Drape Expectations

by Karen Rose Smith

  “I’ll go with you,” Grant assured him. “And Caprice should go home.”

  “I’m not going home. I’ll go to Ace’s estate and wait there. The press won’t let him alone if they know he’s involved in a murder.”

  As she thought about Alanna’s murder, she suddenly remembered Mirabelle. She asked Ace, “Did you see Mirabelle inside?”

  He thought about it, but she imagined all he could envision was Alanna’s dead body.

  “I don’t remember, Caprice. Really, I don’t.”

  Caprice didn’t hesitate to go to the officer at the boundary tape. Detective Carstead was inside. She had to talk to him.

  “Officer, I need to speak with Detective Carstead.”

  “He’s quite busy, ma’am. It will have to wait.”

  “It can’t wait. There’s an animal in the house, and I need to talk to him about her. I know I can’t go in. Could he please come to the tape and talk to me?”

  The officer gave her a skeptical look.

  She said, “Give him my name, Caprice De Luca. I’ve been involved in other investigations, and he knows me.”

  “So you’re the one,” the officer muttered, and Caprice had no idea what that meant. He got on his mobile device and not five minutes later, Carstead was walking toward them.

  “This better not be a ploy to get inside,” he said right away.

  “I don’t use ploys, Detective. There should be an animal in the house, a white Persian cat with golden eyes named Mirabelle. If you can’t find her anywhere out in the open, there’s a utility closet down the hall, off the kitchen. Alanna stuck her in there during the open house, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she had a meeting—and she apparently had some kind of a meeting—that she might have stowed the cat in there again. There was a cat carrier there. I just want to make sure she’s not hurt. I can take her with me.”

  Carstead studied her for a long minute, then glanced at Grant and Ace, who’d moved toward Grant’s SUV for a private conversation.

  “I’ll check,” he said tersely.

  A short while later, Carstead walked down the drive, looking a bit sheepish. He was carrying the pink cat carrier. Mirabelle was protesting loudly from inside.

  Detective Carstead, who was much more human than Detective Jones, informed Caprice, “The cat was inside the closet.” Then after a moment of considering what he should say, he explained, “We’ve contacted the police in Mississippi to notify Mrs. Goodwin’s sister of her death. Once she gets in contact with me, I’ll ask her if she’ll take the cat. In the meantime—”

  Mirabelle was exceedingly upset. Her meow was high-pitched and wailing.

  Caprice cooed to her. “Everything will be okay, baby.” Maybe it would be even better than okay because she wouldn’t have to stay in a closet, if Caprice had anything to say about it.

  She asked Carstead, “Can I take her—until you know whether her sister wants her or not?”

  Carstead thought about it. “It’s well-known you take care of stray animals in Kismet. I’d just have to call animal control if you don’t take her, and who knows where she’d end up? The thing is, Miss De Luca, what if Alanna’s sister can’t take her? Then what happens?”

  “I’ll find her a home, one way or another. I promise.”

  “Don’t you already have animals?” he asked.

  Just how much did this detective know about her? “What am I, an urban legend?”

  “Close to it. You’ve solved three murders.”

  That had nothing to do with her animals.

  “My cat’s going to be put out. My dog will be curious. But I’ll keep Mirabelle separated to give her some time to adjust to new surroundings before I introduce her to them. After all, maybe Alanna’s sister will want her. What’s her name again?”

  “Her name is Twyla. Twyla Horton.”

  Grant and Ace were already getting into Grant’s SUV to drive to the police station.

  Caprice took the carrier from Detective Carstead. “Do you have my number?” As soon as she asked the question, she knew how stupid a question it was. “Of course, you do,” she murmured.

  She thought she saw Carstead’s lips quirk up a bit, and he looked amused for a moment.

  He said, “How is it that when there’s a murder in Kismet, you’re somehow involved?”

  She shrugged. “Kismet’s a small town and I get around.”

  He rolled his eyes at her quick comeback. “I guess you do. Believe me, we have you on our Rolodex and on our computer.”

