Staged to Death (A Caprice De Luca Mystery)

by Smith, Karen Rose

  Taking her phone from her pocket, she quickly texted her friend. “Keep the doors locked and the shades drawn.” Moments later Roz texted back, “Will do. Dylan will protect me.”

  Caprice smiled. Then she heard that low rumble again. Had a car braked and then accelerated? Was it searching through the rows of compartments looking for her?

  All of a sudden she panicked. Up until now she’d been dealing with the murder as if it were a puzzle or maybe a game. But this was no game. Ted had lost his life. Panic wasn’t a feeling she usually knew, and it overcame her before she figured out what had happened. She was breathing fast and her hands were shaking. Who could she call that would have her back? Who could she call who would tell her what to do?

  Without thinking twice, she pressed speed dial for Grant’s number.

  “What’s up, Caprice?” He’d obviously seen her number on caller ID.

  “I’m not sure, I just feel . . . creepy. I’m at my storage compartment and I hear another car or something. But it’s like it’s searching through the rows. Or else it’s coming after me slowly. Or maybe I’m having a nervous breakdown.”

  “Do you have your compartment opened?” Grant asked.

  “No, why?”

  “Open it. Get inside. Shut the door and pick up something you can use for a weapon. Now. Don’t even think about it. Just do it.”

  There was something in his voice that urged her rebellious nature to quiet and to follow his orders. Taking out her key, she quickly undid the padlock. Was the growl of an engine coming closer? Was it in her row?

  She didn’t even take time to look. She hiked up the door, ducked inside, and quickly lowered it again. That’s when she realized she was standing in the dark, except for the light from her phone.

  “Are you inside?” Grant wanted to know.

  “Yes, but I don’t have a flashlight or anything.”

  “I’m on my way. Don’t open that door for anybody but me. The dark won’t hurt you, but somebody outside could. What do you have as a weapon?”

  His voice rose and fell as if he was walking somewhere. Then she heard other sounds—his car door, his SUV’s engine starting.

  She thought about her storage compartment and what she had stored there. She transferred her phone to her left hand, sidled along the compartment to one wall, and wrapped her fingers around a tall vase. “I have a vase.”

  “I’m on my way. If someone actually tries to lift that door, just shout at them that you already called 9-1-1. Shout it over and over again. And then tell them you have a gun.”

  “But I don’t.”

  “Doesn’t matter. He or she won’t know that. Give me your compartment number and PIN number to get into the storage compartments.”

  Apparently he knew about that. She rattled off the info he needed.

  “Listen again and see if you can hear anything.”

  Was that a vehicle slowly coming up the row? The compartment door muffled what she was hearing. But, yes, that was a car, a truck, something. It slowly idled outside the compartment. Should she start yelling now?

  No, she told herself. Wait. Wait.

  She put the phone on speaker and set it on a stack of boxes. Then she took the handle of the door and pushed down with all her might. If anyone was going to try to get in here, they were going to have one heck of a fight. She’d taken a course in self-defense a few years ago. She even remembered some of the moves. She put all her weight into holding the handle of the door down.

  The vehicle was still idling out there. She didn’t hear a door opening and closing. Could anyone do that silently? Of course, they could open their door and just leave it open.

  Were those footsteps on the macadam? She started sweating in the damp night air, more scared than she’d ever been in her life. No puzzle or game now. This could be life or death. Not only for her, but for Lonnie, maybe for Roz. Just what had they tapped into?

  It seemed like forever until she felt the slight tug on the door.

  She began shouting, “I called 9-1-1. I called 9-1-1, and I have a gun.”

  The pressure on the handle stopped. She thought she heard someone swear. Then she did hear a car door. She did hear an engine. Her hand on that handle was starting to ache.

  She heard Grant’s voice coming over the phone. “I’m in the lot, Caprice. A couple of minutes. I just have to find your row.”

  “There’s a car outside. Someone tried to get in.”

