Slay Bells Ring

by Karen Rose Smith

  Vince shook his head. “I have paperwork to put together for the house closing. Since it’s vacant, I can close on it next week.” He gave Caprice a hug, nodded to her dad and Grant, and he was off.

  “Chris isn’t going to be ready for Blitz until he’s settled in the cabin,” her dad said. He addressed Grant, “Do you want to let the dogs run in the dog park?”

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Grant leaned over and gave Caprice a quick kiss. It might have been quick, but it did everything a kiss should. She was still smiling when the two men walked off with the dogs.

  She approached the float with Chris’s sleigh. He was in full beard and costume and looked just like Santa.

  Seeing her, he waved. Then he lifted the leather strap with sleigh bells he’d been jingling and stood to disembark from the sleigh onto the flatbed float. However, once he was upright, he wobbled on his booted feet.

  Caprice saw right away and started to climb the steps to the flat bed. Parents and kids had gathered all around.

  Caprice hurried to Chris as the sleigh bells fell to the float’s floor and he put his hand to his forehead. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” he mumbled, holding onto the side of the sleigh as he lifted his leg over the side to step down. But when he did, one leg seemed to buckle, and he grabbed onto the sleigh again.

  One of the parents called, “Are you drunk?”

  Chris’s head seemed to clear, and he pulled himself together as he stood tall and straight, the proud veteran he was. He looked directly into the man’s eyes. “I’m not drunk. If you want to make me take a Breathalyzer, go ahead.” Then gentling his voice, he looked down at all the kids and asked, “Are you ready to tell Santa your wishes?”

  “We are,” they yelled.

  “Then come on. Follow me to the cabin. No matter how long the line is, I’ll hear every one of your lists.”

  Caprice touched Chris’s arm. “Are you really okay?”

  “I’m fine. Did you come to see if I was ready for Blitz?”

  “Dad took him to the dog park.”

  “Do you want to go get him? The kids love to pet him.”

  She’d wanted to ask him about Ray Gangloff and what the man might want with him, but now obviously wasn’t the time. “I’ll tell Dad you need your best helper by your side.”

  Chris obviously wasn’t going to talk to any humans about what was going on with him, but she knew if something happened, Blitz would get help someway . . . somehow. He wouldn’t let anything happen to his master if he could help it.

  She waited until Chris had gone down the float’s steps to the ground. Kids milled all around him, their parents standing back a bit, watching. She’d be watching closely too if she thought Santa was drunk. But there hadn’t been a scent of alcohol on Chris’s breath. No mint cover-up either.

  Just what was happening with Chris Merriweather?

  * * *

  That evening Grant and Caprice were seated on her sofa, their legs on the coffee table while Patches and Lady dozed beside them. Caprice’s long-haired calico, Sophia, was stretched out on the sofa back above their heads. Mirabelle, a white Persian who had recently joined Caprice’s family, was tucked in beside her, her paws stretched over Caprice’s leg.

  It was almost 10 p.m., and she and Grant were dipping their fingers into a bowl of popcorn as they watched a romantic comedy. Contrived it might be, but it was a feel-good movie, and that’s what mattered this time of year, right?

  Grant’s shoulder was smack against hers, and she was thinking about leaning her head onto his shoulder when her landline rang. This time of night on a weekend? It could only be family.

  Grant reached for the cordless phone on the end table next to the sofa. He checked the caller ID.

  “It’s your dad’s cell.” He handed it quickly to Caprice.

  “Dad?” she asked as she took the call.

  “I have terrible news.”

  “Nana?” Nana had had a health scare last year and they all still worried about her.

  “No, not Nana. It’s Chris Merriweather.”

  “He didn’t look well today. Is he in the hospital?”

  “This doesn’t have anything to do with how he looked today, Caprice. He was found murdered on Santa Lane. Someone pulled one of the wooden candy cane stakes from the ground and whacked him with it. A patrol officer found him lying beside the sleigh near the cabin. Mack called to tell me.”

