Grace Takes Off (23 page)

“I’m sure she’ll understand soon. Very soon.”

I wasn’t so sure but smiled to be kind.

“Will you wait for me?” he asked.

I knew better than to say that I would. “One step at a time.”

He nodded then tilted his head. “You never answered my question. Who was the guy who
followed you the other night?”

I stared up at the sky again. “Trouble.”

FRANCES WAS IN THE OFFICE FIRST THE NEXT
morning. “So.” She threw off her reading glasses, allowing them to hang from the jeweled
chain around her neck. “How’s Jack? Is he selling you the line that his relationship
with Becke is merely platonic?”

I stopped in my tracks. “I give up, Frances. How do you do it?”

Her chin poked upward. “What happened?”

I’d been barely able to find the words to tell my roommates about Jack’s visit. I
wasn’t about to carry on with my telephone-tele-Frances assistant. Half the town would
be chittering about it before noon. I raised my gaze to the ceiling.
Assuming they aren’t already.
“Tell your grapevine that you have it on good authority that I’m still single and
intend to remain so.”

As her chin dropped, her lower lip jutted, and those eyebrows shot for the sky. I’d
surprised her. “But I thought—”

“End of story.”

To punctuate my statement, I headed straight into my office and shut the door. My
desk phone rang a moment later. I picked it up without checking caller ID, thinking
it was Frances calling to make amends.

“Yes?” I answered, realizing almost instantly that I’d made a foolish assumption.
Frances apologize? Not likely.

“What gives, Grace?”

A male voice. Irate for some reason. I’d heard this voice before. Recently, too. I
tried to place it. Not Williamson.

“Who is this?” I asked.

He wasn’t letting up. “Where do you get off investigating me? If you wanted to know
something, why not just ask?”

Boom.
“Adam?”

“You’re lucky we didn’t press charges.”

I matched his tone. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Belatedly, I remembered.
“Oh wait.”

“‘Oh wait’ is right. Glad to see you have your memory back. Who is this Tooney stooge,
anyway?”

I stood up, as though doing so would give me power. Tooney told me he’d been following
Adam. And if Adam was in cahoots with Gerard, our would-be private detective could
be in big trouble. “Don’t hurt him. Please.”

“Hurt him?” Adam’s ire evaporated. “Why would I hurt him?”

“Because . . .” I stopped myself before giving anything away. “I want to talk with
him.” I imbued my voice with as much gravitas as possible. “I want to hear for myself
that he’s all right.”

“What is wrong with you?” Adam asked. “You hired him to follow me, now you act as
though I’m holding him hostage.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh boy.” The soft scratching noise that traveled through the phone line led me to
believe Adam was rubbing his face. “Your minion is down at the police station answering
questions right now.”

At the police station?
I took a moment to process why guilty killers would involve the police. Came up empty.
What I said was: “He’s hardly my minion.”

“You hired him to follow me. Why?”

Frances popped in. No surprise there. She sat at my desk, engrossed in my conversation.
Receiver gripped to my ear, I knew how Bootsie must have felt last night, pacing behind
my desk only as far as the corded handset would allow. At least it wasn’t Frances
holding the leash. I was too worked up right now to chase her out.

“What does it matter if you have nothing to hide?”

Adam’s voice was low, more curious than agitated now. “What’s going on over there?”
he asked. “You must have had a good reason for having me tailed.” He sounded almost
hopeful. “What is it? Help me understand.”

I wasn’t about to share my theories with him.

He took my hesitation as reluctance. “Your investigator shouted Jerry’s name when
he was talking on the phone with you. Why would you be interested in him? I thought
you said you didn’t even like the Curling Weasels.”

“I don’t.”

“Then tell me what’s going on, Grace.”

Anger got the best of me. I knew better than to throw caution to the wind, but all
the fear for Bennett that I’d kept bottled up, all the panic I’d felt on that flight,
all the disappointment brewing around whatever it was I had with Jack, erupted in
a volcano of spite. “Why don’t
you
tell
me
what’s going on? How convenient that you’re working with Gerard Pezzati. Did you
ever think to mention that?”

He started to speak, but there was no stopping me now—steamrolling over anything or
anyone in my way. “You came here to Marshfield. I trusted you. What were you trying
to do? A little reconnaissance? You didn’t get the job done right the first time,
so you’re back to try again? How much is Gerard paying you?”

