Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (19 page)

“I care about you too.”

“That’s why saying what I have to say is so damn hard.”

“Then just say it, and put us both out of our misery.” She tried to keep her tone light, but that was highly impossible.

Looking troubled, he squeezed her hand, then released it. “My fellowship is for a year. I know better than to ask you to stand by and wait until I have free time to spend with you because I’m not going to have any free time. No, Baltimore isn’t that far away, but it’s a lifetime away in what I’ll be doing, and what you do here. Trauma medicine is important to me, and at the end of the year, I don’t know where my new training will lead.”

“So you’re dumping me.” She couldn’t help but be blunt about it.

“No, I am not dumping you, but . . . we both have decisions to make. Do you want to stay in touch and e-mail when we get the chance?”

“Christmas cards?” she joked. Humor usually helped heartbreak, didn’t it?

“Certainly Christmas cards.”

While she was being blunt and Seth was being honest, she decided to take both to their limits. “What do
you
want?”

If she’d asked Travis what he’d wanted, maybe he would have told her he still had dreams of getting back together with his ex-wife. At least she’d learned to ask.

“I know this is terrifically selfish of me, but this is what I’d like,” Seth said. “I’d like to stay in touch now and then. At the end of the fellowship year, if both of us are still unattached, we can pick up where we left off.”

“If you don’t decide to take a job in Alaska or Timbuktu,” she muttered, realizing sometimes honesty was harder to take than pretense.

“I know all of this is iffy, and no woman wants iffy, not about a relationship. But you asked what I wanted, and that’s what I want.”

Her iced-coffee glass was sweating on the table. She kept her gaze on one of the condensation dribbles. “You might meet a pretty young intern who wants to work with Doctors Without Borders. You might want to do that, too.”

“That’s true. But if I meet a pretty young intern, and if I’d get serious, I’d certainly let you know, just as I’d like you to let me know if you meet anyone you want to get serious with. Could that be our deal?”

As deals went, it wasn’t much of one. On the other hand, she and Seth would still have a tenuous connection, at least for the next year.

He went on decisively, “What I don’t want, Caprice, is for you to put your life on hold for a year. I’m not asking you to do that. I’ve put mine on hold since . . .” He abruptly stopped.

“Since?” she asked gently.

“Since I lost a patient during surgery and decided maybe I didn’t want a general surgery practice. I came to Kismet to get my bearings and figure out where I wanted a practice to go. The chance for this fellowship was like a tap on the shoulder, guiding me. Being accepted into the program was another sign that this is the right direction. You believe in signs, don’t you?”

Yes, she did. Nana had taught her how to recognize and even wait for them. “I do.”

Reaching for her hand again, he held it in his. “Meeting you and getting to know you has been a sign too. Before I can have a real personal life, I have to figure out where my professional life is going.”

She could see how that was true. Gazing into his eyes, she asked, “When are you leaving?”

“Two weeks.”

“That soon.”

“I’m taking over a slot someone vacated, so everything is rush-rush.”

“What about the urgent care center? Will they be short-staffed?”

“I found someone for them, a friend I went to school with. He’s been practicing in Philadelphia and isn’t overly crazy about it. He thinks Kismet might be a nice fit.”

With a reluctance she felt too, Seth unclasped their hands, pushed his coffee away, and stood. “I’d better be going. I know you have a full day tomorrow, and so do I.”

Now being around Seth hurt because she knew she was going to miss him. She suspected the same was true for him. Her heart heavy, she walked him to the door.

“You will say good-bye before you leave, won’t you?”

“Of course, I will. I’m not going to lie and tell you I won’t miss you.”

“You couldn’t lie if your life depended on it,” she said, meaning it.

He wrapped his arms around her, brought her close, and kissed her gently. Then he backed away.

He didn’t say good-bye, and Caprice knew that was going to be hard for both of them to do.

