Deadly Décor (A Caprice De Luca Mystery) (17 page)

“Like if he embezzled money from the community center?”

“Especially if you ask him that. Let me call him and see what we can work out. When will you be free tomorrow?”

“From four to seven.”

Caprice had Googled Garza and found his address online. He lived in a very nice neighborhood—the kind of neighborhood where you wouldn’t think people would have to embezzle money. But just like with a marriage, no one knew what happened behind closed financial doors. Tomorrow’s meeting, if they had one, would be interesting at the least, illuminating at best.

Jeff Garza’s house was probably about five thousand square feet. It was an L-shape, with garages to the left and the main house directly ahead. There was lots of stone, a few gables, and clerestory windows over the garage. It definitely wasn’t a cookie-cutter home. He’d probably had an architect draw up the plans.

Jeff Garza himself came to the door with a smile that definitely wasn’t genuine. He invited Vince and Caprice inside.

As he studied Caprice, it became obvious he had not expected Vince to bring anyone with him. “Is this a colleague?”

Vince shook his head and said honestly, “No, she’s my sister. She has an interest in what we’re going to discuss.”

“An interest?” Jeff asked with an arched brow.

He was probably in his late forties, with thick, dark brown hair that was starting to gray, a crooked nose, and a pointed jaw. Still in a dress shirt and suit slacks, he looked fit, and Caprice wondered if he worked out at Shape Up. That’s one of the questions she’d like to ask him. She decided to shake up this businessman a little.

“The police are looking at my sister and her husband for the murder of Bob Preston.”

Vince gave her a startled look, but she just shrugged.

Jeff glanced over his shoulder as if he were checking for . . . his wife? His family?

“Let’s go to my office,” he said. Then looking over his shoulder again, he quickly shepherded them to the right, down a short hall, and into his home office.

Caprice had seen lots of home offices, and this was as ordinary as they got. Built-in bookshelves lined one wall, stained in a deep walnut. The L-shaped desk was actually scattered with papers and folders, and it looked as if this was an actual workspace. The artwork on the wall looked like it had been chosen by a decorator, but she could be wrong. Maybe Garza was into the English countryside and foxhunting, but somehow she doubted it.

Once in his office, he shut the door, and he didn’t invite them to sit on the upholstered love seat or the chairs in front of his desk.

“I don’t know what Bob Preston’s murder has to do with me.” His voice was haughty, and he gave the impression he was above the idea of murder.

“Then why did you bring us to your office and shut the door if you know nothing about it?” Caprice asked.

“I . . . I knew Preston.”

“How did you know him?” Vince asked.

“How do you think I knew him?” Garza returned.

Vince shook his head. “I’m not playing that game. We’re here for a reason. We have information about you and Preston. I’m just trying to ferret out the truth.”

After a few beats of silence, Garza answered, “He and I were on the board of the community center.”

“Is that all?” Caprice asked.

“Yes, that’s all.”

“Bob didn’t have anything to do with the building fund?” Vince asked. He knew how to tag team with the best.

“No, why?” Garza asked suspiciously . . . or maybe guiltily.

“We heard you’re having financial problems,” Caprice offered.

Garza’s cheeks flushed and he looked away.

Caprice wanted to say that she knew he’d pulled his financing from Eliza’s business prospects, but she didn’t gossip about what her clients told her. Mostly she kept the information confidential unless she was permitted to divulge it by the client.

What she did say was, “A lot of people’s investments have dived. Yours too?”

Glancing from Vince to Caprice made Garza realize they weren’t going to leave without a few answers. Maybe he realized they had more information than he thought they did.

“Yeah, I took a hit, but things will come back. Historically they always do.”

“But historically it could take a while, right?” Vince asked, though he already knew the answer.

“I suppose,” Garza said, crossing his arms over his chest, a totally defensive body-language gesture.

Finally, as if tired of the whole cat-and-mouse, question-and-answer game, Vince said, “Look. I have information that you skimmed money from the building fund. I also have information that you and Bob Preston got into it about that building fund and about that skimmed money. He confronted you, and maybe you got so angry that you picked up a tool and . . .”

