Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Smith, Karen Rose

  Her voice caught when she said it.

  Caprice understood that Roz had lost her future. She’d not only lost the man she loved but the man she thought she’d have forever with. Add to that the news about Valerie Swanson and she’d lost her dream. The proverbial rug had been pulled out from under her feet. She was uncertain about what each day would bring and absolutely resented not being able to access everything she needed for her life.

  Caprice knew exactly how she’d feel if she couldn’t get back into her home. She wasn’t sure anybody could keep her out.

  “I’m going to do a little shopping for myself tomorrow afternoon too,” Roz said. “I can’t keep wearing your clothes. If I disguise myself a bit, no one will know I’m out and about. I just can’t stay cooped up.”

  “Do you want some company? I’d like to stop at the vintage shop.” She was thinking about her date with Seth and what she wanted to wear. Sprucing up something she already had might be a good idea.

  “That would be good. Then I don’t have to worry about getting my car yet if you drive.”

  Roz suddenly stopped pacing and Dylan stopped too, gazing up at her as if he wanted to jump up into her arms. She opened them and he did. “I know I shouldn’t let him do that. Bad habit.”

  Roz carried the dog to the sofa and sat with him.

  Dylan stood on his hind paws on her lap and licked her face.

  “He’s such a cutie. I’d like to take him for a real walk.” She sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t go shopping.”

  “Because of reporters or because you’re supposed to be in mourning?”

  “Both. Especially because I’m in mourning. All of a sudden, I just want to break into tears. Sometimes I do. But then other times I’m worried about everything that happened and wonder what I should do. Dylan has been a great help. He licks my face when I cry, and he makes me feel like I’m not so alone.”

  “Maybe you should consider keeping him when this is all over.” When Roz didn’t respond, Caprice thought maybe she didn’t want a dog after all.

  But then Roz said, “If I don’t go to prison.”

  “You can’t think that way. I won’t think that way.”

  After long moments when the only sound was Dylan’s contented sounds as Roz scratched his ears, Roz said, “I really have to look for an apartment, so I don’t keep imposing on you. Even when the police release the house, I don’t know if I can go back there. When I think about how cold it has felt lately, what you saw upstairs, what happened in the sword room, how can I possibly go back there?”

  “Have you thought about what’s going to happen when this is all over?”

  “Not really.”

  “Would you consider going back to work again?”

  Roz concentrated on Dylan and solely on Dylan for a long while. Finally she met Caprice’s gaze. “I never have to work a day again in my life. Ted was heavily insured, and now I am, of course, the beneficiary.”

  Roz said it as if she was signing her arrest warrant. Caprice jumped up so fast from her chair that even Sophia seem startled. She meowed, tilted her head, and looked at Caprice, asking why she’d disrupted her very nice nap.

  Ignoring Sophia’s meow of protest—or maybe it was just a yawn—Caprice asked, “You didn’t tell anybody about this, did you?”

  “No, but I’m sure it’s one of the first things the police check.”

  “Did you tell Grant?”

  “We didn’t get into anything like that.”

  Caprice’s stomach felt like it had sunk to the soles of her espadrilles. Roz was in deep doo-doo. Her motive for killing her husband was getting stronger and stronger. That didn’t sway Caprice’s belief in her, but it sure could sway everybody else’s.

  When her cell phone played its tune, Caprice was glad. She wasn’t sure what to say to Roz about this new development. No wonder her cheeks looked a little sunken and the blue smudges under her eyes seemed darker. Caprice had to do something to help her feel better.

  Checking the screen on her phone, she said to Roz, “It’s Nikki. Do you want me to let it go to voice mail?”

  “No, take it. I’ll let Dylan out.”

  Roz was still standing in the kitchen, opening the storm door, when the first thing Nikki said to Caprice was, “So you have a date next Saturday.”

  “I can’t believe Bella told you! She was supposed to keep it a secret. My date isn’t anyone else’s business.”

  “You know Bella can’t keep secrets, certainly not from me. I used to torture her when we were kids, remember? Either she told me what she knew, or I hid all her barrettes where she’d never find them.”

  That made Caprice smile. Bella had cared as much about her hair when she was in grade school as she did as a teenager and an adult. Those barrettes had been prized possessions, and Nikki had known it and taken advantage of it. “So he’s a doctor?”

  “Do I really want to tell you any of this?”

  “If I promise I can keep a secret, you will.”

  That was probably true. Nikki was much better at keeping secrets than Bella. “I’d just like to keep this under wraps for a while. At least through the first date. There might not be a second.”

  “If there isn’t, it will be your doing, Miss One-Date-Wonder.”

  That’s what they called her, and it always riled her. “Nikki . . .”

  “You go out with a guy once and you decide he’s not worth the risk. You put up lots of walls, and that’s the end of it. Don’t make this the end of it. You’re going miniature golfing. That should be light, easy, teasing. Just let it be a lead in.”

  “A lead in to—”

  “A lead in to another date, and then another, and then another. I know women who’d like to date Dr. Seth Randolph.”

  “I want to date him.”

  “Then give him something so he wants to see you again.”

  “Like . . .” The word was part question, part warning.

