Shades of Wrath

by Karen Rose Smith

  Isolating a spouse was a sign of abuse. Did Scott Wyatt not want Darby to have contact with anyone outside of him? If not, why?

  “Do you have family living around here?” Caprice asked.

  Darby shook her head. “They’re in West Virginia. I haven’t seen them since I married Scott two years ago. When we’re supposed to visit, something always comes up.”

  “Life can get crazy,” Caprice empathized.

  “I suppose, but sometimes I think Scott puts up roadblocks on purpose.” She said this quickly as if the thought had passed through her own mind many times and she’d never said it aloud. But as soon as she had said it aloud, she looked a little scared and she grabbed one of the sample books that Caprice had brought along and started paging through fabrics, telling Caprice which ones she liked and which ones she didn’t.

  They talked about styles of sofas—those with roll backs or wood trim or cushy throw pillows that created the back support. Did she want a sofa long enough to stretch out and take a nap? Or maybe a sleeper. After they’d nailed down the fact that Darby wanted something comfortable without pretense, Caprice had a handle on the style of furniture she should look at.

  Then out of the blue, as Caprice was making notes on her tablet, Darby revealed, “I spoke with Wendy Newcomb before she died.”

  Darby’s soft words seemed to echo in the large living room, but Caprice wasn’t going to let them fade away.

  “Spoke to her about what?”

  “I met Scott at a bar. A couple of girlfriends and I had stopped at Susie Q’s for Happy Hour one Friday afternoon after work. Since I worked from my apartment, I made a point of getting together with friends a couple of times a week so work didn’t take over my life.”

  “I can understand that,” Caprice said. Anyone who worked from home knew work was there twenty-four hours a day, always ready to grab your attention.

  “My two friends had nine-to-five jobs and needed to unwind. Friday was our standard girl’s night out.”

  “But Scott was at Susie Q’s?”

  Susie Q’s was a combination sports bar and singles hangout located downtown near the community center. Caprice didn’t frequent the establishment, but she knew Vince and Nikki stopped in at Happy Hour now and then.

  “I think he just had a business meeting with another fellow in a suit. I think it’s the suit that grabbed my attention. You rarely see men in suits anymore unless you’re in an office building.”

  Grant wore a suit for court dates and client meetings. He looked good in a suit. But then she was probably prejudiced.

  “I thought Scott was charming and sophisticated that night. For the next couple of months, he courted me like I was somebody special. But then we got married and he became all possessive. I love him and I don’t want my marriage to end, but I do want it to change. That’s what I talked to Wendy about.”

  “How did you meet Wendy?”

  “I didn’t meet her per se. I picked up one of the pamphlets from Sunrise Tomorrow in the Sunflower Diner.”

  Caprice had seen the rack there that held pamphlets from area businesses and services.

  “So you called Sunrise?” she asked.

  “Yes, the receptionist put me through to Wendy. We met and had lunch, and Wendy suggested a counseling program through Sunrise Tomorrow. But when I told Scott about it, he blew a gasket and broke an expensive vase.”

  “This vase. How did he break it?”

  “He threw it but just missed me. He was so sorry afterward that I just let it go. We got along fine for a week or so, but then his words got really cutting and hurtful. He corrects me and criticizes me, not only when we’re alone, but when we’re with others. And he won’t let me have any friends. I never meet up with the girls at Susie Q’s anymore. He’s never hit me, but I think I’m becoming afraid he might. I’m anxious all the time. I can’t sleep. I’m losing weight. I just feel so trapped.”

  Apparently Darby didn’t have anyone she could talk to, and this opportunity to meet with Caprice to decorate the house was a chance to unload.

  “I think you need more than a friend,” Caprice suggested. “You need someone who knows about situations like yours. I know Wendy’s gone now. I suggest you call Lizbeth Diviney, who’s the acting head of Sunrise Tomorrow now. She can match you up with a counselor advocate.”

  “I can’t get away without Scott seeing where I go. He watches the mileage on the car. I think he even has one of those apps on my cell phone that tells him where I am.”

