“Good girl,” she praised her. Lady always responded well to praise and treats, so Caprice used both. Lady was a lower pack dog who was content to stay close to Caprice and to please her as much as she could, giving unconditional love all the while.
Caprice waited until Lady jumped down from the van and then they started off toward the obvious gap in the tall wrought-iron gates. They looked as if a good wind could knock them over, though that was probably an illusion. But something had separated them, whether a storm or years or a vehicle running into them. Caprice could see easily how Kevin and Wendy could ride their bikes right through the gap into the back acreage and ride out again.
Lady snuffled at all the fallen leaves as if she were searching for buried treasure . . . or maybe she smelled the route Wendy and Kevin had taken. After all, Caprice didn’t think anyone had been back here for a long time. The whole yard was weed filled with grass growing up between the stone path pavers. There were gravel paths, too, becoming overgrown, but not so much so that a bike couldn’t pass through.
Caprice wasn’t sure which way to go.
“I should have asked Nana where the Saint Anthony shrine was. I could call her, but it might be good if we explore a bit, don’t you think?”
Lady gazed up at Caprice, waiting for direction.
Caprice peered in between the tall tree trunks and thought she saw a couple of structures to the east. She said to her pup, “Let’s go this way first and see what we find.”
Lady gave a little yip as if she agreed.
As they shuffled through the leaves, Caprice got a chill up her back. From the breeze that blew through? Maybe. She looked over her shoulder toward the gate but couldn’t see any movement nor hear any vehicles. She was just jumpy. Was she trespassing? She could have gotten Lizbeth’s permission to be on the property, but she didn’t want to tip her off. Lizbeth could be the killer, or Rena, or Warren, or Doris or Scott Wyatt. All had motives.
Lady stopped at an area that must have been very pretty at one time. What was obviously once a pond had dried up. It was full of leaves now and the pump that used to operate the waterfall was still. Had a gardener once tended to these flower beds? To the rose bushes in a circle around a birdbath? A burning bush was noticeable from twenty feet away. Caprice had always wanted one of those in her yard but had never planted one.
She and Lady walked toward it now, seeing the structure shadowing it. It was brick, about six feet tall and four feet wide. The base was solid, but a statue of Saint Anthony sat on the shelf. Caprice knew her saints and how they were depicted. This robed saint with his round face, holding baby Jesus, lilies sculpted down his robe, was Saint Anthony of Padua.
The silence surrounding the shrine, as well as the dusk falling, unsettled Caprice. Lady rustled leaves at the base of the statue as she snuffled around. Caprice studied the brickwork and then—
Was that a noise? Somewhere to her right?
She was crazy for being here. Crazy. She fingered the cell phone in her left hand and whispered to Lady, “Quiet, girl.”
That wasn’t a command Caprice often used, but obviously hearing something in Caprice’s voice, Lady sat and looked up at her, brown eyes shining.
Silence again. She needed to look around and leave.
She took her phone in hand and pressed the flashlight app. The brickwork behind the statue looked the same as the rest of the brick in age and wear. Some of the mortar was loose here and there. Her dad would have a fit if he saw it, and he’d want to fix it. As she kept studying the bricks, she saw one that looked a little different. Not the brick itself, but the mortar around it. It was evenly cracked, a little of it missing. About three bricks from the bottom, to the left of the base shelf, Caprice poked it with her fingers. There seemed to be a notch in the top and the bottom of the brick. That was odd that notches were in both places, as if they would make fingerholds.
Apparently tired of sitting quietly, Lady stood and swished leaves again. Caprice paid no mind as her dog went around behind the shrine. She managed to poke her thumb into the little cleft at the top of the brick and another finger at the bottom of the brick. Then she pulled. The brick came out.
Giving a little cry of success, she laid it aside next to the statue. Shining her flashlight into the cavity as well as she could, she saw something there! Excited now, she wrapped her fingers around the small journal and took it out, laying it on the shelf. Feeling around, she thought she felt a stone, but it was too smooth for a stone. It was a thumb drive.
