Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Miss De Luca.”

  Darn, she didn’t have her pepper spray at the ready. But then a mugger wouldn’t call her by her name like that, would he?

  She turned to find Patrick, her mother’s former student. Yews dotted the landscape along the building, and he motioned to the walkway behind them. “Can we talk back there? I don’t want to do this out in the open.”

  How remiss of her not to have given these three guys her business card. Then they could have called her. Maybe she needed a course on how to investigate something.

  He must have seen her hesitation. “This will only take a couple of minutes, and if you yell, somebody’s going to hear you.”

  There were cars coming and going in the parking lot, and two women strolling up the walk approaching the fitness center. He was right. She had a good set of lungs on her, and if he made one wrong move, she’d scream bloody murder.

  She gestured to the walk behind the trees, and he went back there first. She stepped in beside him. Unzipping a side compartment of her duffel, she took out her card and handed it to him. “If we’re interrupted or anything like that, here are my numbers.”

  He looked at the card and pocketed it. “I owe your mom,” he said.

  That wasn’t what she’d expected from him.

  He went on, “She spent extra time with me. She let me do extra assignments, and she let me retake tests so that I didn’t flunk English so I could play football. So I owe her.”

  “I see. So the information you’re going to give me is payback?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “You wanted to know if anybody held a grudge. Someone did. Jeff Garza.”

  That name had come up more than once lately, but not in reference to Bob. “What do you know?”

  “Bob didn’t share much, but one day, when he was working out, smoke was practically coming out of his ears.”

  “He was angry.”

  “More than angry. He knew he could trust me, so I told him he was going to drop one of the weights if he didn’t calm down. He could blow off steam by venting. He swore me to secrecy first.”

  Secrets never really die, Caprice thought, even if the person who wanted to keep them did.

  Patrick continued. “Bob found out that Jeff Garza had skimmed off donations from the community center’s building fund. Bob had just come from a meeting with him. Apparently he’d warned him to pay back the money or he’d go to the authorities. Since that didn’t happen, I’d say Bob’s death was timely, or maybe Garza had something to do with it.”

  “Does anyone else know you know about this?”

  “No one. And I want to keep it that way.”

  “What if the police find out? Surely they’re going to want to question you.”

  “They haven’t yet. I’ll deal with that problem when the time comes. You said you’re looking for answers, and I think what you’re looking for is Bob’s murderer. I hope you find him. Just keep me out of it if you can.”

  He turned to go the opposite direction from the fitness club’s entrance, but then he stopped and turned back to her. “Do me a favor. Tell your mom thank you.”

  Then he was striding away, and soon he disappeared around the corner.

  Caprice stepped out from behind the yews, glad she was having tea with Nana. Maybe tea with Nana would help put everything in perspective.

  Caprice was fortunate to have a lot of favorite people in her life. But one of her most favorite was her Nana Celia. She was seventy-five and five-three with silky, long gray hair that she wore in a knot to one side of her nape. She had a favorite tortoiseshell comb with seed pearls she often used to hold that knot in place for special occasions . . . like dinners with her family. Her husband had given it to her, and she treasured it. Nana’s dark brown eyes saw much more than her surroundings.

  Now her surroundings consisted of a little apartment built onto Caprice’s parents’ house. Her parlor was one of the prettiest places in Caprice’s world. There were antiques and lace, and small flowered patterns in lilac, yellow, and pink.

  For tea, the two of them always sat in the wing chairs near the window, where they sipped from teacups her grandmother had kept safe for years. Small pink roses edged the rims. The Victorian marble-topped table held a tray with a teapot and the biscotti her Nana often made when she knew she was having guests. Caprice had the recipe and made them too, but they never turned out quite like Nana Celia’s. These biscotti, unlike their commercial counterparts, were small biscuit cookies with lemon icing. She intended to make two batches for the community center fund-raising fair on Saturday.

  Now she stared at the sweet treats knowing she should bypass them. However, what could be wrong with a biscotti to top off the chocolate cupcake? It was a good thing Nana was serving yogurt with them.

  “Did you skip lunch?” she asked Caprice now.

  “This is lunch,” she said, taking a spoonful of yogurt.

  Nana shook her head. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “Just continue giving me your decorating advice. Mom told me recently it’s really life advice in disguise, and I take it better from you than anyone else. But you know I like listening to you.”

  “You’re not as stubborn as your sister.”

  “Which sister is that?” Caprice asked with a smile.

  “Bella. The ones who are the most traditional are the ones who are the most rigid. That’s true in decorating and in life.”

  Thinking that over, Caprice suspected her Nana was right. Her Nana was usually right.

  “I heard you’re trying to help Joe and Bella.”

  Her mom usually kept Nana in the loop. “I’m trying, but I don’t know how far I’m getting.”

  Nana studied her. “Are you stirring up a hornet’s nest again?”

  That was Nana’s way of asking her if she was putting herself in danger. She remembered the feeling that someone was following her and seeing that SUV zooming away at the model home. So she was honest.