  After a last glance at the cat carrier, he walked back to the house. As Caprice took Mirabelle to her car and felt the perimeter guarding officer’s eyes on her, she decided that these days Big Brother was watching.

  Grant waved as he drove off and she waved back. He or Ace would let her know what was happening, she felt sure.

  Caprice texted Roz that she was bringing Alanna’s cat home. Roz texted back that she’d take Dylan and Lady to the backyard.

  Mirabelle meowed during a good part of the drive, even though Caprice spoke to her. She knew Persians could be talkative. She wasn’t sure how Lady and Sophia would like that. She did know she was going to settle Mirabelle in her spare room upstairs, until the cat could adjust to being somewhere new. After all, maybe Alanna’s sister would want her. Maybe Ace knew something about Twyla Horton.

  Ace—he was going to be grilled. Detective Jones wouldn’t waste any time if he was on the case, too. Just how much would Grant let Ace say? The bigger question was: Would Ace listen to Grant?

  At her home, Caprice exited the Camaro, then carried Mirabelle to the front door. She knew Lady and Sophia were intelligent and was certain their animal instincts would tell them a new feline was in that spare room when they reached under the door, smelled up the sides, just got any kind of whiff at all.

  Mirabelle looked healthy, but Caprice would still like to have her checked out at Furry Friends Veterinary Clinic. Marcus Reed, her pets’ veterinarian, would give her a true estimation of Mirabelle’s condition. She trusted his advice.

  Sophia, deep in sleep on her cat tree, paid Caprice no mind when she scooted up the stairs. In the spare room, Mirabelle just seemed tired from the whole day’s activities. She jumped up on the single bed and plopped in the middle of the teal blue quilt. She meowed a few times as if to ask guest-type questions: How long can I sleep? Am I safe here? Is it suppertime yet?

  Caprice sat on the bed beside her, stroking her. She’d make sure Mirabelle felt comforted and loved for however long she was here.

  Worried about Ace, she spent a few more minutes with Mirabelle; then she went downstairs and into the garage for an extra litter box. She called to Roz from the back screen door. “I just have to put food and water upstairs for my new boarder and then I’ll be out.”

  Sophia had watched Caprice go up and down the stairs, but she hadn’t moved from her favorite spot on the top shelf.

  Caprice was no sooner standing on the porch, watching Lady and Dylan chase after each other in the backyard, when her cell phone played. A photo of Ace filled the screen.

  “I’m back home,” Ace said without preamble when she answered the call.

  “That was quick.”

  “Grant wouldn’t let me say much. He’s here. I told him I’d like you to sit in on our discussion.”

  “Discussion about?” she prompted. At least Ace was home and hadn’t been arrested.

  “You’ve had some experience with murder investigations. You helped your friend and you helped your sister. So I’d like you to think about helping me. Can you come over?”

  “Sure. Do you mind if I bring Lady?”

  “You know I don’t. She’s your sidekick now. Everybody can see that.”

  “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  After Caprice gave Roz thanks for her help and a huge hug, Roz and Dylan left. Caprice patted Sophia, then leashed Lady to take her to the van.

  Twenty minutes later, she was sitting in Ace’s living room on hi
s black-and-white-striped sofa, where Grant had taken a seat, too. Lady lay between them on the floor. Ace lowered himself into a black leather club chair, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. She’d never quite seen him look so . . . tired.

  When he lifted his head, he focused on Grant. “I’m their number one person of interest, aren’t I?” he asked, obviously wanting a straight answer.

  “You are,” Grant agreed without embellishment. “I cut the interview short because too much information sometimes can hang you.”

  Ace winced at that, and Caprice felt a shiver go up her spine.

  “But on the other hand,” Grant went on, “Detective Jones has a knack for finding out everything—everything you want him to know, and everything you don’t want him to know. So I suggest you tell me what you don’t think he should know.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to say,” Ace explained. “Alanna and I had a fight yesterday.”

  “Where?” Grant asked.

