As he listened, Caprice saw him frown.
“A motorcycle, maybe?” he asked. “Good catch. The evidence techs will be here as soon as they can. Let Monroe guard the scene. You bring in the bag.”
Less than a minute later, a patrol officer had come in with a brown paper evidence bag and tag. Carstead extracted a small tool kit from his jacket pocket and pulled out what looked like forceps.
As Caprice watched, he used them to draw out whatever was in the back of the pie safe.
After he pulled out a small scrap of paper, he studied it. “Whatever papers were in there must have caught on the rough back edge of the shelf.” He held a good-sized corner in the forceps. “My mother made me take piano lessons when I was a kid. I even had a crack at writing music. That’s what this looks like.”
“Can I take a closer look?” Caprice asked.
“Why should I let you do that?” Carstead asked.
She had a very good reason. “Because Ace often handwrites songs in his early stages of composing. I’ve seen the notebook he keeps.”
Carstead thought it over. “All right. But don’t touch it. Don’t breathe on it.”
Of course, she knew better not to touch it or breathe on it. She simply stared at the notes and the handwritten words under the music staff. The scrawl looked very much like the handwriting she’d seen in Ace’s notebook. Had someone stolen his music, as well as his guitars? Had it been Len? And since it was in Alanna’s house, had Alanna known about it? Maybe instigated the theft?
Caprice certainly didn’t want to say that out loud near Twyla. Nevertheless, her gaze met Carstead’s and she guessed he knew what she was thinking.
She gave a nod that she was finished looking, and he dropped the piece of sheet music into the evidence bag.
Once again, Carstead peered into the pie safe, but apparently found nothing else of importance. After he handed the bag to Officer Thompkins and the patrolman left, Carstead crossed to Twyla, who was now lying on the gurney.
“You’ll probably be at the hospital for hours. That should give us enough time to process the scene.” He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “When you’re through in the ER, call me to make sure the forensics unit is finished here.”
Twyla took the card, but looked a bit lost. “My purse is in the kitchen.”
“I’ll get it,” Caprice offered. “And I’ll go with you to the hospital. You’ll need a ride when you’re finished.”
“I don’t want to impose . . . ,” Twyla began.
But Caprice brushed her concern away. “You’re not imposing. I brought my laptop along. I can work while I wait.” And she’d call her uncle to see if he could puppysit, since Detective Carstead was possibly right and Twyla wouldn’t be coming home for a few hours.
This day had definitely turned out differently than she’d expected! Differently than Twyla had expected, too. Her whole ordeal in Kismet had been traumatic. Caprice could certainly understand if she didn’t want to keep this house and the bad memories associated with it.
The ER physician decided to admit Twyla and keep an eye on her overnight. He ordered a CT scan and other tests. Twyla insisted Caprice not wait around and promised to call her later with an update. Caprice assured her she would pick her up the following day and return her to White Pillars.
On the way home, Caprice gave Ace a call and they decided to meet at his house to talk in person. When she asked if she could bring Lady, Ace responded, “You don’t even have to ask.”
After thanking her uncle for petsitting and giving him a loaf of pepperoni-cheddar bread to take along, Caprice drove her van out of town along the long expanse of mostly deserted road. Just what did Detective Carstead think about the sheet music?
No way to know what was in the detective’s head.
Mrs. Wannamaker let Caprice and Lady inside at Ace’s house. She said, “Mr. Richland’s in his den. He was pretty upset when that detective left. Maybe you can calm him down.”
She didn’t know about calming him down, but maybe together they could figure out exactly what was going on.
As Caprice followed the housekeeper to Ace’s den, Lady trotted along beside her. When they reached the room where Ace spent much of his time while he was here, she spotted him pacing.
She said, “You’re going to wear out the shine on those beautiful hardwood floors.”
He stopped and turned.
“I didn’t think I’d have to announce her,” Mrs. Wannamaker said.
“No, Caprice announces herself.”