  Chris Merriweather, murdered near the sleigh on Santa Lane. Caprice turned to Grant, stricken, so glad he was there.

  Chapter Five

  Caprice’s heart hurt as she witnessed the devastation on her father’s face. She and Grant had driven over to her parents’ house. They’d brought Patches and Lady simply because pets could give comfort. She’d known her dad was going to need all the comfort he could get.

  As he sat on the sofa in the living room, Patches lay to one side of him on the floor while Lady rested on one of his feet. He was petting them both at intervals as if he really needed something to do. Her mom sat next to him on the sofa, and Nana had settled in the armchair. They were all in shock.

  Her family had known Chris and Sara Merriweather for years. The news of Chris Merriweather’s death had been a monumental blow.

  “I just can’t believe he was murdered,” her father said. “Chris had a heart of gold.”

  “He did so much charity work,” her mother added. “Most of the toys he made went to children who needed them. Sure, he sold them at craft fairs, but if he saw a needy child, he coaxed a smile from them with one of his toys.” She covered her husband’s hand with hers.

  “What did Mack say again?” Nana asked.

  Caprice’s dad had told her that Mack Powalski had called him but he hadn’t mentioned many details. She and Grant had just rushed over here knowing they needed to be with her parents.

  “He didn’t tell me much,” her dad said. “He probably told me more than he should have. I’m sure he’s not revealing to anyone else what the murder weapon was.”

  “We’ll keep it to ourselves,” Grant assured him. “I remember seeing those wooden candy canes all along the lane. The fact that someone used one of those probably means it was an impulsive, violent act, not a premeditated one.”

  “Unless they find out it wasn’t one of the candy canes that was used,” her father said. “After all, Mack was simply going on observation. But he’s been at this a long time. The autopsy report will confirm or deny.”

  “Did Mack say anything else?” Caprice asked gently.

  Her dad blinked a couple of times as if he were trying to remember. Then he reached down and patted Lady on the head and ruffled her ears. “He’s off the case since he was friends with Chris, but Brett and Detective Jones are heading up the investigation.”

  “They’ll figure out who did it. You know they will,” Caprice said. “I don’t like Detective Jones. I think he rushes to judgment too quickly. But I know Brett is fair and only wants to find the truth.”

  “Brett is interviewing Mack in the morning. Mack guesses he’s going to want to interview me too. Or Jones will.”

  “Why?” Caprice’s mom asked. “You weren’t on the scene.”

  “No,” her dad agreed. “But they’ll want to interview all of Chris’s friends. Brett knows that Mack and I play poker with him. They’ll try to figure out something from what he said recently.”

  “And what did he say recently?” Nana asked.

  “Not much,” her dad admitted. “The past couple of games he was quieter than usual, definitely didn’t joke as much. He seemed to be distracted.”

  “Would you say he seemed tired?” Caprice asked her dad.

  Her father studied her. “Why would you ask that?”

  “Sara mentioned it to me. But she thought the fatigue was just the onset of the holidays, the uptick in business at the store, and Chris taking on Santa duties.”

  “You know Chris suffered from PTSD before it was even diagnosed as that,”
her mom explained.

  “Had he found help for it?” Grant asked.

  “He found help in his own way,” her dad said. “His trip to D.C. every year with other veterans was one of his ways of confronting the emotions, I guess. Making toys in his workshop was another. The past ten years or so, I didn’t see any evidence of it, but that didn’t mean anything. Chris was a private person and could hide his feelings well.” This time her father bent down and ruffled the hair along Patches’ back. “I think Blitz was a big help. Once he rescued that dog, he seemed happier.”

  “Pets can often do what humans can’t, not even loved ones,” Caprice suggested.

  “Blitz was with him constantly,” her dad agreed.

  “Except for the night he stopped in at the community center,” Caprice remembered. “And besides his bruised jaw and that cut over his eye, Sara said he had bruises around his ribs.”