She watched him walk to his truck and get in. She watched him start it up and then drive away. Her heart hurt, but she knew neither of them were to blame. She’d dated Seth with her eyes wide open. Tonight when she closed them, she’d see his face and wonder what they could have had.

For the next two days, Caprice worked to the exclusion of everything else, except taking care of Sophia and Shasta. She simply didn’t want to think about Seth’s leaving. Now as she drove to Ace’s on Tuesday afternoon, she asked herself if Seth could have made the grand gesture and said he was giving up the fellowship for her . . . for them. But they hadn’t dated long enough for that. They hadn’t known each other long enough for that. He had to figure out what and where he wanted to practice. He had to figure out if she fit into his life and he fit into hers.

After Shasta’s appointment with Marcus yesterday, Caprice had readied everything she’d need for the birth of Shasta’s pups because Marcus had decreed it would be soon. She’d sanitized the garage as much as possible over the weekend, setting up the borrowed whelping bed inside a modular containment pen. Leaving the pen’s gate open, she’d encouraged Shasta to explore the box often. On a previous visit to Marcus, Caprice had talked to him about supplies she’d need to deliver the pups and what she should do to help that happen safely. He’d given her a list of instructions. After she’d prepared the box with layers of newspaper, then laid an old quilt in one corner, she’d spread wood chips on a rubber mat around it within the pen. The whelping box, borrowed from a friend of Marcus’s who raised Labrador retrievers, would be roomy enough for Shasta and her brood. The pups would be making a home in the garage for at least six weeks.

After the garage was ready, Caprice had led Shasta to the box several times and the cocker had lain in it, even taken a nap there while Caprice weeded flower beds in the front yard with the garage door up. Since the garage’s thick, cement-block walls kept it cooler than the rest of the house, and since the windows were shaded by poplars all day, the area should be perfect for Shasta and the newborn pups. Everything was ready, down to the latex gloves and the heat lamp.

Now all she had to worry about was Trista liking her redone room. Danny had called earlier today and said he’d be finished with the mural this afternoon. So she was headed there now. Trista and Ace had been barred from the bedroom until she was finished with it. This would be the great reveal. Tomorrow the pool party would create a different type of excitement.

When she arrived at Ace’s, she spotted new security cameras. However, her code still opened the gate. After she rang the bell, a pretty young woman in royal blue slacks and shirt opened the door.

“I’m Alyssa,” she said, shaking Caprice’s hand. “The event planner. I’m making sure we’re all set up for tomorrow. Ace said you could go right up. He and Trista are in the pool.”

She was glad they were getting father and daughter time. She was hoping they were getting to know each other better. After she ran up the stairs, she walked down the hall to Trista’s room and opened the door. Danny was packing up his paints.

When he saw her, he smiled. “What do you think? If you don’t like it, there’s not much I can do at this late date.”

She did like it. A mare and a foal were standing at a fence in the foreground, nibbling grass. The scene was vibrant and alive. The horses’ coats caught the light of a late-day sun. Everything about the scene was captivating.

“Danny, this is fabulous. It’s even better than the dolphins.”

“The dolphins were a practice run.”

He continued putting his things together, stuffing them into a backpack. He glanced up at her once and then twice, and she guessed he wanted to ask her something.

“What?”

“Ace saw this when it was almost finished even though he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He made me an offer.”

“What kind of offer?”

“He said if I push my grades up this year and earn my diploma, he’ll invest in sending me to art school.”

“Oh my gosh, Danny, that’s huge . . . and crazy wonderful. What did you say?”

“I said I’d talk to my mom, but I was sure she’d approve. Painting is what I love to do, Miss De Luca, and if I could do this and earn money from it, maybe I could help Mom, too. She’s had it tough. I want her to find a guy she can really count on. I guess I got so mad at Bob because he only wanted that one-night stand. I heard Mom talking to a friend. She was crying. Bob didn’t think past that night to the next day. I fought with him because of Mom. She deserves the best, not a schemer like him. And I don’t think it’s just his scheming with women that might have gotten him killed.”

