Grace Cries Uncle (17 page)

“That's not it at all,” Bennett said. He didn't explain further. I was glad, because Frances could sniff out a lie in no time. I'd barely skated by with my lame excuse about Liza accessing my computer. “Let's switch to a far more critical subject.”

Had Frances been a Martian from a '60s TV show, her antennae would have sprung to attention at Bennett's use of the word
critical
.

“What's going on?” she asked.

Bennett lifted his chin. “The DNA results are in. From both labs.”

“And?” Frances shouted. Or maybe it was me.

Bennett's mood was upbeat, yet guarded. A little jittery. Not happy enough for me to believe that we'd gotten the outcome we'd hoped for. Not disappointed enough if our expectations had been crushed. He seemed nervous. I know I was.

“I've invited representatives from both labs to present their findings to us here. Tomorrow.”

Frances went speechless, but only for a moment. “You didn't
ask
?”

He shook his head. “I wanted us to hear the news together. I want you to be there, Frances. And Hillary, and whoever else we deem
worthy
.” Stressing the same word that Frances had used moments earlier, he winked. “Tomorrow's news could be life-changing. Let us give this momentous occasion the respect it deserves.”

I folded my hands in front of my face, inexplicably glad to have one more day to not know the truth. I wanted to be related to Bennett by blood. I wanted to be his family. I'd allowed myself to believe it could be true. Tomorrow's news could destroy that possibility forever.

“Here, you say?” Frances asked. “What time?”

“Early. Before the doors open for tours. I'd like everyone here by seven. When planning began for tomorrow evening's reception, I didn't know the results would be in. Tomorrow, it seems, will be exceptionally busy. I'd like to know the truth before . . .” He faltered. “Before the day gets away from us.”

My stomach clenched. Bennett wanted to know the truth—wanted everyone to know the truth—before the FBI confrontation tomorrow night. Fear clawed its way into my chest.

“Why before the reception, Bennett?” I asked. “Is there something you aren't telling me? Are you expecting problems tomorrow night?” What a stupid question, I thought, even as the words rushed out my mouth. Of course there would be danger. While the FBI would be present at the event, so might the killer.

“Problems?” he asked with a laugh and a penetrating look to remind me not to arouse Frances's curiosity more than we already had. “Don't be silly, Grace. I'm expecting tomorrow evening's event to be boring and bland.”

Too late. Frances arched a brow. “Then why host?” she
asked. “Particularly if you've made it a point to avoid the FAAC.”

“It is expected of me.” The finality in his tone was impossible to ignore.

“What about that item you talked about?” she persisted. “Or rather, that you wouldn't talk about? The mysterious item you hoped to obtain? Any news on that?” Before he could answer, she lifted her chin. “Or is that the real reason for this reception? You hope to close the deal and you don't want me to know about it?”

Bennett raised his hands in supplication. “You found me out, Frances. I should have known not to try to hide the truth from you.”

It was clear she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or truthful. “
Hmph
,” she grunted. “That better mean you're planning a surprise for me.”

When my desk phone jangled, I jumped, noticing, belatedly that Frances stood in the doorway.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Your caller ID isn't working? How should I know?”

“It's Amethyst Cellars,” I said, puzzled.

“Must be important.”

Scott was on the other end. “We don't like to bother you at work, Grace, but we have a weird situation here.”

Visions of Liza having slunk out from under Tooney's care made me grip the plastic handset tighter. “What happened?”

“Everything is okay,” Scott said. “I didn't mean to alarm you.”

The more he waited to tell me the reason for his call, the more alarm built in my twitching chest. “What's going on?”

“Do you remember that woman you met here the other night? Phyllis Forgue?”

“What's up with her?”

Scott told me he was in the back room, but still kept his voice extra quiet. “She's here again. She's been every day since she met you. We're thrilled because she buys wine every time, but it's obvious she's waiting for someone.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing the word out. “I'm not understanding.”

Scott grew even quieter. “We think she's waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Call it a sixth sense, or whatever you want, but you've gotten me and Bruce to pay closer attention when something doesn't feel right,” Scott said. “She spends time tasting and talking with the staff but always turns the topic to Marshfield and Bennett. And you. Especially you.”

“It's not like she and I connected personally.”

“Exactly. She seems disproportionately interested in your work with Bennett. Not to mention disappointed that she hasn't run into him at the FAAC convention yet.”

“Nor is she likely to,” I said. “But she'll see Bennett at the reception tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure she was invited?”