“Wait a minute! I don’t know where you got your information, but that’s slander.”

“I’m going to give this information to the police. I’m going to tell them what I know. Do you think slander will enter into it then?”

The right detective digging in the right place could discover information that Garza wanted to keep private. The right detective could see him as a viable suspect.

The haughtiness left his expression, and he sank against the corner of the desk, sitting on it heavily. “Preston was supposed to keep this quiet. He promised he would.”

“Promises don’t mean a lot to some people,” Vince offered.

Garza snorted. “Ain’t that the truth. Look, I don’t know where you got your information, but I didn’t kill Preston. After he and I talked, I swore I’d pay the money back, and I am doing that. I can’t do it all at once. I sold one of my cars, a restored roadster. It was more like a toy than a vehicle to drive. Instead of funding my retirement, I’m siphoning that money back into the building fund when I can. I didn’t kill Preston. You know, he wasn’t a saint. He cheated on every woman he’s ever dated. What about them? What about the husbands of the married ones?”

Caprice and Vince just stared at him. Silence sometimes shook out more information than the longest question.

“Something happened with Preston,” Garza tossed out there.

“What do you mean, something happened?” Caprice asked, this time because she couldn’t help it.

“A few weeks before he was killed, he seemed to have a changed outlook on life. I heard that he and Father Gregory had a very long talk. I don’t know. It seemed like he got a conscience or something. He was spending more time on the murals at the community center. He seemed distracted, like his mind was on something else.”

“A new woman?” Caprice asked, thinking about Bella.

“No. I don’t think so. It was more like what happened with me. When I got in this financial mess, it was all I could think about. I’d be at a meeting but wouldn’t really be there. I’d be having dinner with my family but wouldn’t really hear what they were saying. It was more like that.”

“You said that was a few weeks before he died?” Vince asked.

“Yes.”

Caprice knew Father Gregory would be a dead end. He certainly wouldn’t talk about anyone he’d counseled. “How do you know Bob saw Father Gregory?” she asked.

“One of the women on the board helps out in the church office now and then. She happened to be there when Bob showed up for an appointment with Father Gregory. She told me she’d seen him there.”

Garza could be telling the truth, but that truth also didn’t mean he didn’t kill Bob. He was fit enough and strong enough to have used that skimmer too, so she asked, “Do you have a membership at Shape Up?”

His narrowed eyes turned wary again. “I do. Why?”

“Caprice ran into a little trouble there Saturday night,” Vince revealed. “There’s someone who doesn’t seem to like her asking questions.”

Garza remained silent.

“Let’s put it this way,” Vince said. “If any harm comes to Caprice, I’ll know who to come after first.”

“You’re not serious.” Garza straightened, squared his shoulders, and appeared outraged.

Caprice knew it could all be an act. He could have murdered Bob whether he was putting the money back or not. He could have murdered Bob
and
tried to harm her.

“We’re finished here,” Garza said, going to the office door and opening it.

Vince responded, “For now.”

Straight-lipped and sullen, Garza saw them out.

Once outside, Vince took Caprice’s elbow and guided her to his car. Once they were inside the vehicle, he turned to her. “What do you think?”

“I don’t know. He certainly had motive. He has a membership at Shape Up. He could have been there and slipped into the pool area without anybody seeing him. He’s fit and strong enough to have used that skimmer.”

Vince started up his car, made a K-turn in the immense driveway, and drove away from the house. “I’ve been thinking about buying a gun. Maybe you should think about it too.”

She knew Grant had one. Before coming to Kismet, he’d worked in a big city. “I don’t want to go that route.”

“With your penchant for trouble, you might need backup.”

“That’s not the kind of backup I want. It’s not me, Vince. I’ll carry the pepper-spray gun. I’ll even get another one if it makes you feel better. But I do not want to buy a weapon that could kill someone.”

Vince gave her a long look. “I hope you’re not making a mistake.”