“Do you know something else?”

After a long pause, Danny seemed to make up his mind. “You know that Kent who works with Bob? Some people say he’s just a partner. But he’s really Bob’s half brother. I overheard Bob on his cell with a lawyer. That lawyer was changing Bob’s will.”

If Kent would be the beneficiary, he had a lot to gain from Bob’s death. However, if he didn’t know it was changed, that left a lot of possible brother-to-brother controversy, didn’t it? A different dad? The same mom? The same dad? A different mom? More questions to add to her list instead of fewer. But for right now, she was happy with the room they’d created for Trista.

“Thank you for telling me.”

“Do you know who did it yet?”

“Not yet. But I’ll keep working on it. Now, however, let’s see if Trista likes her room.”

She glanced around. The headboard was perfect, and so was the distressed dresser and matching desk. The plaid valances and the patchwork bedspread that looked like an old down quilt added the colors to the room that Trista liked most. Caprice had found throw rugs too. One said “Build Your Dream,” and bright hearts danced all over another. A third was designed with horses running across it. Trista’s bathroom transitioned into the same theme, with a shower curtain, rugs, and even towels decorated with a band of horses. Everything was colorful, and pieces of it could be changed as Trista grew older and her taste changed. But for now, Caprice thought it was nearly perfect. She called Ace on his cell.

“Ready for us?” he asked.

“As ready as we’re going to be. You’ve got to watch Trista’s face. When she first sees it, you’ll know if it’s what she envisioned.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Then I guess we start all over again, or we take it apart and fix what she wants to change.”

“A woman has the right to change her mind.”

“Something like that.”

“Okay, we’ll be up.”

In less than five minutes, they were outside the door. Ace rapped and Caprice opened it. Trista stepped inside, her dad’s hand on her shoulder.

Her face broke into a wide grin. “This is more like it. It’s wicked good, Caprice. Oh, look at this mural.”

She went over to the horses and said, “Can I touch?”

“You better not pet the little one yet,” Danny advised. “He might still have some wet spots. But the rest is dry.”

She touched the ears on the mare, then stretched her hand down toward the floor, where the painted grass grew. “It looks so real. Look at these tiny little wildflowers. Oh, Daddy, I love it.”

Daddy. From the look on Ace’s face, Caprice had the feeling his daughter hadn’t called him that in a while.

He regained his composure quickly and looked at Danny. “What’s your next job?”

“Nothing as great as this. I’m going to start on those T-shirts.”

Ace rubbed his chin. “I might know a guy who could set up a Web site for you. I’ll check into it. I want to see you move forward, understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

Caprice hadn’t heard that deference in Danny’s voice since she’d met him. She liked hearing it.

“So we’re ready for tomorrow night, everybody. Danny, you’re invited, you know. Bring your mom if you want. This is a family party. Oh, and Caprice, your brother and Grant Weatherford are invited too. They’re doing some work for me. Didn’t want you to be surprised when you got here.”

She would have been.

Ace crooked his finger at Caprice to follow him into the hall. Once there, he studied her. “You’re not yourself. You haven’t been the past two days.”

“Of course I’m myself.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve been quiet—quieter than usual anyway.”

“I have a lot on my mind. I’m just strategizing a bit and figuring out the best way to go forward in finding Bob Preston’s murderer. I ran into a little trouble.”

“Does someone not want you asking questions? Did someone threaten you?”

“Ace, this isn’t your concern.”

“I can put a bodyguard on you. I know plenty of them.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard. Really. Tomorrow night will take my mind off everything that’s happened.”

Not only the murder investigation, but Seth’s leaving too.

On Wednesday evening Ace’s party was in full swing when Caprice arrived, and she liked the vibe she was getting from everyone there. She was so used to overseeing open houses that it was hard to act like a guest, and she kept reminding herself this wasn’t an open house. Ace had made it clear that he wanted her to be his guest, so she’d dressed like a guest, in a gauzy, strapless maxi-dress. It was easy to get in and out of if she wanted to change into the bathing suit she’d brought along and stowed in the pool house.