Pay dirt.
“I found it, Lady. We got what we came for.”
Quickly, she slipped the thumb drive into her deep cargo slacks pocket so she couldn’t lose it; then she picked up her phone.
“Detective Carstead has to know about this.” She doubted if he could lift fingerprints from the bricks, but who knew these days. She’d better not touch anything else.
She’d no sooner pressed Brett’s number, heard his voice mail message, and started to say, “Brett, I’m at the Wyatt—” when she heard real rustling now, and it wasn’t Lady. Because the noise was shoulder high. She began to turn . . .
* * *
Caprice felt jarred . . . bumped . . . lifted. She was strapped down—on a gurney. She couldn’t move her head because it was in a fixed position. There was sound all around—voices, barking, and more barking. That was Lady.
She opened her eyes and almost closed them again, but she had to make sure Lady was okay. The lights almost blinded her, at least that’s what it felt like. Suddenly, whatever she was lying on was shoved into a vehicle.
She called, “Lady.”
She could dimly see a figure standing outside the vehicle as a man beside her wearing a blue shirt with an ID badge took her blood pressure and then shone a flashlight into her eyes. Just what she needed when she had a raging headache.
From outside the vehicle she heard, “Caprice, it’s Brett. I’ll make sure one of the officers takes Lady to Nikki. She’s fine. I checked her over. I’ll talk to you at the hospital.”
She wiggled her arms under the seat-belt-like strap that held her. She didn’t know where her phone was, but she managed to reach into her pocket. There was the thumb drive.
“Brett,” she called. “Call Grant. Please.”
“Got you,” the detective shouted back. And she was glad he had. The call must have gone through and he’d come to find her. Bless him. Or bless the saints that Nana had sent to protect her.
With no hospital in Kismet, Caprice was transported to York. At the hospital there, she was registered and examined, thanks to Brett Carstead vouching for her identity. Her purse was in her van back at the estate.
Once she’d been sent to an ER cubicle, Brett had appeared and she’d told him exactly what had happened, given him the thumb drive, and asked him about the journal.
The journal was gone.
Apparently whoever had hit her thought that was all she’d found.
Brett had done his usual scolding, then left. But before he’d gone, he’d given her a thumbs-up sign.
She was taken for a CT scan and by the time they returned her to the ER cubicle, Grant was there pacing.
When he saw her, he rushed toward her. “Carstead called me. What did you do?”
“It wasn’t what I did,” she said indignantly. “Someone hit me on the head.”
Grant stared at her, speechless for a moment. Then he gave her a huge hug and kissed her. Afterward he asked, “Did that hurt?”
“It made my head spin, but my head was already spinning,” she teased. “So it was hard to tell which spinning was from the bump on the head and which was from the kiss.”
He gave her a weak smile. “Honest to goodness, Caprice. That gave me such a scare when he called me. He said you were conscious but the doctors had to determine the damage.”
“I have an awful headache and a lump on the back of my head,” she said, gingerly touching it. “We’ll know if anything’s really wrong after the radiologi
st reads the CT scan.”
He squeezed her hand and she squeezed back. She told him exactly what had happened. Then she asked, “Were you with your parents?”
“We’d just gotten back to the bed and breakfast. They’re worried too.”
“I didn’t tell Brett to call my parents for that reason. After we talk to the doctor, I’ll call them.”
It wasn’t long before a doctor who looked to be a few years older than they were came into the room. He introduced himself as Dr. Pettis and brought a rolling stool to sit beside Caprice’s bed.
“You’re very lucky, Miss De Luca. No skull fracture. A concussion. You might have headaches for a while, but they should diminish day by day. You need someone with you for the next twenty-four hours, forty-eight would be even better. Whoever’s with you should wake you up every few hours and ask you questions to make sure your faculties are clear.”
“I’ll be with her,” Grant said, squeezing her hand again.