  “I might be.”

  “Carry your pepper-spray gun.”

  If nothing else, Nana was practical. “I do.” She remembered that she hadn’t had it on her when she was at the gym. “I was just talking to someone who knew Bob and gave me a lead.”

  “A lead to someone who murdered him?”

  “Someone who might have had a motive to murder him. I just have to figure out how to follow up.”

  “While you’re doing that, you are seeing your new young man, aren’t you?”

  Nana had liked Seth. Everybody had liked Seth. She didn’t even realize she was frowning until Nana asked, “What’s wrong? Did you two have a fight? Tony and I had lots of fights when we were first dating.”

  It was hard to think about her Nana dating. She’d married at age seventeen. She and her young man, Anthony De Luca, had come to the United States from Calabria, Italy. Caprice admired them immigrating to a new country and making a life for themselves. Her grandfather had been a barber with his own shop. They’d lived in New York for a while but then had made their way to Pennsylvania. Nana had run a fruit stand at a farmers market in York for years after her children were in school and finding their own way in life. She was a homebody at heart but knew about the world and wasn’t afraid to let it in.

  “Do you remember the barbershop?” Nana asked Caprice.

  “Of course, I do. I sat in that big chair in front of that huge round mirror. Gramps would spin me around and I’d giggle.”

  “Nikki got seasick,” her Nana remembered. “Bella, she wanted no part of it. It scared her. But you were the adventurous one.”

  “Because I sat in the barber chair and spun around?”

  “Because you wanted to know everything about the shop, from what was in every bottle your gramps kept on the shelf, to the towels I put through the ironer, to the spittoon on the floor. I have never seen a more curious child.”

  Her Nana had lived in a two-story row house in York when Caprice’
s grandfather had run the barbershop. Their living room had been upstairs. When he’d retired, they’d turned the shop space into a living room downstairs. But he’d been retired for only two years before he’d passed on.

  “I miss the old place sometimes,” Nana admitted. Then she looked around. “But I like it here, and I know your mom and dad worry about me less since I’m with them.”

  “They don’t just worry less. They like having you close.”

  “I think you’re evading the subject. We were talking about your young man.”

  “He’s thinking about taking a fellowship at Johns Hopkins, Nana. I don’t know how that’s going to work out.”

  “It’s not for sure yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then don’t borrow trouble. When are you seeing him again?”

  They were supposed to have another Cherry on the Top date. “Wednesday night. And officially he’s going to escort me to the awards dinner.”

  “You’re going to win.”

  “It doesn’t matter if I do or not. It will be a fun night.”

  Nana narrowed her eyes. “It always matters if you win. But even more important than winning is finding the answers. You will find answers, Caprice. It’s your nature. Just don’t take too many chances while you’re doing it.”

  Caprice couldn’t see that she was taking any chances, at least not yet. After all, she was just asking questions.

  But the last time she asked questions when someone was murdered, she’d almost gotten killed herself.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The August Saturday was going to heat up fast, and humidity would intensify the heat index. Most of the stands in the park across the street from the community center relied on the protection of a canopy. Caprice strolled along a row, breathing in the early-morning air and enjoying the sun on her face. She was having trouble shooing her ice-cream date with Seth away from her other thoughts and the reason she’d come to the community center’s fund-raising event. Whenever she didn’t stay focused on her investigative objective, Seth’s smile and good-night kiss were uppermost in her thoughts. They’d enjoyed ice cream and each other’s company. They hadn’t talked about the future.

  Gearing her mind to her mission, she was glad the fund-raising day for the community center had been set to go on in spite of what had happened there. The park had been tended to by volunteers and enthusiastic residents who lived nearby and wanted a safe place for their kids to play. The swings were the old-fashioned sort with long chains and wooden seats. The monkey bars were big enough for only a few kids. In the open areas, volunteers coached soccer games and dodgeball.

  Today, however, Caprice scouted the stands that were everywhere—housing everything from games to food to bingo to vendors selling crafts. She knew these vendors donated a percentage of their profits to the center. From the baked goods booth, the center received one-hundred percent profit.

  Nikki had agreed to coordinate the stand and, of course, had reached out to her mom, Nana, and Caprice. Caprice’s mom baked three cakes, all chocolate—one with a fluffy white icing, one with peanut butter icing, and one with dark chocolate icing. Nana had baked a few peach pies. Contributing too, Caprice had decided her biscotti would sell well. She’d baked a double batch because everyone who tasted them loved them, even though they hadn’t turned out exactly like Nana’s this time either. She’d rolled, cut, and baked them early this morning. The lemon icing had had to firm up before she’d packed them for the bake sale.

  When she arrived at the baked goods stand, Nikki was busy arranging the offerings on the table under a red canopy, along with two other women who Caprice didn’t know.

  After Nikki introduced her to them, Caprice said, “It looks as if Mom and Nana were here already.” Their cakes and pies were on display.

  “They’re looking around, but I have the cash box ready. I got change and small bills at the bank yesterday.”

