Grace Cries Uncle (19 page)

“Yes, yes,” I said, trying to hurry her along. “Please, Frances. Trust me on this.”

She growled a
harrumph
, but nodded, then stomped out the door.

The moment she was gone, I spun. “What are you doing here?”

McClowery responded in kind. “We have a major operation in place for tonight. You don't think that takes some advance planning?” He sucked in a deep breath. “Why is your sister here?”

This was bad. Very bad. Liza wasn't stupid. It wouldn't take long for her to realize that McClowery's presence here meant that the FBI expected Eric to show.

“I have a meeting this morning.”

“The DNA results meeting.” He didn't phrase it as a question.

“You know about that?”

“Of course,” he said impatiently. “That doesn't answer my question. Why is your sister here?”

“There was no one to keep an eye on her at home.”

“This is great, just great.” Hostility tinged each
enunciated word. “I was led to believe that no one—except you and the security staff, of course—would be in at this time. Bennett mentioned you'd be in early. I intended to talk with you about arrangements for tonight. How was I to know you'd have a crowd gathered here?”

“What did you need from me?”

McClowery rubbed the back of his neck. “What about the older woman? Your assistant. What's her story?”

“Frances is the biggest gossip I've ever met in my life.”

“This is getting better and better.” He began to pace the room. “Ten years tracking Mr. X and it all falls apart at the last minute.”

“Now that Frances knows something is up, she's going to be relentless trying to figure out what it is. Bring her in on the plan, and I promise I'll be able to manage her.”

He stopped to glare at me. “You're suggesting I risk the success of a major FBI operation by sharing details with the biggest gossip you've ever met? Are you out of your mind?”

“What other option do you have?” I asked, my voice rising to match his. “Come up with a better suggestion.”

He shook his head and resumed pacing. “That doesn't solve the problem of your sister. She's the one I'm worried about. She's our loose cannon. If Eric—or anyone—gets wind of what's going on here, we're sunk. Our best bet right now may be to cut our losses and pull out before we're exposed.”

“And when Eric shows up with the jeweled key tonight, where will you be?” I knew where I should be right now: downstairs in the banquet hall instead of arguing with an angry FBI agent in Frances's office. But I felt responsible. I massaged my forehead. “We can keep Liza here at Marshfield all day. Through tonight.” Even though I believed my sister feared Eric, I couldn't swear that, given the chance, she wouldn't attempt to contact him. “We'll ensure she has no contact with anyone outside of me, Frances, and our security team.”

McClowery smirked with such derision I wanted to slap
him. “You're talking at least fourteen hours. Maybe longer.”

“After the meeting is over, she can stick with me.” It was a halfhearted offer, but a necessary one. Not how I'd envisioned my day.

Coming back around to face me, he asked, “What about during tonight's reception?”

I held up my hands in a helpless motion. “What about it?”

“That's why I came to see you. I want you behind the scenes, in the control booth, where we'll have camera feeds rolling and be able to listen in on some of the conversations. What do we do with Liza then?”

“You wouldn't happen to have a spare agent willing to sit with her?”

“No. I don't. Every single agent on my team has an important job this evening.”

“Why do you want me in the control booth?”

“You and I are the only individuals involved who have met Eric face-to-face. We can use your eyes.”

I tapped my lips. “We can make this work. Frances can sit with Liza during the reception. When Frances believes she's involved, she's a real team player.” That was a bit of a stretch if you considered my assistant's snarly attitude, but I knew we held a far better chance of keeping this operation under wraps with Frances's cooperation that we would by excluding her.

Seconds ticked by as McClowery considered this. He continued to rub the back of his neck, focusing his attention near the ceiling. When he finally turned to me, his sour mood hadn't improved. “As you said, what other options are there?”

“Do you want to bring Frances up to speed, or shall I?”

“When your meeting concludes, send her to Bennett's apartment. I've established our home base up there in several rooms he generously offered for our purposes. I'll assess
Frances's reliability and decide how much to share at that time.”