I thought about how often Bennett had hedged on details recently. But ever since I'd been brought in on the FBI initiative, I'd assumed I was fully informed. “To the best of my knowledge, she was. I'll check on that.”

“Thanks, Grace. I know this sounds like no big deal. But Bruce and I both think it's curious that this woman in town for the FAAC is spending so much time away from the convention to hang around us, talking about you.”

“I'm glad you told me.” I glanced out the windows. A soft snow was beginning to fall. “Is she still there?”

“She just pointed out three more wines she wants to sample. I assume she's sticking around for a while.”

“I'll swing by now and have a chat with her. Maybe I can find out what's really going on.”

“We don't mean to pull you away from work,” he said.

“Your vague sense that something's wrong is good enough for me.” Before he could answer, I continued, “Plus, I have news to share. I'll be there in about twenty.”

When we hung up I called Bennett. “You mentioned Phyllis Forgue was invited to tomorrow night's reception.”

“That's right,” he said.

“Is there any reason why she'd keep that fact under wraps?” I explained Scott's phone call. “I'm going there now.”

Bennett's voice was a growl. “I'm not certain that's a wise decision, Gracie,” he said. “Is Frances within earshot?”

I knew the answer without looking up. “Most definitely.”

“Then I won't expand. I will say this much: Remember that the item I'm seeking is also being sought by others. Others who may be willing to harm innocent people to obtain it.”

“I know that.”

Frances had moved closer to my desk, but not close enough to hear Bennett's end of the conversation.

“If Phyllis Forgue is part of this chase . . .”

“I'm sure she isn't.”

“Gracie.” His voice was a warning.

“It's the middle of the afternoon,” I said, mindful of Frances's intense scrutiny. “And even though I've tried very hard to stay busy, I can't concentrate. I'm worried, worked up, and nervous about the DNA results. I'm taking the afternoon off, if that's all right with you.”

Another growl from his side of the phone. “It seems you won't be talked out of this errand.” Not a question. So I didn't answer.

What I did say was, “Just to be clear: You can't think of any reason why Ms. Forgue wouldn't brag about having an invitation to your event?”

“No.”

“Would it be all right if I ask if she plans to attend?” I smiled innocently at Frances. “You know, to help confirm head count.”

I could practically hear the aggravation I was causing him.

“Like I said,” I continued, “it's the middle of the afternoon. I'll pop in and out. No problem. Unless there's a specific reason why I shouldn't bring it up. I mean, I know you confirmed her invitation the other day . . .”

Boy, it was tough to communicate with Frances hovering. What I wanted to ask was whether or not the FBI would have a problem with my interacting with Phyllis Forgue.

“Go ahead. But please be careful. Will you do that for me?”

“Of course.”

When we hung up, Frances glared. “I don't know what's going on between you two, but I'll find out. Count on it.”

*   *   *

Phyllis Forgue's pale face lit up when I stepped into Amethyst Cellars. I waved hello and unzipped my coat as she crossed the room to greet me.

“Grace! I was hoping to run into you again.”

“Very nice to see you, Phyllis.” I feigned surprise. “But why are you here? I would have expected you to be at the FAAC.”

“Oh that,” she said, flipping a dismissive hand. “The convention is so much less interesting without Bennett to chat with. How is he? Why haven't we seen him? The convention is nearly over and he hasn't made an appearance yet.”

She didn't wait for me to answer. “His assistant called me to let me know that he wouldn't be able to meet with me, but didn't explain why. At that point I still believed I'd see the old devil at the FAAC, so I didn't press the issue. Now I wish I would have.”

“Well,” I said, trying to come up with a vague enough response, “we've been very busy at Marshfield lately.”

Her fair brows came together. “His assistant wasn't forthcoming with information, let me tell you. A very brusque man. I don't understand why Bennett keeps an employee like that.”

I'd put money on the “assistant” being Agent McClowery. For lack of anything better, I said, “Bennett is a patient man.”

We made our way to the middle of the longer of the two bars in the wine shop, where she'd left her tasting notes. Amethyst Cellars was quiet at the moment. Two small groups—one at the far end of this bar, one group at the other—were participating in tastings. No one paid us any attention.

I had no reason to be there, really. I didn't suspect Phyllis Forgue of anything worse than narcissism. The only reason I'd made the effort to talk with her was because I trusted my roommates. I couldn't dismiss their worries.

“Phyllis,” I began, doing my best to adopt a conspiratorial air, “you are planning on attending Bennett's reception tomorrow night, aren't you?”

