Gilt by Association (15 page)

“Did you ever send Louise that box of peanut butter creams?”

“No, I didn't. After her trip to the hospital and stomach upset, I didn't think it would be a good idea. Why?”

“Maybe Chet sent her peanut butter creams,” Caprice mused.

“Maybe,” her mother said cautiously, “but he was planning that trip with her over Valentine's Day weekend. I wouldn't think he'd send her anything beforehand, not Chet. He's so practical that way.”

If not Chet, maybe Don Rodriguez?
Caprice wondered. She didn't want to go into what she'd seen at the crime scene with her mom.

“Did
you
have a good time at the dance last night?” Caprice asked.

“I always have a good time with your dad, you know that. That's what I wish for you someday.”

Someday.

But right now, she had to get to the bottom of a murder.

 

 

Dead ends. That was all that Caprice was finding. But maybe a visit to The Pretzel Party would turn up more.

After her morning routine on Monday, Caprice had surfed the Internet trying to find anything she could about Louise Benton—Louise Downing—before she'd arrived in Kismet. But she'd found zip. She'd even gone to real estate sites. She'd searched Louise Benton in Texas, too.

Some people had luck on search engines. She didn't . . . except for the obvious definitions and descriptions. She could call Marianne Brisbane, but she'd decided to try another avenue first.

The Pretzel Party's Outlet Store, factory, and distribution center were located on the outskirts of Kismet, near Pennsylvania Pharmaceuticals, a company that had plenty of legal woes right now. She remembered when she and Grant had gone there searching for another kind of evidence. But she wasn't going to think about that now, or Grant, or Seth. Valentine's Day was over and she had a life.

She didn't intend to buy any pretzels, so she headed for the building attached to the store, entered the lobby that was utilitarianly decorated at best, and went straight to the desk of a person she wanted to talk to—Verna Mae Ludwig. Verna Mae and her mom volunteered at the soup kitchen that the church helped with once a month. She was friendly and talkative and full of gossip. If Chet was in his office, she'd talk to him about that candy and see if he'd sent it. But if he wasn't, Verna Mae might give her a new lead.

Even though Verna Mae was around her mom's age, she had silver-white hair that was thinning on the top. She kept it short except for the bangs that fringed over her brows. Carefully made up for her position as receptionist, she wore red lipstick and nail polish and her smoky eye shadow complemented her gray skirt suit. She was busily typing at the computer when Caprice walked up to the desk.

However, when she glanced up and saw her, she swiveled her chair around and broke into a smile. “Caprice. I was just talking to your mom about you yesterday after church.”

Uh oh, that couldn't be good. What had Verna Mae and her mom been talking about?

“You were?” she asked after a bit of a pause.

Verna Mae fluttered her hand. “Oh, nothing scandalous. I asked if you found any stray animals lately. Your mom said you had your hands full with the pup you'd kept.”

“She's right about that. In fact, Lady's at home right now probably whining to Sophia that I'm not there.”

The smile faded from Verna Mae's face, and the wrinkles under her eyes and around her mouth seemed to grow deeper. “Your mom and I talked about Louise, of course.”

“I'm so sorry. You knew her well, too, didn't you?”

“We talked a lot when she came to see Chet, or when we bumped into each other at church. But that was only surface stuff. I just feel so bad for Mr. Downing.”

“Is he here? I'd hoped to see him.”

“No, he stopped in on Friday to pick up some work, and I know he keeps in touch with his managers by phone. But he said he'd be out this week, too. This has certainly got to be hard for him. I'm not sure how he's going to get over it.”

“It's going to take time,” Caprice said, meaning it. She did feel sorry for Chet, even if his marriage to Louise hadn't been perfect. He had certainly felt the loss. But she aimed to find out exactly how much of a loss it was.

“I know he likes to ski,” Caprice said. “Maybe he'll be able to go skiing and get away. Just being in the outdoors with the wind on his face might help ease the loss.”

“That's possible,” Verna Mae said with a nod. “He was just skiing the week after Christmas. Maybe he can get away again.”

Taking a guess, Caprice encouraged Verna Mae to fill her in on details. “He told me the resort was beautiful, but I can't remember the name. Do you remember?”

“I do because he left the information with me before he left. He stayed at White Top Mountain Resort near Killington from December twenty-sixth until December thirty-first.”

Killington. Now Caprice had a place and a name and she could find out more.

She was no sooner in her car when she took her phone from her purse. It was freezing outside. Even though she wore her boots, her toes were cold and her fingers were stiff as she swiped her phone, went to a search engine, and plugged in the name and location of White Top Mountain Resort. There it was. A phone number.