Heat suffused my face in a way that made it feel as though all the blood in my body
was likely to geyser out the top of my head. “Consider yourself forewarned.” My words
chomped out like angry bites. “Come anywhere near Marshfield Manor. . . . come anywhere
near Bennett, and I will see to it that you’re hauled off for good.”

He was silent. “I . . . don’t know what to say. Nothing you’re saying makes any sense.”

“Where is Ronny Tooney?” I demanded. “Send him home. Safely. Now.”

“Grace.” Adam’s voice was soft and low.

“Don’t make me come after you.”

He cleared his throat. “I’ll see what I can do.”

I slammed the phone back into its cradle and resumed pacing. Frances sat silently,
watching me. “That went well.”

I thrust my hands skyward. “What would you have me do?” I said. “I can’t find out
who targeted Bennett, I can only surmise. If it’s Vandeen Deinhart, we’re at least
almost out of the woods. Once Bennett signs the closing documents, Deinhart won’t
benefit from doing Bennett any harm.”

“Rodriguez and Flynn don’t think he’s responsible,” she reminded me.

“Thank you for that news flash. With their track record of hunting down killers, I
thoroughly value their opinions.”

She sat expressionless, unfazed.

“This Pinky. Priscilla. Diane. The dead woman.” I paced, turning to face Frances with
each statement. “She was working for someone else. I know it. We can’t connect her
to Gerard Pezzati, but we can connect her to SlickBlade.” I looked at Frances again.
“Adam’s band boarded the plane with Pinky in tow. Adam works with Gerard Pezzati.”

Frances remained silent.

“What do I do? Wait for that Detective Williamson to show up? He’s even harder to
convince than Rodriguez and Flynn are. I need to uncover whatever connects Pinky to
Gerard. It’s got to be out there. All I need to do is find it.”

“Maybe you should meet with Gerard Pezzati yourself.”

I stopped walking. “Oh sure, I’ll waltz over to his office, accuse him of stealing
a piece of art worth millions of dollars, tell him I know he’s been communicating
with Antoinette, Pezzati’s cook, in order to embezzle more, and that he’s doing all
this because he’s been cut out of his daddy’s will. To top it all off, I’ll accuse
him of attempted murder. Mind you, I don’t have a shred of solid proof. How do you
think that will go over? Do think I would even make it back alive?”

Frances stood, brushing her hands down the front of her lavender shirt. “I’m not suggesting
you go in with guns blazing.” She eyed me with an odd glint I hadn’t seen before.
“Even if your heart’s in the right place, your aim is off. Way off.”

My rapid breaths were slowing, the tension in my shoulders easing. “What are you suggesting?”

“You need to find out what connects Gerard with Pinky, right? Talk to the man. Pretend
you hope to arrange a reconciliation between him and his father. Tell him that’s why
you hired Tooney. To get a read on the situation.”

“After I just went off on Adam? They would never buy it.”

“You won’t know unless you try. New York isn’t all that far. But for heaven’s sakes,
don’t go alone. Take Terrence. Take a couple of the guys with you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“I’ll go with you, if you like.”

I sat behind my desk. Like I had been last night, I was sorely tempted. I wanted answers
to all my questions. Most of all, I wanted Bennett to be safe. But I didn’t want to
be stupid about it.

My cell phone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. “It’s Tooney,” I said to Frances.
When I clicked in I didn’t even say hello. “What happened?”

The wannabe private eye’s voice was resigned, even sheepish. “I got busted.”

“Talk to me, Tooney. Hang on. Let me put you on speakerphone.”

When I did, he started talking. “I told you that Adam was a rich guy. Never dawned
on me that he had bodyguards watching out for people like me. They tagged me and took
me down right after I hung up with you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Couple of bumps and bruises from when they dragged me into their limo. The guys were
professional. They took me to a quiet place and asked questions. Lots of questions.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“I never told them who I was working for. They figured that out when they saw where
I was from. I’m sorry, Grace. I would never knowingly give up that information.”

I sighed. “It’s okay. What did they want?”

Frances sat up.

“Weird,” Tooney said. “Strangest thing.”

“Explain,” I said.

“They didn’t seem to know what they wanted. They hammered me, asking why I’d been
following that Adam.”

“Physically hammered you?”

“Nah,” he said. “That’s an expression. When they came up empty they took me to the
P.D. and threatened to press charges for stalking a celebrity.”

“Why didn’t you call me? I’d have bailed you out.”