Caprice was nervous. Not because she felt followed. That feeling had gone away, and yesterday she’d insisted Nikki go back to her condo. No, today she was nervous because tonight she might become an award winner. She chided herself for being silly about her anxiety. But tonight was the awards dinner for Women for a Better Kismet at the Country Squire Golf and Recreation Club. She couldn’t help but think about winning . . . or about Seth taking her.

So that she wouldn’t become caught up in reverie about either, she concentrated on Ace Richland as he opened his door to her.

Ace was really just an ordinary guy. Okay. An ordinary guy who was used to being waited on sometimes. An ordinary guy who was accustomed to chauffeurs and limousines. But a guy who also remembered where he came from and, when he was alone, did let his hair down, so to speak.

After her appointment with him on Monday, knowing she’d have to put all her design skills on speed-dial and fast forward, she’d promised she’d have Trista’s room and the pool area ready by the end of the week. Thanks to her business contacts and additional “rush delivery” extra payments, she’d accomplished what she’d set out to do.

Today, when Ace let Caprice in, his hair wasn’t gelled up, but rather flat against his head. She wondered if he wore makeup when he was out in public. Today the lines on his face cut deep. The temperature outside was in the nineties, but inside Ace’s mansion, it was around seventy-four in most of the rooms. Those more exposed to afternoon sun might be a little warmer, so that’s why instead of being dressed for outside, he was dressed for inside, wearing a gray T-shirt and blue, very washed jeans.

“It’s coming along.” He led her to his den. His platinum records decorated the walls, while a Grammy sat high on a shelf. Guitars that he no longer used but kept as memorabilia hung on another wall. The glass-and-black-enamel desk had a modern look. That’s what he’d wanted. The flat-screen computer monitor and keyboard formed another station over in the corner so it wasn’t the main focus. There was a dock for his electronic devices and a Bose system that surrounded him with music. Or he could wear earphones to listen to demo tapes and recordings.

“I’m comfortable here,” he said now, motioning to the guitars. “What would you say if I said I’m thinking about becoming a record executive and finding new talent to put on my own label?”

“I think that would be a great way to branch out, if you have the investment money to put into it. You certainly have the wherewithal and the right contacts for publicity and public relations. You’re in the perfect position to do it. But when are you going to have time if you’re touring?”

He pointed at her. “Now that’s the sixty-million-dollar question. I don’t know. But I do know that I have downtime on a tour. I need something to keep me busy so I don’t get into trouble. I haven’t done drugs for years, and I don’t intend to do them again, but women were a problem in the past. Granted, I might not have as many coming after me now, but I don’t want them to be the reason I’m on the road. So I need work other than the singing and the sound checks. This will keep me busy.”

He led her out of his den and headed for the back stairs to go up to Trista’s room. As he let her precede him up the stairs, he said, “Danny’s working in the pool house now. He says he’s almost finished. What’s his story?”

“He hasn’t told you?” she asked with a small smile.

Ace snorted. “That kid’s quieter than a church mouse, but certainly not as meek. He has an attitude that I certainly recognize. I had the same one. But he’s got talent, too, so he might be able to live with the attitude. It just depends. As soon as you e-mailed me his sketch, I knew it was what I wanted. How did you know he’d be capable of doing this?”

“I saw his artistry at the community center, and his T-shirts and hand-painted sneakers. How do you like his T-shirts?”

“Come to think of it, I like them a lot. I asked him if he’d custom-make a few for me for the tour.”

“That’s wonderful. He could get his name out there.”

“I like the sneakers too, for that matter. We’ll see what he has time to do. I can tell he’s something of a perfectionist.” He paused, then added, “I found out today Trista’s coming on Sunday. That will give her a couple of days to get settled before the party.”

Up in Trista’s room, Caprice had done exactly what Ace had wanted. The room was painted pale pink. She’d bought pink-and-white striped curtains and a matching frilly spread for the canopy bed, though it made her cringe to think she was decorating for an eleven-year-old. Ace had ordered a few American Girl dolls that sat in a hutch in the corner. He had his assistant choose the doll clothes to go with them. There was also some doll furniture—a canopy bed, a wardrobe, and accessories that Megan would love dearly to have but never would. They were simply too expensive. Ace had insisted on a bookshelf but had no idea what Trista read. Caprice wondered if the shelves would even be necessary. Maybe she had an e-reader. When she asked him if he wanted her to set up a computer station, he said no. Trista was too young for that.

