Grace Among Thieves (17 page)

Chapter 17

FRANCES AND I WORKED QUIETLY IN OUR respective offices for the next several hours. I’d left a message on Mark’s cell phone about plans for tonight with Bennett. I asked him to call me if there was any problem but I hoped he’d call me either way.

So deep was I in the week’s departmental reports I barely paid attention to sounds coming from Frances’s area until two female voices, rising in intensity, brought my attention back to the present in a hurry. Even as I stood, I recognized both combatants: Frances arguing with Hillary.

Hillary had her back to me when I came around the corner. White linen pants and matching jacket. One fist jammed into an angrily thrust hip. “Why do I need an appointment to see one of
my
employees?”

Frances snorted. “Grace doesn’t work for you, she works for the Mister. And you’d better watch your step, or you may find yourself working for
her
someday.”

Uh-oh. I couldn’t let Frances go down that road. “What did you need, Hillary?” I asked, changing the trajectory of the conversation.

She whirled on me. “An appointment, apparently. Since when do I need one? And why is she”—Hillary pointed without looking at Frances—“acting as gatekeeper?”

Without waiting for me to reply she stormed right at me, expecting me to move out of the way to allow her passage through the door. I leaned against the jamb and folded my arms, effectively thwarting her progress. “I asked Frances to screen visitors.” I hadn’t, but it sounded good. Behind her, Frances smirked. “What do you need?”

Hillary gave an indignant head-waggle. Under the white sweater, she wore a boatneck silk shell of bright blue. It set off her blonde highlights so perfectly it was like she’d planned it. I was sure she had.

“I need to talk with you,” she said, then added with dripping sarcasm, “obviously.”

“In regards to what?”

Frustration worked over her features, but I had to give her credit for holding her tongue in check. “Can we talk in your office?” Over her shoulder, she added, “Privately?”

I relented. “Come on in.” I watched her shoot an “I told you so” look at Frances, so I added, “But leave the door between our offices open.”

“Are you kidding? All she’ll do is eavesdrop.”

My assistant’s grin grew bigger when I said, “That will save me having to bring her up to date when you leave.”

To my surprise Hillary didn’t protest further. “Fine,” she said walking past when I stepped out of her way. “This shouldn’t take long.”

Once we were settled, Hillary wasted no time. “Corbin says I have to get an okay from you if I want to be in the final cut.” She waited.

“What about Bennett? What does he say?”

“He says it’s up to you. I have no idea why.”

“I have no idea why either.”

“Speaking of my stepfather . . .” She leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “I have another reason for talking with you today.”

I waited.

“If you and I were to work together, it could benefit us both.”

“Work together how?”

“Maybe you and I can figure out a way to convince him into giving me a bigger stake here. You know I respect what you do here and I’d keep you in charge of the manor, no matter what.”

She must have misinterpreted my look of shock because she continued as though I’d encouraged her. “It’s lucky I’ve been here lately to keep an eye on him. I mean, I’m sure you’ve noticed,” she gave a slow, weighty wink, “that Papa Bennett requires more supervision lately. He seems to be losing touch with reality.”

Anger rushed up fast and hot, requiring every ounce of my resolve to keep me from leaping to my feet and throwing her out on her fancy little rear. I almost couldn’t speak. “How dare you?” I slammed both palms onto my desk. “Don’t you ever say such a thing.”

Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped.

I wasn’t finished. “Your stepfather is sharper and more on top of things than people half his age. Including you. Don’t even go there. Do
not
attempt to undermine his authority. It’s beneath you.”

She worked hard to rearrange her face back into a semblance of calm. “Ooh,” she said lightly with a forced smile. “That must have come out wrong. I didn’t mean any disrespect to Papa Bennett.”

Yeah, right,
I thought.

“What I was trying to say was . . .” She bit her lower lip and inched forward in her chair, buying time. “I think Papa Bennett may be losing out on some excellent promotion.”

My expression didn’t change, so she talked faster. “He’s all for this DVD, right?” Without giving me a chance to interject, she went on, “I’m thinking that if he and I were to appear on camera together—family values and all—people may be more interested in watching it. That’s better for business, isn’t it?”