  Her father was on alert now. “When I asked him about the jaw, he said a box from the store on a high shelf had fallen on him. But that wouldn’t explain the ribs.”

  “Not unless he fell or something like that,” Grant said.

  “A fall could do all that,” Nana agreed. “But you all sound as if you didn’t believe him.”

  Caprice gave a little shrug. “I don’t know. He didn’t meet my eyes when I asked him about it and he told me what happened. And Sara told me he admitted he was in a fight, but he wouldn’t tell her more than that.”

  Caprice’s dad leaned away from the dogs and thought about it. “Maybe he’d gotten into some kind of trouble that he didn’t want anyone to know about.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Nana asked.

  For her father to mention it, Caprice imagined he had something in mind.

  But her dad shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  “Are you going to say anything to Brett about the bruised jaw and the cut above his eye?”

  “I don’t feel I have much choice,” her dad responded. “If they want to get to the bottom of who did this, everybody has to be honest with them.”

  From past experience Caprice knew an investigation wasn’t that easy. She knew not everyone was honest, not everyone told the truth.

  Grant, who was sitting on the arm of her chair, put his hand on her shoulder. “Carstead and Jones will get to the bottom of it, Caprice. Motives for murder always come out in the end.”

  She knew Grant was right. She just hoped those motives came out sooner rather than later, so that Chris’s family could grieve properly . . . and so that justice could be done.

  * * *

  “Why do you think she wants to see us?” Caprice asked her dad the following evening as he drove them to Sara Merriweather’s house. They’d both gotten a call from Sara who’d asked them to stop by this evening.

  He pulled up to the curb in front of the house. “She could want to see us for lots of reasons. She might simply want to talk about Chris to somebody who knew him.”

  “Possibly,” Caprice said. “She also might want to cancel listing her house. Maybe she doesn’t want to deal with Denise herself.”

  Denise Langford, the real estate agent who was handling the house sale, could be quite assertive and somewhat brash at times.

  “You didn’t move much furniture in for this house staging, did you?”

  “No. I mostly just moved around what she and Chris had and told them what they could take out. It’s possible she could want me to take all the Christmas decorations away. I’m sure she doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

  They both seemed to be thinking about that as they went up the porch steps to the door. Caprice rang the bell. It was only a moment until Sara answered. Opening the door wide, she gave them a tremulous hello and motioned for them to come in.

  Caprice gave Sara a hug and held on tight. “I’m so very sorry.”

  Sara nodded and accepted Caprice’s comfort.

  After Caprice stepped away, her father took Sara’s hand and squeezed it.

  Just then, Blitz came running into the living room, nudged against her father’s side and rubbed his head along her father’s coat.

  Her dad dropped down to the dog’s level. “I know you miss him too.” Her father scratched Blitz’s ears and rubbed him under his neck. The dog basked in her dad’s attention.

  “Come on in to the living room,” Sara said, “and we’ll talk. Would you like tea, coffee, anything to drink? I already have tons of food from friends and neighbors. If you’d like a piece of cake . . .” She trailed off.

  Caprice looked at her dad and then shook her head. “We’re fine.”

  Once they were seated, Caprice said, “I know this day had to be a difficult one for you.” She unbuttoned her poncho and let it slip from her shoulders onto the chair. Her dad did the same with his coat. Any other time, Sara would have been scurrying around, taking their coats, hanging them in a closet. But she looked totally desolate. There were circles under her eyes, and her face had taken on a sallow complexion.

  “Today was awful,” she admitted. “I had to make a few arrangements with the funeral home. Yet I couldn’t make specific arrangements because I don’t know when they’ll release Chris.”

  Sara made it sound as if Chris were a prisoner rather than a body in a morgue awaiting autopsy.

  “Who are you dealing with in the Kismet Police Department?” Caprice asked.

  “Two of them,” she said tersely. “A Detective Jones and a Detective Carstead. They made us all feel like suspects. Detective Jones questioned Deanne as well as Ryan and Serena. They had us there for hours. He asked them about everything, from drugs to boyfriends.”

