“Oh. My. God,” she said in a staccato voice. “It is Joyce.”
Joe Collins snapped his head and looked at her sharply.
“Who?” he asked crisply.
“Joyce. Joyce Capaselli,” Sylvia explained. “She lives down the street. Well, she does part time. She’s a summer person. She left her husband on New Years’ eve. He’s been looking for her.” Sylvia felt as though she was babbling.
“You’ll need to tell me everything you know about this once we identify the body,” Joe told her.
Just then there were more heavy knocks at the door. More officers came in. There was another squad car and an ambulance waiting outside. Joe jumped into action as he led everyone around the house and down to the beach. Sylvia went out on the deck. The officers milled around taking pictures, setting up bright, small orange tents with numbers and they finally opened up the bag. Joe motioned for Sylvia to come down to the beach. He met her halfway in the yard. By this time, curious neighbors had gathered in knotted groups at the edge of her property. The police had already set up crime scene tape. When someone tried to enter the yard, an officer stopped them, telling them to stay back. They were talking and whispering. She couldn’t hear what they were saying. Some had coffee cups clutched in their hands or empty ones dangling from a finger. Sylvia felt as though their eyes were boring into her.
“This isn’t pretty,” he told her, “but, I would like to see if you knew her.”
Sylvia walked down to the beach with Officer Collins. The bag had been opened up and a bloated, misshapen body lay within the folds of the large trash bag. The stench was overwhelming and Sylvia felt her stomach starting to turn and roll.
Detective Collins took her elbow and looked her straight in the eye. “Breathe in and out through your mouth. In and out, in and out, in and out,” he directed.
He watched her carefully as she did so. The stench was still horrible and Sylvia felt she could surely taste death.
Sylvia looked at the face. The eyes were missing and it looked as though her lips had been mashed. The hair. She looked at the tangled mass of various shades of blond that were now sopping with water. It looked as though some of the hair was nibbled off. Hanks of it lay around the head, but Sylvia immediately knew who it was by the hair and the jewelry. It was definitely Joyce Capaselli. She gave a cry of surprise or shock. She wasn’t sure which and put her hand to her mouth.
Officer Collins asked her if she was okay. Weak kneed she nodded, but he took her by the arm and led her back to the house. Wearily she told him it was Joyce. Only when the words were out of her mouth did she hear another knock at the door.
“I’ll get it,” Officer Collins told her.
He opened the door and Tony pushed past with Percy.
“Sylvia,” he said, “are you all right? I saw all of the police vehicles by your house. What’s going on?”
She only looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears and then she looked at Officer Collins with pleading eyes. She was about to introduce them when Percy went absolutely crazy at the French doors. He barked and pawed.
“Percy! Down boy!” cried Tony. “What’s gotten into you?”
Shakily, Sylvia made introductions. “Officer Collins, meet Tony Capaselli, my neighbor.” She hung her head.
Another officer came up to the deck, knocked and opened the door. Before anyone could catch him, Percy ran out the door and down to the beach. He came within a foot of the body and sat and howled. It was one of the most mournful sounds Sylvia had ever heard. Sylvia put her hand to her mouth again and a few tears leaked out.
Officer Collins turned to Tony. “Mr. Capaselli, please sit down,” he said. Briefly he gave the story and asked Tony to come to the beach to identify Joyce.
Sylvia stayed in the house as one of the policemen brought Percy inside. She hugged Percy tightly, even though he sat stiffly, still staring out the door. She saw Tony put his head in his hands when Officer Collins took him to the beach. They returned with Tony, pale faced and staring blindly at nothing.
“That bastard! That bastard! That bastard,” he kept muttering under his breath. His eyes were two disks of flat black. Sylvia caught wind of the word, and wondered what was going on.
“Mr. Capaselli. Mr. Capaselli,” Officer Collins tried to break through Tony’s stony affect. “We need you to be available, sir,” Officer Collins continued. “We need to begin an investigation and search your home for evidence. We will have additional questions.”
Tony nodded. He gave the requested information to Officer Collins before Officer Collins left to speak with the others on the team on the beach.