She really didn’t want to change into it or go near the pool. For one thing, her nightmare experience of being pushed under until her breath practically ran out was still very fresh in her mind. The second thing? She just didn’t like wearing her bathing suit and feeling “exposed” around . . . anyone.

So she migrated from room to room and had a more than pleasant conversation with Ace’s parents. They were down-to-earth and reminded her very much of her own mom and dad. Whenever she passed Nikki bustling around the kitchen, her sister tossed her sympathetic looks that brought home the fact that Caprice wished Seth could be here too. But besides his shifts, he had a lot to tie up before he left. Nikki knew how down she was about him leaving.

Caprice was determined not to stay down. What if she’d been dating Seth a year and this had happened? Or two years? What if they’d been more than dating? She knew his practical attitude was the best one they could both adopt, but that didn’t make her feel much better.

She speared another one of Nikki’s crab balls and popped it into her mouth. Delicious, as always. She’d spotted Vince earlier, but he’d said he wasn’t staying long, and she wondered if he’d left already.

A few minutes later, she was involved in a conversation with Ace’s public relations consultant about the difficulty in getting the word out about any business when they heard strains of music coming from down the hall.

The consultant said, “You can’t keep him away from his guitar very long.”

Caprice smiled. “I’m going to take a look.”

Following the sounds of the music, Caprice stood in the doorway of the sitting room beside the media room. Ace and two of his band members were strumming acoustic guitars, jamming as musicians do. Because of the music, Caprice didn’t hear anyone coming down the hallway, but suddenly Trista was by her side.

“That’s it,” she moaned. “You won’t see him the rest of the night.”

Caprice laughed. “You know your dad well.”

“I know he loves music more than anything else.”

Caprice heard the “more than me” element in her voice, and she simply responded, “It’s been his life.”

“It’s really why he and Mom broke up, not because of some other woman.”

Kids knew a lot more than adults gave them credit for.

As if she needed to change the conversation quickly, Trista said, “I do really like my room. You nailed it.”

“I’m glad. I can’t earn my fee if I don’t nail it.”

Trista finally smiled. “I like you. You’re different from the people Dad usually gets to work for him.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. They’re impressed by his money. Sometimes I even think they’re scared of him.”

“Nope, I’m not scared of him,” Caprice assured her. “Are
you
scared of him?”

“Gosh, no. I’ve seen him first thing in the morning when he can’t even get his eyes open.” Looking a little bored with the whole music scene, Trista asked, “Will you get in the pool with me? This night’s going to get real boring if I have to sit here and listen to him play all night, or talk to Grandma and Gramps.”

There weren’t any other kids here, and Caprice could see how Trista would be bored. On the other hand, it wasn’t her job to entertain her. Still, she liked Ace’s daughter. Feeling out of place wasn’t comfortable for any kid.

“Maybe I could just sit by the side of the pool while you get in.”

“That’s no fun. There are some people playing water volleyball. I didn’t want to just jump in with strangers, but if I know somebody who’s playing, somebody like you . . .” Trista’s grin was as disarming as her dad’s.

Caprice gave a resigned sigh. “My duffel’s in the pool house.”

“Okay, let’s go get it. My suit’s there too.”

Once out back, Caprice and Trista wended their way through the tables and umbrellas. Caprice glanced into the pool, where people were laughing and shouting and . . . stopped cold. Grant was playing water volleyball. She hadn’t seen him come in. She certainly hadn’t expected to see him in board shorts, bare-chested and with his hair soaking wet.

His gaze caught hers, and they stared at each other for a moment. But then he smiled and waved. She waved back, now doubly sure she didn’t want to change into her bathing suit and step into the pool.

“Come on,” Trista said, “This is going to be fun.”

“Fun,” Caprice muttered. “This is going to be fun.”