“I have to go now,” I said, “I'm late.”

His mouth jerked sideways, as though annoyed. “I must caution you not to share any further details with your sister about my presence here.”

Like I wouldn't have been able to figure that out for myself. “What should I tell her? It's probably a good idea if you and I come up with a cover story in case she runs into you again.”

“I intend to avoid that situation.” He took a deep breath. “But if she asks, tell her that we believe Eric left Emberstowne this morning. Tell her I'm leaving to follow him. I came to see you this morning to provide my contact information in case Eric doubles back.”

“That's good,” I said. “I think she'll buy it.”

He pushed a quick smile, but I could tell his mind was elsewhere. “I will contact you before the reception to go over procedures.”

Finally free, I headed down to the banquet hall to face my future.

I shouldn't have been surprised when every single person in the banquet hall turned to stare at me when I stepped into the magnificent room. Nearly two-thirds the size of a football field, this majestic space featured a stunning mosaic ceiling that soared nearly thirty feet above the floor, and a stone walkway—a gallery off-limits to tourists—that lined the room's perimeter, one story up from where I stood now.

Everything about this space was enormous. Hulking, matching fireplaces—so big I could stand inside them—bookended the room's far ends. Tapestries lined the oak-paneled walls and natural light filtered in from above: gothic windows—oversized, of course—were evenly spaced along the high, narrow walkway.

Although tourists were allowed to enter the banquet hall, they were prevented from stepping very far in. The long dining room table—with seating for thirty—sat twenty feet in from the velvet ropes, and attentive docents kept sightseers at bay. Today the ropes were gone and the giant,
echoey chamber buzzed with conversation. All discussion ceased the moment I arrived.

“Sorry I'm late,” I said.

The room was filled with people, including lawyers I knew and others I'd met at the lab. Hillary and Frederick were at the table, the only ones in the room to have taken seats. Hillary had one of her perfectly manicured hands near her mouth. I think she was biting a nail.

In the far corner, Scott, Bruce, and Tooney stood together. All three smiled when I waved to them, but I could read nervous expectation on their faces. The rest of the room was a sea of business suits and apprehension.

In the two seconds it had taken to make my way in, I noticed that the lab representatives, Doctors Lucatorto, Rabbat, and Lyon, were huddled together, away from everyone else. None of the three met my eyes. Security guards had been posted at all doors, as well as along the catwalk.

Stepping forward to take my arm, Bennett smiled. It occurred to me that he was as nervous about this outcome as I was. He leaned sideways to whisper, “We wouldn't dream of starting without you.”

Lifting his chin, he addressed the rest of the room. “Good morning, everyone. Grace and I are delighted to have all of you here to share in what I sincerely hope is a celebration.”

He signaled the nearest security guard. The young man nodded, spoke briefly into his microphone, and within seconds all the guards stepped out of the room, snapping doors shut behind them to provide privacy. That is, if one can consider divulging secrets in front of two dozen people private.

Bennett patted my hand before continuing, “As you all know, there is significant evidence to suggest that my father and Grace's grandmother had a child together and that that child was Grace's mother.”

I knew the lawyers were here to bear witness and keep things official. Hillary was here because, as Bennett's
stepdaughter, she had a personal interest in the results. Frederick was here for Hillary's moral support.

Though Frances continued to wear a disgruntled expression, it was right to have her here as well. My heart swelled most, however, to know that, whatever the result, my best friends in the world—Bruce, Scott, and Tooney—were here to support me.

My mouth was dry, my grip on Bennett's arm tight. He glanced down at my upturned face and patted my hand again. “We know the truth, Gracie, that's all that matters.”

I could do no more than nod. What if? I thought. What if the scientists in the corner told us that it was all a lie—or, rather, a misunderstanding? Sure, my grandmother had had an affair with Bennett's father, but what if my mom was not Marshfield's child? My grandmother had been married at the time. What if this all had been spun out of control and my legal grandfather had always been my biological grandfather? What then?