The police loaded the body into an ambulance and slowly, the various officers and other personnel drifted back to their vehicles and away. Tony still sat in Sylvia’s living room, not talking. Sylvia still sat, holding Percy and murmuring to him.
Finally, Officer Collins came and sat down with them.
“I’ll need to take each of your statements,” he said. “Separately,” he added firmly.
“Of course,” Sylvia said. She had watched enough police thriller television series to know the drill, not to mention last summer’s experience with Anna’s murder. She sat patiently. Coldness was coming on again and she shivered visibly.
Officer Collins pulled a throw from the couch.
“Shock,” he said simply. “Wrap this around you.”
Sylvia did as she was told.
“Is there somewhere private I can talk to Mr. Capaselli?” he asked.
She motioned to the study down the hall. Sylvia stayed glued to the couch and watched Percy, unreachable in his doggy mourning. Police still were everywhere, taking pictures, measuring things. She watched in disbelief. Briefly she wondered what the neighbors thought. Those thoughts were dismissed when Officer Collins came back into the room.
He cleared his throat and she looked up.
“Officers are accompanying Mr. Capaselli to look at the alleged crime scene. Do you have a moment to make a statement?”
She watched as another officer took Percy away from the living room. She assumed he was going home as well.
She turned her attention back to Officer Collins. Things seemed to be happening in slow motion. “Of course,” Sylvia murmured, answering him. She pulled the throw around her and followed Officer Collins into the study where his laptop was glowing.
Sylvia told him how she had seen Joyce in the grocery store with another man when she was sick and in the neighborhood, walking Percy. She told him how distraught Tony had been and how she came to watch Percy. He asked her some of the same questions repeatedly. He asked about her relationship with Tony. By the time she was finished, she felt drained.
“Thank you,” Ms. Ash, “I think we’re good, but I would also like to set up an appointment with the police sketch artist to try to get a visage of the man Joyce Capaselli was with when you saw her.”
“Sure,” Sylvia answered, “But, I don’t know how accurate I can be. I only saw him for a moment or two and I wasn’t feeling very well.”
“Whatever you can tell us will be helpful. It’s amazing how the sketch artist can help draw out details you think you’ve forgotten. The computerized programs are absolutely amazing as well,” he added.
“Is there a number I can reach you?” he asked.
Sylvia nodded wearily and gave him her cell number. Eventually, the police presence was gone and she was left alone, sitting in her living room. She could not take her eyes from the spot where Joyce’s body washed ashore. She didn’t know how long she sat there – a few minutes or an hour. The phone rang through her fog and it was Tony cancelling their dinner date that evening.
“Sure,” she answered him numbly. “Sure.” Whatever words she felt she could say to him were inadequate. She couldn’t imagine what he was feeling. She had seen his tornadic anger and knew he kept mentioning ‘the bastard’ – the guy Sylvia had seen with Joyce. Sylvia wondered if they would be able to track him down and if so, what Tony
would do?
Another knock, this time it was a loud, strong knock at the kitchen door. Wearily, Sylvia stood up to answer it. Standing under the light at the porch was her part-time neighbor Kim. She looked concerned as Sylvia opened up the door, and held it open for her to enter.
“Kim!” Sylvia said. She meant to go on, but emotions got the better of her.
Kim led Sylvia further inside, dropping a bag on the kitchen table as she steered Sylvia to the study.
“Sit,” she commanded and slightly pushed Sylvia into one of the wing back chairs in front of the fireplace.
“First, a fire,” Kim told her, “and then some liquid apple pie and we can talk.”
Kim lived in Centreville, Delaware where she was a potter. She taught part-time at the Delaware Art Museum where children and adults could take classes. She also taught privately in her own studio, just blocks from the museum in a lovely old home. Her studio was in a carriage house and her business kept her fairly busy. She and her husband had a bayside home and Kim had a pottery studio in the small garage on the property. She and Sylvia had become friends in the last year, but both were so busy with their own lives, that they seldom got together outside of Bayside. They had promised each other to meet for dinner in Delaware, but they could never coordinate their schedules. Thus, when Kim was down at the Bay, they would get together for a glass of wine at sunset or a cup of coffee after a morning’s walk.
