Grace Under Pressure (32 page)

I stepped forward, my good mood dampened by the obvious tension in the room. “Bennett, I didn’t know you were here.”

He stood. “I gathered as much.”

Still seated, Frances piped up, “Mr. Marshfield came down here to talk about all your recent excitement over the past few days.”

“Of course.” I started to move toward my office door. “Come in, please. I’d like to bring you up to date on Percy and on Geraldine.”

He stared at me for a long moment. Turning to Frances, he said, “I will be upstairs if anyone needs me,” and walked past me.

“Bennett,” I said.

He didn’t answer.

“What’s happened?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”

Turning, his eyes narrowed as though searching for answers in mine. “I’m far too tired for weighty decisions today,” he said. “Far too tired.” Without another word, he left.

I pounced on Frances the moment the door shut. “What did you say to him?”

Brows up, eyes wide, she blinked. “He’s the owner. He’s entitled to know what’s going on around here.”

“What did you tell him? Specifically?”

She pursed her lips. “To expect a court order.”

“From whom?”

Frances stared up at me in disbelief. “Who do you think?”

I held my hands out trying to grasp what was going on. “I’m totally confused here, Frances. What in the world are you hinting at?” But even as I said the words, I put it together with her “Mizz Marshfield” comment earlier. Frances must have gotten a look at my grandmother’s file. I gritted my teeth. “You had no right to go through my desk.”

“I didn’t,” she said with a smirk. “You left it right on top. Like you wanted me to find it.”

“Why did you tell Bennett?”

She barked a laugh. “You had him fooled. You had us all fooled. Somebody needed to warn the Mister that you weren’t the sweet, helpful soul you pretend to be.”

“I would never have told him.”

“Sure, you wouldn’t.”

There was no reasoning with this woman. “It’s all circumstantial, Frances. You can see that much. Why would I jeopardize my job here with no proof?”

“Jeopardize your job?
Pheh
. When you think you can finagle inheriting the entire estate? I don’t think so.”

My euphoria was long gone. In its place I felt only frustration, helplessness, and fury. “I’ll set this right,” I said. “You’ll see.”

Trying to decide my best course of action, I returned to my desk. A moment later I heard the outer door close. I got up to check. Frances was gone.

Although I knew it would be better to wait, to rehearse just the right words to explain, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing the phone and dialing Bennett. His line rang. And rang. He had apparently shut off his voicemail, and I let the
whirr
repeat twenty times before I gave up. I tried reaching him on the walkie-talkie, on his direct channel. No answer.

I didn’t blame him for being upset at the possibility that his father may have had an affair with my grandmother, but I did blame him for listening to Frances’s ugly whispers. He knew how much she liked to gossip. Why couldn’t he see that she’d distorted the facts?

I thought about his lament about everyone trying to get a piece of him. He now thought of me as one of them. My throat hurt. He’d begun to trust me. But now . . .

Unable to help myself, I tried calling Bennett again, both on the phone and on the walkie-talkie. Still no luck. I tried reaching him elsewhere. Terrence hadn’t seen him, nor had anyone else.

On a hunch, I took a walk down to the Birdcage room. I looked around the bright area—searching—and coming up empty yet again. The sun filtering through the topmost shades, and the harpist plucking out notes of a soft song gave the area a quiet calm. Tourists sat at tables, drinking tea and enjoying finger sandwiches. This is where it had all begun. Where Percy had started us down a tragic spiral. Where Bennett had warned me that I was on probation.

Just today—just an hour ago—I’d been willing to give up this job, to cave in to the pressures surrounding me. But now, the idea of losing my place here made me physically ill.

With no way to reach Bennett, I returned to my office, determined more than ever to figure out who might have killed Abe. For the briefest of moments, I was tempted to use the hidden staircase by the fireplace and confront Bennett in his rooms. I knew, however, that accessing the secret passage—a tangible example of his trust in me—would send the wrong signal at this point. I needed to give him the time he needed to cool off. Then I’d approach him, through normal channels. He was a rational man, wasn’t he? He had to listen to me. He just had to.

FRANCES DID HER BEST TO MAKE ME FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE Friday morning. Shooting me scathing looks whenever I crossed her path, she whispered into the telephone at every available opportunity, switching to stony silence whenever she spotted me. No doubt she was eagerly spreading word of my impending release.

Bennett still wouldn’t answer his phone. Worried for his safety, I checked with Terrence and discovered that Bennett had dismissed his bodyguards. “You’re kidding,” I said. “With Percy being shot, it’s obvious the killer is still out there.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Terrence said with steel in his voice. “He and I have gone ’round and ’round with this. He’s sick of being treated like a child—his words—and he refuses to cooperate. Tell you the truth, Grace, I think he believes that if he ignores the problem, it will go away.” Terrence heaved a deep sigh. “He wouldn’t be the first.”

“If you see him, please ask him to call me.”

“Will do.”

That afternoon, I looked up from my Taft project, bleary-eyed, when my cell phone rang. Liza again. I silenced the ring, and waited for the chirp of a voicemail. Nothing. Good. I had nothing to say to her. Not now. Maybe not ever. When the phone rang again moments later—Liza—I shut it off completely.