Just how much attention had Ace paid to his daughter, to her likes and dislikes, to her hobbies and pastimes?

“I know it’s a bit unusual,” he said, “but I’m not having Alyssa send out invitations to this party. It’s for family, friends, and a few associates. I’m not going to go formal. You will come, won’t you? Bring a plus-one. I don’t care, but I want to see friendly faces, not people who want something from me.”

“I’d be glad to come, and I’ll think about the plus-one. The doctor I’m dating might be on call.”

The rest of the house was basically as Caprice had staged it. She’d made a few adjustments here and there that Ace had wanted, switching out furniture, changing a painting, using a bedspread in a different color in one of the spare rooms. He’d added photographs of his family and of him and Trista, along with memorabilia gathered during his travels. The place was rapidly becoming his.

They returned downstairs. When they walked out to the pool area, he said, “This makes me smile. I like it.”

Although the umbrellas weren’t open, the colors were easy to see. Caprice had styled the furniture in groupings, and all the pieces were nautical colors, from sea green to the deepest blue, including the umbrella fabrics.

“I feel peaceful out here. I wrote a song here today, even in the heat.”

“I’m glad your muse is visiting you.”

“Just so she stays. I need new material for this tour, and I don’t have a lot of time to add it.”

They were approaching the pool house when Caprice heard rap music coming from inside.

“He brought along one of those old-time boom boxes. What can you do? Everybody’s inner artist is fed by something different. I told him I don’t care. He switched it off when I was out here writing and didn’t seem to mind doing it. I think we’ve got a little mutual respect going on.”

Caprice was glad of that. Even if Danny wouldn’t talk, just being around someone he respected was a benefit.

When they opened the screen door to the pool house, Danny said over his shoulder, “I’m almost out of iced tea.”

“It’s not Mrs. Wannamaker,” Ace said with a smile as he stepped over the threshold. “She’s my housekeeper,” he explained to Caprice. “She’s been keeping him fortified while he’s here.”

Danny looked a bit embarrassed when he saw Caprice and Ace. “Sorry,” he mumbled as he switched off the music. “I didn’t know it was you.”

Immediately, Caprice’s attention went to the long wall. The mural was almost finished.

“Danny, this is gorgeous. Oh my gosh, you are so talented.”

Now he really looked embarrassed. “I’ve never done anything all by myself before. It’s kind of weird. I can do whatever I want, use whatever colors I want, put as much in it as I want.”

There were three dolphins cavorting in waves.

“I was going to do the sun glinting off their backs, like in the morning, but then I thought I could really do something fantastic with the sky if I did evening and a sunset.”

“It’s perfect for in here. You could get more business after Ace’s party. Are you ready for that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’re doing a good job.”

“Yeah, and I’m getting paid, too,” he said with the first real smile she’d seen on him.

“We’ll let you get back to it,” Ace said. “I’ll tell Mrs. Wannamaker you need more iced tea.”

After he and Caprice left the pool house, he shrugged. “That’s more than he’s said in the few days he’s been here.”

“He’s excited about the work. This is good for him. Thanks, Ace, for giving him a chance.”

“No problem. I remember too well how I needed an outlet for my music when I was his age.”

As her Nana often told her,
memories were life’s jewels.
She herself might be making a few memories tonight that she could keep locked in her heart for a lifetime.

“The winner of the Women for a Better Kismet Woman of the Year Award is . . .”

No drumroll accompanied those words, but Caprice held her breath anyway. She was seated at a huge round table in the dining room of the Country Squire Golf and Recreation Club, and her palms were clammy as she waited for the announcement. Seated on her left, Seth held her hand under the table. She
had
wowed him tonight in her flapper-style cocktail dress. Roz, Monty, Juan, and some other friends also stared at the podium with her and her family.

Under the twinkling lights of crystal chandeliers, Caprice held Seth’s hand a little tighter.