  Caprice wanted to shout that none of that was okay . . . that Darby needed to free herself from the web Scott had wound about her. But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t give that kind of advice. All she could do was try to get Darby help.

  “Maybe I can help you with that. If we’re decorating the living room, we can make up an excuse to meet at a furniture store. If you talk to Lizbeth, maybe you could meet your counselor there. I’m sure something could be worked out.”

  Darby seemed to think about it, to weigh the pros and cons, and maybe the consequences. She stared at the wall across the room, then out the window. In a low voice, she said, “I heard Scott talking to Doris one time about how badly their father treated their mother. Apparently Doris didn’t know about one particular incident. Scott’s father hit Leona in the head. It was years later that Leona revealed to Scott that after that day, she went to a gun store and learned to shoot. She admitted that if her husband hadn’t died in a car accident, she might have killed him. So there was a good reason she wanted her money to go to Sunrise Tomorrow and not to Doris and Scott. She understood how Sunrise Tomorrow could have changed her life and the lives of her children. I can’t imagine having kids with Scott with him like this. I can’t even imagine five years from now. But I can’t imagine leaving either, and I need to know what to do. He has a temper and—”

  The way Darby said that made Caprice’s insides lurch, and she had to ask the question: “Darby, do you think Scott could have killed Wendy?”

  Yesterday Brett was closemouthed about the investigation as well as quiet with her family. Overwhelmed maybe by how outgoing everyone had been? Yet she had gotten the feeling that he was frustrated and stymied by a lack of progress in the case. Maybe Scott Wyatt was another direction to pursue.

  Caprice watched Darby blink away tears; then she gave a slow nod. “I think it’s possible, and that’s what really scares me.”

  Caprice pulled her purse from the coffee table, took out a small notepad, and tore off a slip of paper. She opened her phone, found Lizbeth’s number in her contacts, and wrote it down. She handed the paper to Darby. “Call Lizbeth. Get help. And if you need an excuse to meet someone someplace, call me and let me know. I’ll set it up.”

  A half hour later, after having a cup of tea with Darby and encouraging her again to get help, Caprice headed for home and all the calls she had to return because of the house decorating competition. After giving some love to her two felines, brushing them and telling both Sophia and Mirabelle how beautiful they were, she pulled out Lady’s leash. She just wasn’t ready to sit and make phone calls, not to talk about house stagings or redecorating.

  Capturing Lady’s leash from the antique oak mirrored bench in her foyer, she wiggled it at her. “How about if we go for a walk? It’s gotten chilly, and the breeze will sweep out my brain. What do you think?”

  Lady ran around Caprice’s legs twice and then sat at her feet looking up expectantly.

  “I thought that would appeal to you.”

  She attached the leash and off they went.

  Although the October day was sunny, the yellowing leaves splashing color against the bright blue sky, the sense of summer’s end lingering in the air, she couldn’t get her conversation with Darby out of her head. No, she couldn’t sit and make phone calls to clients right now. Yet she knew she had to call someone else—Brett Carstead. If he wasn’t there, she’d leave a message. But at least she would get some of the burden off her mind.

&n
bsp; Instead of the station’s number, she called his cell phone directly. Since he’d told her he’d appreciate any information she discovered, she felt she had the right to do that. He answered on the second ring.

  “Who did you talk to?” he asked, not wasting any time. He’d obviously seen her number on his caller ID.

  She told him where she’d been this afternoon and what she’d learned, not only about Darby’s marriage to Scott, but about Leona Wyatt’s marriage and the abuse she must have taken.

  He was silent for a few seconds. “I appreciate your telling me this. It certainly gives us another direction in many ways. But, Caprice, you’ve put yourself in the middle of it again.” He didn’t sound angry as much as frustrated.

  “I only put myself in the middle with Darby. That’s why I called you. It’s out of my hands now.”

  “Not exactly. Not if you help Darby meet up with a counselor. If Scott Wyatt learns of your help and if he’s the killer, you’re in danger.”

