Slay Bells Ring

by Karen Rose Smith

  “Before we set up the stable, you might want to think what you want for a background for it. Pine boughs? Or maybe grapevine branches? Possibly a tapestry scarf underneath it all.”

  “The grapevine would be different, and I like the idea of a multicolored scarf under it instead of just red or green,” Trista decided.

  “I think I have an antique one that I got from Isaac’s shop in one of the boxes. It’s threaded with gold and has gold fringes.”

  “That sounds perfect.”

  As they went to the stairway and started up, Brindle ran ahead of them.

  “I thought you’d bring Lady,” Trista commented.

  “I’ll stop in tomorrow with her and the two of them can have a play date. I’ll still be putting finishing touches on here, I’m sure.”

  “Great,” Trista said enthusiastically. “Brindle gets to see Lady, and I get to see you again.”

  Caprice capped the girl’s shoulder. “Do you like the idea of moving back here if your mom is house hunting?”

  “I do, and not just to be closer to Dad.”

  “Why else?”

  “I’m hoping Mom and Dad get back together again.”

  From friends and what she’d heard, that’s the fantasy of most children of divorced parents. She didn’t want Trista to have her bubble burst or to be terribly disappointed if it didn’t happen.

  “What does your mom say about that?”

  “I don’t talk to her about it. But she and Dad don’t argue now. They’ve been getting along and they seem to like spending time with each other.”

  “They both like spending time with you.”

  “I’ll tell you a secret.”

  Caprice caught Trista’s conspiratorial mood. “What’s the secret?”

  “They went on a date the last time Dad was in Virginia, and when they came home, he stayed over. I’m not a little girl anymore, Caprice. I know what that means.”

  Trista thought she knew what that meant, but Caprice didn’t want to be the one to explain to her that having sex didn’t always mean love was in the air. Sometimes the two did go together. That’s why she and Grant were waiting. The love was there, and the anticipation about sex would bring them even closer together.

  “I know what you’re going to say,” Trista said. “Don’t get my hopes up. But I want to hope, especially at Christmas.”

  Caprice gave Trista’s shoulder a squeeze. “All right, honey, I’ll hope along with you.”

  Trista nodded then ran up the rest of the steps to the second floor.

  Chapter Ten

  Caprice ended up meeting Brett at the Sunflower Diner around 3 p.m. The off hour was probably a good thing because there weren’t many people around. She ordered hot chocolate and he ordered coffee. The hot chocolate at the Sunflower was rich and thick with lots of whipped cream, but that wasn’t why she was here today.

  “I’m glad you could meet me,” she said.

  All business, as he was most of the time, Brett said, “This isn’t a social visit. I want you to tell me about your association with the Merriweathers.”

  She did, explaining how her dad and mom had been friends with them for years . . . concluding with her contract with them to stage their home.

  When she’d finished, he checked his watch. “I really need to get back to the station. You said you had information to give me?”

  She could see Brett was stressed, and she imagined his schedule over the past week. “If you don’t take time to eat and sleep, you can’t give the case your best.”

  “I’m not sure my best is good enough. Do you know how many people knew Chris Merriweather? Santa Claus, for pity’s sake. Now that’s a murder victim you’d never expect.”

  Again, Caprice appreciated the fact that the diner was practically empty. Brett wouldn’t talk this freely otherwise. He must be tired or he wouldn’t let his worry slip.

  “Have you ever thought about going into private security?” she asked him.

  “You mean like a mall cop?”

  “No, I mean like owning your own business. I have a client. He’s moving and selling his protection service. The hours sure might be better and the monetary benefit more.”

  “I don’t do this for the money.”

  “I know that, and everybody who knows you knows that. It depends on whether you want the same life as you have or if you’re looking at the future toward something else.”

  Brett narrowed his eyes. “Did your sister put you up to this?”

  “The fact that you even ask that means you don’t know Nikki very well. Of course, she didn’t. This just came up when I was staging his house, and I thought of you.”