Kim was tall, about five feet, ten inches tall. She didn’t stoop as many tall women did, but carried herself with a graceful, stately air. Her hair, which had grayed naturally in her thirties, was close cropped to her head in a short, chic cut. She looked like an artist to Sylvia. Kim would wear a lot of black cropped pants, black shirt and then a colorful scarf, vest or jacket. She would tell Sylvia that it was part of her artistic uniform. Many times, while she was here at the bay, her uniform consisted of black sweatpants or shorts and a black t-shirt or sweatshirt decorated by daubs of clay. Today it was the sweatpants and a long black tunic sweater. Kim wore a scarf in shades of blue that picked up the silvery blue of her eyes.
Kim built a fire in the fireplace and went back to the kitchen. Sylvia heard her rustling about and the microwave beeping, but didn’t have the energy to get up to help. Kim returned with a tray with two mugs and a plate of sharp cheddar cheese and some crackers.
She handed Sylvia a mug. Sylvia breathed in the scent of warm apple cider. It was a lovely, cozy smell. She sipped it and her eyes opened wide. It wasn’t just cider in the mug. Kim had added something to it so that it tasted just like an apple pie.
“Mmm,” Sylvia told her, “This is yummy. What is it?”
“Cider with Tuaca,” Kim told her. At Sylvia’s answering puzzled look, Kim laughed. “It’s an Italian liqueur of citrus and vanilla,” she told Sylvia. “When you add it to warm cider it tastes like a hot apple pie.”
“You’re not kidding!” Sylvia said. “This is delicious.” She sipped more.
Suddenly Kim looked around, “Where’s Owen?” she asked. “I thought he might be out on an errand, but his car’s been gone all day.”
Sylvia took a longer sip and told her how Owen had left a few weeks ago. Kim was stunned.
“I’ll have to tell Craig,” she said, referring to her husband. “Do you want me to ask him to give Owen a tongue lashing?”
Sylvia laughed a little. It felt good. “No,” she answered Kim. She told Kim about Marian’s party as well.
Kim sat shaking her head and refilled Sylvia’s mug when it was empty. The liqueur on her empty stomach made Sylvia lightheaded and a little woozy. She nibbled on some cheese and the crackers. Kim returned with another mug of cider and Tuaca.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked her friend.
“Just a little tipsy,” Kim told her. “I thought you could use something after the day you’ve had. Rumor around the neighborhood is that the body was that of Joyce Capaselli. Is that true?”
Sylvia nodded her head. “Yes,” she said, “it was Joyce.” She took another long pull on the cider and Tuaca, “and apparently I’m one of the last people to see her alive.”
“What?” Kim asked, amazed at this detail.
Sylvia filled Kim in on seeing Joyce and the other man at the grocery store and of Tony’s frantic search over the last couple of weeks. She shuddered visibly when she told Kim about finding the body. She could still smell and taste death. She brought the mug of cider up to her nose and breathed it in, trying to erase the memory.
“Sylvia,” Kim said, “You poor thing!” she sympathized.
Kim stayed with her a bit longer and talked of sundry things. Finally she made Sylvia a third mug of cider and Tuaca.
“Promise me you’ll take this and go up to bed,” she told Sylvia.
Sylvia promised. Kim turned out the lights and took a flashlight from her coat pocket and headed home. Even with the alcohol and balm of friendship, Sylvia was still tense when she went up to bed. Her body felt like a tight spring that would soon explode. She stretched and tried to get comfortable under the sheets and blankets, but instead tossed and turned. Suddenly she heard a rustle of leaves. The Green Man was there.
“It will be all right,” he said soothingly in his deep voice. He laid against her on top of the comforter and put his arm around her and spooned up against her back. It was just the way she had slept with Gran. She sighed, breathing in his soft, spicy and woodsy scent. Finally she relaxed. Sylvia slept deeply.
When she woke up with a start it was late. She was due at Marian’s in a short time. Numbly she got dressed and drove to Marian’s blindly following the familiar road.