  “I’m in danger anyway if he finds out Darby told me what she did. He wants her in isolation.”

  She heard Brett blow out a breath. “Look,” he said patiently. “I’m glad for the information, but not about what you’re going to do. If Darby needs help, you have to let the professionals handle it. Wendy Newcomb didn’t always follow protocol, especially if she hit a wall. That’s probably what got her killed. I don’t want to see that happen to you. You should never, ever go into a situation with someone like Scott Wyatt alone.”

  “I promise I won’t. Grant has my back. If I’m ever unsure of a conversation with someone, I phone him and leave the line open. I’m not as naïve as I used to be.”

  “That’s debatable,” Carstead said. Then he relented. “You’re a smart woman. I just want you to act smart.”

  “I will, and I want you to act smart too. Are you going to be seeing Nikki again? Or did our family scare you off?” Okay, she hadn’t intended to ask that, but someone had to talk sense to him.

  “I’m in the middle of—”

  “A murder investigation,” she finished for him. “I understand that, and I know you’re at the police station twenty-four hours a day probably, catching a few winks on your sofa at night, right? You’re eating stale donuts in the break room and drinking that coffee that has to be burning a hole in your stomach. Nikki’s schedule is flexible. Ask her to meet you for an ice cream cone at Cherry on the Top. That’s all. Unless you’re not interested in her. Unless you don’t care if you ever have a family and kids and a house of your own. Unless the De Lucas are too much for you to handle.”

  She must have caught him off guard because he didn’t have a comeback. They’d had a conversation not so long ago when he’d talked about wanting more than work 24/7.

  “Nikki’s a busy woman. Catered Capers is taking off,” he said.

  “That’s true, but she’s not too busy for friendship or a little conversation.”

  “She wouldn’t be insulted if I said I could meet her for twenty minutes to gobble down a scoop of Rocky Road ice cream?”

  “No, she wouldn’t be insulted. I think she’d be delighted.”

  “So in order for you to take my advice, I have to take yours?”

  “Something like that.”

  He chuckled. “I’ll think about it, and you think about what I said.”

  When Caprice ended the call, she had the feeling they’d both take each other’s advice. She crossed the street with Lady, heading back to her home. Now she was ready to make those calls. Now she was ready to get down to work. She wanted to finish all of it before yoga class tonight.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Caprice and Denise Langford, the luxury real estate broker who often worked with Caprice, always had a crowd who wanted to see a property as well as partake in Nikki’s food.

  Americana country cooking had inspired Nikki in the dishes she chose to prepare for today’s open house. She’d taken down-home recipes and turned them into mouthwatering masterpieces. What could be more American than chicken soup? Nikki added corn and sliced hard-boiled eggs, the way the soup was often served in firehouse social halls across the state.

  Accompanying the soup were cornbread muffins. Main dish recipes included meatloaf with brown gravy, roasted chicken, and a rich stew that was best served on a cold day. For dessert, Nikki had topped chocolate cake with fluffy white frosting and decorated the apple pies with spun sugar. The Boston crème pie was layered with a rich, creamy vanilla pudding and accented by chocolate icing.

  Yep, only good food served here.

  The house with its cathedral ceiling and open beams was made unique with its foot-wide window ledges, its stonework floor-to-ceiling fireplace. No open concept here as the living room led through an archway into a full dining room. Through another arch, house hunters would find a family-style kitchen. The quartz counters and white appliances invited good times, as did the long pedestal oak table with rustic stoneware dinner settings and Mason jar glasses. Caprice had carried the Americana theme throughout with rustic handcrafted wood sculptures, hand-painted window-sill decorations, and red, white, and blue ribbon adding a celebratory air to floral arrangements, vases, and wrought-iron accent pieces.

  Between the eat-in counter, the pedestal table, and the whitewashed table in the dining room, at least thirty guests were enjoying Nikki’s food. Caprice was about to congratulate Nikki on another fabulous feast when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Turning around, she found Denise dressed in a red two-piece suit today, black pumps, her hair swept up on top of her head. She was smiling.