  He looked chagrinned for a moment. “Sorry. You’re right. Lack of sleep.” He considered what she’d told him. “Private security. You mean like protecting bigwigs?”

  “Or maybe protecting homes and businesses’ firewalls. I have his number if you want it.”

  Brett thought about it, then said, “Sure, why not?”

  As she found the number on her phone and rattled it off, he tapped it into his phone.

  “I know your time is limited, so I’ll tell you what I learned about Chris. First of all, Juan told me a friend of his witnessed a fight between Chris and a tall, husky guy behind Susie Q’s. And Mack told me he’d seen bruised knuckles on Harrison Barnhart.”

  “I know about the bruised knuckles,” Brett said. “We questioned Barnhart about them. He said he did it on a punching bag at his gym. Does this witness have a name?”

  “You’ll have to get it from Juan.”

  Brett nodded.

  “Then the other thing . . .” Caprice hesitated, then went on, “Sara Merriweather seems to be depending on my dad a lot so she told him about this.”

  Brett nodded again.

  “When the will was read, there was a surprise. Apparently, Chris had set up a trust fund.”

  “Who for?” Brett asked, looking intrigued.

  “When Chris was in Vietnam he had an affair. He has a son, Trung, who lives in Ho Chi Min City. He’s been sending funds there ever since he returned from Vietnam. At one point, he set up a trust fund. On his death, a lump sum payment goes to the boy.”

  “And his family knew nothing about this?”

  “Nothing.”

  “But others did?”

  “Mack knew that Chris had fallen in love or lust or whatever while he was over there, but he didn’t know about his son. If he had, he might have told you about that. As it was, an affair like that.... He didn’t think it had anything to do with the present day.”

  “But it could. What if someone found out about it and was blackmailing Merriweather?” Brett supposed. “What if a member of his family found out about it and didn’t approve of the will, or the trust fund, or the money being sent over there? This could be about money or it could be about morals.”

  And she knew what else Brett was thinking. “And it could be about betrayal.” Caprice took a sip of her hot chocolate.

  Leaning back, Brett smiled, took a sip of his coffee, and seemed to relax a bit. “Chris Merriweather knew a lot of people, but this information gives us a whole new aspect to pursue. I’m glad you called me.”

  “I’ve always given you any information I thought would be important to you. Don’t look so surprised.”

  His brow furrowed. “The truth is, Caprice, I’ve never met anybody like you and your family. At first I didn’t believe you were on the up and up . . . thought that you had some ax to grind. And your family? You’ve got to admit, they’re a lot to take in.”

  She laughed. “Don’t I know it. But we just want what’s best for each other. Most families do.”

  A shadow crossed his face that told her maybe that wasn’t true for his family. Did Nikki know his history?

  Finally, she asked, “You and Nikki. Is that going anywhere?”

  “If I give it a chance, it might,” he muttered.

  “She is what she seems, Brett. If she begins to care
for you, you couldn’t have anyone better watching your back.” She knew she had to put it in terms he’d understand, not mushy stuff.

  He took another couple of sips of coffee. “Maybe so, but I don’t have time to think about it now. I’ve got to get going.”

  “You don’t have to think about it full time,” Caprice advised him. “But when you’re driving from here to there, to and fro, give it a few thoughts. I’m sure Nikki is.”

  “Point to you,” he said with resignation. “Grant Weatherford’s going to have to stay on his toes with you.”

  Then he nodded his head to her as if he respected that, put a few bills on the table to cover their drinks, and left.

  Caprice liked Brett Carstead. She just wished he could come to grips with whatever was prohibiting him from caring about her sister.

  * * *

  Caprice didn’t want Sara pressured to feel she had to include her house on the Historic Homes Tour. She suspected a face-to-face meeting about it would be best. Sara had had a little time to think about whether or not she wanted to put the house up for sale, and whether she wanted to open her house to the public after such an awful, private thing had happened to her.