She was working hard to save face. When it came to his relationship with Hillary, I worried about Bennett—always. He longed for family, for people to care as deeply for him as he did for them. Hillary’s relentless entreaties, her never-ending quest to get Bennett to change his will was maddening. Worse, it was hurtful to Bennett.

He deserved better. I thought about his desire to have our DNA tested. Maybe relenting would ultimately prove to be the best option. If we were blood relatives, Hillary would be obliged to back off, wouldn’t she? I swallowed my anger and decided to push that decision aside for now.

“You’re here because you want to be in the DVD? That’s it?”

She clearly had more on her mind, but whatever had transpired between us kept her silent. I read that on her face in two heartbeats. “That’s it.”

“Fine. You’re in.” She started to get up but I remembered the last time we’d talked and stopped her. “You seemed to be in quite a hurry to leave when the detectives were here,” I said. “What’s up with that?”

“Those two make me nervous.” She gave a high-pitched giggle even though nothing was funny.

I leaned forward and lowered my voice. “You don’t have anything to hide, do you?” I asked. “You know you can tell me.”

For a split second she looked tempted but then laughed again. “Don’t be silly.” Jumping to her feet, she said, “It’s getting late. I have to run. Thanks for letting me be a part of the DVD appearance. You know I’m always willing to go the extra mile to help out Papa Bennett.” By the time she got to the end of this little speech, she was at the doorway, beaming brightly, and wiggling her fingers at me. “See you later.”

Moments later, I heard the outer door slam shut.

Frances came around immediately, holding aloft a pink “While You Were Out” slip. “Your friend Ronny Tooney called while her highness was whispering betrayals into your ear.” The look of distaste on her face made me wonder which one of the two she despised more: Hillary or our would-be detective. “She’s got a lot of nerve trying to make the Mister look bad. That girl is a bigger fool than I gave her credit for.” Frances waved the pink slip again, signaling a change in topic. “Tooney says he might have a lead on the item you asked about.”

“That’s great.”

“He’s on his way,” she said. “I told him to meet you in the rose garden. That way he stays outside and in plain sight.” She held up a fleshy arm to check her watch. “He should be here soon.”

“You think of everything, Frances.”

“Uh-huh.” She turned and strutted toward the door. “And don’t you forget it.”

* * *

I HADN’T HAD A CHANCE TO WANDER through the rose garden much this season, so I took the opportunity to stroll while I waited for Tooney to show. The enormous walled garden, nearly the size of a football field, featured hundreds of roses of all sizes, colors, and varieties. I had a preference for pink- and salmon-colored flowers and I made my way to the center where petite clump roses were trained to grow along trellises that formed a fragrant walkway.

I meandered at will. With four entrances to the garden, one at each corner, and low foliage throughout, it would be easy to spot Tooney the moment he arrived. A brick path struck off on a diagonal from the central sidewalk and I took it, breathing in the sweet, summery scent of new blooms.

A small conservatory anchored the garden’s southern end. Our master gardener, Old Earl, often sat on a stool inside the humid, glass-roofed structure, potting new cuttings and waxing nostalgic for the days when he’d been in charge of the entire estate. I started for the conservatory to say hello, but when I cupped my hands over my eyes to peer through the dusty glass, I realized the place was empty.

I turned around and nearly jumped.

“Jack,” I said, shocked to see him less than ten feet away from me. “Where did you come from?”

He pointed toward the conservatory’s far side. “Around the corner.” His khaki shorts were dirty at the hems, his blue T-shirt was stained with sweat, and it looked as though he had forgotten to shave this morning. “Were you looking for me?” he asked.

“No.” I snapped at his assumption, then amended, “Sorry. You startled me. I was looking for Old Earl.”

“What do you need him for?”

I waved away the question. “I didn’t. I’m out here to meet someone and I thought I’d duck in and say hello while I waited.”

“Meeting someone? The guy you were with the other day?”

“No,” I said, but not so sharply this time.

Jack shifted his weight. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. You?”

He watched me. “Been better.”

Awkwardness rushed up to engulf us once again.