There were women wearing bikinis in the pool, and they looked like the women on a TV reality dating show. Earlier she’d heard one of them talking about Ace’s tour. They were his backup singers.

Ten minutes later, stepping out of the pool house with Trista, Caprice tried not to think about their svelte figures in bikinis compared to hers. Her bathing suit was sporty rather than stylish, with modestly cut legs. However, it was peacock blue. Her penchant for her favorite colors reached into every aspect of her life, from flowers to furnishings to clothes.

Trista’s eagerness combated Caprice’s nervousness as they traversed the patio, working their way around groups of guests. The night was absolutely balmy. Caprice had thrown a towel around her shoulders, but now she dropped it on a lounge chair as she followed Trista down the steps into the pool. If she was under water, no one could see her. The problem was, she couldn’t play volleyball under the water.

She was usually a confident woman . . . when she was dressed. But in a bathing suit, she felt like a geek at a popular kid’s party.

Unfortunately, she and Trista waded into the pool at just the time two of the guests who had been playing volleyball decided to climb out. That meant she and Trista were on Grant’s team. So be it. Most of the time, her life was in the hands of fate, and fate definitely had an odd sense of humor.

Just as in a real volleyball game, they rotated their positions in serving. At least Caprice did know how to hit the ball over the net. As she did when engaged in most athletic activities, she soon forgot her self-consciousness and entered into the spirit of the game. Grant was their powerhouse, but the rest of them helped, even Trista, who had a lot of oomph behind her hits. Caprice even spiked a ball, and their team surged ahead.

Somehow in the rotation, she ended up standing next to Grant in the back row. That didn’t matter. She still intended to hold her own. Caprice watched a pretty brunette from their team serve to the other side. A guy on the other team whacked the ball hard. It sailed toward her and Grant, and looked like it would come down right between them.

Caprice knew she’d have to jump to hit it. She could just let Grant handle the shot, but in a split-second decision, she decided not to. She jumped. She didn’t know if she lost her balance or Grant brushed against her trying to reach the ball . . . or what. She just knew that one minute she was above the water, and the next minute she was under it. However, she wasn’t there long, not long enough to once again experience panic. A strong arm snagged her around the waist and hiked her up to the surface.

She coughed.

Grant asked, “Are you okay?”

She looked up into his very gray eyes, coughed again, then realized he was still studying her face.

“Caprice?”

She couldn’t look away. She couldn’t find her voice. She couldn’t . . .

“Breathe,” he suggested.

She did, and then felt so foolish she mumbled, “I’m fine,” and turned away from him, eager to get back into the rhythm of the game, eager to escape his steady perusal.

Though she took a few steps away, he clasped her shoulder to stop her. “What are those scrapes on your back? Did Sophia use you for a scratching post?”

She swung around. “What?”

“You have scratches and faint black and blue marks on your back. Did you fall?”

It had been ten days since her scare at Shape Up’s pool. But she supposed the scratches weren’t completely gone. A few of the volleyball players were studying them inquisitively now. She certainly couldn’t explain what had happened here.

Trista was watching them too. She gave Caprice a little smile as if she thought something more than volleyball was going on. It was, but not what the preteen thought. Caprice smiled back, though, and gave a little wink because she needed to talk to Grant. As bullheaded as he was, he wouldn’t let this go, and she wasn’t going to explain what had happened while she stood in the middle of a pool in her bathing suit.

“I’ll get dressed and meet you in Ace’s study.”

“There are two dressing rooms in the pool house. We could change and just talk there.”

“All right,” Caprice agreed. “But I need a head start. It will take me longer than you to get dressed.” She was not having this conversation with him in her suit.

He gave her one of those patient looks that said he didn’t understand but he’d go along with it.

As she waded across the pool, she stopped next to Trista. “I’m going to get out now, okay?”

“Are you and Mr. Weatherford gonna have a drink or something together?”

She was surprised Trista knew who Grant was. Trista must have seen that surprise.