  “Like a fun time with good conversation, not worrying about how much you’re telling him, or how much you’re not. For once in your life, don’t think about what comes next. It’s not like a room to be staged, Caprice, with this piece of furniture here and that piece of furniture there, and this color of paint on the wall, and that rug on the floor. Do not plan it. Just let something natural happen.”

  “This is what you do?”

  There was a moment of silence when Nikki obviously felt caught. “It’s what I try to do. Granted, it doesn’t always work.”

  “I haven’t seen it work at all.”

  “Last year I dated a guy for six weeks, remember? The one who was going to open his own restaurant?”

  “But he didn’t open it.”

  “No, his financing here fell through, and he decided to open it in a town in New Jersey!”

  Suddenly they both burst into laughter. “So don’t use me as your guru,” Nikki advised her. “But go have some fun.”

  Roz opened the door and Dylan came in.

  “I intend to have fun with Seth. I just don’t want anyone to know about it.” She’d intended to tell Roz, though, at the right time.

  “Vince would get a big kick out of it and tease you unmercifully. Especially since you’d be dating a doctor. How cool is that?”

  “Not all that cool, from what I understand. You know what a doctor’s schedule is like. Or maybe you don’t. Even Seth admits it’s constant interruptions.”

  “So you just have to be the kind of woman who can handle them.”

  Maybe she was and maybe she wasn’t. “We’ll see. We have a lot of holes to clatter over before we get to that point. Speaking of holes to clatter over, we have to call a family meeting. When do you want to do it? I don’t know what your schedule’s like.”

  “Packed. It will have to be late one night after my jobs. Like nine o’clock.”

  “That would probably work better. Maybe we can meet at Bella’s so she can put the kids to bed.”

  “That sounds good. Do you want me
to call Vince to see when he’s free?”

  “Fine. Just don’t tell him about my date. Please.”

  “I’ll even pinkie-swear.”

  Caprice was still smiling when she hung up the phone.

  “So you’ve got a date?” Roz asked with a hint of a smile. “I approve.”

  Caprice felt her cheeks flush a little. “I saw him at Grocery Fresh and he actually seems interested.”

  “Well, of course, he does. Why wouldn’t he be interested?”

  “Because I don’t look like you,” she said simply. “On top of that, I don’t dress like you.”

  “So that’s why you want to stop into the vintage shop and see what you can find for your date. I can spot a motive as well as you can.” Roz was trying hard to force a lightness she didn’t feel, but Caprice would help her in that. They’d go shopping tomorrow afternoon, and she might even let Roz pick out what she should wear. But for now . . .

  “Come along with me to my parents’ dinner on Sunday.”

  “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You won’t be intruding. It’s always confined chaos. It might help you forget for a little bit, and you can even help me get ready. I’m going to make bread on Saturday and the cream for the cannoli. Do you want to help?”

  “I’m not good in the kitchen.”

  “Anybody can knead dough, and you can pretend you’re a kid again, playing in the flour. What do you think?”

  After a moment to consider it, Roz said, “I think I’m game for almost anything, except being questioned again about Ted’s murder.”

  “We’ll come up with a plan after we go clothes shopping.”

  “You’re trying to keep me busy.”

  “You bet I am.”

  “Thank you.”

  Caprice knew even busy wasn’t going to help Roz when she had to plan Ted’s service. Yet Caprice understood a service could help with the grieving process. If friends and family were supportive.

  Her family could help her support Roz, but would the police be at the funeral?

  Caprice had the feeling Detective Jones and his partner would cover all the bases they could while keeping their focus on Roz, who was their prime suspect.

  Chapter Nine

  Caprice and Roz passed Cherry on the Top, Kismet’s favorite ice cream shop, where almost as many passersby gathered as they did at the Koffee Klatch. Gossip ran rampant at both.

  Roz didn’t even glance at Cherry on the Top. Wearing a baseball cap, a ponytail, sunglasses, and a pair of Caprice’s embroidered jeans that were too big at the waist and too short, she’d been silent during most of this errand, which had been more practical than enjoyable.

  Early this morning, Nikki had taken Caprice to the police station to pick up her car. Afterward, Caprice had met with the Gentrys, who’d signed on the dotted line. This afternoon, before she and Roz had left the house to shop, Caprice had received a call from Juan’s sister, who’d explained his surgery had gone well. Relieved, Caprice had driven Roz to the back entrance of the mall. Within a half hour of selecting from the racks, they’d paid and come downtown, stopping at Just for Him on the way.

  Now spotting Secrets of the Past, the vintage shop Caprice favored most, only a few storefronts away, Caprice touched Roz’s elbow. “We don’t have to shop. I’m sure I can find something in my closet for my date.”

  Immediately, Roz rallied. “Nonsense! We came to find you something special, and we will.”

  Caprice tried again. “I understand if your mind is elsewhere. Mine would be too.”

  “It’s everywhere. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel. I learned Ted betrayed me. Yet he’s dead and I can’t even yell at him!”

  “You never yell,” Caprice reminded her reasonably.

