Grace Takes Off (21 page)

This was news. I ran my tongue over my front teeth, where sticky fruit and streusel
had decided to take up residence. “To do what?”

The wounded look on Hillary’s face was not put on. I had no idea what I’d done to
offend her. Her tone was almost pitiful when she asked, “Did you forget that I’m an
interior designer?”

“Of course not,” I said, scrambling to repair whatever damage I’d inadvertently caused.
I might not like the woman, but I didn’t want to hurt her. “It’s just that we recently
renovated several of the mansion’s rooms. There aren’t any due for rehab soon. None
that I know of,” I amended quickly. Bennett was generous and believed in second chances.
Thirds, fourths, and fifths, even. In Hillary’s case, they were probably in the double
digits by now. “What rooms will you be focusing on?”

She fingered the earring so forcefully I was afraid she might rip it off. “That’s
just it. He didn’t hire me to work at Marshfield.”

My gut understood before my brain did. The raspberry bar did a perfect little backflip
in my stomach. The words came out before I could stop them. “Then where?”

She had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Here.” With her elbows on the table,
she lifted her hands to the air and wiggled her fingers. “Your house.”

Bootsie leapt into my lap at that moment, allowing me a precious second to compose
myself. I stroked her face, thinking about how Bennett and I had discussed renovations
here. Heaven knew the place needed it. If my neighbors were privy to this conversation
right now, they’d burst into spontaneous applause.

I struggled for composure. “I don’t know about that,” I said.

Now that the truth was out, her words came fast, furious, and filled with the Hillary-level
confidence I was used to. “Listen, I can’t start right away. I have another client
to work with first.”

I shook my head. “You misunderstand. I don’t know that I’m ready for any renovations.
Not yet.”

She was not to be dissuaded. “I told Papa Bennett that you would be my first priority,
but then this other project popped up.” Leaning forward, she spoke in a confidential
whisper even though the only one in earshot was Bootsie, “Honestly, I think Papa Bennett
believed I would never land a client of my own. But I did. And there’s no way I’m
going to let this man down. He’s very special. My first real client—wealthy
and
handsome,” she said with a squeak in her voice. “That’s why your project will have
to wait.”

“I don’t think—”

“I understand this comes as a surprise. I also know that you haven’t had a chance
to see my work in person. I can change things around here.” She gave the house a cursory
glance and I got the feeling she was working hard at trying not to wrinkle her nose.
“You’ll love my ideas. I guarantee it.”

“Hillary.” The gravity in my tone must have caught her attention because she blinked.
“I know the place needs work. The outside alone has years of updating ahead of it.
The inside, however”—I paused to look around—“is comfortable. We may not have the
best, the newest, or the shiniest of décor, but it’s home.”

She started to speak, but I talked right over her. “Believe me, I appreciate what
you and Bennett are trying to do.” That was a bit of a stretch. “After this first
one, I’ll bet you’ll gain so many new clients that you won’t even have time for this
project.” I said a quick prayer that that would prove true. “This isn’t a good idea,
Hillary.”

She’d leaned back as I talked, not looking angry or disappointed in the least. I got
the impression she was letting me have my say. In my passionate argument, I’d stopped
petting Bootsie, and the kitten nosed my hand, hungry for more attention. I scratched
behind her ears.

“Papa Bennett told me that my first job here was to focus on the outside.” The corners
of her pert little mouth curled up. “Interiors to come later. And”—she rolled her
eyes—“he made me promise to listen to whatever you had to say.”

“You’re an
interior
designer,” was the only thing I could think of.

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have what it takes to change your haunted mansion into
a Painted Lady.”

“This is hardly a haunted mansion.”

Hillary made a face. “Whatever. The thing is, I can make a difference and I intend
to. Unless, of course, you forbid me from helping you. Papa Bennett warned me that
might be the case.”

I heaved a deep sigh.

Hillary folded her arms across the table and leaned forward. “Bennett cares about
you. A lot. It’s obvious you care about him, too. Maybe he hired me because he wants
to give my business a good start.” She made a so-so motion with her head. “Forget
the maybe. That is why he’s doing it. Doesn’t matter. I need the business and I have
every intention of making doubters eat their words. Here’s the thing,” she went on,
“he’s doing this to help me, yes, but he’s doing this for himself, too. Everyone in
Emberstowne knows where you work. Don’t you think it’s embarrassing that the woman
who manages Marshfield lives in a house that’s in such a state of disrepair?”