“He came over before tonight. He’s helping Dad do some legal stuff.”

That made sense.

“We’re just going to have a little talk, but then I’m going to head out.” She hadn’t intended to stay long because of Shasta.

Before Caprice had left for the party tonight, Shasta had napped in the bed in the garage and tried to dig in it. That came from her nesting instinct. According to the radiograph Marcus had done, the cocker would be having five puppies. The idea of it made Caprice a little nervous since she’d never taken care of a dog during labor and delivery before. But she was excited about it, too. There was a first time for everything.

“You can always come over when all these people aren’t here. You and I could just hang around the pool,” Trista suggested.

“Do you think you’re going to be bored? Maybe your dad has plans for the rest of your time with him.”

Trista just rolled her eyes. “If he does, I bet they’re lame.”

Caprice suppressed a smile. “Give him a chance.” She had a thought. “Do you like dogs and cats?”

“Sure, who doesn’t?”

“Lots of people, I’m afraid. But I have a cocker and a feline who both like lots of attention. Maybe your dad could bring you over to my place.”

“That would be cool.”

“All right. I’ll try to set something up with him.”

“You won’t forget?”

“I promise, I won’t forget.”

As she made her way out of the pool, she had the distinct feeling that Grant’s gaze was on her back, probably studying those marks and trying to figure out what had caused them. He’d soon know.

In one of the pool house dressing rooms, she’d just dressed and stuffed her swimsuit into a ziplock bag in her duffel when she heard the door open and close.

“Caprice, are you in there?”

“I am. Almost ready.” She was almost ready if she didn’t count her wet hair and a not-ready-to-face-Grant attitude.

If Grant was like most men, he’d be dressed in two minutes. Spotting the hair dryer on the dressing table, she switched it on and did the best she could in a couple of minutes. Then she added a touch of lipstick for self-confidence, slipped on her sandals, and opened the dressing-room door.

She’d been right about the difference between men and women dressing. When she stepped outside the dressing room, there was Grant in navy shorts and a white polo shirt, looking all crisp except for his damp hair. She wondered if he ever wore yellow or a Hawaiian shirt. Probably not.

She was trying to distract herself, that was for sure. She plopped her duffel bag on one of the sea-blue leather chairs.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “Tell me what happened, and don’t make up some story like you fell in the bathtub.”

“I would never do that.”

He tilted his head. “All right, you wouldn’t. What happened?”

She had the feeling that if he had to ask it again, he wouldn’t be so patient. She didn’t know how to soften the impact of what she had to say, so she just said it. “Somebody tried to drown me.”

Rarely had she seen Grant look surprised, but now he looked surprised and concerned and horrified, all at the same time.

She went on, “I was swimming at Shape Up. I was the only one in the pool. The lifeguard went to fetch clean towels. Anyway, I was swimming laps, and I felt this pressure on my back.”

Reliving it a little as she told the story, she hurried on. “I couldn’t get out from under it. I was in the deep end and couldn’t drop my feet to the floor. I managed to twist away and swim over to the side. I heard the door clang. Whoever did it was gone. The pool skimmer was on the floor.”

“Did you yell for help? Tell anybody?”

“I asked Brenda some questions afterward.”

“You didn’t call the police?”

“Grant, let’s be serious. I was alone in there. The attendants had their attention on clients and helping them. Nobody saw anything. We asked. There’s something else going on here, too.”

“You mean besides somebody trying to murder you?”

She brushed that away. “Danny told me he overheard Bob on his cell phone with a lawyer making plans to change his will. Apparently Kent isn’t just his partner, he’s his half brother. But few people know that. Why do you think it’s such a big secret?”

Grant stared her down. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changed the subject.”

“I didn’t. We’re talking about murder.”

He gave a patient sigh. “You are the most exasperating woman I know.”

“Then you must not know many women,” she returned easily.

Again he shook his head. “Have you dismissed Danny as a suspect?”