  “We have two couples ready to make an offer. This open house is going over well. Maybe you should use this theme more often.”

  Caprice tried to make each open house unique, never using the same theme twice. Denise should know that. But instead of becoming defensive, she said, “Americana just seemed to fit this property. It was a no-brainer. Wood, red, white, and blue, and lots of pillowy furniture.”

  Denise waved toward the living room. “We still have guests filing in, and we only have an hour to go. More offers could drive the price up. Spectacular.”

  The price going up didn’t affect Caprice’s bottom line because she charged a set fee for staging. However, driving the price up could help her reputation and earn her more business. Houses that had sold because of her staging efforts generated chatter about her abilities.

  But when she looked toward the new flow of people entering the dining room, she froze, catching sight of someone she didn’t want to see—Scott Wyatt. She didn’t intend to have a confrontation here. Yet she wouldn’t run from him either. Yesterday, she’d set up a meeting with Darby at a furniture store where a counselor Lizbeth sent could meet with her. She’d left after the two women connected. Last night, Scott Wyatt had left a message for her that she was supposed to call him immediately. It had been late after she’d gotten in from seeing a movie with Grant and she’d ignored the call, intending to deal with it today after the open house. Apparently he wasn’t willing to wait until she called him back.

  “Are you looking for a new house?” she asked him politely.

  His face flushed red as he said, “You know I’m not in the market for a new house or a marriage counselor.”

  “Mr. Wyatt, this isn’t the place—” she began, noticing how other guests had looked their way because Scott had raised his voice.

  “You didn’t call me back.”

  “I was going to call you later today after I was home. I’m working.”

  He looked around with disdain. “As if you could call this working. What you’re doing is interfering.”

  “I’m helping your wife redecorate your living room.”

  “So her little meeting at Woodruff’s furniture store yesterday was about redecorating?”

  Before the counselor had arrived, she and Darby had looked around at the furniture, choosing a sofa and armchair that would accompany the new décor.

  “Didn’t you see the order your wife p
laced?”

  He waved away Caprice’s words. “That order means nothing. Nothing. Mr. Woodruff and I go way back. We’re golfing buddies. He let me take a look at the security tapes. You left Darby there all right, but not until after you introduced her to that counselor from Sunrise Tomorrow.”

  Just how had he known that woman was from Sunrise? His expression took on a smug look. “You think I don’t know about facial recognition software? You think I don’t have access to the best computer money can buy? Everyone has a profile somewhere now—Google, LinkedIn, professional Web sites.”

  Caprice knew that was true. Any business or profession was all about networking now. Those networks were online and created digital footprints anyone could find if they knew where to look or even half look. Apparently Scott Wyatt did.

  “Darby has a free will even though she’s married to you. If you squelch it, she’ll find some other way around your control. So why not help her by learning to communicate with her, let her tell you what the counselor had to say without bullying her.” Caprice knew she should watch her words more carefully, but men like Scott Wyatt caused a fury in her she didn’t know she was capable of. And it came out in the honest truth.

  “Let me tell you something, Miss De Luca. You’d better watch yourself or you’ll get what Wendy got if you don’t stay away from my wife.”

  After that threat, which almost left Caprice’s mouth agape, he spun around on his heels and left.

  Nikki came running over to her. “I heard everything and so did everybody here. You need to call Brett.”

  “Do you think Wyatt killed Wendy?” Caprice asked.

  “I don’t know, but I don’t think you should take any chances. Please, call Brett.”

  Did Caprice really want to raise a stink? Did she want to put Brett Carstead on Scott Wyatt’s trail again? Wouldn’t that just cause more trouble?

  But Nikki was having none of her hesitation. She took out her own phone, tapped her contacts list, and pressed a number.

  An hour later, the last few guests were finishing up taste-testing and taking a tour of the house when Brett Carstead entered. Caprice was straightening the throw pillows and looked up to see him in the foyer. Nikki, who had been watching for him, came to join them.