I felt a paradigm shift. Months ago, I’d consented to Bennett’s offer of help when
the roof needed work, and I’d accepted assistance graciously on a few other matters
of upkeep, but when it came to changes that were less necessary for living and more
desirable for appearances, I’d rebuffed his offers.

Of course my eyesore house was an embarrassment to Bennett. Why hadn’t I realized
that myself? I held my head in my hands, resisting the urge to rub my eyes, which
would only exacerbate my cat allergies.

Bootsie, forgotten again, bounded off my lap and disappeared around the corner.

Numb, I reached for the only lifeline I had left. “You say you have another client
you need to work with first?”

Hillary bounced in her seat, surprised and clearly pleased. “You won’t be sorry. I
promise.”

I already was.

FRANCES MARCHED INTO MY OFFICE MONDAY
morning. “You’re in early,” she said.

Why did every sentence out of her mouth always come out sounding like an accusation?
I looked up. “Nothing gets by you, Frances.”

“The Mister wants to see you,” she said with a glint in her eye.

I put down my pen to ask her about that when the phone rang. I answered.

“Good morning, Gracie,” Bennett said. “I need to talk with you as soon as possible.
Do you have a few minutes now?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “I have a matter to discuss with you, too.”

“I’ll be right down.”

Frances had been listening in, the corners of her downturned mouth curling ever so
slightly into a self-satisfied smile.

I stared up at her. “I was here before you this morning. The phone in your office
hasn’t made a peep. How in the world did you know?”

The twisty lip curls deepened. “I have my ways.”

• • •

BENNETT SETTLED HIMSELF AT MY DESK
while I shut the door between my office and Frances’s. “This will be a private discussion,
I take it?” he asked.

“Hillary came to visit.” I perched my backside on the edge of my desk and folded my
arms. “You hired her to work on my home?”

Bennett didn’t flinch. “We’ve talked about this. You agreed to let me help.”

“But . . . Hillary?”

“Two birds with one stone, eh?” When I didn’t smile, he leaned forward and fixed me
with a bright blue stare. “We won’t let her run roughshod over you. You get the final
say on all matters regarding your home.”

I didn’t budge.

“Time to come clean.” He drew in a quick breath through his nose. “Here’s what you
don’t know: I’ve cut her off.” Reacting to my startled look, he went on, “I’d been
providing her a generous allowance over the years. Hillary’s never had to work a day
in her life.” The way his jaw set and the crinkles around his eyes deepened, I knew
this was hard for him to admit. “I should have been a stronger parent when she was
young. I was afraid of her, truth be told. She wasn’t my blood and I believed I had
no rights in raising her.” He sat back and flung his fingers to the air. “Yet, here
I am, watching her blow fortune after fortune with nothing to show for it.” He shook
his head. “They say it’s never too late to learn. It took me too long, but I finally
did. That’s why I cut her off.”

“Completely?”

He hedged. “I agreed to buy her a home as long as it was here in Emberstowne. The
rest is up to her.”

“So that’s why she moved back.”

“Maybe it isn’t too late for her to learn, too.”

I digested all this. “I had no idea.”

“Hillary made me promise to keep it quiet until she settled in. Her pride is hurt.”

That explained a lot. Always the gentleman, Bennett sought to help us both at once.
Little did he know how much his stepdaughter’s very presence grated on my every nerve.
I thanked heaven that Hillary had snagged a client on her own. That bought me a little
time, at least. “We’ll put off this discussion for now,” I said. Personal matters
safely off the table, I opened the door between my office and Frances’s to make it
easier for my assistant to eavesdrop. “What did you want to talk with me about?”

“Two things.”

I sat at my desk and waited for him to continue.

“First, and I believe this will come as no surprise to you, the pilot who flew us
out to Europe, the one you so aptly nicknamed ‘Milquetoast’ has been cleared of all
assault charges.”

