Drape Expectations

by Karen Rose Smith

  Chapter Twelve

  There were empty seats!

  On Saturday evening, as Caprice stood inside the entrance of the community theater where Ace’s concert was being held, she couldn’t believe that he didn’t have a full house. But then this was Kismet—small town, big gossip. In a place like Kismet, suspicion, rumor, and innuendo could ruin a career.

  Of course, Ace’s career wouldn’t be ruined by this. He had a much bigger audience across the country, maybe even across the world, now with digital downloading. Still ... if Alanna’s murder didn’t get cleared up, suspicion was a nasty shadow to brush away.

  Caprice suddenly realized she wasn’t alone. A shoulder brushed hers. She turned her head to see . . .

  “Grant!” she said with surprise. When she’d picked up Lady last night after the last session of her self-defense course, he hadn’t mentioned he was coming tonight.

  “What? You didn’t think I could afford a seat when the money goes to charity?”

  The seats tonight had cost five hundred dollars a head. But the band was giving half of the funds to a children’s charity.

  Grant added, “I wasn’t sure Simon would pupsit Patches until this afternoon.”

  “Our seats are probably rows apart.”

  “It’s two minutes until concert time, and there are plenty of empty seats. What row are you in?”

  “Eight.”

  “There are even empty seats there. Come on, I’ll join you. If whoever bought the seat next to you arrives, I’ll move.”

  This was a side of Grant she hadn’t seen much before—more casual, flexible, maybe even ready to have a good time.

  “Is any of your family coming?” he asked.

  To her surprise, he laid his hand gently on the small of her back as they walked toward their row. Caprice almost tripped.

  She wasn’t sure why Grant was having this effect on her, but he was. “Mom and Dad and Uncle Dom are trying to stay close to Nana. They’re still worried about her.”

  “How’s she feeling?”

  “I called her this afternoon. The acid reflux medication is helping, and she’s adjusting her diet somewhat. But the truth is, I think a big part of the problem is anxiety over Uncle Dominic being there. I talked to Nana about it, but I think I want to talk to Uncle Dom, too.”

  “The peacemaker,” Grant murmured close to her ear, right before they entered their row.

  His minty breath had tickled her earlobe and she felt positively weak in the knees. She had to buck up. She had to clear her head. She was here to listen to Ace’s music ... and to watch Len Lowery. Grant was here to listen to music, too, and maybe ...

  “Did you come to keep your eye on Len and Ace?” she asked.

  “I did,” he admitted. “When I talked with Ace earlier today, he confessed it’s been hard to act as if everything’s the same when he’s rehearsing with the band. They found a new bass player, and that’s been keeping Ace occupied as they bring the new guy up to speed. So he’s stayed away from Len. But I don’t know how long that will last.”

  “I thought Vince and Roz might come tonight.”

  “I had to stop in at the office for paperwork. Vince said Roz bought a ticket, but he was taking her to a wine tasting somewhere near Lancaster instead. I guess they feel time alone is more important than the concert.”

  “I’m still afraid Roz is going to get hurt.”

  “What about Vince?” Grant asked.

  “It depends if they’re both serious. I think she’s becoming more serious. Has Vince said anything?”

  “Vince talk to me about his love life?” Grant scoffed. “Not going to happen. But I can tell whenever he talks about Roz . . . he has a different attitude about her than about other women he’s dated.”

  Caprice’s elbow brushed Grant’s as the community theater manager appeared onstage to talk to everyone gathered. The theater darkened and the spotlight targeted him.

  Roger Canfield considered himself a connoisseur of the arts—books, plays, literature, and music. He was quite stuffy to talk to. His comb-over didn’t do the trick over his bald spot. Short and stocky, he was wearing an expensive suit. She could tell that from the glow of the fabric under the lights. It fit him superbly.

  He said, “Welcome, everyone, to our Ace Richland concert. Usually, our policy is no photographs and no video. Still, no video, please, but we know we can’t keep you from taking photos with your cell phones. Just remember, those flashes from regular cameras can be distracting. So without further ado, let’s pull the curtain up on Ace Richland.”

