She said simply, “It was another rough day.”
Caprice’s dad nodded. “I can only imagine. Is there anything we can do for you?” he asked with the kindness that Caprice had known all her life.
They’d laid their coats on a nearby chair, and now Sara looked at them and said, “I should hang up your coats,” but she didn’t move to do so.
Caprice said, “That doesn’t matter. Have you been alone all day?”
“Oh, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “Deanne, Maura, and Ryan have been here. I made them all go home before supper. They mean well. Maura answered the phone all day.”
Sara suddenly asked Caprice’s dad, “Did you know Chris was sick?”
Her father shook his head. “I had no idea. Did anyone know?”
Sara looked dejected. “Not that I know of. I feel so guilty because I didn’t catch it. How am I going to live with that?”
Her dad met Sara’s gaze. “You’re going to have a list of if-onlys and what-ifs, and you can drive yourself crazy with them. From what Caprice tells me, with Chris wanting to downsize to move into a retirement village, he was trying to prepare both of you and make life easier. From what I understand, the tumor was inoperable. There was nothing you could have done.”
Sara wasn’t buying it. “We could have looked into experimental treatments. I could have searched the Internet for doctors who wouldn’t have thought the tumor was inoperable.” After a pause, she said, “Tell me you’re going to keep Blitz. I need to know he’ll be with someone who loves him as much as Chris did. The kids don’t want a dog, and the truth is, I don’t either.”
Caprice knew she’d feel much differently about that. She’d want to keep her husband’s dog to have a part of him with her. But Sara seemed totally removed from Chris and his love for the animal. So Caprice didn’t judge.
“Blitz has already become my good buddy. Yes, I’ll keep him,” Nick said. “Chris was my friend, and it’s something I can do for him. Besides, I’ve wanted a dog for a long time.”
Suddenly the front door opened and Sara’s daughter, Deanne, came in. She had the same classic beauty as her mother. When she entered the living room they all exchanged greetings. Then she went over to the sofa and sat beside her mother. After she shrugged out of her coat, she put her arm around Sara. “How are you doing, Mom? I couldn’t stay away because you need someone to look after you. Did you eat supper?”
“I wasn’t hungry.”
Deanne looked at Caprice for help. “Can you tell her she has to eat? She didn’t eat lunch even with all those casseroles in the refrigerator.”
“Maybe a salad later,” Sara assured her daughter. “Or some of the soup Caprice brought.”
But Caprice understood that Sara was saying that just to calm Deanne’s worries.
“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Mom,” Deanne promised with vehemence. “If I’d done something about that call that Dad got from Hopkins—”
“What call?” Sara asked, instantly alert.
Deanne looked as if she needed to cleanse herself of guilt. “It was before Labor Day. I had stopped in at the store and was talking to Dad in the office. He had his cell phone lying on the desk. It beeped like it usually did, and I looked down at it. The number that came up on the screen said it was from Johns Hopkins. I handed the phone to him and he went outside to take it. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I had an appointment and had to get going, so I left. I should have asked him about it the next time I saw him. I should have.” Her voice choked, and Caprice felt sorry for her.
Sara put her arm around her daughter. “If he didn’t want us to know, he didn’t want us to know. I’m beginning to realize that. I knew he’d been so tired. He seemed more forgetful than usual, but I just thought it was stress. We all missed signs. But we can’t blame ourselves for that if he was trying to hide his condition.” Sara nodded to Nick as if he’d been right about that. She could see it with her daughter and maybe now she could see it for herself.
Deanne took a tissue from her pocket, dabbed at her eyes, and wiped her nose. Then she stared directly at Caprice. “You’ve looked into murder investigations before, haven’t you?”
“Usually I get caught up in them inadvertently,” Caprice responded, afraid of where this was going. “You don’t have to worry about the police investigation. I’m sure Mack will keep everybody on their toes. He was your dad’s friend, and he won’t let him down.”
“That might be true,” Deanne admitted. “The chief’s a good guy. But there’s bureaucracy and rules for them to follow. What would you do if you were looking into this?”
Her father gave Caprice a warning look, and she knew what that meant. But she also had to be honest with these women. “I’m sure the police are doing this, but I would look at anyone who had a motive to hurt your dad. Do either of you know of anyone who had a grudge against him?”
Sara was quick to say, “Boyd Arkoff had a grudge. He was mad because Chris called the police on him. I suppose they could have argued and Boyd lost his temper.”
“Did you mention Boyd to the police?” Caprice asked her.
“Yes, I did. And I told them that you were here when he threatened Chris.”
“I think Boyd’s all bark and no bite,” Deanne said. “But there is someone who had a big grudge.”
In spite of himself, her dad was all ears now too. “Who was that?”
“Bailey Adler,” Deanne proclaimed.
“The developer,” Caprice murmured.
“Yes. He’s sneaky. He tried to date me and convince me to persuade Dad to vote his way. If he was that manipulative, maybe he’d resort to murder.”
Caprice asked, “Did you mention him to the police?” She knew they’d all been questioned.
“Yes, I did.”