Would Bennett still regard me as warmly, still welcome me as family if we knew beyond a doubt that we didn't share blood? From almost the very moment we'd discovered this connection, Bennett had been eager to bring me into the fold. At times I feared him too eager. Would disappointment crush so deeply that he'd turn away from me?

“Doctors,” Bennett continued, “are you prepared to present your findings?”

They were.

“Gracie?” Bennett asked, loud enough for all to hear. “Are you ready?”

I knew Bennett better than to believe he'd ever spurn me. Of course he wouldn't. But when the reality that I was merely a devoted employee set in, his warm feelings for me could dissolve, too.

Looking away, I fought the heat behind my eyes and the pain in my throat that made it so hard to swallow right now.
Bennett had become more important to me than I could put into words. As long as we pretended—believed—we were related, I knew I wouldn't lose the bond we'd created. But now, today, all pretending ceased.

I tugged tighter at his strong arm, pulling him close for the last moments of bliss—the final few seconds where the world was perfect and I had an uncle I dearly loved. I blew out a breath, knowing I had to stay strong.

“Yes,” I said, “I'm ready.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. Dr. Lucatorto cleared his throat. “As you all know, DNA tests were performed on two subjects, Mr. Bennett Marshfield and Ms. Grace Wheaton, to determine kinship. We extracted blood and collected swabs from both subjects and samples were analyzed by two separate laboratories: Lucatorto Labs and Sarear Labs.”

He pulled out a piece of paper and donned reading glasses. Again, he cleared his throat. “Because both labs have delivered the same result, I see no need to announce the labs' conclusions separately.”

A quick, nearly imperceptible inhalation. As if the entire room had suddenly chosen to hold its collective breath. Or maybe it was just me.

“You will recall,” Dr. Lucatorto continued, “that a positive result will indicate that the subjects are related. A negative result indicates that no blood connection exists.”

Dr. Lucatorto knuckled the edge of his glasses, pushing them up his nose. After a swift visual survey, ensuring that he had our attention, he cleared his throat again. I got the impression he'd never enjoyed this level of attention and wanted to milk the moment.

I closed my eyes, concentrating.

Wishing.

Hoping.

Fearful.

After clearing his throat yet again, Lucatorto continued.
“After comparing DNA samples from both aforementioned subjects, our experts have concluded, with a high degree of certitude . . .”

He paused long enough to take a breath. What felt like three lifetimes passed before he exhaled again.

“. . . that Mr. Marshfield and Ms. Wheaton are, indeed, members of the same family.”

Air
whoosh
ed out of me too quickly. Throbbing sparkles narrowed my vision, threatening me with loss of consciousness. My knees went weak. Faltering on my feet, I gripped Bennett's arm harder, but he'd begun pulling me in, wrapping strong arms around my back and whispering into my hair, “Never a moment's doubt, Gracie. Never a moment's doubt.”

The news had been met with a roar of approval from the gathered group. Even before Bennett had fully released me, they swarmed us with happy congratulations.

Acting on what must have been some prearranged signal, a half-dozen servers entered the room, bearing silver trays and Champagne flutes. Over the din of excited conversation I heard the unmistakable
pop
of bottles and within moments, a glass of bubbly was thrust into my hand.

The room fell into immediate silence as Bennett raised his glass for a toast. He turned to me, his expression suffused with joy. “To family,” he said.

My throat was thick, my eyes hot. “To family,” I replied.

As we clinked our glasses and sipped, the room erupted once again.

Every one of the lawyers jockeyed for position, eager to shake my hand and personally promise allegiance. Overwhelmed by the news and the staggering onslaught of good wishes, I shifted to autopilot—relying on my innate politeness to smile and nod appropriately—all the while scanning past the glad hands and glinting eyes, searching for the faces of those most important to me.

Bruce and Scott pushed through the congratulatory
crowd, cheering as they enveloped me in a group hug. “We know how much this means to you,” Scott said.

Choked up, Bruce managed to say, “So happy for you, sweetie.”