  It was true. Roz was one of the most even-tempered women she knew. Or else her friend merely held everything in. Because she’d practiced holding everything in as a child who’d missed her deceased father? Because the whole time she’d taken care of her mom, she was feeling the pain too? Because a good wife supported her husband no matter what she suspected?

  Caprice knew she could never be that kind of “good” wife. Not ever.

  “I feel like yelling now,” Roz said. “I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. Then the next minute I want to close all the blinds and hide. But I can’t do either. Grieving for my husband is just going to have to get in line with everything else I’m feeling. In the meantime, we’re buying you an outfit. The last time I spoke with Suzanne, she was adding a new designer to her inventory.”

  Customers shopped at Secrets for many reasons. All of the clothes were retro in design, fabric, or age. Merchandise that Suzanne Dumas, the owner of the boutique, didn’t find at auctions, yard sales, or online, she took on consignment from designers trying to establish a brand. Roz bought designer clothes, but Caprice looked at true vintage whenever she could.

  Mannequins posed in the front window dressed in a fifties-style sleeveless dress in a flowered pattern, a seventies tunic with coordinating plaid slacks, and a cardigan sweater with pearl buttons paired with a skirt fashioned with embroidery around the hem. Purses from past decades decorated the front window dais. The most special element of this shop was the fact that each and every item for sale was unique. That was the main reason Caprice bought most of her clothes here.

  When Roz pulled the door open, a chime tinkled, announcing their arrival.

  At one of the circular racks where coats and jackets hung on a chrome bar, Suzanne stood with a customer and waved. “I haven’t seen either of you for a while.”

  So much for Roz’s “disguise.” She’d removed her sunglasses and Suzanne had recognized her immediately.

  A thought registered then on the shopkeeper’s face—probably one of the many news accounts that had been broadcast since the murder—and her demeanor changed. She approached Roz. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you,” Roz murmured.

  Suzanne wore vintage clothes herself. Today she was dressed in a long, fitted, black-and-white tunic with a mandarin collar and a slim black skirt. Her jet-black hair was curled back from her face in a forties style. In her late forties, she was always impeccably dressed and groomed. Her long nails were painted red and matched her lipstick.

  Caprice stepped away from Roz to allow her to speak privately with the shop owner. She needed the condolences of friends and acquaintances to move forward in the grieving process.

  But other customers in the store had heard Suzanne and glanced toward Roz. A brunette trying on hats at a corner mirror registered Roz’s presence, then adjusted her felt fedora, paying no more mind. Two women in sportswear, as if they’d been out for a walk and decided on the spur of the moment to see what Secrets had to offer, were suddenly conversing head-to-head in low tones. They looked to be around her mom’s age. At the front window, a blonde who might have been in her late twenties fingered a black patent-leather purse.

  Since Suzanne and Roz seemed involved in conversation, Caprice moseyed over to a display of tunics and blouses. Since she owned an array of slacks, she could mix and match almost any style or color of blouse. She didn’t wear suits for appointments and was glad her clients didn’t expect her to. If they did, she disabused them quickly of that notion. She’d made a name for herself because her style was different. The fact that her clients recommended her to their friends and coworkers confirmed the fact that they liked “unique” and appreciated Caprice’s results.

  A bright tunic in purple and blue with crocheted bell sleeves quickly captured her interest. Removing it from the hook, she studied the ticket. Vintage, all right. She fingered the fabric, which would be comfortable as summer moved in. This part of Pennsylvania could remain warm and balmy until mid-June or turn incredibly hot overnight.

  Moments later, her decision made, Caprice carried the blouse over to the cashier’s desk, knowing it would fit. It was flowing and a little loose. With lilac capri pants it would look terri
fic for a game of miniature golf. She would look terrific. Now she just needed Seth to think so. And what if he thinks you look terrific? Then what?

  According to Nikki, she shouldn’t be thinking of “then what.” But she always did.

  Automatically her thoughts flew back in time to Craig. A long-distance relationship just hadn’t worked. They’d been young, and she’d obviously been more in love than he had.

  Suddenly she realized that same condition had plagued her with Travis. She’d loved him. They’d talked about buying an engagement ring and planning a future. She’d gotten attached to his little girl and looked forward to becoming her stepmom—someone important in her life. But then Travis and his ex-wife had attended an interview for Kristi’s preschool. And they hadn’t just gone to the interview. Travis had fixed a leaky faucet at his old house and then . . .

  A month later he’d broken off his relationship with Caprice.

  Yep, she’d cared too much, a lot more than he had. Was he happy now? Had the problems that had caused his divorce reared their heads again? She was a terrible person if she wished that. So time after time, she’d willed herself to wish him nothing but happiness.

  Lost in ghosts of relationships past, Caprice didn’t realize the two women in sportswear outfits had moved. They were approaching Roz fast, and their expressions didn’t project an intention to give her condolences.

  They looked angry!

  The woman in green stretch slacks and a zippered top marched up to Roz and asked combatively, “Are you Ted Winslow’s wife?” The woman’s friend was right beside her, and both of them were in Roz’s face.

  “Yes, I am,” Roz responded with dignity, casting a questioning look at them both.

  “Your husband got what he deserved!”

  There was so much venom in the woman’s tone that an audible hush blanketed the shop.