“I have a question for both of you,” Caprice said. “Sara, you said that when Chris came back from D.C. this year, he seemed different. Have you talked with the friends he went to D.C. with?”
“No,” Sara responded. “I didn’t even think about doing that. Mack couldn’t go this year. You met Ray Gangloff and the other buddy of his who went was Harrison Barnhart. But I don’t know what good it would be to talk to them now.”
Maybe it would serve no good at all, but Caprice still wanted to know why Ray Gangloff had wanted to see Chris the day of the open house. She also wondered why Chris’s mood had changed after that trip.
Caprice couldn’t help herself when she asked, “Do you have their numbers? If you’d like, I could talk to them. I doubt if I’ll turn up anything, but if I do, I’ll hand any information I get over to the police.”
“I have their numbers on my phone,” Sara said. “It’s in my purse in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.”
After her mom had left the room, Deanne said, “Thank you.”
“I haven’t done anything,” Caprice assured her.
“No, but one less thing she has to do right now is a burden off her shoulders. She was never fond of Dad’s army buddies, so talking to them isn’t something that would help her right now.”
As she promised, Caprice would talk to Harrison Barnhart and Ray Gangloff. But first she wanted to have a talk with the chief, who was probably Chris’s best friend. What better place to start?
* * *
Caprice was getting ready for bed that night when her cell phone played. Mirabelle was already sacked out on her bed, sprawled lengthwise over one of the pillows. Sophia stared at her from on top of the antique, yellow armoire hand-painted with hummingbirds and roses. She only jumped onto the bed after Caprice was in it. Unlike the felines, Lady was wide awake, nudging a ball toward Caprice’s foot, just in case she wanted to kick it for her.
Picking up her phone, Caprice said to her canine, “Playtime is over, baby. It’s time to settle down.” Stooping over she patted Lady’s bed and Lady stepped into it, but slowly, as if not sure she was ready for downtime.
As Caprice sat on the side of her bed and s
aw that Nikki was calling, Lady cocked her head, watching. After all, Caprice might decide to pick up the ball and roll it for her.
“How was your visit?” Nikki asked without preamble. She’d known Caprice was going to see Sara tonight.
“Sad,” Caprice answered. “With grief, there’s absolutely nothing you can do except let time pass. I really didn’t know how to comfort her.”
“And with the murder,” Nikki added, “her grief might be on hold until some questions are answered. We know about that, don’t we?”
“We do from the families of other victims. Not firsthand, thank goodness. I’m going to talk to Mack tomorrow.”
Nikki was silent for a few seconds, but then she said, “You know he’s off the investigation.”
“Which doesn’t make a lot of sense since he probably knew Chris best. He’s been a cop long enough that he can be objective.”
“Those are the rules, Caprice.”
“Some rules were made to be broken. There’s no reason he can’t talk to me about his friendship with Chris.”
“I suppose not. As usual, Brett’s being closed-mouthed about it. Though he did say he’s going to talk to you eventually, since the Merriweathers were your clients.”
That didn’t surprise her. She’d much rather talk to Brett than Detective Jones. “How are the two of you doing?”
“I like being with Brett. I think he likes being with me. But this murder investigation could tank our relationship, for sure.”
“Because of the long hours he’s going to put in at the station?”
“No, that’s part of his job. And the truth is, his job isn’t a problem for me. It’s his attitude. I don’t mind the late nights and the canceled dates because I understand that his work is important. But he thinks I deserve better than that. I guess he thinks I deserve better than him.”
Nikki sounded a bit forlorn, and that meant she really liked the detective.
“Do you want me to talk to him?”
“Of course, I don’t. This is between the two of us. If he’s going to walk away because he thinks I can’t handle his job or because he thinks five years down the line I won’t be able to handle his job, that’s his problem. But I’d rather know it now rather than later.”
“If you try to protect yourself, he won’t know how you feel.”
“I’m plain about how I feel.”
“Maybe he needs some time to see that you’ll stick by.”
“That’s what you’d do, give him time?”
“That’s what I did with Grant.”
In the silence, she knew her sister was thinking about that. Finally, she said, “I guess you did, and it worked out for you. But that doesn’t mean it will work out for me. Maybe I’m not as sure of my feelings as you were. Maybe I don’t feel I know Brett inside and out, upside and down yet. If he can’t open up, I don’t know if I want to stick around.”
“For what it’s worth, I think he’s a good man, Nik.”
After a pause, Nikki asked, “So you’re going to just march into the police department and ask to talk to Mack? That’s going to be kind of obvious, don’t you think? Maybe you should go see him at home.”
“If I go visit him at home and somebody notices, that could be even worse. But you have given me an idea.”
“I hope it’s a good one.”
Caprice laughed. “I’ll make a batch of Christmas cookies. You know how Mack loves cookies, and I’ll take a tray so everybody can enjoy them. It’s just my little holiday visit to the police department.”
“Smooth,” Nikki said, a little wryly. “But it might work. Because you became involved in other murders, I’m sure everyone wants you to stay away from this investigation.”