“What happened?”

“A case of mistaken identity. The charter company called me personally to let me know
the details. Shortly after we departed on our fateful flight home, the pilot was released.
All charges dropped.”

“Isn’t that convenient?”

Bennett met my gaze. “I thought so as well. The charter company is bending over backward
to assure me that they screen all their pilots and staff extraordinarily well and
that this situation was not their fault.” Hands on his lap, he lifted his fingers
as though to say, “What can you do?”

“What was the second thing?” I asked.

“Nico.” Bennett got right down to business. “I wasn’t able to get in touch with him
until yesterday,” he said. “He’s fighting chest congestion and is hoping it doesn’t
give way to pneumonia.” Bennett’s face clouded. “It’s tough getting old. We’re not
as resilient as we’d like to believe. For Nico to be fighting health problems while
he’s chasing down thieves . . .”

“You told him about the skull, I take it.”

“I had to. Nico is understandably distraught to think the skull may have been stolen.
He’s beside himself.”

“I can only imagine,” I said. “What does he plan to do about it?”

“That’s the thing.” Bennett crossed one long leg over the other, leaning back. Intertwining
his fingers atop his silver-white hair, he pursed his lips and squinted up toward
the ceiling. While his posture remained ramrod straight, his thoughtful, relaxed position
was new. He looked different, younger. For one brief moment, he no longer seemed a
septuagenarian billionaire; he looked like a thirty-something businessman, problem-solving
a particularly confounding challenge.

I waited.

Drawing a deep breath through flared nostrils, Bennett lowered his gaze to meet mine.
“He wants to come here. To see the photos for himself.”

“He doesn’t remember the mark?”

“He most definitely does.”

“Then why come here?”

“Nico doesn’t have any pictures of the mark on the skull. He neglected to have that
done when he set up his gallery.”

“Cesare fell down on the job,” I said. “The question is, was that an oversight or
was it intentional?”

“So you don’t trust the greasy little man either, do you?”

I laughed, despite myself. “Apt description. Truth is, I don’t know who to trust.”
I thought about Bennett’s admission that Pezzati sometimes played fast and loose.
“If anyone.”

Bennett adopted a faraway look again. “There’s more. First of all, I’m uncomfortable
with my old friend making this extensive trip while he’s fighting illness. He promised
he would wait until he was up to it, but Nico can be stubborn.”

“Tell him not to come,” I said. “I’ll scan copies and e-mail them.” A stutter-second
later, I asked, “He does have e-mail, right?”

Amused, Bennett said, “I suggested that option. People of my generation aren’t as
out of touch as you youngsters believe.”

“I never said
you
were out of touch.”

He made a conciliatory motion with his hand. “You’re too polite to say so, but I was
behind the times until Davey started helping me out. But we’re getting off point here.
Nico is determined to come out here for another reason. He believes that if he brings
the skull and we compare it with the photos, he’ll have his proof.”

“Here or there, the proof will be the same. I don’t understand his need to travel
across the ocean to see the pictures in person.”

Bennett’s mouth twisted. “He has more on his agenda.” Raising his voice, he spoke
over his shoulder, “You getting all this, Frances?”

From the doorway: “Loud and clear. Keep going.”

Bennett’s eyes sparkled when he turned to face me again. “That woman. I don’t know
why she doesn’t simply stomp in and make herself comfortable.”

She poked her head around the jamb. “Then who would stand guard out here to make sure
no one else eavesdrops? Did you think of that?” Ducking back out of sight, she shouted,
“And for the record, I do not stomp.”

Bennett’s wiry brows arched in amusement. “Noted,” he replied. Then to me: “About
Nico. He has it in his mind to scoop up my pictures and take them and the skull to
New York to confront Gerard.”

“What proof does he have that Gerard is behind the embezzlement?” I held my hands
up, not understanding. “How much money are we talking about, anyway?”

“In American dollars, Nico has lost several hundred thousand over the past few months.
They’re digging now to see how far back the problem goes.”

Incredulous, I asked, “How did no one notice that kind of money being routed through
the kitchen?”

Bennett held up both hands in a helpless gesture. “When you trust your staff—”

“There’s no oversight?”

