Grace Under Pressure (10 page)

Carr took a step forward. “Have you met the team I inherited? Not one of them has actually been trained in security. They’ve been instructed on pointing out the washrooms and keeping kids from climbing on the furniture. There are no emergency protocols set up. Nobody here has any experience on the street, and this place has never even run a safety drill. How many times do you think any of these people have had to deal with a murder? Zero. Nobody knew what the hell to do yesterday, and we’re just damn lucky that no one else got hurt.” He held a finger up close to Jack’s face. “I admit that mistakes were made. And I take responsibility. But it wouldn’t hurt to pay closer attention yourself. Next time somebody questions you, maybe you ought to check before spilling your guts.”

Eyes tight with anger, Jack edged forward. A tiger ready to leap.

From behind me, Earl spoke up. “If this Ronny fellow sneaked in here because he’s trying to help figure out who killed Abe, then I don’t see what’s so wrong about that.” He turned his back to us, resuming work on his pansy. “Maybe he’ll get the job done before the cops do.”

Addressing the elderly gardener, Carr modulated his tone. “What we all need to realize is that by interfering, this Tooney idiot is hampering the real investigation. If you see him around, Earl, call me on the radio. Okay? He doesn’t belong here.”

Turning to Jack I asked, “So what happened—what did you tell the fake detective?”

I could tell Carr had been about to ask the same question.

The defensive fury in Jack’s eyes slipped away. He rolled his shoulders and took a breath before answering. “There are people going in and out of the mansion all the time,” he began. “So at first I didn’t think anything of a man in coveralls walking behind the western section of the house.”

“You saw him?” Carr asked. “What did he look like?”

“He was pretty far away, and the sun was in my eyes.” Pointing eastward, he continued. “I was up there, in that little gorge. I thought it was Kenny at first—which is why seeing him around the grounds didn’t bother me. But then I noticed Kenny was standing about fifty feet away from me. I called to the guy. He turned and started to run. I ran after him. But the guy was fast—I lost him in the trees.”

Carr had been jotting notes as Jack spoke. Now he looked up, gesturing with his eyes toward the hotel. “The trees? The ones closer to the road, or the ones behind the hotel?”

“Road,” Jack said. “And before you ask, I did call it in. But by the time I got ahold of the dispatcher, all hell had already broken loose.”

“Come up with me. I want the detectives to hear this.”

Jack patted Earl on the shoulder. “You gonna be okay for a little while out here by yourself?”

“I been running these grounds since before your daddy could crawl,” he said without looking up. “You go on ahead.”

“I’m going in, too,” I said. “I have a few other people to talk with.”

The three of us strode to the house and parted company at the back entrance. Carr and Jack headed up while I took the stairs down to the basement.

Bennett Marshfield’s grandfather, Warren, Sr., hadn’t spared any expense when building his mansion. Even this belowground level was filled with decorative detail. Although less opulent than the upper stories, the hallways and rooms—which formerly housed staff living quarters—were cheerful and bright. The high windows allowed shafts of natural sunlight to bounce down onto the polished floors. Paintings—though not any of the real masters—adorned walls at regular intervals, each piece of artwork accompanied by a small plaque explaining the style, the medium, the time period. Warren Marshfield had been known for his penchant for educating others. Staff included.

I mulled over my discussion with Jack Embers. Embers, as in Emberstowne, I assumed, since Earl had referred to Jack as a hometown boy. The municipality had been founded shortly after the Civil War by the Embers family who had—briefly—been the town’s most important people. That is, until the Marshfields discovered the beautiful area and moved in. I was mildly surprised the town name hadn’t been changed to honor them. I wondered if Jack was a direct descendant of the original Embers family.

None of this mattered today, however. What mattered was finding the killer, and once Jack told the real police about the man he’d seen, maybe the authorities would put out an all-points bulletin. Or whatever it was they did these days to apprehend criminals.

So far, Emberstowne’s finest hadn’t impressed me overmuch. I hoped they were more astute than they appeared. They had demanded that all personnel report to the mansion today, whether scheduled to work or not. That was something, at least. Maybe now with the place on virtual lockdown there would be little chance of Ronny Tooney sneaking in to gum up the works.

I took yet another flight of steps down to one of the sub-basements. These areas housed the massive laundry room; miscellaneous storage areas; and the clunky machinery required to keep the house warm, cool, and properly humidified. The scent of hot cotton and bleach hit me at the entrance to the laundry room. Although the door was wide open, I knocked at the jamb. Eight hair-netted women leaned against washers, dryers, and folding tables. Most held mugs in their hands. At my knock, they straightened. “Wait,” I said as they quickly scattered. “I need to talk with you.”

They eyed me suspiciously. Our head of housekeeping, Rosa Brelke, sat on a folding chair. She’d evidently been holding court.

“I understand that we’ve all suffered a major shock,” I said to the group. “It’s natural to want to talk about it. It’s good that you’re doing so.”

Melissa Delling stood behind Rosa, clearly uncomfortable. For her part, Rosa seemed recovered enough from yesterday’s trauma to shoot me a knowing look. She lumbered to her feet and made her way over with a pronounced waddle. “You want me to come talk to the police again, yes?” she asked.

“I’m sure the police will be down here later but for right now, I want to ask you a few questions, myself.” I nodded toward Melissa. “Both of you.”

The younger woman looked surprised but it was the reaction of the rest of them—rushing out the door as quickly as possible—that made it clear I had interrupted a coffee klatch. A thirty-something woman with four inches of black roots in her white blond hair and undisguised anxiety in her eyes tapped me on the arm as she walked past. “No harm done. Just talking here.”

“I understand,” I said. “What’s your name?”