  “I see row G. Whoa, a black SUV just rolled out of F. He’s headed out of the lot, but I’m coming into your row. I wish I could’ve gotten that license number.”

  She wanted to tell him the license number didn’t matter right now. She wanted to tell him that all she cared about was seeing his face and knowing there was someone else with her who could fight whatever demons came along.

  After she heard another car door open and shut, Grant was shouting at her from both the phone and outside. “I’m here.”

  He was trying to lift the door, but she was still holding it down.

  Feeling foolish, she released her hold as he raised the storage compartment door. The night floodlights had switched on and backlit him.

  When she saw Grant, she had the weirdest reaction. She wanted to throw her arms around him! But that was just because he meant safety. He meant rescue. He meant everything she didn’t want to need in a man.

  So when he braced his hands on her shoulders, looked into her eyes and asked, “Are you all right?” she backed away. “I’m fine. Really.”

  He shook his head and scolded her. “Yeah, you look it. You’re white, you’re sweaty, and your eyes are as big as bowling balls.”

  “Bowling balls?” she asked as relief washed over her and she felt the panic begin to fade away. “Really, Mr. Weatherford, can’t you do better than that?”

  “How can you joke? Remember, I saw the SUV zooming out of here. The one that obviously followed you.”

  “I told whoever it was I had a gun and they ran away,” she responded flippantly.

  But Grant didn’t like her flippancy any more than he liked her “fine” answer. “You’ve stirred up trouble.”

  “I didn’t have to stir it up. It was already there. Ted Winslow was murdered, remember?”

  “Oh, I remember. And you should have done what any self-respecting citizen would do. Let—it— a—lone.” He drawled out each word so she got a clear message.

  “I’m sorry I called you,” she murmured under her breath.

  “Why did you? I’m sure your brother’s name is in your phone too.”

  “I thought you might have a gun,” she shot back. “I know Vince doesn’t.”

  That seemed to take Grant by surprise. “I do have a gun. Right now it’s locked in my glove compartment, which is the best place for it. But what made you think I would?”

  “You worked in a big city. I have no idea what kind of cases you took on, but it was a possibility. Besides, I called you because you have a stake in this. You’re protecting Roz’s interests.”

  “I’m not sure your reasoning made logical sense. But then I’ve found lots of women’s reasoning doesn’t.”

  One woman in particular? Caprice wondered. Grant’s ex-wife?

  “What were you doing here anyway at this time of night?” he asked impatiently.

  “I need something for tomorrow that I have stored here.”

  Grant assessed the dark space. “What do you need? I’ll help you pull it out.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Do you think for an insane minute that I’m going to leave you here in a dark storage compartment? I’m following you home, Caprice De Luca, and making sure you are safe inside. So find whatever you need, and let’s get it packed up.”

  A half hour later Caprice pulled into her driveway, while Grant parked along the curb, letting his engine idle. Roz’s car was now in the garage with Caprice’s Camaro. Her friend’s car was worth a heck of a lot more than her van, even with everything p
acked inside it. While she and Grant had been loading the van—not talking, just doing what had to be done—she’d been thinking. It was hard for her to believe someone had intended to harm her tonight. Her experience had taught her to stand up to fears and confront foes. But she’d never before had to confront a foe who might be a murderer.

  Had tonight’s little escapade just been a warning? Maybe Ted’s murderer wanted her to stop asking questions and stop poking around.

  She couldn’t do that.

  Grant had said he’d wait until she was safely inside the house. Instead of hurrying toward the house as he expected, she jogged toward his car and stood in the street at his window.

  He pressed the button and the window eased down.

  “Come inside. There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Concerning the murder?”

  What did he think this concerned? “Yes.”

  He shifted his gearshift into park, then switched off the engine. She didn’t wait for him but started toward the house, ready to give Roz a heads-up that he was coming in.

  But Roz was dressed in a blouse and jeans, curled on the sofa with Dylan, using a highlighter on the papers on her knee.

  Although Dylan stayed beside Roz, the two kittens scooted from wherever they were playing and ran toward Caprice. She managed to scoop them up before Grant opened the door.

