Grace Takes Off (7 page)

She laughed. “I must admit, I am a disappointment to my father in one respect. I have
no knowledge of what he has in there.” Lifting one hand, she waved it from side to
side. “Of course, I hear names like Picasso and Monet and I understand that these
are valuable, priceless, even, but I don’t have the interest in collecting and buying
and selling the way my father wishes I would.” Grinning, she took a quick sip, then
looked at me with new interest. “You, on the other hand, would be a great asset to
my father. You not only understand what treasures he has amassed, you share his enthusiasm
for it all.”

“I do,” I said. “I’d love to know more about that skull.”

She nodded. “What a wonderful story they told. It makes me see them as young men.”

“That was enjoyable,” I said, warming to the subject. “Did you notice how Bennett
seemed taken aback at one point?”

She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“When he held the skull. Remember?”

Blinking, she stared down at the tablecloth. “Yes . . .” she said slowly. “Now that
you mention it, he did seem to hesitate a moment.” She looked up expectantly. “Why?
Do you know what troubled him?”

“No,” I said, disappointed. “It seemed as though his reaction was off but I haven’t
had the opportunity to ask him about it. Something was odd. I thought maybe you’d
have an idea of what that could be.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “My father’s been having difficulty remembering things lately,
too. I didn’t give that incident a second thought.”

WE LEFT TROPPO IN THE WEE HOURS OF THE
morning. It wasn’t until the dancers below began to disperse that Irena and I realized
we’d talked the entire night away. Our waiter had kept our glasses filled—I’d switched
to water a few hours into our visit, thank goodness—and the snacks plentiful.

Angelo escorted us out into the damp morning air. He held the sedan’s back doors open
for us and took his position behind the wheel. Neither Irena nor I had been over-served,
but we were relaxed from all the wine. The evening had turned out to be much nicer
than I’d anticipated, and although it was far too late to confer with Bennett tonight—he’d
have been asleep for hours by now—I knew we’d have the entire flight home to discuss
the skull, my discoveries about Gerard, and whatever Bennett had learned from Nico.

I sank into the leather seats, which were so soft they practically wrapped around
my tired body. “I need to be up and out the door in less than five hours,” I said
with a mock groan. “But this evening was worth it.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Irena said with a happy pat on the seat between us. “But,
five hours? What time is your flight?”

As we left the city proper and headed back to the villa, I could barely make out anything
in the profound darkness. “Fortunately, we’ve chartered a plane and it won’t leave
without us.” For Irena, chartered air travel was probably a regular occurrence. For
me, it had been a singularly incredible experience. “We’re supposed to be there no
later than nine. Thank goodness we don’t have to go through commercial flight security.
We’d have to leave at least three hours earlier if we did.”

“My father used to keep a jet at the airport,” Irena said, dropping her head against
the soft seat back and closing her eyes. “Unfortunately, he stopped traveling and
gave it up.” She raised her voice. “Remember, Angelo?”

The big man glanced up at the sound of his name, but didn’t answer. Irena shrugged,
turned to me, and opened one eye. “He understands,” she whispered with a wry grin.
Both eyes closed, she gave a sigh of pleasure then spoke again, a little louder this
time. “Always the mystery man, aren’t you? Someday I’ll find the chink in your armor.”

I caught Angelo’s glance in the rearview mirror. He looked away immediately. I had
no doubt that Irena was right and he’d understood every word we’d said. Maybe he’d
hoped to overhear some juicy, private details. Poor boy. He would be disappointed
tonight.

I dozed on the ride back, waking when the big sedan slowed to a stop. Angelo was out
almost immediately, coming around to open our doors. “Thank you for driving us tonight,”
I said as he handed me out of the car.

He responded in Italian but when I turned to ask Irena what he’d said, she was already
halfway to the front door.

“Good night, Angelo,” I said as the big guy made his way back to the car.

He nodded.
“Buona note e sogni d’oro.”

I hoped that didn’t mean “Go sleep with the fishes.”

• • •

“GRACIE, ARE YOU IN THERE?” BENNETT
knocked on my door, dragging me from a wild and wacky dream where I’d been slow dancing
at Troppo’s on its flashy dance floor, trying, without success, to figure out who
I was dancing with.

I peeled open my bleary eyes wide enough to notice that it was still dark outside.
“Grace,” Bennett called again, “we’ve got a problem.”

