Shades of Wrath

by Karen Rose Smith

  Sebastian, Kevin, and Cody all walked Grant and Caprice outside. It was a beautiful autumn night with a bright moon. The motion detector light came on as soon as they walked to the edge of the carport. Grant’s SUV was parked a few yards away. Caprice didn’t know if it was the moonlight or the motion detector light, but she caught a glimpse of something shiny in the driveway. It could be a nickel. It could be the tab off a soda can.

  She went toward it, stooped down, and picked it up. “I think someone lost a necklace, or at least part of one,” she said, coming back into the light where everyone was standing.

  “We don’t wear necklaces,” Cody mumbled.

  “It could be off a key ring, I suppose.” She looked at Sebastian.

  “I use my car remote for my key ring.”

  She turned the coin—that’s what it looked like—over in her fingers. She could see now it was decorated with a purple butterfly emblem. A hole was drilled in it as if it once hung on a chain.

  She held it out to everyone. “Have you seen this before?”

  Cody and Kevin shrugged, and Sebastian shook his head.

  “Could it have belonged to Wendy?” Caprice asked. After all, it could have been lying in the gravel drive for a while.

  “I never saw her wear anything like that,” Sebastian said. “I don’t suppose that means anything.”

  Grant went to the area where Caprice had found the necklace. He crouched down, pushed the stones aside here and there, and came up with a chain. He brought it to where the others were standing.

  “Broken links,” he disclosed.

  “I know Wendy didn’t have a necklace like that,” Kevin said. “I would have noticed a purple butterfly.”

  “You had a lot of people coming in and going with the reception and condolence calls,” Caprice pointed out. “I suppose it could belong to anyone. But I also wonder . . .” She stopped. “It could have belonged to the person who broke in. It wasn’t very deep in the gravel, and you haven’t had as many cars here since the break-in.”

  “I should probably give Detective Carstead a call,” Sebastian decided. “He said the smallest thing could make a difference. Maybe this is that smallest thing.”

  That and the thumb drive, Caprice thought.

  “You call Detective Carstead, but I’ll see what I can find out in the meantime. I know just the person to consult—Isaac Hobbs. He sees all kinds of jewelry in his shop, at estate sales, and at public auctions.” She examined the disc again. “That could be a one-of-a-kind pendant, but it looks to me like a coin that might be given out at a meeting or something like that. I don’t know. Let’s get into some really good light and I’ll take a photo of it with my phone. I’ll e-mail that to Isaac and see what he thinks.”

  “You have a good eye,” Sebastian said. “I never would have seen that.”

  “Maybe I’m just a sucker for moonlight,” she kidded, and looked over at Grant.

  He gave her a slow smile.

  Once in the car, Grant turned to her. “A sucker for moonlight, huh?”

  “It seems to me the moon was glowing when you proposed.”

  He leaned over and kissed her.

  As Grant drove her back to her house, she e-mailed Isaac from her phone and attached the photo.

  Grant had no sooner parked in her driveway and gone inside the house with her—to the delight of Patches, Lady, and two sleepy felines—when her phone dinged. She checked her e-mail.

  “Isaac says he has seen the coin before. He has a few in a box at his jewelry counter. They’re given out at a national support group meeting that gathers for weight control. He says a branch of it meets at the library. If I talk to the head librarian, she should be able to tell me more.”

  Caprice texted back a quick thank you to Isaac; then she glanced at Grant. “I can’t get into trouble at a library.”

  He just groaned because he knew she could get into trouble anywhere.

  * * *

  Standing in her dining room the following evening, Caprice looked over her dining room table with a critical eye. The fifties-style mahogany table wore a few scratches. Yet covered with a white tablecloth with a flower design, no one would see them. She’d used a lint brush on the needlepoint covers on the chairs. That didn’t mean a cat wouldn’t climb on one before the guests arrived, but she’d given it a shot.