“I’m sure they do, too. That’s probably why Brett hasn’t called me in yet. I’m just going to nose around a little bit. Sara deserves some answers sooner rather than later. If I unearth anything, I’ll tell Brett.”
“And you’ll probably see him more than I will.”
“Nikki . . .” Caprice warned.
“I know, I know. Be optimistic. Write down an affirmation and repeat it. Got it. I’ll talk to you after your visit to the police department.”
Caprice smiled as she ended the call. She was glad Nikki was her sister.
She gazed around the room at Lady with her head on her paws in her bed, one eye open, and at Sophia ready to jump on the foot of the bed as soon as Caprice put her legs in, and at Mirabelle snoring softly. Then she looked at the engagement ring on her finger that told Caprice she’d soon be marrying the man she loved. She was thankful for her life. She knew in her heart she’d do everything she could to help Sara and her family. That was just what the De Lucas did.
* * *
Caprice climbed out of her van in the Kismet police department’s parking lot and stopped before she opened the door to retrieve the cookies. On its side, the van was painted with swirling psychedelic colors and a few large flowers. Turquoise lettering read CAPRICE DE LUCA REDESIGN AND HOME STAGING. When she married Grant, she would have to consider keeping her name for professional reasons. Something else they needed to talk about.
Opening the side of the van, she took out the tray of cookies and headed for the building. It had started out as red brick. Over the years, the bricks had worn and mortar had cracked, so a few years ago, the bricks had been repointed and sand blasted. The double glass door at the entrance had replaced the wooden door. One thing about the building that was unique was the bright white cupola on the peaked roof.
She went up to the police officer inside at the front desk and raised the cookie tray. “A Christmas treat for everyone. Can I put it in the break room?”
The police officer, John Platt, had seen her at crime scenes. He grinned at her. “I’m sure those cookies are a thousand times better than the coffee we’ll have to go with them. They’ll be gone in five minutes.” He went to the door that led into the hallway where interrogation rooms and offices were located and opened it for her. “Just to let you know, we’re being set up to videotape interviews. It’s an advancement we never would have expected. But with the cases we’ve had in the last couple of years, it seems the right thing to do.”
“Thanks for telling me.” She wasn’t a pariah to everyone on the police force, just Detective Jones. Hopefully he’d be out and about, and she wouldn’t run into him.
She deposited the cookies in the break room and before she had the tin foil off the top, two officers were there, smiling, grabbing a napkin and a couple of cookies, and heading back to wherever they’d come from. She certainly wouldn’t have to worry about the cookies getting stale. She was debating whether to put the tin foil back on them or not when she heard someone else come inside. She turned to see the chief.
“Just the person I want to see,” she said honestly.
He shook his head. “And here I thought you had completely altruistic motives by bringing us cookies.”
“If you grab a few, can we talk?”
“Since I’m off the Merriweather investigation, I suppose there’s no harm in that. You didn’t want to talk about the investigation, did you?”
“Of course not,” she said in the same vein. And she lowered her voice. “I want to talk to you about Chris.”
He gave her a warning look. “Personal stuff about my friendship with him?”
She nodded.
Crossing to the table with the tray, he grabbed a napkin, three snickerdoodles with red sprinkles, and said, “Follow me. This is a friendly almost-uncle-to-almost-niece visit, so let’s keep a low profile.”
Her father and Mack Powalski had gone to high school together. Although her dad had been a freshman and Mack a senior, they’d run into each other and gotten along. Mack was drafted into the army out of high school. Chris, who had already been to college and was four years older, had been in a platoon with him.
As Mack settled in the chair behind his desk and laid the cookies with the napkin on the desk, Caprice sat across fr
om him in a hardwood chair. “Did you hear Chris’s funeral is on Saturday?” he asked her.
The day after tomorrow. That meant Chris’s body had been released. “No, I hadn’t heard. I’ll let my family know.”
Again, Mack just nodded then concentrated on eating one of the cookies. He already had a mug of coffee on his desk and he took a few sips before he focused his gaze on her. “What do you want to know?”
Where to start? she wondered. “Sara said that Vietnam changed Chris. They married before he was sent over?”
“They did. They married as soon as they graduated from college. The draft lottery happened, and he had a low number and he was sent over.”
“Sara said you didn’t go on the trip to D.C. with Chris this year.”
“No, I couldn’t make it. I really wanted to, but Martha’s mom was sick and we went to spend a few days with her. Chris and I were supposed to get together to talk about his trip to D.C., but life kept getting in the way. Or my job. As you know, murder investigations have kept us busy this year. Lots of paperwork to go with them. Lots of decisions to make for a small PD.”
It was better not to be too intense with Mack, to let the subject wander a bit before she got back to other things she wanted to know. “Officer Platt told me you’re going to initiate videotaping.”
“We are. It’s a step forward. In the long run, it should save us time and personnel hours, but there will be a learning curve just as there is with anything new. Some of the older officers will probably buck against it.”
She didn’t bring up Detective Jones’ name, even though he certainly wasn’t old. Yet she had the feeling he was set in his ways. “I wish there had been security cameras near the Santa cabin,” she said.
Slay Bells Ring Page 9