  “At the Country Squire Golf and Recreation Club. We were having lunch there.”

  “Was it a serious fight?” Caprice asked.

  “Serious enough for Alanna to run out in tears,” Ace admitted regretfully. “Everyone in the dining room saw us and saw her leave.”

  There was silence for a few moments. When Grant didn’t ask any more questions, Caprice stepped into the gap. “What was the fight about?”

  Ace was silent.

  “I can’t help you if I don’t have all the facts.”

  Grant pounced on that statement. “You shouldn’t be helping. You should stay out of this. If you want to support Ace as a friend, that’s fine. But don’t get involved in another investigation.”

  “Ace asked for my help,” she said quietly.

  Grant groaned. “You’re not an expert.”

  “I helped solved three murders. Maybe not an expert, but I might have a nose for this. I’m good at puzzles, Grant, you know that. And if Ace needs my help, I’m going to give it.”

  Grant glared at her, but she didn’t look away. If he didn’t understand anything else about her, he should understand this—she was loyal to family and friends and helped them solve problems when she could.

  Grant finally sat back against the sofa in resignation. “All right. Ace, what was the fight about?”

  Ace looked torn that he even had to talk about this. But then he did. “The fight was about Trista. I’d planned for her to stay with me for two weeks at the end of the summer when I didn’t schedule tour dates. I blanked out my schedule for her. But Alanna didn’t like the idea at all. She wanted me to tell Trista I had changed my mind and that I was going to be . . . on a honeymoon.”

  “You were that serious about Alanna?” Caprice asked gently.

  “I was. We had a good time when we were together. She could make me laugh. And she had this Southern sweetness that was just so . . . alluring.”

  Caprice’s gaze met Grant’s for a moment and she felt herself blush without knowing exactly why. But this wasn’t about her and Grant.

  Grant looked a bit unsettled, too, and shifted in his seat, stooped to pet Lady, then focused his attention on Ace again. “You didn’t know Alanna very long, and I know Detective Jones asked you this, but I want you to think hard. Did she have any enemies?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that since I found her, since Carstead and then Jones asked. No enemies that I know of. But I didn’t know much about her business—Goodwin Enterprises. She wasn’t involved that much, but she did sit on the board of directors.”

  Silence hung in the room for a few moments until Caprice said, “She might not have had enemies, but she had cohorts.”

  Looking confused, Ace asked, “What do you mean?”

  Caprice really didn’t want to hurt Ace. He was a friend. He might have looked at Alanna as if she were a beautiful magnolia, but underneath that flower were prickles and maybe he needed to know that. After all, the woman had been murdered.

  “You’re not going to like what I know.”

  “What do you know?” Ace asked, obviously puzzled.

  Grant focused his attention on her, too.

  “I left Alanna’s in a bit of a huff the day of the open house.”

  “Right. You found us kissing.”

  “That wasn’t why I left. She’d locked her cat in a closet.”

  Ace’s brows arched.

  “But that’s not what I’m talking about. I went to her house yesterday to apologize, because it just wasn’t professional of me to leave so abruptly. The thing is, when I got there, I heard voices and went around the side porch. She was on the porch with a man, and I recognized his voice. It was Len. He and Alanna were plotting.”

  “Plotting what?” Ace asked, totally perplexed.

  Caprice told him about the phone conversation she’d overheard, as well as yesterday’s interchange. She ended with, “They wanted to sabotage you, Ace. She wanted you to forget touring and she was going to make you do it any way she could.”

  Ace looked as if every blood vessel in his face was going to burst. “Just wait until I find Len. I’ll knock his head off.”

  Grant sat forward on the couch. “Calm down. You have to seriously think about this. You can’t have a confrontation with anyone right now. Detective Jones is going to be watching you carefully. Don’t even think about an altercation with Len.”

  “But what if he’s the murderer? What if he killed Alanna?” Ace wanted to know.

  “Even more reason to keep your distance,” Grant determined. “We don’t want you to end up the same way as Alanna.”