I stood up to stretch then wandered to the window. Tomorrow night was my “date” with Jack at Hugo’s. What had put me in such a good mood just yesterday was causing me angst today. Although I very much wanted to go out with him, my mood was so dark that I feared I would be miserable company.

Grabbing my walkie-talkie, I decided to check in with some of the staff. Jack had told me that my visits had been helping morale and that people felt good knowing their efforts were appreciated. Attempting to put Bennett’s displeasure with me out of my mind, I headed out to do my job.

Frances stopped me. “Where are you going?”

“Is there something you needed?”

“It’s just . . . I’m leaving early today.” She glanced at the grandfather clock. “In about five minutes. I left a note on your desk last week.”

She had, and I’d forgotten. But I wasn’t about to admit that. “No problem. If anyone needs me, they can reach me here.” I held up the walkie-talkie.

“Taking it along this time, are you?”

I ignored her and left the room.

LOIS AND TWO OTHER ASSISTANT CURATORS were in the process of acquiring an antique paperweight that had recently become available through one of our European channels. They updated me, and while there Lois and I discussed the ultimate placement of the Raphael Soyer painting. I suggested a location in the former Smoking room, but Lois preferred one of the second-floor bedrooms. We both looked forward to making that decision upon the painting’s return.

Outside, I made my way over to visit Earl. “How’s it going?” I asked him.

He pulled a Starlight mint out from his deep pocket and handed it to me. “Well enough for a Friday.”

I took a moment to gaze out over the grounds. “Just beautiful,” I said. “You’ve made spring come alive.”

“Nah,” he said, “Mother Nature takes care of that. I just make sure we give her ’nuff to work with.”

“Is Jack around?”

“Took off,” he said. “Always leaves early on Fridays.”

A tall young man hustled over, his blond hair dripping sweat, his coveralls stained down both sides as though he had a habit of wiping dirty hands on his legs. Out of breath he said, “Hey, Earl,” and jerked a thumb eastward. “The damn tractor died on me again. Mind if I go scare up some help from maintenance?”

“You go ahead,” Earl said. “Tell them I’m warning ’em, they better fix it right this time.”

The young man was about to take off when Earl grabbed his arm. “Hang on, Kenny.” The elderly gardener turned to me. “You think maybe you could help us out, Grace? Maintenance keeps telling us that old tractor is fine, but it breaks down about once a week. Maybe if you talk to them?”

“Sure,” I said but my mind was not on heavy equipment. “You’re Kenny?”

“Kenneth to my mom, but yeah.”

“Are there any Kennys on staff?”

“No, ma’am. We got two Bobs and two Jims, but I’m the only Kenny.”

“But,” I stopped myself before the words came out. Jack had said that he saw a man running from the mansion at the time Abe was killed. He’d also said that he’d originally thought it was Kenny. This young man standing in front of me was tall, lanky, fair-haired, and no more than twenty-five years old.

Rodriguez was looking for a man between thirty-five and fifty, under six feet tall, and a little bit overweight. Not like Kenny here. Not at all.

“But what?” he asked.

“Nothing.” I scratched the side of my head. “I’ll talk with maintenance,” I said. Distracted, I thanked them both for their time and walked away.

If only I’d had a chance to talk with Percy. He’d all but admitted he’d given the police an erroneous description. What had the killer really looked like? From the description Rodriguez had, I was surprised he hadn’t ever seriously considered Ronny Tooney as a suspect. Because unless I’d received bad information from Rodriguez, Ronny Tooney fit.

Fit
exactly
.

But then, who had Jack seen running from the mansion? Should we be looking for an accomplice? Rodriguez had gotten the description of the middle-aged man from our housekeeping staff. Had Tooney been involved from the very beginning?

I walked quickly, but my mind raced faster.

Rosa might very well have known about the secret room and staircase adjacent to the study. In fact, with all her years in service to Marshfield, I would have been surprised if she
didn’t
know. What if she’d shared that information with cousin Ronny? That could easily explain how he had been able to get in without being seen—and get out without being caught.

Back inside, I knew better than to confront Rosa directly. If my suspicions were correct, the moment she smelled my interest she’d report it to Tooney. My heels clicked down the tile steps as I formulated a plan. So much information had been provided by hearsay. The only person who told me himself that the killer looked like Kenny was Jack. Now that I’d met Kenny, I needed to get the rest of my facts straight.

If Rosa was somehow protecting Tooney, I intended to find out. And the only way to do so was to exploit the weak link.

Making my way to the basement, down through the labyrinthine hallways, the cacophony of busy washers and dryers and the scents of hot cotton and bleach were my guides. Three women folding gold-crested navy blue towels chatted as they worked.

“Excuse me,” I said over the din of the laundry machines. “Is Melissa around?”

Yvonne tapped one of her companions on the shoulder and pointed. When Melissa spotted me, she gave a nervous wave. Would my presence always inspire such trepidation in the staff? If Frances had her way, I might never find out.

I gestured for Melissa to follow me to a quieter location. “I’d like to ask you a few questions,” I said. The staff break room was two doors away from the laundry room, and empty. I ushered Melissa close to the windows. That way, we would be far enough from the door so no one could overhear.

Melissa looked ready to throw up. “What’s wrong?”

“You and Rosa were upstairs when Abe was killed, right?” I knew that already, but I wanted to ease into my interrogation.