  As she took her good china from a hutch—Nana had passed it down to her when she’d gone to live with Caprice’s parents—she studied the yellow and pink roses that decorated the plates. Her everyday dishes came in assorted colors of lime green, fuchsia, turquoise, and yellow and could be jarring to someone who didn’t understand her tastes. These plates were classic. The stainless-steel flatware she’d found at Isaac’s when she’d moved in here was a shadowed rose pattern and went beautifully with the dishes, as did the Princess House tumblers from the seventies that had been hand-blown and delicately etched. She suddenly wondered if Grant’s parents would find all of this a little hoity-toity, too, but it was too late to worry about that. The chicken was roasting in the oven and the minestrone simmered on the stove.

  Patches and Lady sat by the door, eager for another run outside. Grant had dropped Patches off earlier, thinking that if the two dogs had some playtime together before company arrived, then they’d settle down. Wishful thinking? They were both still pups, and who knew what could happen.

  As Caprice gave the soup another stir, she considered her meeting with the head librarian that afternoon. Caprice had known Willa Renquist since she was a teenager, wandering the shelves at the Kismet library for good research material as well as novels to read. Willa, with her tightly rolled gray perm and her tortoiseshell glasses, had been forthright when Caprice had shown her the picture of the coin on her phone.

  “The group’s called Wings,” she’d explained quickly. “They meet here once a week, have weigh-ins and pep talks. I actually belonged for a while,” the librarian admitted, patting her rounded hips.

  Willa had always been about thirty to forty pounds overweight and Caprice could see why she would try to lose weight.

  “But I just couldn’t give up sugar and flour,” Willa admitted. “And you have to do that to belong to that group. I know it would have benefited me, especially as I grow older.” Then she laughed. “I guess I am growing older. But for now, I just want to enjoy the kinds of foods I like.” She pointed to the photo on Caprice’s phone. “That particular coin with the silver background and purple butterfly is given out as a milestone reward for fifty pounds lost. If someone loses a hundred pounds, they receive a gold coin with a purple butterfly.

  “So it’s just a coin, not a necklace.”

  “Just a coin. But that coin means a lot. So I could see why someone would have a hole drilled into it and put a chain on it so they could wear it daily. It’s like a reminder to stay on course.”

  Caprice was still considering what Willa had said when her doorbell rang. Her mom, Nana, and dad arrived first, hugging her and fussing over her to make sure she was recovering. Nana tested the potatoes to see if they were ready to mash. Her mom tasted the soup, gave her a wink and a thumbs-up.

  When the Weatherfords arrived, they looked uncomfortable throughout introductions. Then Grant explained, “Caprice’s dad is a mason and her mom teaches high school English.” During the next quarter hour or so, the men went outside with the dogs. Caprice didn’t know how that was going to go over since Grant’s father didn’t seem to be a huge animal lover. His mother asked how she could help in the kitchen. Caprice asked her to watch the green beans so they didn’t boil over and maybe test them for tenderness.

  A half hour later when everyone finally sat around the table, Caprice’s dad asked, “Do you mind if we say grace?”

  Diane murmured, “That would be nice.”

  Her father kept it short, thanking the Lord for the food and the company. Caprice ladled out the soup, dish by dish, while the rest of the meal was kept warm and covered on the stove.

 
Grant’s father asked, “What’s that green stuff floating in the soup?”

  Nana explained, “This is my recipe. That’s endive. Caprice knows just when to put it in so it’s still a little crisp.”

  “I’ve never had salad in my soup before,” Sam muttered. “And I have a dog sitting on my foot.”

  Grant peered under the table. “That’s Patches. He likes you, Dad.”

  His father gave a grunt.

  Conversation limped through the soup course until her mom and Caprice whisked the dishes away. They brought out the chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and gravy and Grant’s father’s eyes lit up. “This is like Thanksgiving.”

  Caprice had asked Grant if his parents enjoyed wine. When he said they didn’t drink, she’d decided not to serve it.

  Nana still didn’t seem to be over Grant’s dad’s soup comment. She explained, “The De Lucas have a meal like this once a month to bring the family together.”