  She held one close to her neck, the other in the crook of her arm.

  “Who are they?” he asked with a half smile as she nuzzled them and cooed to them.

  “This is Stripes, and this is Creamsicle. They need a good home if you know of one.”

  She crossed into the living room, expecting him to follow. He did and settled into the armchair. When she went over to sit beside Roz, the kittens wiggled out of her grasp and meowed, running off. One hopped over Dylan, who didn’t seem to mind all that much. The other flashed by Sophia, who was lounging on the back of the couch, paws crossed in front of her like a dainty lady.

  “Are you going to tell Roz what happened tonight?” Grant asked Caprice.

  “I suspected something did to bring you in together. Caprice is supposed to be at her storage compartment.”

  Caprice quickly outlined what had happened with as little drama as possible. She didn’t want to frighten Roz.

  “So what are you going to do?” Roz inquired. “Ask for police protection?”

  “There’s no specific threat against me. Whoever was in that SUV could have come to my compartment by mistake. Maybe he wasn’t following me. Maybe I panicked over nothing.”

  “If he tried to raise the door to the compartment without using a key, he knew you were inside,” Grant said. “He wasn’t a bystander or an innocent renter. Don’t soft-pedal this, Caprice. You have to seriously consider what you’re doing.”

  “I am. That’s why I invited you to come in. We need to talk about my hypothetical person in PA Pharm.”

  “You weren’t over there again, were you?” he demanded.

  “No, I wasn’t there. But I think we should try to nail down the witness. Even though she doesn’t have specifics about what’s going on, I want to try to convince my hypothetical person to possibly talk to you and Vince.”

  Stripes rounded the corner of Grant’s chair and started climbing his jeans’ leg, one paw after the other.

  “Hey, you,” Grant said with a chuckle, probably feeling the claws on his skin. He scooped up the kitten and raised her up in front of him. “You’re about as precocious as your owner.”

  Stripes looked down at him and meowed. Grant shook his head and settled the kitten on his lap.

  “Are you sure you don’t need a cat?” Caprice asked.

  “I’m positive. I’m not home enough to have pets. It wouldn’t be fair to them.”

  It wouldn’t take a psychologist to deduce that Grant worked as hard as he could to escape the memories of his wife and child. He looked comfortable with the kitten, who was curling up in a ball near his belt buckle. Grant looked as if he was comfortable with animals, and the kitten certainly seemed to like him.

  Animals were a great judge of character, she reminded herself, then returned to their conversation. “So, do you have time tomorrow to meet with my witness? Do you think Vince might?”

  “Why do you want Vince there too?”

  “Because you’re representing Roz. If I bring somebody else into this maybe she or he should have another lawyer.”

  “The FDA is the agency overseeing pharmaceuticals. I haven’t probed deeper.”

  “You could stay for dinner while we discuss all this,” Roz suggested, giving Caprice a look.

  “Sure.” Caprice felt a little uncomfortable, wishing she had made the suggestion herself. “I was going to make a chicken stir-fry. There’s always enough for one more.”

  Grant seemed to hesitate. But then he decided, “No. I’d better get home. But thanks for asking. Are you going to try to get hold of your witness now?”

  “What time will you be free?”

  “Better make it around nine. I don’t think Vince has any appointments tomorrow morning. Giselle keeps us apprised of each other’s schedules.”

  “Okay.” Caprice agreed. “I’ll call now.”

  As she went to make her phone call to try to convince Lonnie that talking to Vince and Grant was the best way to proceed, she regretted the fact that Grant wouldn’t be staying for dinner. She regretted the fact that he wouldn’t accept the meal as a thank-you for coming to her rescue tonight. She’d never thought of Grant Weatherford as a white knight.

  Should she think of him that way now?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lonnie looked scared to death as she sat in Vince’s wood-paneled office early Wednesday morning, her gaze zipping back and forth between him and Grant. “You mean I have to tell somebody important what I heard?”