The doctor nodded. “Ask her the year, who’s president, her name, her age, her address, anything that will let you know she’s in the present and understands what you’re saying. Do you have any questions?”
“You want me to rest for forty-eight hours?” Caprice asked.
The doctor stood. “I’d advise it, but my patients don’t always listen to what I advise. Your brain is bruised. You need to treat it with respect. No exercise or any activity that will shake it up more. Do you understand?”
“What about driving?”
“Rest for forty-eight hours,” he said again. He looked at Grant. “If she’s nauseous, dizzy, or anything like that, you bring her back in here.”
“You didn’t give me a yes or no on the driving,” Caprice reminded him.
Grant capped her shoulder. “If you need to go anywhere, I’ll take you. I’m staying with you for forty-eight hours. That means no walking Lady, no running around the yard stooping to clean up after her, no unnecessary excitement.”
“He’s got it,” the doctor said with a smile.
Caprice crossed her arms over her chest. “In other words, I’m going to be a prisoner.”
“In other words,” Grant contradicted, “you’re going to be pampered.”
“Listen to your fiancé,” the doctor said. “And let him pamper you. After all, who knows how long that will last. I’ll send someone in with your discharge papers and written instructions.” With a lift of his brow, he left.
She looked up at Grant. “Sitting around for two days. Seriously?”
“Do you know what being pampered means?” Grant asked, brows arched.
“Yes, but I think you’re going to explain it further.”
“That means you’re going to sit on the sofa, and I’m going to massage your feet. It means I’ll bring you coffee or tea or a sandwich. It means you’re going to stay quiet with Mirabelle on your lap and heal.”
“But your parents are in town.”
“Yes, they are, and they rented a car. Tomorrow they’re going to take a tour of Lancaster and the Amish country. They don’t know what they’re doing the day after that, but I’m sure they’ll think of something.”
“We’re having a dinner party with my parents on Sunday,” she said adamantly.
He sighed. “They’ll probably agree to come just because they feel bad you were hurt. But don’t think you’re going to do all the work. And we’re only having the dinner party if you’re one hundred percent. This is your fiancé talking. Are you listening?”
“You’re being awfully bossy,” she muttered. “Are you going to bring Lady home?”
“I talked to Nikki. She and Lady are going to visit you tomorrow. By then, if you’re feeling okay, you can sit outside on the back porch while Lady romps in the yard. Deal?”
Caprice knew even though Grant was giving her dictates, he was restraining his protective streak. She had the feeling he’d keep her confined in her bed if he could—with him in the next room, of course.
For a few months.
“I’ll listen,” she said, meaning it; then his arms were around her and he was kissing her again.
Chapter Eighteen
Caprice had to admit that resting for two days wasn’t as bad as she thought it might be. Grant took good care of her. On Friday when her mom and dad and Nana visited, she’d convinced him to spend time with his parents. After all, that’s why they’d come to Kismet—to see their son. Although the bump on her head was still sore, the headache had diminished by Saturday. She could look into the sunlight and move around without her head throbbing.
After Grant had brought in takeout for supper, she’d announced that she wanted to see Sebastian and the boys to tell him about the stolen journal, if not the thumb drive, and to see his reaction. She wanted to figure out if he could have been the one who had knocked her out.
She admired Grant’s diplomacy when he said, “I’d feel better if you let me drive you, especially since it’s getting dark. If you want to talk to Sebastian alone, I’ll busy myself in conversation with one of his kids.”
“You’re going to have to trust that I’m feeling good enough to take care of myself at some point.”
“I’m already trusting that you’re feeling good enough to have my parents and yours and Nana over for dinner tomorrow.”
“It’s my last chance to spend some time with your parents before they go back to Vermont. I won’t overdo it, I promise. Mom and Nana are helping.”
“I’ll give in if you’ll give in.”