Lady ran toward Ace. With a wry expression of resignation mixed with pleasure, Ace crouched down to give the dog a good rubdown. Lady wriggled and rolled over, but then she sat back on her haunches and stared up at Ace. After a moment, she licked his face.
Caprice’s heart always warmed at how intuitive animals could be. Just by the vibrations in the room, Lady knew Ace was upset, and she was trying to comfort him. Caprice silently sent the message, Good dog, Lady. You’re such a good dog.
Ace looked as if Lady’s kindness might have choked him up a bit. When he stood, he cleared his throat. “Have a seat.”
“Shall I bring coffee?” Mrs. Wannamaker asked.
“Good and dark,” Ace said. Then he glanced at Caprice. “Double cream and sugar in hers. Maybe you can bring a couple of Brindle’s treats for Lady, too.”
The housekeeper exited the room without a word, knowing exactly what to do.
Caprice sat in the comfy, butter-soft leather club chair across from Ace. “So Detective Carstead was here?”
“Oh yes. What in the blazes happened? He asked me a lot of questions and gave me the minimum amount of information. Something about Twyla Horton having been assaulted at White Pillars and someone had stolen sheet music. Turns out it was my sheet music.”
“He showed you a torn piece?” Caprice asked.
“Yes, he did. I checked my binder. Six songs were missing. I was still working on them.”
“How many people know about that binder?”
Ace thought about that. “My band members know, my agent, any production people I bring in. Mrs. Wannamaker knows about it ... and Marsha and Trista.”
“Did Alanna know about it?”
Ace was silent for a few moments. Lady curled up at his feet and leaned her head over his shoe. There was that comfort again.
Ace finally answered, “Yes, she knew about it.”
“Where do you keep the binder? In here?” This was his major headquarters when working from home other than his production area in the basement.
“No, I don’t keep it in here.”
She knew from the tone of Ace’s voice what was coming. “Where?” she prompted.
“I keep it in a dresser drawer in my bedroom.”
“And how many people know that?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “My housekeeper . . . and Alanna knew. She also knew I haven’t written or worked on new songs lately. I’ve been too busy polishing what I’m going to perform on tour.”
“Ace, I’m sorry.”
“Because you don’t think my housekeeper stole them?” he inquired with some irritation as he ran his hand over his face. “Of course, she didn’t. Alanna was in cahoots with Len in a stupid plot that I don’t understand. Why would she steal my sheet music?”
“Maybe to give it to Len in exchange for sabotaging your tour?”
“She had enough money to give him.”
“My guess is that she was going to give him money, too, but he might have demanded more. Like the chance to make it big with music you wrote. If Alanna wanted you to quit your tour and stay home with her, she’d adhere to Len’s demands to accomplish that.”
“Did she think I wouldn’t miss the music?”
“Maybe she thought you wouldn’t return to the binder for a while. Maybe she thought because you were so busy, and would be even busier planning a wedding and moving her in, you wouldn’t notice. On the other hand, maybe she was going t
o make copies and put them back and just didn’t have time to do that.”
“So if Len stole them and eventually sold the songs or had them produced, did he think I wouldn’t notice? I would have sued someone!”
“Not if Len changed them just enough. It could have come down to your word against his. He could even claim he coauthored them.”
Ace kept shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe any of it. “This is like some crazy nightmare. If Len stole that music, he obviously knew Alanna had it and where she kept it.”
“I don’t know the answer to that one. It’s possible Alanna told him where she kept them, like a carrot on a stick. Then when he accomplished what she wanted, she’d hand them over.”
“Maybe I can believe this of Len Lowery. After all, I really didn’t know him well. I only did a surface background check. But Alanna?” Ace looked devastated. “Carstead didn’t tell me where the music was hidden. I suppose you aren’t supposed to tell me, either?”
“Probably not.”
He nodded. “He did tell me one thing, though. There’s a BOLO out on Len Lowery and his vehicle. It shouldn’t be too long before they bring him in for questioning. If he murdered Alanna—”
Ace looked as if he’d strangle the man with his bare hands. Caprice just hoped the police got hold of Len before Ace ever could.