  The day had turned blustery, and Caprice was glad when Sara opened her door immediately and invited her inside. Her daughter Deanne was with her, Caprice realized, as Sara took her coat. Caprice could see into the kitchen where Deanne was seated at the eat-at counter having a mug of something. Caprice suspected that Sara was keeping her family close, as should be the case at a time like this.

  After Sara hung Caprice’s coat in the closet and invited her into the kitchen, Caprice could see platters of desserts lining the counter.

  “People are still bringing food,” Sara said. “Customers from the craft store and everyone else who knows us, or knows me.”

  It was a hard shift to make from becoming a couple to a widow.

  Deanne stood and asked, “Coffee or tea? We have both.”

  “Coffee is fine,” she responded, knowing she needed it because she’d be working late tonight.

  After some chit-chat about a predicted early snow and Sara inquiring how Blitz was doing, Caprice said, “Everyone will understand if you don’t want to keep your house on the Historic Homes Tour. I don’t want you to feel pressured in any way.”

  “You’re kind to say that, but I know the Kismet Chamber counts on a certain number of homes for admissions, and I don’t want to renege on a commitment.”

  “But Mom,” Deanne protested, “everyone’s going to be talking—not only about Dad’s murder, but about his illegitimate son. Do you want that? Do you want people gossiping in your own home?”

  “It might not be my home much longer,” Sara said. “I think the best thing for me is to do what your father wanted: move into a condo where I don’t have any maintenance to take care of or lawn duties. His workshop doesn’t matter now that he’s gone.”

  Caprice could hear the anger in Sara’s statement, maybe bitterness too, and an edge of betrayal. How else would a wife feel if she’d learned her husband had been unfaithful and had a child, that a whole history of his had nothing to do with hers. In fact . . .

  Caprice couldn’t imagine Sara as a murderess. But what was that phrase? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Had Sara somehow found out about the affair? Hard to tell.

  “Is everyone talking about it?” Sara asked Caprice. “You get around. You hear the gossip.”

  “What I’ve heard is what Dad told me. If there is gossip, Sara, that has nothing to do with you. And in a few days, the gossips will be gabbing about something else. We live in a world of constant stimulation now.”

  “But Kismet is small,” Deanne contradicted her. “Here people have long memories. And the truth is, I think Ryan knew.”

  Caprice noticed that Sara didn’t dispute her daughter’s conclusion. “Why do you think that?” Caprice asked.

  “It could have been what his rebellion was all about,” Deanne answered. “I don’t know how he knew, but I think he did.”

  “Have you asked him?” Caprice inquired, thinking that was the easiest solution.

  “He won’t talk about it,” Sara said. “And I think Deanne is right. Something happened when he was a teenager. I thought it might have been at school, might have been drugs, might have been the gang he was running with. I mean, we couldn’t get him straightened out. That’s why we sent him to that wilderness camp. But I don’t know what started his bad behavior. Maybe Chris did. If he kept an affair and a child from me, maybe he kept what was bothering Ryan from me too.”

  Deanne stirred her coffee as if she needed something to do. “When he came back from that wilderness camp, Ryan was more cooperative with Mom and Dad. But he didn’t go near Dad if he didn’t have to. Even when he and Serena moved back here, it was more of a compromise situation. I don’t think he had any choice. He needed help again, and my parents were the ones to help him. But I don’t think he liked it, and he sure wasn’t buddies with Dad.”

  Sara looked miserable talking about it.

  “Have the police discussed this with you?” Caprice asked.

  “Not yet,” Deanne said with a wrinkle of her nose, as if the subject would be totally distasteful.

  Caprice asked, “What about Ryan?”

  “I don’t know,” Deanne said. He’s been working extra hours because of the Christmas rush. Lots of people buy phones this time of year.”