  “You go to all this trouble then?” Diane asked.

  “Oh, it’s not trouble,” Nana said. “In an Italian family, food is love. We show our love to each other by what we make. Everyone brings something. It’s quite a party atmosphere unless there’s a squabble or two, and that happens.”

  “Have you been to these dinners?” Grant’s father asked him.

  “Since I was Vince’s roommate. This isn’t a new thing. The De Lucas have always done it. It’s like a family reunion once a month and guests are invited too.”

  “Grant fits right in,” Caprice’s mom said. “He’s always seemed like a member of the family.”

  Grant’s father looked from him to Caprice, then back to Grant again, and said, “I see.” That “I see” made Caprice wonder what was going on in his mind. Did he think Caprice was the reason Grant hadn’t fallen head over heels for Naomi when they were involved? That couldn’t be. She and Grant had never intended to reconnect with Grant practicing law in Pittsburgh and her opening her decorating business in Kismet. Yet she had to admit, she’d never forgotten him or her crush on him.

  Finally, Diane and her mom began talking about gardens. Sam and her dad seemed to find common ground talking about small-town living, traffic, and the difference in the weather between Vermont and Pennsylvania. Nana had made cannoli shells and her mom had mixed the cream. While Grant served coffee, Caprice filled the cannoli shells, then decorated them with a few mini-chocolate chips and colorful sprinkles and brought them to the table. She’d considered making an apple pie, but the cannoli were often part of their family dinners. Grant’s parents needed a taste of what the De Lucas were all about.

  After she’d sifted powdered sugar on top of the cannoli, she carried the crystal dish to the table.

  Diane said, “They look like they came from a bakery.”

  “We don’t buy cannoli at a bakery,” Nana protested. “Fran used real whipped cream and ricotta in the filling.”

  Grant’s father didn’t look as if cannoli were on the list of desserts he’d like to try. But Grant offered the serving plate to him and he took one, maybe deciding it was the diplomatic thing to do since he’d criticized the soup.

  After a taste and a swig from his cup of coffee, Sam smiled. “That’s really something.”

  Score one for their side, Caprice thought.

  After dinner, the men found a football game on TV with Lady and Patches settled at their feet. Caprice’s felines had gone upstairs for a little privacy and she supposed that was best. She didn’t think either Sam or Diane would appreciate Mirabelle jumping on their laps.

  As her mom and Nana stacked the dishes on the table, Diane came up beside her at the counter. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure,” Caprice responded.

  “Because of what happened the other night, Grant told us you get involved in murder investigations. Why do you do that?”

  “I never intended to,” she said honestly. “But I had a good friend from high school, and her husband was murdered. That’s how it started. The police suspected her, and I wanted to help clear her name. With Wendy, the woman who was murdered recently . . .” Caprice shook her head. “She was a good woman. She saved other women from abusive situations. So many people were affected by her death, and the assistant director at the women’s shelter asked me to gather information too. That’s all I intended to do.”

  Diane lowered her voice. “And you found something useful to the police, Grant told us.”

  “I hope it’s useful. I hope it helps them find the murderer.”

  Diane nodded, then she asked, “What do you like most about my son?”

  That question made Caprice smile. “If I had to pick one quality, I’d pick Grant’s ability to care. I love that about him as well as everything else.”

  Diane seemed satisfied with that answer. After she gave a little smile, she went to help Caprice’s nana and mom. Diane might not be the hugging type, but her smile said she approved. Maybe Caprice would be able to have a relationship with her in-laws after all. She’d just have to work harder on Grant’s dad.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Caprice parked in the lot at Green Tea Spa on Monday evening just as the first pings of sleet hit her windshield. The weather had been rainy and unusually cold all day with the prediction of ice later tonight followed by rain later. She’d hoped it would hold off until she was home from yoga. When she’d spoken to Dulcina earlier today, her friend had told her she couldn’t attend the class tonight because she had emergency transcriptions to finish.

  Caprice figured the class might be short with the weather so terrible. Soon she’d be back home curled up with her pets.