The following day as Lady bounded into Nana’s small suite, Caprice saw her dog stop short as if she had put on the brakes. Then she realized why.
Nana laughed. “She’s still not sure of Valentine being here. It’s like Lady is always surprised to find a pip-squeak of a gray tabby.”
The three-month-old kitten had been a big surprise one cold night when Caprice had found her in her backyard... or rather Lady had. The kitten had only been six weeks old then. When Caprice had told Nana about her, Nana had decided she might like a pet. And she did. Valentine entertained her, got her to smile a lot more often, and kept her company all day and night. The kitten was a cuddler, and that was just what Nana had needed.
Seeing Valentine, Lady sat and stretched out her front paws. The kitten ran up to her, did a little sideways dance in front of her, then bumped her nose against Lady’s. Lady didn’t react much, just sniffed Valentine whenever she got within sniffing distance. Valentine then ran to the cat condo Nana had purchased for her, that sat at the window. She perched up on the top shelf.
Lady chased after her and sat beneath the condo, gazing up.
“They’ll entertain each other,” Nana said. “Would you like a cup of tea and biscotti?”
“You know I would,” Caprice assured Nana, following her to the kitchen. “So, how are you feeling?”
“Is that why you stopped by? So you can hover over me like everybody else?”
“No hovering. I’m just hoping you’re feeling better.”
As Nana put filtered water into the teakettle and settled the kettle on the stove to heat, she didn’t speak. But then she turned and eyed Caprice studiously. “A little birdie told me you visited Dom.”
“What little birdie was that?” Caprice wondered who the tattletale could be. No one else had been home when she’d visited her uncle.
“Our neighbor next door. She’s my age, lives alone, and we check on each other. She knows your car and van, of course. She said you stopped by.”
“I just wanted to catch up with him,” Caprice said vaguely.
“Well, catching up must have worked, because Dom and I had a talk—a very long talk.”
Actually, Caprice didn’t want to pry. If Nana wanted to tell her what they talked about, she would.
She found the can of biscotti Nana kept on the counter. It was a pretty decorative canister with tulips painted on the lid. She took a few biscotti out and placed them on a plate. Then she set the plate on the small table for two.
Seeing the water was ready for the tea, Nana poured it into a white porcelain teapot decorated with roses.
While the tea steeped, Nana sat across from her. Finally she confided, “Dom apologized for not staying in touch, for being foolish because of love.”
Nana was silent again, but then pushed the plate of biscotti across to Caprice. “Eat,” she directed.
Caprice took a cookie and bit into the soft biscuit with the lemon icing. Nana’s biscotti weren’t like the twice-baked ones most people thought of as biscotti. These had a soft texture and melted in her mouth.
Nana said, “I suppose I can understand how he felt. Love makes everyone do foolish things.”
“You included?” Caprice asked.
Nana shrugged. “I would have followed your grandfather anywhere. I would have stood by him even if the barbershop hadn’t been successful. I would have done anything for him.”
“And you did.” Caprice remembered how Nana had made a loving home, how as a couple her grandparents had been strong and loving, affectionate and unified—a wonderful example of marriage.
“So you’re feeling better about Uncle Dominic?”
“I’ve forgiven him. Holding on to hurt wasn’t hurting anybody but me. I could see that, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Our talk settled things.” She reached over and took Caprice’s hand. “So thank you for your visit, whatever you said.”
Caprice felt a bit embarrassed. She didn’t want thanks. “Time to pour the tea. What kind do we have today?”
“Bilberry. I know you didn’t come here just to drink tea. What’s on your mind?”
“Alanna Goodwin’s murder is on my mind. I found Twyla Horton unconscious yesterday afternoon.” The whole story spilled out as the contents of her mind and heart were wont to do whenever she talked to Nana. “Twyla’s tests were okay and she’s supposed to be discharged later. But what happened is puzzling. If Len murdered Alanna, why didn’t he steal the sheet music then?”