  Deanne, at twenty-five, was unmarried and worked in York at a spa and pool dealership. Ryan who was twenty-eight was still trying to figure out what he was good at. He’d majored in communication in college. Right now, he was working as a salesman in a phone store, which wasn’t the career path that his parents had envisioned for him. According to Sara, he kept insisting it was temporary.

  “Detective Jones can be harsh.” Caprice empathized. “He wants to turn over every stone, and sometimes he’s a little too quick doing it. But he’s looking for the truth, Sara.”

  “Maybe so. But Maura and Reed were questioned too, and they were angry when they were finished. They said the detective asked them personal questions about their relationship . . . about their past history. Detective Carstead spoke with them after he spoke with me. I have to admit, he was very respectful with me. But he still asked me where I was. I was here alone after Chris and I condo shopped. He even questioned me about my marriage to Chris.” Sara’s gaze focused on Caprice. “I know you’ve had some experience with investigations. Do I need a lawyer? Do my children need lawyers?”

  After a glance at her dad and knowing he’d agree, she admitted, “Consulting a lawyer might be a good idea. You might need more than one lawyer.”

  “We have a lawyer who handled our will—Jeremiah Pickens. But he’s almost eighty and semiretired. I don’t think he’d want to get involved. Could Vince or your fiancé help?”

  Her dad stepped in now. “Sara, I know that would be comfortable for you because you know both of them. But neither Vince nor Grant are criminal defense attorneys. They might be willing to sit in on questioning if the detectives want to interrogate any of your family again. But I’m pretty certain they would advise you to look for a criminal defense attorney. They could possibly suggest someone in a firm with multiple lawyers because that’s what you’d need.”

  Caprice took one of her business cards from her purse as well as a pen. Turning over the card, she jotted Grant’s cell phone number and then Vince’s. She handed it to Sara. “Call either Vince or Grant. I’m sure they can give you the information you’ll need. I’ll let them know you might call.”

  Tears came to Sara’s eyes. “Thank you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. It’s bad enough we’re all hurting because of Chris’s death, but I can’t bear to see my children bullied by the police.”
/>
  Caprice wondered if Sara was being overprotective. After all, this was a police investigation into the murder of her husband. The questions the police asked were going to be tough, and they would be looking at everyone with an intense magnifying glass.

  She told Sara, “Just try to keep in mind that you or your children might have a clue as to who this murderer is. That’s what the police are trying to gather—all the clues they can to put the puzzle together. If you think of it that way, maybe it won’t seem as much like a personal affront when they ask their questions.”

  Sara ran her fingers through her usually perfectly coiffed hair. Now it was a bit disheveled. “I know you’re right. It’s just”—she stopped, gathered herself, and then went on—“it’s just I have to concentrate on something. Protecting my children is easier than facing what happened.”

  Blitz had seated himself beside her dad. He nudged against her father’s knee, and her dad laid a hand on the dog’s head. It was as if he knew exactly what this conversation was about.

  Sara moved closer to the edge of the sofa seat and watched Blitz and her dad. Then she gave a little nod as if deciding something. “I have a request,” she said.

  “Anything,” her dad assured her.

  “You might wait until you hear it before you say that,” Sara advised him. “I’d like to know if you would take Blitz. I know you get along well. He obviously likes you and you like him. I just can’t handle Chris’s dog now and none of my children want him.”

  The surprise on her dad’s face was obvious. He’d never expected that request. He looked down at Blitz, and Caprice could see the sense of loss he felt over Chris’s death. But she could also see he felt great affection for the dog. Blitz was well-trained. He and Chris had gone to obedience school even though the canine had already seemed to know the basics. But taking on the commitment of a pet wasn’t something to do lightly. Her father had to think about work and home and how her mom might react to the idea.

  Facing Sara he said honestly, “I do like Blitz, and he likes me. But I can’t make a commitment like that unless I check with Fran first. Do you mind if I make a call?”