  Ace didn’t come up to the mike and say a few words as he usually did, and Caprice wondered if that was a mistake. Or maybe Ace was just going through the motions tonight. He was grieving.

  The band started right in on one of Ace’s first hits. However, from the opening notes, Caprice could tell the audience wasn’t totally involved. In fact, there seemed to be an awkwardness over the whole theater. Maybe if Ace had welcomed everyone ...

  Grant nudged her. “Do you think the audience will get into it?”

  “I don’t know. I sure hope so for Ace’s and the band’s sake.”

  As if Ace’s band could feel the tension in the theater, the camaraderie they usually shared among themselves didn’t come across, either. Their jokes between songs fell flat. It wasn’t that the band didn’t give the audience their money’s worth. They played long and hard. They played song after song. But it was difficult to get the audience to clap along, difficult to have the give-and-take Ace usually enjoyed with his listeners.

  And one of the causes ...

  Len was looking sullen. The newest band member seemed to be feeling his way, glancing at the others for approval or the go-ahead. The drummer and the other guitarists were doing their best to make this an evening full of music. But there was a pall and everyone could feel it.

  Suddenly the atmosphere changed when Ace stepped forward as if he’d made a decision. He made eye contact with each of his band members ... except for Len. He carried the mike close to the edge of the stage and spoke to the audience as he normally did after every song.

  “This next tune originated when our bus was rolling through Tennessee,” he said with one of his famous smiles.

  Finally the tension in the audience thinned. During the upbeat melody, folks clapped to the beat of the music.

  When that tune ended to a round of applause, Ace introduced his new bass player, Caleb Jacobs. While Caleb played a solo, Ace took a few swigs of water from a bottle on a stool. Midsong he picked up his guitar and joined in, and he and Caleb dueled it out on their guitars.

  A burst of applause again came from the audience, and Caprice breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe everything was back on track.

  By this time, Ace had introduced all of the band members, except for Len.

  Grant leaned close to Caprice and in a low voice said, “Len hasn’t stopped scowling since he started playing. Do you think Ace is cutting him out somehow?”

  “It’s possible. Len usually has his own solo at some point. Maybe Ace has just decided he doesn’t deserve one and hasn’t clued Len in.”

  “More trouble brewing,” Grant predicted.

  So without Len giving a solo, or even being introduced, Ace wound up the evening of music by saying, “Thank you all for coming out tonight. I just want you all to know I feel at home here in Kismet. Since I moved here, I’ve made some good friends.” He looked straight at Grant and Caprice.

  But before Ace could continue with his remarks, either what a terrific place Kismet was to live in, or more about the charity or his music, a heckler from about three-quarters of the way back in the theater shouted out, “Did you kill Alanna Goodwin?”

  A hush swept over the theater. Ace’s face reddened and his fingers gripped his guitar hard.

  Caprice didn’t know what to expect out of him next. She found herself clutching Grant’s arm.

  Ace stepped close to the mike and said in a low voice, “Thank you a
ll again for coming out tonight.” Then he turned and left the stage.

  Caprice was still holding on to Grant’s arm. He wasn’t moving away.

  “Maybe I should go after him,” Caprice suggested.

  “No. You go home. I’ll see if there’s anything I can do.”

  She relaxed her grip on his arm and let go, realizing how strong Grant felt ... how very masculine.

  “He’s probably embarrassed about what happened. I’ll find him and make sure he’s all right,” Grant assured her.

  Uncertain, Caprice realized she trusted Grant to do what he could. Maybe Ace would confide in him . . . vent to him if she wasn’t around.

  “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. She and Grant stood, exited their row, and moved to the aisle.

  She was about to head in the other direction, but then she stopped and turned back to him. “If you need me, call me. Ace doesn’t really have that many friends here.”

  Grant nodded and hurried toward the stairs and the door that led backstage.

  Caprice watched him mount the steps and remembered the feel of his arm under her fingertips.