  Lady had risen to her paws, distressed by the tension in the air, as well as from the upset in Ace’s voice. She went over to him, whined, and then sat on his foot.

  When Ace looked down at her, he inhaled and calmed a bit as he patted her head.

  “Just because Len and Alanna were plotting,” Caprice reminded him, “doesn’t mean Len has anything to do with her murder. After all, Alanna could have been plotting with someone else other than Len. About something else. And that person could be the one who murdered her.”

  Whether Ace knew about enemies or not, Caprice guessed Alanna might have had a few.

  But how was she going to find out just who would make that list?

  Chapter Six

  Caprice leaned over the examination table at Furry Friends Veterinary Clinic the following morning and wiggled a toy mouse at Mirabelle.

  “Come on. Come on out for Marcus. He has to examine you.”

  Marcus chuckled and shook his head. “You really think that’s going to do it?”

  “She’s scared. I’m not sure how well taken care of she was at Alanna Goodwin’s. I think she has a pedigree, and I think Alanna kept her more as a status symbol than anything else. Just my opinion, mind you.”

  Marcus glanced at the computer screen on his laptop on the counter. “Everything’s in order in her medical records that were e-mailed to me. She’s two years old. She was last seen six months ago by a veterinarian for her yearly rabies shot. Are you sure you don’t want to keep her with the veterinarian she had?”

  Caprice had called the two veterinarians in Kismet, one of whom was Marcus, to find out if they had treated Mirabelle. They hadn’t. She’d spread her search to York, explaining she was now taking care of Mirabelle in case the veterinarians hadn’t seen an account of Alanna’s death. There weren’t any HIPAA laws with animals. To have Mirabelle’s records transferred, all she’d had to do was have Detective Carstead call the vet and verify that she was the one who now had custody of the cat.

  “I trust you, Marcus, you know that. Mirabelle could become my new permanent adoptee.”

  “Are you sure you want to take on another animal?”

  He gently upended one side of the carrier so Mirabelle had no choice except to step onto the table. She looked up at Caprice and meowed.

  Caprice protectively curled her arm around her and petted her, cooing, “It’s okay, baby.” Then she address
ed Marcus again. “Two cats and a dog. I can handle that. I put another litter box beside Sophia’s in the laundry room. Upstairs, Mirabelle has one in the spare room and Sophia has one in the sewing room under the eaves.”

  “That should do it ... if the animals all get along.”

  “You know they eventually will. It’s just going to take time.”

  “And patience. But you have that.”

  Marcus Reed was big, burly, and black, with a wide smile and a buzz cut. In his forties, he was an experienced vet and had helped out Caprice on many occasions. Now he gently but confidently examined Mirabelle from teeth to ears, from coat to heart.

  “From her records and from what I’ve observed here,” he said, “she seems in good health. I couldn’t see a flea treatment in her recent past, but since she was an inside cat, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  As soon as Marcus was finished with Mirabelle, the cat curled up close to Caprice again and huddled under her arm.

  “Do you know what food she was on?” the vet asked.

  “No, I don’t. I’ll put her on Sophia’s diet and see how she does—a good wet food and crunchies in between.”

  “If Detective Carstead helped you with the records transfer, it sounds as if you two are getting along.”

  All of it had been businesslike. “He wants me to focus on the cat and keep my nose out of the investigation.”

  Marcus’s brow inched up. “But you won’t, will you?”

  “Ace could be their number one suspect. I know he didn’t kill Alanna.”

  Now Marcus appeared worried. “Are you sure? Maybe they had a lovers’ quarrel gone wrong.”

  “Ace can be a hothead, but I just can’t see him hurting somebody he loves,” Caprice responded with a confidence she felt in her soul.

  “I bet the press is having a field day with this.”

  “Ace had to hire extra security to keep them away from him and his property. He’s going to feel like a prisoner until this is resolved.”

  “Where are you going to look first?”

  “I need to learn some background on Alanna. I think that will be a good place to start.”

  “Google?” Marcus asked with a quirk of his brow.