  She’d just turned off the ignition when her cell phone played. Taking it from her pocket in her knit turquoise pants, she saw the caller was Grant.

  “How was your parents’ flight?” she asked, knowing why he was calling.

  “They’re home and tucked in. We’re supposed to get the bad weather before they are. I’m glad they had smooth sailing. Maybe they won’t think it’s such a big deal to fly down here again.”

  “So how do you think the visit went. Really?”

  “I think it went as well as can be expected. You and your family did a great job welcoming them.”

  “But then there’s the big question. Did they approve of me?”

  “I approve of you. It doesn’t matter what they think. But, honestly, I think they liked you. I’m pretty sure Mom did. Dad’s hard to read.”

  “So he’s grumpy about everything?”

  Grant laughed. “Most of the time. It’s just his way. You can’t take it personally. He did say you’re a good cook.”

  “That’s something,” she agreed. She checked her watch. “I really should be going into yoga. Class starts in five minutes.”

  “You could turn around and go home before the roads get bad. It’s sleeting, Caprice. Haven’t you noticed?”

  “It started after I arrived.”

  “I can pick you up if it gets too slippery. My SUV is better than your van.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she assured him again. “I’ll call you after I get home.”

  “Dulcina’s not with you?” he asked.

  “She had work to do tonight. Don’t fret. I’ll take my time.”

  “It’s not you I’m worried about, it’s the other drivers.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” she said, reminding him she had a class to go to.

  He sighed. “Later,” he agreed, and ended the call.

  Caprice ran inside Green Tea Spa and brushed the sleet from her hair. She nodded to the receptionist and smiled. “It’s nasty out there.”

  “So I heard,” the blonde said. “I’ll be leaving while you’re in class. Evelyn knows how to lock up.”

  Caprice thought about Grant and his offer to pick her up. She probably should have let him. But it wasn’t that far to her house, and hopefully, the mayor would have called out trucks with chemicals to melt the ice. The problem was, sometimes during the first
storm, especially an unexpected one, the town just wasn’t as prepared as it should be with inclement weather services.

  As she made her way to the room designated for the yoga class, she thought about Grant’s parents back in Vermont. She was glad they’d gotten home safely.

  Entering the yoga room, she saw Evelyn was seated at the desk in front. Only two other women were present and they were involved in a conversation in the back of the room where the mats were located.

  Caprice stopped at Evelyn’s desk. “Are you going to go ahead with class?”

  “The three of you came out in this messy weather. The least I can do is try to relax you. But I’ll shorten the session.” Eyeing Caprice studiously, Evelyn said, “Word around town has it something happened at the Wyatt estate and you were taken to the hospital. Are you okay?”

  “A concussion,” Caprice admitted.

  Evelyn studied her again as if looking for signs of injury. “I won’t do anything too strenuous. You take a break from poses we do where your head would be lower than your shoulders. No point in increasing blood flow to the brain and starting a headache.”

  That sounded like a good idea to Caprice.

  “Have you talked to Sebastian lately?” Evelyn asked. “The word is out about him and Lizbeth and I wondered how he’s handling it.”

  “He and his boys are coping as well as can be expected. I stopped in on Saturday. He’ll feel better once the police catch the killer.”

  “I can’t imagine someone breaking into my place,” Evelyn said. “Sebastian and the boys must feel so . . . invaded.”

  “Exactly. But the intruder might have left a clue behind. Sebastian was going to call Detective Carstead and talk to him about it.”

  The other two women brought their mats up to the front of the room, and Caprice went to find one of her own. Minutes later, lying on her back on her mat, she followed Evelyn’s instruction to align her neck, spine, and legs and relax her arms at her sides for an abdominal breathing exercise. For the next few minutes, she concentrated on her belly and her breaths. Her headaches had tensed up her neck and shoulder muscles. Her job was to relax them or tease them into relaxation by giving them more oxygen. The next exercise—Butterfly Breathing—aided her to that end. She felt Evelyn had inserted that exercise just for her.