“Then the police would know who I was working for, and I didn’t want to reveal your
name. The bodyguards didn’t tell the cops any of that, and I told you I wouldn’t ever
give up that information as long as it was in my power to keep it secret.”

“I appreciate that, Tooney, but that’s a little above and beyond. How did you get
out?”

“Charges dropped. They let me out and handed me my stuff, and I called you right away.”

“Huh,” I said, exchanging a glance with Frances. “How soon can you be back?”

He hesitated. “Should I catch a flight or take a train?”

“Fly back, Tooney.”

“You know it’s probably more expensive?”

I sighed. “Yeah, Tooney. I know.”

WHEN I HUNG UP WITH TOONEY, I FACED
Frances. “I like your idea of visiting Gerard Pezzati,” I said. “I especially like
the idea of taking Terrence along.”

“And me?”

“Why do you want to go?”

“Why should you have all the fun?”

I was spent. “You do realize we’re talking about investigating murders and attempted
murders. How on earth do you count that as fun?”

She shrugged.

The desk phone jangled. “Who is it now?” I asked rhetorically. I grabbed for the receiver
and saw the name on the display, and my shoulders slumped.

“Who is it?” Frances asked.

I bit my bottom lip and decided to let it go to voicemail. “Hillary.” I knew Frances
would eventually find out about Bennett’s stepdaughter renovating my house, but I
intended to put off that moment of disclosure for as long as possible.

Frances stood, preparing to return to her office, giving me a quizzical look. “How’s
that new business of hers coming along?” she asked.

“No idea.”

“When do you want to leave? For New York, I mean.”

I thought about it. “Signor Pezzati is due here in the next couple of days. Let’s
wait until we talk with him. I’d rather meet Gerard with all my facts straight.” I
stopped, realizing from the indicator light on my phone that Hillary had left a message.
Great.
“How does that sound?”

Frances twisted her mouth in disapproval. “You’re the boss,” she said, rolling her
eyes. “I’m merely an assistant.”

This would have been the perfect setup for me to tell Frances that she was so much
more than just an assistant, but her peeve bugged me. I was still charged from my
unsettling conversation with Adam and wasn’t in the mood to placate my never-happy
employee. I waited until she’d made it to her own office to call up Hillary’s message,
very glad that I had the capability of listening through the receiver rather than
blaring it aloud in the room.

“Good afternoon, Grace. This is Hillary,” she began, oh-so-professionally. “I understand
that you’ve been in contact with Bennett Marshfield about our arrangement. I’d like
to set up our first appointment whenever is convenient for you. We’ll need to decide
the scope of the project and share our ideas with one another. I’m booked this week
with that other client I mentioned. As of next Monday, however, I’m wide open. Give
me a call.” She rattled off her new business number.

I hung up and rested my head against the back of my chair. I knew putting Hillary
off until next week was no answer, but it sure felt good right now.

• • •

BENNETT STROLLED IN A LITTLE WHILE
later. “Good afternoon, Frances. How was your day?”

She mumbled a reply.

“What was that?” he asked.

Glad to hear a friendly voice, I got up and made my way into Frances’s office in time
for Bennett to ask her another question. He turned to me. “What’s this about New York?”

I glared at my assistant before explaining our plan to visit Gerard Pezzati.

“You think that’s wise?” Bennett asked.

I wasn’t in the mood to argue for fear that my agitation would get the best of me.
“Plans aren’t set in stone yet,” I said. Then changing the subject, I asked, “What
brings you down here?”

Bennett brightened. “I received a call from Irena earlier. They should be here tomorrow
morning.”

“Signor Pezzati is well enough to travel?” Frances asked. “Pneumonia is nothing to
sneeze at.”

Bennett held on to the back of a chair, the long fingers of both hands stretching
down the tight leather. “I agree. They’re expected to land shortly after five. That
puts them here before seven
A.M.
I’ll have their rooms set up and food brought in. I expect they’ll want to sleep.
Even traveling by charter can be exhausting.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to see the skull photos right away,” I said.

Bennett’s brows came together. “I suppose they might. I’m reluctant to allow Nico
to push himself. He’s under a great deal of strain, whether he cares to admit it or
not.”

“Would you like me to pull out the photos now?” I asked. “That way you have them at
your fingertips when you need them.”