“The guy from the other day,” Jack said, “he’s the one who got shot, isn’t he?”

“That’s right.”

Jack’s face creased into a smile bigger than I’d ever seen on him before. “I’m sorry to hear that. It dawned on me later who he was. At first I thought . . .” He didn’t finish the sentence. “I guess that doesn’t matter right now. You were probably helping him move to the Marshfield Hotel when I ran into you. Is that it?”

“You got me.”

He heaved a deep sigh. “Davey mentioned the other day that you and Bennett were taking care of the victim. Makes sense.” I’d never seen Jack like this: rambling, nervous, shifting from foot to foot. “How is he? The victim, I mean. I forgot his name.”

“Mark.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Mark. I take it he’s doing well? Has he been able to help the cops find the killer?”

“Not yet,” I said. All the while Jack had been talking I’d been waging a war in my head. Should I tell him that Mark and I had gone out together and were planning to do so again? I tried to come up with a decent segue, but Jack was still talking.

“Things are getting better,” he said. “In case you were wondering.”

I remembered what Frances had told me about Becke being back in town. “Yes, I’ve heard.”

He brightened. “You have?”

“Word gets around.”

It was either my tone or my expression, but Jack started to get the message. Yet he persisted with the cheerful commentary. “What you did for me and my family has made a difference. Now that people realize I’m not a killer, business has really picked up. I’ve got a handful of clients already and more waiting in the wings.”

“That’s great.”

“I have you to thank for it.”

Irritation strangled me. He’d had weeks to start this conversation, but he’d waited until
after
he’d seen me in the company of another man to start talking again?

He took my silence as encouragement to continue. “All these new clients make me believe the folks in Emberstowne are trying to make up for lost time.”

“What about you? Are you making up for lost time?”

I could tell I’d confused him. He took a step closer. “If you’re talking about us,” he began, “I’d like to apologize—”

“I’m talking about Becke.” Even as the words rushed out I couldn’t believe I was actually saying them. It wasn’t that I enjoyed making him uncomfortable. Rather, I wanted to get this topic out in the open so we could deal with it and move on. Maybe then I’d stop second-guessing my feelings for Mark.

His expression swung from disbelief, to indignation, and finally to repentance. “What have you heard?”

More in control of my emotions than I’d ever been around Jack in the past, I didn’t see reason to provide answers. “Enough.”

Staring at the ground, he rubbed a hand across his forehead as he sought to explain. “I don’t know what you think—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

His head snapped up. “Of course it does. You’re hurt.”

“I’m not,” I assured him. That was a lie, but it felt good to say. “I’m simply moving on. We tried. It didn’t work.”

“
You
tried.” His tone was melancholy. “It’s my fault. I kept pushing you away. I’ve isolated myself for so long that I don’t know how to share. Especially with you, after all that happened. But I really am trying to relearn how to be there for another person.”

“You seem to be doing very well with Becke.” As the snippy comment fell out, I thought:
So much for pretending not to be hurt.

“Becke.” He said her name with more helplessness than affection. He ran his hands up the sides of his face. “Would you at least give me a chance to explain?”

“You don’t owe me any explanation.”

“Are you seeing someone?” he asked.

I was spared answering because at that moment my phone rang. I pulled up the handset to check caller ID. Mark. Pleasure flooded my entire body and I smiled. “I should take this,” I said.

“You
are
seeing someone.” He nodded toward the little phone. “And you’re happy, aren’t you?”

“I have to go.”

I spied Tooney entering the walled garden from the far entrance. He was on his cell phone as well. As I started toward him and hit the button that connected me to Mark, Jack grabbed my arm. “You’re not seeing Tooney, are you? Romantically, I mean.”

I burst out laughing. “No,” I said, feeling ridiculously good all of a sudden. Jack stepped back, looking embarrassed he’d asked. “Thanks,” I said. “I needed that.” Into the phone, I said, “Hey, how are you doing?”

I was so glad Mark had called. Even though he was fully apprised of the plans for the evening, it was great to hear his voice. “I’m kind of feeling as though I’m meeting your parents,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve got butterflies in my stomach.”