  Without hesitating, Nikki opened the box that held Caprice’s biscotti. “I think I’m going to leave these right in here to display. Last year, the baked goods sold out in two hours, so we shouldn’t have to worry about the heat affecting them.”

  “Are you open for business?” The deep voice came from behind Caprice’s shoulder.

  She recognized it immediately. “I didn’t know you were interested in the community center’s fund-raising.”

  Grant’s expression was passive when she turned to look at him. “Right now I’m interested in everything about the community center. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

  “Nope. I donated baked goods.”

  “So you did,” he said, studying the biscotti. “I’ll take a dozen of those.”

  “Seriously?” Nikki asked.

  “Seriously. I’ve tasted them. I know they’re good. I’m working in my office today, and they’ll see me through to lunch.”

  “No breakfast?” Caprice joked.

  “The cookies will be breakfast and a snack too. I’ll pick up coffee at the convenience store on the way back.”

  While Nikki quickly boxed up the biscotti, Caprice studied Grant in his more relaxed clothes. She usually saw him in a suit. Today, he wore black shorts and a tan polo shirt. Although it was more casual than his suit, he still looked . . . staid.

  “Are you going to go inside and ask questions?” she prodded.

  “I thought I would. You’re not the only one who can investigate, you know.”

  She knew.

  “That’s not usually part of your job.”

  “One of the De Lucas in danger of going to jail, let alone two, isn’t an ordinary occurrence. I like to have my bases covered, too, so I know what to expect next.”

  “I don’t suppose you want me to come with you.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Stalemate. She’d push if she thought she could ferret something out that Grant couldn’t, but at this point she was going to let him try. She’d look in other directions. Grant might be going inside the community center for his questioning, but she was going to buzz around here for a while to talk to the other vendors, as well as the parents and kids who ran in and out of the center.

  Happy with his box of biscotti, Grant paid Nikki—giving her extra as a donation—and turned back to Caprice. “How’s Shasta?”

  “Holding up. Sophia seems a little less indignant when she’s around. Thinking about one of those pups?”

  Whereas before he’d dismissed the idea completely, now he shrugged. “I doubt it.”

  That wasn’t an out-and-out no.

  “I’d better get going. You be careful,” he said in that authoritarian way of his that rubbed Caprice the wrong way.

  “You know I will,” she responded.

  Before he had the chance to comment, Sharla Flannery walked up to the stand with a ziplock bag filled with chocolate-chip cookies in one hand and a huge box in the other.

  As Grant strode away, Caprice took the box from her and opened the lid. “Cupcakes.”

  “The Cupcake House donated them. The cookies are my donation, and I’m here to help if you need it.” As she handed off the baked goods to Nikki, she said, “I don’t know what Danny would have done without the community center. I just wish . . .”

  “What do you wish?” Caprice asked.

  “I wish Danny could find a real job. I know he’s only seventeen and that’s a problem some places, but he needs a sense of purpose.”

  “Maybe he’ll be able to help finish the murals in the center.”

  “I hope he can.”

  “You know, those T-shirts he wears that he hand-paints are pretty nifty. Did he ever think about trying to sell them online? You know, taking orders for what someone wants painted, charging good money for it?”

  Sharla looked surprised at the thought. “I wonder if he could.”

  “He’d just need a stake to buy plain T-shirts. Someone could take pictures of them and post them on a Web site. It’s just a thought.” She remembered the detail work on the
mural. “He’s a talented kid. There are places online where you can set up free sites.”

  “I’ll talk to him about it,” Sharla said. “Thanks.”

  Already customers were approaching the stand. Someone bought one of her mother’s cakes, while another bought a peach pie and brownies. Business was starting to boom.

  Caprice told Nikki, “I’m going to nose around a bit. If you need me, beep my cell.”

  “What are you doing when you’re finished here?” Nikki asked.

  “I have a couple of jobs to work on back home, virtual redecorating. I haven’t placed orders yet for the clients.”

  Two more customers came up to the stand, selecting a bag of this, a box of that.

  Nikki nodded to the line forming. “We might be sold out in an hour and a half this time. I thought maybe you and I could go shopping for a dress for you. You know, for that awards banquet? You need to buy something that will knock Seth’s socks off.”

  Knock Seth’s socks off. If he was still free to take her that night. If they decided they were still dating. If the fellowship he’d applied for didn’t change everything.

  “I do need something dressier than I have,” Caprice admitted, “but I’d still like something with a vintage look.”

  “We’ll start at Secrets of the Past. But if Suzanne doesn’t have anything, we can drive in to York. The work can wait till later, can’t it?”

  “I have to check on my furry duo first.”

  “Of course, you do. We’ll make a pit stop.”

  That’s what Caprice liked about Nikki. She was flexible as well as practical.

  Maybe Caprice should think about being a little more practical.

  Nah. That would be boring.

  “I love it,” Nikki said as Caprice studied her image in the dressing-room mirror at Secrets of the Past.

  She studied the price tag. “I’ve never paid this much for a dress.”