“This case seems more complicated than any you’ve attempted to solve—stolen guitars, stolen sheet music, and an attempt to sabotage Ace’s tour. It all seems to point to this keyboard player, doesn’t it?”
“It seems to. But then there’s Alanna’s former lover, Barton’s illegitimate son, Archer Ford. If Alanna was having an affair with him after Barton died, why did she suddenly drop him and start dating Ace?”
“Because Ace had more of what she wanted?” Nana asked.
Caprice wasn’t exactly sure what that might be.
“Then there’s Ace, who I suppose is still a suspect,” Nana said. “Maybe Alanna was going to go back to Archer and Ace found out, and in a passionate rage killed her. After all, you said he has a short temper sometimes.”
“Oh, Nana. I can’t believe that of Ace. I just can’t. I won’t. He might have a short fuse now and then, but he has a good, kind heart. He could never hurt anyone.”
“You said he broke Len Lowery’s nose.”
Caprice sighed. “He did, but he was provoked.”
Nana arched a brow just as Caprice’s cell phone played. Nana said, “Go ahead and answer it. I’ll check on Lady and Valentine.”
After Caprice fished her phone from her purse, she was astonished to see Seth’s face. Her heart began to beat a worry rhythm.
“Hi, Seth. This is a surprise.”
“I just have a few minutes,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I have to cancel our plans for the weekend. I have a critical patient and I can’t leave. I promise I’ll make it up to you, and we’ll visit my parents.”
“I understand,” Caprice said automatically, but as she said the words, she felt tears gathering in her eyes.
“I’ve got to go,” Seth told her. “I’ll be in touch soon.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
Nana took her by the shoulders. “What’s wrong?”
Caprice dropped her phone onto the table. “Seth can’t make it this weekend. He has a critical patient.”
Nana gave her a huge hug. She asked, “Does he know your birthday is on Sunday?”
Caprice sniffled. “No. I didn’t tell him yet.”
Nan
a leaned back and said, “This is the life of a doctor, tesorina mia. Are you ready for that?”
Chapter Sixteen
The more Caprice thought about her wrecked weekend with Seth and his one-minute call—well, maybe two minutes—the more upset she got. She didn’t know if she was upset with Seth, the situation, or herself for expecting too much. Nana had told her once that she shouldn’t have expectations, but how could she not? How could a woman dream without expectations?
She couldn’t fault Seth for wanting his career, for following his dream, for making his path in a profession he loved. But was there room for a woman beside him? More important, was there time for a woman beside him? Yes, this experience at Johns Hopkins was demanding in every way possible. But wouldn’t his ongoing career be demanding, too? Especially if he chose one in trauma medicine. Where would he end up? New York? Boston? Possibly Chicago, Portland, or L.A.?
His career was one thing. Their relationship was another. Was she as important to him as he could be to her? Flowers and gifts were wonderful. Seth was good at those. But time and commitment were even more important.
After Caprice took Lady home, they went on a walk. A fine mist began to fall as she answered her cell phone when it played again. This time, the caller was Twyla. “Do you need me to pick you up?”
“No,” Twyla said, sounding fatigued. “I’m back at White Pillars. I took a cab back. I didn’t want to impose more.”
Caprice wouldn’t have minded. “How do you feel?”
“Tired. But all my tests checked out okay. When this headache lets up, I’ll give you a call and we can have lunch or dinner.”
“That sounds good.”
Caprice pocketed her phone to protect it from the rain as she and Lady hurried back to the house. Sitting at her desk at a computer this afternoon wouldn’t be helpful to her mind-set or her work. She’d think about her thirty-third birthday . . . and Seth.
After she settled Lady with her ball that dispensed treats, secure in the kitchen with the pet gates in place, she gave Mirabelle and Sophia petting attention and then went to her purse. After she pulled out the photo of a little girl that she’d found at Alanna’s, she studied it. She Googled the dance studio on her phone and checked the hours. As she suspected, after-school slots for classes would be busy ones. It was time to elicit answers about Alanna and her past. Yes, Len was an obvious suspect, but she had a feeling there were a few suspects who weren’t so obvious.
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