The digital readout on my cell phone told me it was five fifteen in the morning. “Just
a second,” I croaked, swinging my legs off the bed. I slipped on my travel socks and
stumbled to the door. Once there, I groaned with frustration, having forgotten that
I’d wedged my big suitcase against it. When I’d finally been ready to sleep, I’d discovered
that I couldn’t relax knowing that nothing stood between me and angry Angelo except
a lockless door with hinges that barely whispered. I hadn’t been crazy about the idea
of anyone being able to walk in on me unannounced, so before I went to bed, I’d taken
the precaution of jamming the luggage up under the knob.

“Hang on.” My voice was rusty, and my vision was blurred. I cleared my throat as my
fingers found the suitcase’s handle and tugged at it, with considerable effort. “I
did a much better job than I thought I did,” I muttered when it finally came free.

Awake now, I scampered back into the main part of my room. “Come on in,” I called
as I pulled the bedspread off the bed and wrapped it around myself. I generally wore
shorts and a T-shirt to bed—nothing revealing or particularly skimpy—but I still felt
weird letting anyone see me in my sleepwear. I ran my fingers through my hair, working
through the gentle knots, trying to make myself look alert and presentable. Fat chance
of that, but Bennett didn’t seem to take even the slightest notice of my disarray.

“Nico’s man took a phone call about an hour ago from our charter,” he said.

Why is it when we’re swimming up to the surface of wakefulness, we must repeat things
in order to track conversation? I heard myself say, “Our charter?”

“Yes, our flight,” Bennett said, “it’s—” For the first time since he strode in, he
seemed to actually see me. Frown lines between his brows softened and one corner of
his mouth turned up. “You look like you’re about twelve years old.”

I clutched the covers around me with one hand and rubbed my eyes with the other. “Right
now I feel more like a hundred and twelve.”

“Late night?” Bennett said with more mirth than I felt like dealing with at the moment.
“I hope you had fun, at least.”

“I learned a lot.” My mind finally engaged, I asked, “What kind of problem is there
with our flight?”

“It’s been canceled.”

I sat on the bed. “And you have that board meeting tomorrow, don’t you? I know you
can’t miss it.”

He grew pensive. “Makes me wonder . . .”

“What’s on your mind?”

With a reluctant shrug, he continued. “I’ve told you a little about the company we’re
acquiring, WizzyWig. What I haven’t mentioned before was how much one of its vice
presidents, Vandeen Deinhart, would prefer I disappear from the planet. Vandeen claims
he’s afraid that he’ll lose his prestigious position with the company.”

“You think he would interfere with our return trip to keep this deal from materializing?”

“If I don’t show up at the meeting, the sale won’t go through. We’ve signed a preliminary
agreement, but that agreement expires at this meeting. I have the option to renew,
but only if I do so in person. Once that’s signed, we’re supposed to set the official
date for closing the deal. Deinhart has effectively delayed this again and again.
There are no delays left. I know he’s done this in the hopes that the deal will fall
through.”

“Why didn’t you mention him before?”

“I didn’t want to worry you or hamper your enjoyment on this trip in any way,” he
said with a sheepish grin. “But I’m being silly. I don’t believe Deinhart would stoop
so low. It’s beneath his dignity.”

“You think he may be embezzling from WizzyWig?”

He scrunched his face. “Nothing quite so crass. He’s a wily one, that Deinhart. My
guess is that he’d be careful to keep his own hands clean. I do, however, suspect
he may benefit from his position in the company in ways that—though not illegal—could
be construed as inappropriate.”

“For instance?”

He gave me the “No more discussion” face. “I’m certain he’s not behind this. Forget
I said anything.”

I swallowed my impatience. Bennett wasn’t giving me the full story and I got the impression
there was more menace to this Deinhart character than he was letting on. I’d learned,
however, that Bennett wouldn’t share information until he was ready to do so. Even
with me. Resigned, I returned to the issue at hand. “The charter company should be
able to find us a replacement flight, shouldn’t they?”

“They’re working on it,” he said, “but they warned that the fleet is stretched pretty
thin right now. They’ll do their best to get us in the air by this evening.”

I wanted to ask why Bennett had felt the need to wake me up if the end result meant
I could sleep later, but he looked so concerned about the situation that I knew there
must be more.