“Certainly not. You’re as big a part of this story as any of us. We’ll arrange to
view them all together. Perhaps if I tell them you’re indisposed for a while, they’ll
take advantage and get some rest before we get into the real reason for their visit.”

So thoughtful, yet so old-school, Bennett had been raised in a world where one waited
for the proper time for such revelations. Nico Pezzati was making a trip across the
world to see Bennett’s proof. If it were my treasures we were talking about, I wouldn’t
be able to wait, and doubted Irena would, either.

“I’ll look forward to seeing them both.”

“There’s one more thing. Irena says that she had some difficulty with Angelo about
coming out here. He didn’t want them to make the trip. I suppose we’ll find out more
about that tomorrow.”

“Doesn’t bode well,” I said.

• • •

AS I PREPARED TO LEAVE FOR THE EVENING,
my cell phone chimed the arrival of a text. It was Bruce. “Guy here asking for you.
Good looking.”

“Who?” I texted back.

“Won’t give a name. Wants to surprise you.”

Adrenaline flashed up, hot and fast. I didn’t like this. Bruce and Scott had met Eric
well before he’d run off with my sister, so I knew I was safe on that front. Who could
it be? Rudy?

“Italian accent?” I wrote back.

“No. Tall, dark, handsome.”

“Local?”

“Not sure.”

I kept a finger poised, ready to Swype another reply, if only I knew what to say.
Bruce and Scott’s wine shop, Amethyst Cellars, would be hopping even though it wasn’t
the weekend. There would be lots of people around. Safe enough.

“What’s your gut tell you?” I finally asked.

When I read his reply, I smiled. He’d typed: “Go for it!”

• • •

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I WALKED INTO AMETHYST
CELLARS, BREATHING IN THE FAMILIAR WINE COMMINGLED WITH WOODWORK. The shop, with
its busy, happy patrons holding sparkling glasses and socializing amid tasteful displays,
always had an energetic, upscale vibe. I felt welcome here, despite the fact that
tonight I had no idea who waited for me. I was neither jittery nor eager, but I was
curious. Who was this mystery man?

A couple dozen wine-tasters at the counter had their backs turned to the front door
and I couldn’t recognize anyone. The chattering crowd appeared to be broken out into
groups of twos and fours. I scanned the shop for any lone males, but came up empty.

Scott called me over. “When Bruce told the guy you were on your way, he said he’d
be right back, and took off.” He gestured vaguely. “You don’t have any idea who he
is?”

“Not a clue. You know everyone I know.” A thought occurred to me. I placed both hands
on the countertop and gave Scott a mischievous glare. “It isn’t Jack, is it?”

“Not a chance. We wouldn’t do that to you. Heck, if we knew who this guy was, we would
have told you, no matter how much he insisted on surprise.”

A customer waved for Scott’s attention. He started to excuse himself, then stopped,
focusing over my shoulder. “Speak about the devil. He’s back,” he said, then, “Whoa.”

I turned, curiosity crashing like cymbals on concrete. The surrounding din of lively,
casual conversation faded as my hearing and vision tunneled. “What are you doing here?”

Adam closed the distance between us, not smiling. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he said. “I’ve
done something to hurt you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sorry.”

In his hands he held a bouquet of flowers. Twice, maybe triple the size of the bunch
he’d brought me last time. He pushed the blooms into the space between us. Reflexively,
I reached for them, then pushed back.

“I asked what you’re doing here.” I did a quick assessment. Plenty of people, potential
witnesses. I didn’t sense that Adam would risk anything in such a public environment,
and the comfort of the crowd made me bold. “I told you to stay away.” I was furious
by his response—which was no response at all, so I went on, “Why did you have Ronny
Tooney arrested?”

“You asked me to let him go. We dropped the charges.”

“Why did you pick him up in the first place?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you
worked with Gerard Pezzati?”

He held the massive flowers I’d refused to accept. “You asked me that on the phone.
What is Jerry to you? Why do you care if I work with him?” Gesturing as he spoke,
he wound up banging the bouquet against the back of a gentleman sipping white wine.
The guy turned to give Adam a furious glance, noted that we were in the midst of an
argument, and took a cautious step away.

We were creating a spectacle. Not exactly conducive to business, and the last thing
I wanted to do was hurt Scott and Bruce. “Can we take this outside?” I asked. Warning
bells sounded, but it was early enough in the evening. Light enough outside. Lots
of people. How much trouble could I get into on the tourist-crammed streets of Emberstowne?