  It was 1:00 A.M. when Caprice got the call. She’d been answering e-mails in her home office. Mirabelle and Sophia were already asleep on her bed upstairs, a bed’s length apart. When she’d gotten home and changed clothes, they’d been there, and they hadn’t moved. At her feet, Lady slept as Caprice made sure all her pressing correspondence was taken care of.

  Her cell phone played on the desk, where she’d set it to charge. Multiple docks helped her keep it revved up.

  “Are you awake?” Grant asked.

  “I was just answering e-mails. What’s going on?”

  “Can you come to the Blue Moon Grille?”

  “Now?”

  What was this, a late-night date? Though the idea thrilled her a little bit. The Blue Moon Grille was open until two on weekends. Late hours for a restaurant in Kismet, but it worked. Maybe because it was the only restaurant around that was open so late.

  “I need your help with Ace.”

  “He’s there?”

  “Oh yeah, he’s here. The whole band is. Ace wouldn’t talk to me backstage. He put on a disguise and snuck out to a low-profile car he had his bodyguard rent for him. I made sure he drove off without being followed. But he must have gotten in contact with his band members and they all ended up here—including Len. He called me after he broke Len’s nose. Can you come?”

  “Broke Len’s nose? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  And she was. Even Lady had cooperated with urgency and made a quick trip outside. Now, hopefully, the animals were in bed for the night.

  But she was certainly curious why she wasn’t. Why did Grant need her there?

  She found out when she saw the damage at the Blue Moon Grille. There were a handful of diners and drinkers still there, scattered at tables on the right side of the room and at the bar. A group of men stood outside the French doors on the deck looking in, probably curious as to what would happen next.

  It was obvious that the left side of the room had seen a fight. Tables and chairs were pushed aside as if the floor had to be cleaned up for some reason. Grant and Ace sat on two ladder-back chairs near the kitchen.

  She hurried over to them. “What happened?”

  Grant motioned to the area where they were sitting. “You should have seen this fifteen minutes ago—broken glass, crab pretzels on the floor, not to mention the fries and ketchup.”

  Ace gave him a glare.

  Grant glared back. “Do you want to tell her?”

  “I decked Len. There’s nothing else to say.” He glanced up at Caprice. “I called Grant because I broke his nose.”

  “Luckily, Len isn’t going to press charges,” Grant explained. “Apparently, no one saw who threw the first punch. It’s a he said/he said situation. But Ace here is ready to go after him again, and I need you to talk some sense into him. Apparently, you’re one of the people he listens to.”

  “I listen to my housekeeper,” Ace mumbled, “because she feeds me.”

  Caprice just shook her head, yanked on a chair, and pulled it over to join the two men. “Ace, go home.”

  “I can’t. I have to talk to the owner about damages. But what I want to do is go out on that deck and throw Len off it. He killed her. You know he did. Maybe Alanna decided not to pay him what she said she was going to. I just can’t believe she’d plot against me.”

  Caprice wasn’t a defender of Alanna by any means; but to make Ace feel better, she suggested, “Maybe she thought she was plotting for you. Maybe she thought she was doing the best for you.”

  “The best? By ruining my career? There isn’t a career any longer without a road show. It’s even more important than it used to be.”

  Caprice glanced toward the deck and spotted Len standing between two of the band members. He was holding an ice bag on his nose.

  Ace was still flushed and looked as if he wanted to punch a wall, if not Len. She’d never seen him like this. But being accused of murder so publically, grieving for Alanna, and knowing he had a tour to get on the road—no, those weren’t good excuses, but they sure were reasons why he was riled up like this.

  Ace was Italian. He came from the same kind of family she did, filled with lots of affection and love and passion.

  She reached out to him and touched his arm. “Ace, you have to try to get a grip, and even more than that, you have a daughter to set an example for. Do you really want to wind up in jail? On charges of assault and battery, if not murder? Detective Jones doesn’t care how famous you are. It won’t take much more than this to prove you have a motive.”

  “They only have circumstantial evidence,” Ace said stubbornly.

  “Don’t push Jones to search for more.” Taking a different tack, she held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”

  Ace looked at her as if she were crazy.

  “Come on,” she coaxed. “Give it to me.”