  Caprice felt she owed Sara loyalty since she was her client and an old family friend. She asked, “Do you mind if I talk to Ryan? Sometimes it’s hard to talk to family about a situation, but it’s easier to talk to someone outside the family. It might help him be more open with the detectives. If he does know anything, the police have to have that information. I know it seems far-fetched, but you never know when you’ll find a clue that leads you to the murderer. If you want this solved, everyone has to be cooperative.”

  “I don’t mind if you talk to Ryan,” Sara said. “It would be good for him to open up if he does know anything. You wouldn’t seem threatening to him.”

  “I’ll go easy, I promise. I know it’s a sensitive subject.” She touched Sara’s hand. “I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did.”

  “Not finding out at all would have been the best,” Sara claimed.

  As Caprice studied Sara’s face, she couldn’t see any signs that Chris’s wife had known about his affair. Sara seemed ready to cooperate any way she could. On the other hand, Deanne was obviously angry at her father. Caprice could hear it whenever she talked about him, because she felt she had been duped too. Yet Caprice knew Chris was the type of man who probably never intended for that to happen.

  Suddenly Sara straightened her shoulders and her spine. She said to Caprice, “I have nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, my house is going to be on the Historic Homes Tour, and yes, I’m keeping it listed and keeping it on the market. I have to change my life now whether I want to or not. So, I might as well do it in the best way for me. If people want to gossip, let them. Thanks to you, I’m going to have the prettiest house on Kismet’s Christmas Historic Homes Tour.”

  Caprice had to admire Sara’s spunk, but she also had to wonder if that’s all it was, or if some part of her might be relieved she was changing her life.

  As Caprice left the Merriweather home, she thought about the best time to visit Ryan at the phone store. She checked her watch and considered the work she had to finish today. Ryan might not even talk to her. It wouldn’t hurt to drive by the store and see if he would. Maybe she’d get lucky.

  * * *

  The store Ryan managed was in the Country Fields Shopping Center. The strip malls were making a resurgence. What was old was new again.

  Five minutes later, as Caprice entered the store, she almost groaned. There were lines at each cash register manned by a clerk. Apparently, everyone did want to buy a phone at Christmas.

  Smiling at a floater, who seemed to be trying to make everyone happy as
well as keep them patient, she asked, “Is Ryan Merriweather here?” Maybe he had the day off. She didn’t see him anywhere in the store but he could be in an office behind one of those walls.

  The clerk said, “His break. Sunflower Diner,” and moved on to another customer.

  Caprice rushed outside into the wind and chill. She hurried up the open sidewalk to the restaurant, wondering again why malls were going out of style. On the East Coast in the winter you’d think people would want the closed-in protection.

  At the diner, she slipped inside, again glad for the off hours just before a dinner rush. She knew salesclerks received just so many breaks in their day. If this was a short one for Ryan, they might not have time to talk. At this time of day, anyone could seat themselves at the Sunflower. Caprice easily spotted Ryan, fourth booth down on the right. She went that way and stopped, peering down at him.

  “Hi, Ryan. Can I join you?”

  He looked puzzled. “You’re the one decorating Mom’s house—Caprice De Luca.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “So, what do you want with me?” He looked more puzzled than defensive.

  She motioned to the booth across from him. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  He checked his watch. “I don’t have much time left. Ten minutes.”

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I just want to tell you again how sorry I am about your dad.”

  Ryan lowered his eyes to his half-finished sandwich and his cup of coffee.

  “Since your time is limited, I’ll get right to the point. I’m helping to gather information that might help catch whoever killed your dad.” Watching him carefully, she saw the pain in his eyes. She went on, “Your mom called my dad to tell him about the trust fund.”

  “That was a shock to her and to the rest of the family,” Ryan admitted softly.

  “But not to you?” Caprice prompted.

  He finally looked up. “I don’t see what this has to do with anything.”

  “I know you don’t. But there’s a reason your dad was murdered. Somebody had a motive, and if we don’t figure out what that motive was, we’ll never catch the person. You do want us to catch the person, don’t you?”