Gilt by Association by Karen Rose Smith Page B

her fifties-style full skirt, Caprice scrolled through her contacts and read off Chet’s number.
    After Carstead noted it, he asked, “Any children?”
    â€œNo. But they have a housekeeper. Rachel had the day off. I’m sure Chet knows how to contact her.”
    â€œWas she a day worker?”
    â€œNo, she has a little apartment off the kitchen.”
    â€œYou could be an asset to our investigation since you knew the deceased so well. Are you willing to come in if we have questions or we want to verify something?”
    â€œIf I can help you, I will.”
    â€œBut you won’t go looking for the killer yourself.”
    That wasn’t a question, it was more of a statement, and it seemed to carry an inherent warning.
    She said with some heat, “Right now I’m just concerned with notifying my mother. Her friend is dead.”
    She had no idea how she was going to do that.
    Then something suddenly hit her. She glanced at her watch. “Oh my gosh. Security for the afternoon, as well as guests, are going to be arriving soon.”
    â€œThat could be a madhouse scene,” he muttered. “Who is the security company?”
    â€œBradford and Associates, out of York.”
    He nodded as if he was familiar with the security firm. “Do you have any idea who these guests are?”
    â€œNo. This is open to the public, though most will be high-end clients with luxury real estate brokers. I can contact agents and they can see if they can contact their clients. Some of these prospective buyers are coming from a distance.”
    â€œDo that. I’ll call in more manpower to block off the street and barricade the driveway. Crime scene tape won’t be good enough if we get a crowd. How long is this open house supposed to last?”
    â€œFrom two to five.”
    â€œAre you sure you don’t want to sit in one of the patrol cars? It’s cold out here.”
    She did not want to do that. Those back doors on the patrol car automatically locked and even if the door remained open, she’d feel claustrophobic. It wasn’t too cold for him, so it wasn’t too cold for her.
    â€œI’m fine,” she assured him and started scrolling through her phone again as he moved away to speak with an officer ensuring the integrity of the crime scene.
    Ten minutes later, she’d done what she could with the real estate agents. Now she turned to the phone call she didn’t want to make. Her mother.
    Her mom picked up on the second ring. “Aren’t you in the middle of Louise’s home-staging?” she wanted to know.
    â€œWe’ve had to cancel the open house.”
    There was a beat of silence before her mom asked, “Is Louise sick again?”
    Maybe she should have done this in person. Maybe she should have driven over there. But she wasn’t sure if Detective Carstead was really through with her yet. “Is Dad there?”
    â€œYou want to talk to him instead of me?”
    â€œNo, I just want to know if he’s there.”
    â€œHe’s in the living room watching TV. Why?”
    â€œGo in there with him and sit down.”
    â€œI won’t be able to hear you with the TV blaring.”
    â€œMom, go in there and sit down. Please. Ask him to mute it for a few minutes.”
    â€œIf you’re playing some kind of game—”
    â€œNo game. Just do as I ask, okay?”
    A few seconds of silence passed, then Caprice heard the sound of the TV and heard her mom asking her dad to turn it down.
    When all was quiet, Caprice said softly, “Mom, Louise is dead.”
    There was stark silence.
    â€œMom, give the phone to Dad.”
    â€œI will not,” her mom protested vehemently. “Tell me what happened. Did she have a heart attack?”
    â€œNo. She was murdered.”
    Caprice heard the small gasp. She heard her mother turning to her dad and repeating what Caprice had said.
    â€œTell me what you