“Sylvia,” Marian said as she opened the door. “What’s wrong?” she asked concerned, seeing her face.
Jon came into the room and took her arm as she stumbled across the threshold.
“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry,” she repeated. Sylvia looked both of them in the eyes and promptly burst into tears.
Marian led her to the Victorian couch in the foyer. Jon rushed to get tissues.
“Here,” he said, gently. “Calm down and tell us.”
Marian sat beside her and Jon stood over her handing her tissues as needed. Sylvia told them both of the horrible day before.
“Oh, my dear,” Marian said to Sylvia and gathered her in her arms while Jon patted her hand.
Jon started asking probing questions, gently and insistently gaining more of a sense of what had transpired. Marian went to fetch Sylvia a cup of café au lait. She cradled the cup in her hands and sipped the coffee and milk.
“Come out to the kitchen,” Marian said gently. “Let’s have something to eat.”
Jon helped Sylvia stand and put his arm around her and led her out to the kitchen. The weather had turned colder abruptly again overnight and Jon and Marian had a fire crackling in the old fireplace in the breakfast room. To Sylvia, it was one of the coziest rooms in Marian’s house with the fireplace, sunny oak cabinets and rag rugs.
Marian brought brunch to the table.
“Here,” she told Sylvia, “some comfort food.”
Marian piled a plate high with country browned potatoes with peppered bacon, a fresh biscuit and a generous slice of a frittata. Jon expertly mixed orange juice and champagne in a pitcher and brought it to the table.
After he poured each of them a glass he offered a toast, “To better and better days ahead,” he said raising his glass.
“Here, here!” Sylvia and Marian agreed as their glasses clinked.
They settled into brunch, catching up on inane things. Marian regaled her with stories of Europe, with Jon chuckling and chiming in to add interesting points to Marian’s tales. Sylvia could see in Jon’s eyes how much he cared for Marian and she couldn’t help but smile. She finally had the courage to ask where Owen was for the weekend. Jon replied that he was skiing with some of the faculty from State. Sylvia remembered that Owen’s friend Bill in the biology department loved to ski.
Finally Jo
n cleared his throat. “Sylvia,” he said.
Sylvia looked up from her plate, fork mid-air.
He cleared his throat again. “I think we’re all in agreement that Owen has been acting like an ass,” his voice rich with dry humor. “But, what I’m wondering is, who is this Tony guy to you? I’m concerned especially after your ‘find,’ I guess we can call it, yesterday.”
Sylvia blushed and swallowed. “He’s just a friend,” Sylvia told them, “and my neighbor, or course.”
Marian may have missed it, but Jon’s probing eyes did not miss her blush. Sylvia blushed again becoming a little uncomfortable with Jon’s probing look and her uncertain thoughts regarding Tony.
She paused before continuing, “As for yesterday and finding Joyce, I don’t know. I’m thinking Joyce’s lover murdered her for money or something and took off. Tony came down New Year’s Day and couldn’t find her. He was pretty distraught.”
“So you think Joyce’s lover murdered her?” Jon asked.
“Well,” Sylvia .paused to think a moment, “yes.”
“Not Tony?” he probed.
Sylvia was startled. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I mean, he wasn’t even there.”
“Hmm….” Jon considered this. “Does he have an alibi?” he asked.
Sylvia shrugged. She had no idea.
“I haven’t talked to him since…since we found the body,” she said with a shudder. “I expect the police have asked him all kinds of questions.”
“This will certainly put your neighbors’ knickers in a twist,” Marian quipped. “They’ll want to know the inside scoop, if I know the Bayside community,” she said.
Sylvia rolled her eyes at this. Sometimes a tight knit community wasn’t always the best thing. The gossip or ‘poison ivy vine’ as one neighbor tagged it, ran rampant through out the neighborhood.
“I don’t think I have an inside scoop,” Sylvia said. “For God’s sake, her body just landed on my beach! But, Kim came over last night. She’s down for the weekend and I’m sure she can take care of the rumor mill.
The Leafing: the 2nd book in The Green Man series Page 13