The fear in her eyes sparked. “Yvonne.”

“It’s been rough for all of us the past couple of days, Yvonne,” I said. “I’m not down here to double-check on you. I’m here to talk with Rosa and Melissa.”

Clearly, these people had been affected by the death of a colleague, but when it came down to it—in an economy as volatile as this one—they were more concerned about how Abe’s death affected them personally.

Rosa and Melissa eyed me warily. “Thanks for staying,” I said when everyone else was gone.

Rosa grunted as she settled herself onto her folding chair with Melissa standing next to her. For the first time, I got a good look at the younger woman. I put her in her late twenties, although her hands, rough and red, looked as though they belonged to someone much older. She wore a silver claddagh ring—facing inward—on her wedding finger. Her pale face was freckled and lovely. She watched me as warily as the other women had, but with a sadness in her eyes that seemed out of place in someone so young. That’s what finding a dead body will do to you.

I glanced around and noticed several more metal chairs leaning against a nearby wall. I dragged two of them over and squeaked them open, inviting Melissa to sit. She looked as though she would prefer to be anywhere but here. Was I so frightening? I suppose I might be. No one knew that until I had a better sense of the big picture, I didn’t intend to initiate any personnel changes. That would come later, if at all. But there was no assuaging the fear I sensed in every single staff person’s demeanor when they interacted with me.

“I’d like to ask you just a few questions about yesterday. You both gave the police your statements, didn’t you?”

Rosa shrugged. Melissa nodded.

“I understand you both saw someone in the study.”

“He was there.” Rosa raised her hands and clapped them in the air. “Then he gone!”

“What did he look like?”

Rosa frowned. “Dark pants. Dark shirt. I no see his face.”

“How old, about?”

Another frown. “I not know so good ages. Young kid. Maybe like you,” she said to me. Turning to Melissa, she asked, “That right?”

Melissa made a face. “Not so young,” she said. “But I only got a quick look. I told the police that. It all happened so fast.”

I nodded, trying to encourage her to talk more. When allowed to ramble, people often reconnected with memories they’d forgotten they had. “Were you outside the room when you heard the gunshots?”

“Yes.” Melissa clenched her eyes as though trying to banish the memory from her mind. “I hate this,” she said, her voice shaky. “This is so hard.”

I patted her arm. “It’s okay. I don’t mean to bring it all back.”

Rosa pointed upstairs. “We always clean study first. But we no clean when the Mister is there. He no like that. We hear somebody in study—we start on bedroom instead.” Her eyes widened. “Then we hear popping noise and something fall down.”

“So you ran to the study?” I asked, thinking that most people might have gone for cover.

“Yah, of course. I think maybe something get broken, you know?” Rosa held her hands to her crimson red hair. “Oh my, my, then I see body on the ground. I sure it’s the Mister.” She pointed to Melissa. “She think so, too.”

I turned to the young woman. “What happened next?”

Rosa looked peeved to have the attention taken away from her, but Melissa answered, speaking slowly. I got the impression she was a simple girl. “Just like she said, right off we was both sure it was Mr. Bennett layin’ on the floor. I really thought it was. But we called for help right away. We really did.”

“That’s when the man took off?”

“He disappear,” Rosa said. She snapped her fingers. “He just . . . gone.”

I turned to Melissa. “Disappeared?”

She gave a slight headshake. “I grabbed Rosa and we ran back for our radios because we left them in the bedroom. But by the time we got back, the guy was gone.”

“Could he have gotten out of the room and down the hall without you seeing him?”

“No way,” Rosa said, pointing to her eyes and winking. “I see everything.”

Melissa seemed to consider that. “Yeah. We weren’t gone long, but it was enough time for sure.”

“Did you
hear
anything else?”

Rosa shook her head, but Melissa perked up. “Now that you mention it, I think I did hear running.” Her sad eyes brightened slightly. “Sort of loud. Like a heavy person, you know? It sounded like he went toward the back stairs. And I heard a door slam.”

“A door? Where?”

Her brows came together and she stared at the floor as though trying to remember. “Can’t say for sure. Maybe downstairs one floor? I don’t know. Maybe two? Kinda far enough away that I couldn’t tell.”

“Thanks, Melissa. I know this has been hard on you.”

Her eyes welled up. “Abe was always nice to me,” she said, her voice unsteady. “I really wish he wasn’t dead.”

I patted her arm. “We all do.”

WHEN I GOT BACK, FRANCES WASN’T THERE. I peeked into Abe’s office, wondering if I would catch her rummaging through his files, but the place was empty. Well, except for the pile of notes she’d left on my desk. I thumbed the edge of the small stack. At least a dozen calls to return. I cast a longing glance at my computer and noticed I had no new e-mails. There were times I felt Marshfield Manor was caught in a time warp. Most discussions were held over the phone or in person. Memos—when they were written at all—came out on paper. As much as I would have liked to send out updates via the Internet, I had come to the realization that almost no one in-house ever checked their e-mail.

My stomach growled just as the grandfather clock chimed one. Where had the morning gone? The cup of coffee and handful of almonds I’d had for breakfast wasn’t doing it for me anymore. Unfortunately, I’d forgotten my lunch.

I took another look at the pile of pink papers on my desk. We really needed to go green around here. So much wasted paper.

The top message was the oldest—it had come in just minutes after I’d gone downstairs. Frances always made sure to arrange them chronologically so that I wouldn’t mistakenly return the most recent call first. I thumbed the edge of the stack again. Grabbing food versus returning these calls. My stomach made its preferences clear, but I thought about how disheartening it would be to come back to all this, and decided to get through at least a few of them first.

Rather than return calls in order, I decided to shuffle through the pile and prioritize. Frances would have a fit.