  He did, and she swiped the screen. Trista’s picture appeared. “Take a good look at her, Ace. She wants to respect you. She wants to spend time with you. Don’t mess this up.”

  Ace studied the picture of Trista for a long time. Then he gave a little nod, took three deep breaths, and let his shoulders relax a little. “Okay. No more punches.”

  Just then, a man dressed in a suit emerged from the kitchen. He was rotund and had a semi-balding head of gray hair. She’d seen him wandering the Blue Moon Grille before, making sure everyone was happy and all the food was prepared exactly the way customers wanted it. His name was Tom Snyder, and he was the owner.

  Ace immediately got to his feet and went to meet the man.

  Grant started to say, “Do you need me to—”

  But Ace just waved his hand at him, indicating he was going to do this on his own.

  Grant sighed. “I’m sorry I had to pull you out again tonight. Maybe he would have settled down, but he sure wasn’t listening to me, and I could tell his blood pressure was still high, as well as his fury. That scene at the concert was a shame. He told me he’s afraid that’s going to happen when he goes on the road if Alanna’s murderer hasn’t been found.”

  “Oh, Grant.” She looked toward the deck. “I want to talk to Len.”

  “Caprice . . .” There was that warning note in Grant’s tone.

  She parroted back and stressed his name as he had hers, “Grant . . .”

  He clasped her elbow. “If he’s the murderer, I want you to stay away from him.”

  “If he’s the murderer, that’s even more reason to talk to him. But tonight isn’t a good time. Maybe tomorrow after he’s been to the ER or urgent care and is nursing that nose. Maybe he’ll be on pain medicine and tell me the truth.”

  “If you want to do that, I can go along with you.”

  She thought about Grant’s offer, but she shook her head. “I appreciate your wanting to go along. I really do. But I don’t think I’ll get as much out of Len if you
do. You’re Ace’s lawyer. You were here defending him tonight. There’s no way Len will tell me anything except a bunch of lies if you’re along, even if he’s on pain medication.”

  Grant raked his hand through his hair—thick black hair with a slight wave. Caprice was noticing every little detail about him these days.

  “If you interview Len, I want you to tell me what time you’re going, and I want you to leave your cell phone open to my number. Don’t tell me you’re a big girl and you know what you’re doing, and you finished a self-defense course. Even police officers have backup.”

  Grant knew her well.

  She said simply, “I’ll let you be my backup.” Then she wondered what it would be like to have Grant as a backup in more than a murder investigation.

  Caprice didn’t like Len. She knew that wasn’t a charitable thought. Nevertheless, as he opened the door to his condo, even though his nose was taped, he still had a look of arrogance. When his gaze wandered over her on Sunday afternoon, sizing her up as if she might be his next date, she shivered. He gave her the creeps. She didn’t like guys who thought every woman should drop at their feet. She didn’t like guys who had an all-knowing attitude. She didn’t like this guy who could be a murderer.

  Wearing a denim maxiskirt, paired with a fringed vest, along with a white silky blouse with bell sleeves, she knew she wasn’t Len’s proverbial cup of tea, or cup of sugar, or cup of whatever. Dipping her hand into her pocket, she felt for her cell phone. She’d texted Grant as he’d asked, and she’d left the line open now.

  “This is a surprise,” Len said with a smirk. “You’re in Camp Ace, aren’t you?”

  “Could we talk for a few minutes?” she asked politely. She was determined to be polite. She was determined to learn something.

  “Come on in,” Len said, motioning to the living room.

  It wasn’t really a living room. Oh, there was a couch, a black leather one. There was a chair in a red-and-black geometric design that was complemented by an ottoman practically as big as a coffee table. But that was where the resemblance to a living room ended.

  Two keyboards were positioned side by side. Cords dangled from them to the receptacles. Two speakers sat at opposite ends of the room, with a huge flat-screen TV at the center. An all-in-one computer, with a twenty-four-inch monitor, sat atop an acrylic desk. The ergonomic chair in silver was futuristic, to say the least. Len obviously worked, played, and relaxed in this room.