The wind buffeted her car as she thought about how she wanted to play this. Just how could she get the information she needed? Of course, she could always call the resort a second time if the first time didn't go so well. After she thought about the resort and skiing and Chet, she decided on a plan. She plugged in the number.

“White Top Mountain Resort. Ski with us, and you'll feel as if you're on the top of the world,” a chirpy voice told her. “How can I help you?” the woman rushed on.

“Hi, I'm Malina Lamont. I stayed at your resort with a friend . . .” She paused a little. “It was the week after Christmas, and we had an exceptional experience. We particularly liked the amenities in our room. We're thinking about making reservations again, but I just couldn't remember the room number. Being sentimental, we'd like to ask for that room again. Do you think that's possible?”

“That depends on our vacancies, and how soon you'd like to come. We'd be glad to make your reservations, and even if we can't get you that room—”

Caprice didn't give her a chance to go on. “But we'd really like that room. It was an expensive one, but I wonder if you could look it up?”

“Can you tell me your name again, and spell it please?”

“Well, I guess the reservation was made under Chet Downing—D-O-W-N-I-N-G.”

Caprice waited a few moments, and then the woman returned to her call. “You said the week after Christmas?”

“I think those dates were specifically December twenty-sixth to December thirty-first,” Caprice filled in.

“Hold on again.”

The woman checked, and then said, “I don't have the reservation for a Chet Downing. You're sure you stayed with us?”

“Oh, I'm positive. Maybe he put the reservation in my name. Malina Lamont—L-A-M-O-N-T.”

Caprice fully expected to strike out. She fully expected the woman to come back and tell her there was no reservation under that name either. But why hadn't there been a reservation under the Downing name?

“Oh, yes, Mrs. Lamont. You and Mr. Lamont were in room 260. Can you tell me the dates you're deciding on for a new reservation?”

“No, I have to consult with Chet. Then I'll call again. At least I know the room number. You've been very helpful. Thank you.”

Caprice ended the call, hardly aware of the cold now as she thought about the repercussions of what she'd learned. There was no Mr. Lamont. Malina wasn't married. Verna Mae was positive Chet had stayed at White Top Mountain Resort.

This wasn't proof positive that Chet and Malina were having an affair, but it was close to proving the two had gone away together for the trip. Was it possible Louise found out and confronted Chet? Could that have led to a terrible argument?

Supposedly he'd been on the road to his business meeting when she was killed. But in reality, what if he hadn't left yet? In reality, what if he'd shot his wife?

Chapter Fifteen

At home once more, Caprice took Lady for a walk, and on the way back to the house realized there was one more thing she had to do before she could settle down to work. Yes, she had houses to stage and clients to make appointments with, and even a few virtual consultations to set up. But first there was something else she had to do.

Lady yipped at Sophia, asking for a chase. After a good long stretch, Sophia waved her tail, hopped down from the back of the sofa onto the seat, and then onto the coffee table. She looked at Caprice as if to ask, “Did you write down your affirmation for today?”

Caprice kept them in the silent butler on the coffee table. And no, she hadn't, but she did have to prioritize.

“Come talk to me about it in the office after you and Lady have a run,” she told her feline, unbuttoned her coat, and hung it on the antique oak stand in the foyer.

As Sophia hopped to the floor, and Lady chased after her, Caprice headed in the other direction around the circle to her office. Once there, she took her phone from her pocket as she awakened her computer. Calling Marianne Brisbane for a favor wasn't something she did often, but when solving a murder, the reporter could help her. Caprice hoped she'd catch her in her office. The odds were about fifty-fifty.

Marianne answered, sounding out of breath. “Hold on, Caprice. I was trying to get an interview with the mayor but he slipped into his car and drove away before I could. I wanted to find out more about that new member of the town council.”

“And you think the mayor will give you anything but a PR release?”

Marianne chuckled. “Probably not, but I was giving him the benefit of the doubt by getting his take first. What's up with you?”

“You mean, what do I want?”

“You rarely call me for a social visit though we really should have lunch sometime.”

That wasn't out of the realm of possibility. Caprice was beginning to trust Marianne more and more, and she did like her. “Maybe when things calm down a bit.”

“They never calm down,” Marianne admitted.

“How good are you with out-of-state databases?”

“They're harder to access sometimes. It just depends if they're public records or not. What do you need?”

“I'm playing a hunch but I'm not sure what else to do.”

“All right. I suppose this has something to do with Louise Downing's murder?”

“Yes, it does. I think she might have had some secrets no one around here knew about.”

“Have you talked to her husband?”

“Let's just say that keeping those secrets hidden could be in his best interest. So I'd rather go to him with some leverage. Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh, I know what you mean. What kind of leverage?”