“What aren’t you telling me?” I asked.

“There’s nothing wrong with the plane,” he said, “but the pilot is another story.
He was arrested last night. For assault.”

“The same guy who flew us out here?”

Bennett nodded.

“No way. We talked with him,” I said, my voice taking on a “this is ridiculous” tone.
“That guy is a milquetoast.”

Bennett snickered. “There’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time.”

“The guy had zero personality. When we came aboard and he greeted us, I wondered how
he’d ever made it through a job interview in the first place. He was about as passionate
as . . . as . . .”—I looked around the room and, coming up without a fitting example,
I kicked the nearest thing I could find—“this footstool.”

“I’m only reporting what I was told.”

I rubbed my eyes again, wondering if, perhaps, I was still dreaming. “Sorry for the
outburst,” I said, chuckling to myself. “But I can’t imagine our pilot assaulting
anyone. You’d find his face in the dictionary under ‘mild-mannered.’ The kind of man
who would apologize to the rock he tripped over.”

“It’s always the quiet ones who surprise you.”

“True enough.” I slid a longing glance toward my pillow and wondered how hard it would
be to fall back asleep. “How long before we need to be out the door? And is there
anything we need to be doing?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. Nico’s assistant is working on finding us another
flight.”

“But if our charter company promised—”

“They warned that there’s no guarantee they can have a new pilot here in time. If
Nico can arrange for our transportation sooner, we’ll take him up on it. That’s why
I came pounding at your door. We need to be ready to go at a moment’s notice.” Bennett
fixed me with a meaningful stare. “Even worse, we may have to share the flight back.”

“Share?” I repeated, annoying myself by doing so. “With whom?”

“That depends upon the luck of the draw,” Bennett said. “I’ve done this sort of thing
before and although I’m not fond of sharing flights with strangers, it could be my
only hope of making the meeting on time. It’s infinitely better than flying on a commercial
vehicle, even first class.”

So much for crawling back to bed. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Nico is taking care of everything for us. His driver will be ready whenever we need
to leave, and he’s having the chef prepare breakfast now so that we won’t have to
travel on empty stomachs.”

“That’s very kind of him.”

Bennett turned to leave. “I’ll meet you down there.”

“Wait,” I said. “I wanted to talk with you about that Picasso skull.”

Bennett raised a finger to his lips. “Later,” he whispered.

• • •

BREAKFAST AT VILLA PEZZATI WAS AN EVENT
I’d tell my grandchildren about—if I ever had grandchildren. I couldn’t imagine how
much effort it must have taken to have gotten such a fabulous meal together so splendidly
on such an abbreviated timetable.

The chef had done her very best to include a number of American offerings along with
traditional Italian breakfast fare. The food was wonderful, but it was the presentation
and the service that stirred me most of all. I felt as though we’d been transported
back in time. At dinner last night, we’d had butlers at the ready, but this morning,
they were doubly attentive, presenting breads, cooked and cold meats, cheeses, eggs,
fruits, and delicious pastries for us to sample, until I had to push myself from the
table, knowing that otherwise I might burst.

With my coffee—an Americanized version because I hadn’t quite gotten used to Italian
coffee over the past week—replenished yet again, Bennett, Nico, and I sat back to
discuss the flight situation.

As we did, a butler came in to hand Nico a linen note. The elderly man groped his
shirt pocket for reading glasses, which another butler hurriedly nabbed from a nearby
table to present to him. Nico read the note slowly, eyebrows up, mouth turned down.
When he finished, he looked at us. “Good news, to some degree,” he said. “There appears
to be a flight leaving for the United States this afternoon at two o’clock.” He handed
the note back to the butler who’d first presented it and spoke to the man. “Let them
know we need more details.”

“Do you know where the flight is scheduled to land?” Bennett asked. “Or who we would
be traveling with?”

Nico signaled for more Italian coffee for himself and Bennett. As it was poured, he
shook his head. “You know as much as I do at the moment, my friend. My assistant is
moving forward to attempt to secure your passage on this particular flight.”

I wondered if that “assistant” was Angelo. I hadn’t seen the big man all morning.

Nico took a slurpy sip of his hot brew. “The good news is, however, that if this works
out, you’ll have a more relaxing morning than we’d anticipated.”