A Violent Kind of Grace

The Bentley glided along the winding mountain road.

A sudden lurch, a screech of metal, and the car lurched to the left, the driver wrestling with the wheel.

We came to a halt, and David jumped out to inspect. I followed suit.

Three shiny spikes jutted from the front left tire, glinting in the sunset.

"What..." The driver went pale. "Nails? Up here?"

I crouched, examining a spike, its point gleaming and new.

"Someone's idea of a game." I kept my voice steady.

Child's play, nothing more.

David was already on his phone. "I'll get a tow. The manor will send another car."

"How long?"

Waiting was not my thing, my frown deepening.

"Forty minutes for the tow, and then for the car..." David did the math, regret in his tone, "You won't make it to the manor before seven."

Dinner at the LaRosas's was at six-thirty.

Inconvenient, to say the least. I strode up to the car's nose.

"Miss Elvira?" David's voice was laced with confusion.

I did not answer. Instead, I bent, gripped the bumper, and stood up, lifting the car's front end with ease.

"Get in," I said, finding my balance.

David's face was a picture of question marks, and the driver's eyes were saucers of shock.

They scrambled into the car, and I heard the seat belts snap into place.

With a deep breath, I shouldered the car, feeling its weight settle across my back.

The wind whipped around me, and the trees blurred into a backward stream.

Up ahead, two mountain bikers stopped dead in their tracks, staring. As I passed, one muttered, "What on earth?"

The car wobbled on my shoulder, surely jostling the passengers, but that was the least of my concerns.

The iron gates of LaRosa Manor came into view, with its sprawling lawn, dancing fountain, and the castle-like house beyond.

Some people were waiting: a young woman in white clinging to a middle-aged man's arm, a high-society dame, and a younger girl.

I halted before the gates, gently lowering the car to the ground with a soft thud.

Shaking out my shoulders, I faced them.

The man stepped forward, his voice steady but his eyes wide with shock.

"You're Elvira, I presume. I'm your father, Edward LaRosa. This is your mother, Catherine, and your sisters, Alice and Victoria."

They all looked as if they had seen a ghost.

Catherine finally broke the silence. "The journey must've been tough."

I shrugged. "Not really. It's all in a day's work."

Alice LaRosa's smile twitched, frozen.

Victoria LaRosa, impatient, piped up, "What's the deal with the car? And where's the driver?!"

I was on the verge of speaking when a weak voice echoed from behind me.

"Miss Victoria..."

David and the driver were propping each other up, their faces ghostly white, staring at me like I was some kind of monster straight out of a Godzilla flick.

"The car? It blew a tire," the driver stammered, "Miss Elvira, she... She hoisted the car on her back...and ran up here..."

"What?!" Victoria's voice spiked, "Are you out of your mind? That car's a beast, weighs a ton! No way a person could..."

She cut herself off, her words hanging in the air.

Because, against all odds, the car was there.

So was I.

There was only that one road winding up the mountain, and not a tow truck in sight.

Surely the car had not sprouted legs and scampered up there on its own, had it?

Right on cue, Alice stepped forward, her smile back in place as if nothing was amiss, playing peacemaker.

"Sis, you must be wiped out, huh? We usually leave the heavy lifting to the help..."

Her voice dripped with faux concern, but her eyes were busy taking me in, head to toe.

"It's a small matter, but..." I cut her off, my eyes sharp as daggers, locked onto hers.

Alice's smile flickered, just for a second.

"The car's left front tire was spiked with three brand-new caltrops. How do you explain that up here on the mountain?"

Victoria recoiled, a subtle step back.

I caught the flicker of panic in her eyes. She was just as David had described...innocent.

Alice did not glance her way, her smile unwavering as she faced me, "Someone must've dropped them by accident. You know, mountain bikers come through here sometimes..."

"Mountain bikers don't need caltrops," I called out her bluff without missing a beat, my voice anything but friendly.

I was not there to play the good little girl.

My smile was light, but my gaze was stone-cold. "What I'm saying is, someone's been trying to set me up before I even stepped past the door."