“Such a negotiator,” she teased, but then closed the carton of Chinese to stow it in the refrigerator. “Okay, it’s a deal. Do you think Lady and Patches will nap while we’re gone?” Both dogs were sitting under the table, their tails wagging as they waited for any scraps.
“Patches has his kibble ball. If we fill a ball for each of them, that should keep them busy enough until we get back. I don’t expect this will be a long visit, do you?”
“Probably not.” She checked her watch. “The Cupcake House will still be open. Let’s stop there to pick up a dozen cupcakes to take along. I know the boys will appreciate them.”
“How’s your head?”
“My head is fine, but I’ll let you drive so we don’t have to argue about it.”
He smiled. “Smart girl.”
When Grant and Caprice pulled into the driveway at Sebastian’s and neared the carport, a motion detector light went on. It was a huge floodlight and Caprice could tell Sebastian had made some changes. One of those changes was a little sign that stood in his front yard, proclaiming the name of a security company. He’d had an alarm system installed.
When she pointed that out to Grant, he nodded. “Who can blame him.”
She’d done the same thing after someone had broken into her home.
After Sebastian answered the door, he seemed pleased to see her. He’d heard what had happened and was solicitous. “I’m so sorry you were hurt. Do you have any idea who did it?”
Caprice studied his face. Was he fishing? Trying to find out if she could identify him?
“No, I was too absorbed in what I was doing, I guess, to notice anything. One minute I was holding Wendy’s journal in my hand, the next everything went black.”
Kevin said, “A secret compartment. Wow. Just like in the movies. Was it there all along or did Wendy make it?”
That same question had occurred to Caprice. “It was there all along. The bricks just formed a front on the cavity so there was plenty of room behind them to hide something. I just wonder how Wendy found it in the first place.”
“It’s possible Leona knew about it and told her,” Sebastian concluded. “They got really close. Who knows? Leona might have hidden things there herself and if Wendy told her about the journal, the hiding place might have been her suggestion.”
Caprice studied Kevin. “I’m glad you told me what you did, or I never would have thought of looking there.” She lifted the box of cupcakes. “I brought you chocolate with chocolat
e icing. Interested?”
“Always,” Cody said with a wide smile. “Can we have them, Dad?”
Sebastian smiled. “I’ll brew the coffee.”
As they enjoyed coffee and cupcakes at the kitchen table, Caprice decided Sebastian didn’t seem like a man who had anything to hide, at least not anymore. He told them he’d looked into hiring a security guard, but then decided a state-of-the-art alarm system would be a better investment. The front door camera even recorded who came and went.
The boys downed the cupcakes as if they hadn’t seen a sweet before.
When Dover came over and laid his head on Caprice’s lap, she stroked it. “I guess you’re too friendly to be a guard dog.”
Sebastian frowned. “I don’t know what would have happened if he had been here the night of the break-in. I’m glad he was with us. I wouldn’t have wanted to see him hurt.”
“I know exactly what you mean. I had Lady along at the Wyatt estate. Fortunately my attacker didn’t bother with her, just took the journal.”
“Do you think the person followed you everywhere you went?”
“The police found a GPS tracker on my van and one on my car.”
“Could they trace it to someone’s phone?” Kevin asked.
“It was sold from a company online, paid for with one of those prepaid Visa cards that you can pick up at any convenience store.”
“You can download phone apps for those trackers,” Cody explained. “Somebody probably had a burner phone and that couldn’t be traced.”
“I can’t believe how up to date you kids are on this stuff,” Grant said.
“The whole thing is scary,” Caprice agreed.
Sebastian looked worried. “Maybe I’d better check over my SUV.”
“I can do it, Dad,” Cody offered. “I know what to look for.”
“We can do it together,” Sebastian told his son.
After a few more minutes of catching up, Grant and Caprice exchanged a look and decided to leave. She knew Grant was thinking he didn’t want her to become overtired. She felt fine, but she didn’t want the headache to come back either. After all, she had a dinner to get ready for tomorrow.
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