In a heartbeat she shifted from eager to manic. “I certainly am,” she whispered. “Everyone is talking about it, but I think the fewer people who know, the better.” She winked.

“I understand,” I said, as though I did. “Last time we met you mentioned a specific item you were interested in acquiring. Have you had any luck?”

She glanced about the room, taking in the busy wine tasters to ensure no one listened in. “There's a rumor floating around this year that Bennett has—shall we say—loosened up a little?”

She'd phrased it as a question, but I had no idea how to answer.

“Go on,” I said.

“You don't deny it?”

Playing along until I had a better idea of her point, I fixed my expression and said, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

She pursed and released her lips in rapid succession so many times that her signature cinnamon tint began to smear. After another wary glance around the room, her green cat eyes bore down on me. “Bennett has always been Mr. Clean when it comes to provenance. He won't touch—won't even look—at
a piece unless its ownership history is well-documented and pristine.”

Phyllis wasn't telling me anything I didn't already know. “Recently, however . . .” She smeared her lips together again. “The high-rollers are talking about how Bennett has his eye on a certain piece. That this item is so important to him and he desires it so much that he doesn't care how he gets it.”

Perspiration gathered at my neckline. “Phyllis,” I said, “it seems we have a great deal to discuss.” I removed my coat, buying myself time to play this moment correctly. Did Phyllis have the jeweled key? Was
she
the mysterious black market collector the FBI had been after all these years?

I detected a faint sheen above her sparse brows. She dragged her fingernails against her cheek, clearly impatient for me to continue. I think she was holding her breath.

“You do know that Bennett and I work together extremely closely,” I said.

She nodded.

“Good. Then am I to understand you are in possession of this elusive item?”

“Hypothetically,” she began, “if I were able to produce it, would Bennett be willing to meet with me? Alone, I mean?”

The last thing the FBI would approve—the last thing I would want—would be for Bennett to meet with anyone alone. I raised an eyebrow, serving up the best look of skepticism I could muster. “Maybe we need to confirm that we're talking about the same item, first.”

The light in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly. She ran long fingers through her red waves. “Word is, the reason why Bennett hasn't made an appearance at the FAAC this year is because he's waiting for the item to come to him.”

I made a so-so motion with my head, encouraging her to keep talking.

“That's why he's hosting this reception, isn't it? So that he can complete the transaction on his home turf?”

Choosing my words carefully, I said, “You have to admit it would be safer that way. For all parties.”

She stared out the condensation-fogged windows for a moment as though considering her next move.

“The item?” I prompted. “Do you have it?”

Her green eyes snapped back into focus, lasering on me. “Lovely seeing you again, Grace.” She spun her heavy coat around her shoulders, hitched her purse into the crook of her elbow, and started for the door. Over her shoulder she called, “Please tell Bennett that I look forward to meeting with him tomorrow night.”

“What was that all about?” Bruce asked when she was gone.

I shook my head, unsure of what had happened. Phyllis had never confirmed that she was in possession of the jeweled key. And yet, would she have? Given the item's history and value, it wouldn't make sense to make such a risky admission in the middle of a wine shop to someone she'd met only once.

An assistant took over tasting duties for Scott, freeing him to sidle up in time to hear me answer. “I'm glad you called me down here. I can't say I know much more than I did, but Phyllis Forgue is definitely worth watching.”

Scott grinned. “Glad to hear it. We felt a little embarrassed making the call. We don't want to be paranoid, but something wasn't right.”

Quick to change the subject before they pressed for details I couldn't provide, I said, “I have another, entirely selfish, reason for skipping out of work to come see you. Bennett stopped by my office this morning.” I drew a deep breath. “The test results are in.”

The two of them chorused in unison, “And?” exactly the way Frances and I had.

“Bennett didn't ask. He wants to have the great unveiling tomorrow morning at Marshfield. With friends, family, and lawyers in attendance, of course.”

Bruce wore a lopsided grin. “He seems pretty certain of the results. Are you sure he hasn't gotten a sneak peek?”

“Bennett wouldn't fib. Not about this.”

“Does he seem nervous at all?” Scott asked.

“A little.”

“Will you call us as soon as you find out?”

“Are you kidding?” I asked. “I want you both to be there. Bennett set the meeting up for seven in the morning. I thought that was early enough for you to still make it here before the shop opens.”

The two of them whooped so loudly everyone in the place turned to stare. “Sorry,” Scott said to the small crowd.

“I need to head home and make a few other arrangements before tomorrow,” I said.

Bruce ran a hand across his chin. “Liza?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Liza.”