Yeah, I have a lifestyle I want to keep up. But I’ve done pretty well with my investments, and I’m involved in a couple of businesses that have taken off. I can keep busy without music if I want to. Still, a chance to be back in the thick of it again is just too good to pass up.”
“What does your daughter think of it?”
“She wasn’t around the first time I made good. She’s
seen the posters, the crazy outfits, the green hair. It’s all one big circle. The truth is, I might use her as a consultant for some of the techno-glitter of the show.”
“LED lights and fireworks?”
“Something like that.”
As they wandered through more rooms, Ace asked her, “So you grew up in Kismet?”
“Sure did.”
“You don’t find it confining?”
“Not really. My family has always expanded my world. I have a brother and two sisters, parents, and a nana who keeps up with everyone else. There was always lots of activity and stimulation, so I really didn’t need to look elsewhere.”
“I know what you mean. I’ve got three brothers back in Scranton. They have no desire to leave, and every time I have a chance to get home, we sit around a pan of lasagna and talk. Though I’ve got to admit, it wasn’t always that way. They weren’t into music and often thought I was weird.”
They stayed away from the kitchen to avoid the congregation of guests enjoying Nikki’s food. Caprice led Ace through a den that had a door to the pool area. He stopped to study an art print of a tropical cheetah family. Absentmindedly, he toyed with a leopard-patterned votive candle holder with swinging panels that caught the air currents and swayed. The drape set at the window with zebra-patterned sheers caught his eye too.
Caprice liked the interest he was showing. It seemed genuine. But she didn’t know if that meant he’d buy the house.
Ace peered out the sliding-glass doors to the pool area, where some guests had gathered.
“Nice pool,” he said. “Lights and heat?”
“Yes. Would you like to see it?”
“I think I’ll pass. Too many people might want an autograph. I’m just not in the swing of that today.”
She suddenly realized that Ace Richland was a persona. Underneath lurked Al Rizzo, a fifty-year-old man who wasn’t sure what direction his life was headed in. He thought he wanted to go back, but he wasn’t sure about that at all.
“How much time will you spend here?”
“Weeks between gigs. I’m selling my place in L.A. Marsha lives in Virginia with Trista now, close to her family. Kismet would be closer for Trista’s visits. We wouldn’t have to fly and worry about security hassles. I can have a car service drive her here.”
Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) Page 15