Hillary made her way over. “What does this make us?” she asked. “Sisters?”

The word sliced through my happiness. With effort, I forced all thoughts of Liza out of my mind. For now, I chose to enjoy the celebration and to revel in the truth that I had family—real family—once again. “More like cousins, I think.” My voice betrayed the giddy happiness bubbling in my heart and before I could stop myself, I threw my arms around Hillary and hugged her with gusto, spilling a little of both our Champagne.

“
Oof
,” she said as her body got smooshed into mine. Her free hand came up long enough to pat me gently. When she stepped back again, she said, “Yes, well, a new beginning, I suppose.” She straightened her skirt and ran a finger down the side of her cheek to flip an errant hair from her face. She glanced at Frederick, still at the table, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Welcome to the family, cuz,” she said.

Through it all, Bennett had remained next to me, the two of us an island bombarded by a tidal wave of good wishes. Now he reached for Hillary, grasping her small hand in his. “This changes nothing between you and I,” he said. “You know that, don't you?”

“I know you believe that.” She reached up on tiptoe and touched her lips to his cheek.

The lawyers continued to swirl around us, forming little eddies of chatter, whispering among themselves. Alight with glee, they bumped and wound around one another, their spirits high with what I could only deduce was delight at the prospect of how this change might generate more business for them. I wanted nothing to change—nothing financial, that is. The attorneys' happy buzz warned that I held the minority opinion.

Frances had waited for the initial uproar to die down before making her way over. She pushed through, positioning herself between me and Bennett, twisting her thick neck back and forth until convinced we were both paying sufficient attention. “Well?” she asked. “Have either of you given any thought as to how this affects me?”

“I can't say we've had time to consider that question,” he said, playing along. “I gather you have?”

With a gleam of satisfaction, she wrapped her arms across her middle. If Bennett hadn't been Marshfield's owner, if Frances hadn't been in the habit of deferring to his wishes as she'd been required to for forty years, she might have sassed him back. Instead, she nodded, with vigor. “Of course I have.” At this she turned to me with what looked like a conspiratorial smirk. “Grace won't have time to keep up with all the day-to-day, mundane, boring duties that keep Marshfield running smoothly.”

“No, no,” I began, “I love what I do, I wouldn't want to give it—”

“What
you
want is the important consideration here,” she continued, louder, directing every ounce of energy toward Bennett. “You'll want Grace to learn more of the family history and all that other business stuff you like so much. She's going to be stretched too thin.”

“And that's where you come in, I take it?” Bennett didn't even try to muffle his laughter. “With a selfless offer to help?”

She lifted her chin. “I'm willing to take on the role as chief curator and estate manager, yes.”

Bennett clapped Frances on the shoulder. “I will take it under advisement,” he said, then winked at me. “Or perhaps I should say
we
will take that under advisement.”

The lawyers chuckled. Not to be put off, Frances piped up again, “I get it. We'll talk about this later, in private.” Shooting me a triumphant sideways grin, Frances waggled her eyebrows and stepped away.

Only Tooney held back, shuffling off by himself to watch
from a distance. His soft, homely face had transformed—as it always did—when he smiled. When I caught his eye, he lifted his glass in a silent toast.

“I hope you know you may count on me for confidentiality and discretion.” An older lawyer, one whose name I couldn't remember, grasped my free hand in his spotted one. “I've served the Marshfield family for years and hope to continue to do so—”

“Thank you, yes. Please excuse me.” I tugged my hand free, making my way over to Tooney.

“Congratulations, Grace,” he said, tapping his glass against mine. “I couldn't be happier for you.”

After we both took a sip, I said, “Nothing's going to change. Not really.”

“
You
won't change, but don't for a moment believe everyone around you won't.” He smiled to take the melancholy out of his words and said, “I may never get another chance.” Bringing his stubbly cheek next to mine, he brushed the side of my face with a quick kiss. When he stepped back again, he winked. “Couldn't resist.”