Ginny Malcolm, president of Women for a Better Kismet, announced, “Congratulations go to . . . Wendy Newcomb.”

There was a happy squeal from the table behind Caprice’s and much applause in the whole room. Caprice kept a smile on her face. Wendy was certainly a deserving recipient. She’d been a major force in getting a women’s shelter set up in Kismet, and Caprice would happily congratulate her.

Seth leaned close. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Wendy deserves it.”

“So do you,” he said loyally, and she could have kissed him right then and there. But she didn’t because Nikki was leaning toward her on her other side.

“You’ll win next year.”

“How do you know I’ll do something to even be nominated?” she teased.

“You will.”

Wendy was at the podium then, thanking everyone. After another round of applause, she returned to her seat. Ginny said a few more words, closing the formal part of the evening, and then many of the guests stood.

After Caprice’s mom and dad had given her consoling hugs, Roz had given her a thumbs-up sign, and Vince had patted her on her back, she told them all, “We had a fun night of it, didn’t we? What more could we want?”

“An award for your wall,” Nana grumbled.

“All of you know as well as I do that Wendy gives her life to that shelter.”

“There’s a story there,” Bella said with conviction.

There might be. But if there was, Wendy never talked about it. It was hard to maintain privacy in Kismet, and the fact that she’d done so up to now meant she hadn’t told anyone if there
was
a story there.

Monty came over to her now and said almost shyly, “It’s a shame you didn’t win.”

“Something for me to aspire to another year.”

“I’d better get going,” he said, looking around. “This isn’t a crowd I usually run with.”

This was the first time Caprice had ever seen Monty dressed up. He wore a navy suit, a striped tie, and a white shirt. He’d done that for her, and she appreciated it.

“Thanks for coming.” She’d received free tickets for the dinner, and she’d given one to him.

“It was a great meal, but not as good as what Nikki serves at your open houses.”

Caprice laughed. “She’ll be glad to hear you say that.”

“I’d better be going, but I did want to remind you, I still have Bob’s stuff in my garage.”

“I forgot all about that. It’s just tarps, right?”

“Some other stuff, too.”

“Painting equipment?”

“Mostly. And a backpack.”

“Is it in the way?”

“Nah. There’s an old detached garage behind my apartment, and I store equipment in it. I usually park my truck on the street.”

“I’ll either pick it up myself, or give Kent Osgood a call. Thanks for reminding me.”

After a good-bye to Roz and Juan, Monty left.

When Bella approached Caprice, she looked a little less troubled than she had for the past few weeks. She and Joe had sat next to each other at the table, leaned close, and spoken in low tones now and then.

“I’m sorry you didn’t win,” Bella said. “If you had won, I’d be jealous, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t rooting for you.”

Bella’s honesty amused Caprice. Diplomatically, she responded, “I know you’re in my corner.”

“Always. And speaking of corners, thanks for being in mine.”

“How are you doing?”

“A little better.” She glanced over at Joe, who was talking to their dad. “Joe doesn’t go out at night anymore, and he’s trying to help me more around the house. I guess he’s getting in practice for when I’m more pregnant.”

Caprice didn’t think Joe had ever helped Bella around the house, not even during her other pregnancies. “Maybe he feels guilty about hiding his gambling.”

“He does, just as I feel guilty about things. Father Gregory’s helping. Discussing it with him can be really painful, but we’re trying.”

“Do you think you can be happy again?”

“Maybe happier than before. I don’t know. A new baby could be another strain, or it could be a real bond. It all depends on how the two of us handle it.” Bella’s voice dropped a little lower. “I think Joe finally believes me that I didn’t have an affair with Bob. I told him, if he wants a DNA test after the baby’s born, we’ll do that.”

“How would you feel if he wants it?”

“Probably hurt. But he’s been hurt, too, by the idea that I even wanted to have a coffee date with Bob.”

They both looked toward Joe. Some of the dinner guests were starting to leave.

Bella said, “Oh, my gosh. There’s Lauren Jacobs. I haven’t seen her in years.”