“That's what I'm not sure about. But there's the possibility that Louise had a Texas connection, a very strong possibility. I think she might have lived near Austin. I've Googled her maiden name until I'm blue. I can't find anything. Can you see what you can find in Texas for a Louise Benton? B-E-N-T-O-N.”

“That sounds easy enough. But I'm not going back to the office until this afternoon.”

“That's fine. I have a lot of work to catch up on, and I'm going to be packing it in until Ace Richland's party tonight. Were you by any chance invited? I'd think he'd want the media there.”

“Actually, I was. Not much media, though, from what I've heard. He's keeping this party small and as intimate as a rock star can. Do you want to connect there and I'll tell you what I've found?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

 

 

The music was loud. However, the crowd assembled in Ace Richland's huge house wasn't wild. The group was simply enjoying themselves.

Caprice stood by a zebra-striped love seat. When she'd staged this estate, she'd done it in a wild kingdom theme. Ace had kept most of the furnishings and decorations, except for his daughter Trista's room and the pool area. Although February winds were blowing over the covered pool, the pool house itself was a bar for anyone who wanted to venture outside. Caprice knew Ace had to keep up his wild and crazy, on-the-road rock persona now and then. But basically he was Al Rizzo from Scranton, Pennsylvania, when he was around people he was comfortable with and didn't have to impress.

Right now he was jamming with his band for everyone's enjoyment. Rows of chairs had been added to the immense living room along with a dais at one end for Ace and his band. Ace kept glancing toward a pretty blonde and gave her a wink. Caprice had heard he'd begun regularly dating a rich widow in Kismet.

Thoughts of Ace's personal life aside, Caprice listened to the jam session, enjoying it. She had his music on her playlist—“Zingy Chick”; “Gotta Keep Her Yours”; “Swinging for a Future” and “Wrestling the World.” She enjoyed his music from the eighties and was curious to hear what he'd come up with now. She knew he was thinking about starting his own record label.

As Ace swung his guitar to the left and then the right, and tapped on it, belting out an old hit, she watched his band members, none of them the original bunch. This was a new band he'd put together that was eclectic in age. She could tell the keyboard player, who looked to be in his late twenties, had an eye for the women. He flirted as much as he played. With his long blond hair and blue eyes, lean build and broad shoulders, this guy was one to watch. Caprice bet he was aiming for a solo gig.

Ace's immediate family—his parents, two brothers, and their wives—were seated in an area arranged just for them. The keyboard player seemed to have his eye on Ace's sister-in-law. She looked to be in her thirties, with spiked high-heel boots, skinny black jeans, and a tight red sweater that could have been an emblem for Valentine's Day. She was clapping along with the song and smiling back at the keyboard player. Her husband at her side didn't look any too happy. Was Ace's brother the jealous type?

As Ace and his band finished a song and took a break, Ace's manager gave him a thumbs-up from the back of the room. The reporters were easy to spot with their electronic tablets or their cameras, or both. Caprice spied Marianne and gave a wave. But before she and Marianne could meet up, Ace brought his mother over to her. They'd met last summer but hadn't had much time to talk.

“Mom wants that recipe for minestrone soup you were telling me about.”

“Nana's minestrone. Sure, I can give it to you. Would you like me to send it in the mail, or do you have an e-mail address?”

“Oh, my sons and grandkids keep me updated. I have an e-mail address. It's MamaRizzo at—” She rattled off the server name.

“Makes sense,” Caprice said with a laugh. “I'll e-mail it to you. Nana e-mails, too. Maybe you can let her know how you like it. I'll send you her address with the recipe. How do you like the party?”

Ace's mom clapped her son on the shoulder. “He has great parties. Now his friends aren't so bad either. They used to be an unruly bunch.”

“You know what Father Paul always says,” Ace chimed in with her. “Bad friends, bad actions, bad consequences. Got it, Mom. I think I've learned.”

And Ace had seemed to learn. His life was about music and spending time with his daughter.

Ace leaned down to Caprice. “Trista texted me that I might see her tonight. She told me to hold off on the new song until last if I could.”

“That sounds as if she had something planned.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.”

When Marianne Brisbane came over to join them, Ace wrapped his arm around his mom's shoulders. “Let Dad get you one of those strawberry daiquiris you like so much. Real strawberries.”

Caprice could hear his mom laugh, a deep raucous laugh that she imagined filled a house with lots of love. But as she looked that way, toward where Ace's dad was seated, she saw the keyboard player and Ace's sister-in-law with their heads together, talking. Ace's brother was nowhere around. Hmmm. But Caprice knew it was none of her business. That didn't mean she'd stop wondering about it though.