Again, the helpless expression. “I realize how lucky I am to have you watching out
for my interests.”

“I still don’t understand how he knows Gerard is behind all this.”

“The accountant dug deeper. He found evidence of communication between Gerard and
the cook. I’m sketchy on the details, because Nico had difficulty communicating through
fits of coughing, but that’s the impression I get. The cook is under arrest, but swears
she’s innocent. Of course.”

“Do you realize that it’s been less than a week since we visited there? How did all
this come to pass so quickly?”

“I get the impression the accountant had begun looking into the books before we got
there. Apparently that big guy, Angelo, was instrumental in arranging for this audit.”

“Huh,” I said. “There goes my theory of Angelo being the bad guy.”

“There’s another factor I was unaware of until now.”

“What’s that?”

“Nico intends to bequeath Villa Pezzati to his town, structuring the transfer much
the way I have structured my gift to Emberstowne upon my death.”

“Why would he do that when he has children?”

“You know his opinion of Gerard.” Bennett waited for my nod before continuing. “Nico
is afraid that Gerard will come after Irena. I got the impression he believes his
son might weasel his sister’s share out from under her.” Bennett shook his head, looking
very sad. “Nico is providing comfortably for Irena, of course. He simply wants to
keep the estate out of his son’s hands.”

I sat back, digesting all this. “That’s huge.”

“Indeed.”

“Why did Angelo call for an audit, then? How does he figure into all this?”

“I was reluctant to push Nico for details.”

I crossed my arms on my desk and leaned forward. “Could Angelo have framed the cook?
I understand we only met the woman for a minute or so, but she hardly struck me as
the thieving type.”

Frances shouted from the other room, “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”

Bennett and I exchanged a look. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.

• • •

MID-AFTERNOON, IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT
Rudy had never shown up to tour Marshfield. Either that, or he’d neglected to ask
for me. I was about to call down there to ask Doris if she remembered seeing anyone
who fit Rudy’s description, when my cell phone rang.

I glanced at caller ID. Ronny Tooney. “Good to hear from you,” I said when I answered.
“Did anything ever come from that lead you mentioned?”

Traffic, shouts, whistles, and rumblings in the background made me strain to hear.
“Maybe,” he said. “What was the name of the guy you visited in Italy? Mr. Marshfield’s
good friend?”

“Nico Pezzati.”

Squeals, like those from a braking bus, filled the beat of silence between us. A moment
later he said, “You mentioned him in passing, that’s why it’s familiar, but you didn’t
give me that name to investigate.”

I sat up a little straighter, a curious
zing
running up my spine. “He isn’t a suspect.”

Crowd sounds filled the phone space. Much too busy for Emberstowne. Even in the middle
of tourist season. “What aren’t you telling me, Tooney? And where are you?”

“That list of names you gave me. I ran them all down as far as I could take them.
I couldn’t find your Pinky character, though. If I had a last name—”

“Detective Williamson identified her.” I provided the basic details about Diane Waters
of Brooklyn and waited for Tooney to write everything down. “Why did you ask me about
Nico Pezzati?”

“I’m in New York City.”

The background noise finally made sense. “Why?”

“You said you’d cover expenses. I flew out through Southwest. They were about ten
dollars more than taking a train, but I thought it was worth it to save time. I didn’t
schedule a return flight. I can take the train back if you want.”

“I’m not quibbling about costs, Tooney. I want to know why you went out there.”

“Every name you gave me came up empty. Nothing. It was either they didn’t exist, or
if they did, there was nothing pertinent to report.”

I rolled my wrist in a silent “Hurry it up” movement, even though he couldn’t see.

“You know I always want to do a thorough job for you. You’ve trusted me so far, and
I don’t want to blow it.”

Exasperated, I couldn’t keep my impatience from showing. “Cut to the chase.”

He smacked his lips. “I went back and tried again. Digging deeper this time with every
name. Still came up mostly empty.”

“Mostly.”

“Until I looked more closely at the leader of SlickBlade.”

I sucked in a breath. “Adam?”

“The very one.”

My hand gripped the receiver so tightly I was afraid I might crack it in half. “He
was here. Friday. He came to see me.”