  Caprice felt sorry for the pretty blonde, who just wanted to do her job and do it well. She’d never intended to be caught up in intrigue or blow the whistle on the company she’d worked for.

  Vince’s posture, his concerned expression, and the way he was leaning toward Lonnie as he sat beside her on the sofa told Caprice he was sympathetic too. Grant, however, was stunningly silent. And she couldn’t tell much at all from his expression.

  “You’ll have to talk to someone in CDER, the Center for Drug Evaluation and Research. It’s a center of the FDA where you report a problem,” Vince explained. “I don’t know how important he or she will be. But this is a vital matter—life and death, really.”

  Vince wasn’t exaggerating for drama’s sake. He went on to convince Lonnie of the seriousness of the situation. “Do you have any children?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m not married.”

  “Do you have someone you care about a lot?”

  “My parents and my sister.”

  “All right. Now imagine they’re very sick. The physicians diagnosed them with an infection of some kind and there’s an antibiotic that will cure it. Most antibiotics you take for a certain amount of time, and the effect is that the drug will kill particular bacteria. If the expiration date has run out, maybe that antibiotic won’t work effectively. Maybe it’s just not quite strong enough to kill the bacteria. Maybe your sister or your parents figure they finished the prescription so they’re well. But the bacteria isn’t killed and they get sick again. This time maybe worse than the first time. Do you see where I’m going with this? These are people’s lives were talking about—their suffering and well-being. And you have knowledge that could prevent something bad from happening. Don’t you agree you should do something with that knowledge?”

  Caprice’s respect for Vince grew. He really was good. Maybe he should have been a defense attorney.

  Now it was Grant’s turn. He sat forward on the gray upholstered chair that was similar to the one Caprice was using. They both were usually positioned facing Vince’s desk. But today he’d turned them around, so there was a grouping by the s
ofa. She’d love to take this office apart and put it back together again.

  “I think Caprice told you that the police have had Rosalind Winslow in for questioning. That’s not widespread knowledge, but she could be a prime suspect. What if she was arrested and charged for her husband’s murder and she didn’t do it?”

  “What does me telling someone about the expired drugs have to do with that?” Lonnie wanted to know.

  Now Caprice weighed in. “If the police have other suspects, they won’t just analyze Roz’s motives. Pharmaceuticals are a huge business. We’re talking millions of dollars. Those dollars might be worth killing for. We can make sure the D.A. knows that Ted Winslow’s murder might not have anything to do with simple passion.”

  However, Caprice had to admit passion was never simple. And maybe they were all wrong and Monty did it. But they couldn’t get to the bottom of anything if Lonnie didn’t come forward.

  Vince laid his hand on Lonnie’s. “Don’t you want to help?”

  Lonnie’s gaze met Vince’s and they stared at each other. Caprice had to wonder if more was going on here than sheer advice. Did Vince feel some kind of zing when he looked at Lonnie? And did she feel the same thing when she looked at him? The same kind of feeling as when Caprice looked at Seth? Or Seth touched her?

  Actually Caprice hoped not. She didn’t get the sense that Lonnie was the type of girl who would want to date Vince one weekend and not the next. She was the kind of girl who could get hurt quickly. So was Vince pulling out the lawyerly charm or something else?

  Finally Lonnie answered him, “I want to help, but I’m afraid.”

  “If rumors of an investigation go public,” Grant said matter-of-factly, “you won’t have to be afraid. You heard a conversation and that’s all. There are a lot of people involved who know more than you do. Once the FDA rattles this cage, there could be more than one whistle-blower hoping to escape the consequences.”

  Caprice’s phone vibrated. She hadn’t wanted to have anyone interrupt this meeting. Checking the screen, she didn’t recognize the number. She’d pick up her voice mail later. When she looked up after pocketing her phone, Grant gave her a quizzical look. Then he frowned, and she suspected he wished she had something more to do than stick her nose into this investigation. But she couldn’t stop now. Not when she was in this far. Not when she was making headway.