Marianne nudged Caprice's elbow. “We could try to get a date with that keyboard player. He came on to me when I arrived.”

“You're not serious.”

“I could take that as an insult.”

“I didn't mean it as one. You know that. Tell me what you found out.” There was excitement in Caprice's voice, and a sense that something was about to break wide open.

“I'm almost as intrigued by this investigation as you are. I found out that a Lucy Russell Mathers changed her name to Louise Benton. Benton had been her mother's maiden name. Her driver's license and social security information were modified to reflect the name change. I even saw a copy of the change order. It's amazing what scanning will do these days.”

“Who scanned it for you?”

“Someone in the public records office in Austin.”

“What else was on the change order? Anything good?”

“The reason listed for the name change was news coverage and dangerous disruption of life because of it. Lucy wanted a brand-new start. There's a whole story behind this, Caprice.”

Suddenly the main doors to Ace's house burst wide open. Trista came running in, her mother trailing more slowly behind. Trista looked ecstatic. Her mother looked as if this were a prison and everybody in it were crazy inmates.

The party, which had been loud with conversation, suddenly went silent.

Ace hurried to his daughter and gave her a huge rocking hug.

Still, his ex-wife stood there with a frown and her arms crossed over her chest, her suede coat skimming the tops of her leather boots. “I didn't want to come. I didn't want Trista to come. You know how I feel about these kinds of parties.”

She wasn't even attempting to keep her voice low. She wasn't even attempting to keep this argument private.

Marianne tapped Caprice's shoulder, and said into her ear, “I e-mailed you the info I found right before I came. You can study it after you leave. But I'll tell you right now, there's a woman involved in this story who could have wanted revenge. Give me a call after you look it all over.”

Then Marianne slipped away into the crowd, joining another journalist she knew. She lifted her camera and actually caught a photo of Ace's sister-in-law and the keyboard player. She was staying away from Ace and his ex-wife and Trista. That's why she could be trusted.

So somebody in Louise's past life wanted revenge.

Caprice thought about that as Ace and his wife argued in front of his daughter.

“Trista made a monumental fuss about wanting to come,” Marsha was saying. “She said she wouldn't go to school next week if I didn't bring her. I wasn't about to send her up here all alone with some chauffeur. I also didn't trust leaving her here overnight.”

“You've left her here overnight this summer, and before Christmas.”

“You weren't having a wild party then.”

Ace waved at all his guests. “These friends, colleagues, family, and press aren't wild. They're just enjoying my music, which is something you could do if you gave it half a chance. You never did.”

“I don't want to argue, Ace. I just want to get this night over.”

“And that's a positive attitude if I ever heard one,” he muttered.

“Maybe I'd have a more positive attitude if you hadn't been such a jerk when we were married.”

That quietness rolled over the crowd again, and Caprice decided it wasn't a good idea to let this go on, especially with Trista hearing all of it. She was beginning to idolize her dad, and Caprice didn't want to see a monkey wrench thrown into that. Marsha was obviously putting her own feelings before the feelings of her daughter.

Standing only about ten feet away, Caprice walked up to the group when no one else had dared. Trista came right into her arms and hugged her hard.

“How are you, honey?” she asked.

“I miss Brindle. Mom wouldn't let me bring her. I can't believe how they're arguing.”

Caprice and Trista had bonded when they'd decorated her room. They'd learned to speak plainly to each other. Ace's wife, however, didn't know that. She looked at Caprice disdainfully, her long lashes going up and down as she studied Caprice, from her short boots, up her bell-bottoms, to her fringed Stevie-Nicks-like top.

“Are you Ace's latest?” she asked with an edge to her voice.

But Ace cut her off, not even addressing her comment. “If you want to discuss anything, we can go to my office. If you came so Trista could hear my new song, I'm ready to play it.”

Seeing that Caprice had entered the lion's den so to speak, Ace's family came over now. They all greeted Trista as if they'd missed her, and wanted her to be part of this celebration tonight. Marsha backed off, and she looked quite lonely, standing all alone, gazing up at Ace as if she might still have feelings for him. Could that be possible?

Caprice felt sorry for a family torn by divorce. She was grateful Joe and Bella had been able to work on their marriage. Would it ever be as good as it once was? Maybe it could be better. The important thing was both partners wanting it to work, and being able to compromise. Would either Grant or Seth be able to do that? Could she?

Ace drew Trista up to the dais where the instruments stood while Caprice turned toward the kitchen where great smells were beginning to percolate out. Drew was helping Nikki with the catering tonight.

Feeling at loose ends, not having come with anyone, she headed into the kitchen to see if she could help. She'd stopped in there earlier and at first, Drew and Nikki had seemed to work well together. But now . . .