Grace Sees Red (19 page)

When Joe and I left Indwell, I called Rosette's police department to let Frances and Lily know we were on our way. A man answered the phone.

“They're not here,” he said.

“Where did they go?”

“Now how would I know that?”

I tried to press him to find out if Frances had been incarcerated, or if Lily had been able to arrange for her release, but he refused to share information. When I hung up, I frowned. “So much for small-town friendliness.”

“Where do you think they are?” Joe asked.

“I'll try Frances first,” I said as I dialed. “I'm sure it'll go to voice mail, but—”

She answered on the first ring. “Took you long enough.”

“You're out?” I said, barely able to mask the exuberant catch in my voice. “What happened? Where are you?”

“I'll tell you more when we get back,” she said. “The Mister came through with the cash for my bail, thank goodness. Kept me from having to spend the night in a stinking jail cell.”

“I'm on my way back to Marshfield,” I said. “I don't have
any solid clues but I do have a few ideas I'd like to discuss with you. We need to put our heads together.”

“Hang on.” She pulled away from the phone. When she returned, she said, “Lily wants you to know that she has that extra copy of the autopsy report. Right now I'm going to close my eyes a bit while Lily drives back. See you at Marshfield.”

“She's out?” Joe asked when I hung up.

“Yes, and she sounds exhausted. Not that I can blame her.”

He drove in silence for a little while. “I overheard her say that they're bringing the autopsy report with them.”

“Do you mind coming up to my office when we get back?” I asked. “I know it's another stop.”

“I'm looking forward to getting a look at that report. Wouldn't miss it.”

He merged onto the interstate.

“I really appreciate your help.” I stared out the window. Now that the rain had finally let up, I focused on the puffy-white clouds drifting in sharp contrast against the piercing blue sky.

“There has to be more to the story. Right now nothing makes sense.”

“Something does,” I said. “We just can't see it yet.”

“That's true.”

“I need to clear the clutter and let my brain work on the puzzle in the background while I do something else. This situation with Frances has taken all my attention.” Even my roommates' financial troubles with Amethyst Cellars had taken a backseat.

“What better way to relax than a car ride?” he asked. “What else can we talk about?”

I hesitated then asked, “Why do you use a cane?”

His brows jumped. He didn't look at me, but his expression darkened. “You're very direct.”

“If you don't want to talk about it, just say so. No worries.”

He frowned at the street ahead, merged into the middle lane, then said, “I was in a car accident, a bad one. Got T-boned by a drunk driver in the middle of an intersection. It took me more than a year to get back on my feet, and it's taking even longer than that to lose the cane.”

“You didn't seem to need it today.”

“I have good days and bad ones. Today's one of the better ones.”

“I'm sorry to hear about the accident. Was anyone else hurt in the crash?”

“Yes.” He turned to me. “Let's change the subject, okay?”

“I'm sorry,” I said.

“Not your fault. But let's keep the rest for another day.”

We traveled another mile or so before I spoke again. “Is there anything you'd like to talk about?”

He gave a wry smile. “Now that you mention it, there is. As long as you don't mind my being direct this time.”

“Not at all.”

“There's a lot of talk around Emberstowne about you.”

“So you've mentioned.”

“I want to ask you about a couple of things.” He slid a glance at me, as though judging my reaction.

“Go on.”

“The big news, of course, is that you and Bennett Marshfield recently discovered that you're related to each other.”

“It's been the talk of the town since we got the test results. I'd hoped to keep it quiet.”

“That's sort of what I was getting at.” He turned to look at me again, briefly. “You don't seem at all affected by your newfound wealth. You seem down-to-earth and not the least bit impressed with yourself.”

I laughed out loud. A genuine, from-the-belly laugh. The first time I'd done so in days. “I don't know how to take that,” I said, still smiling. “Is it a compliment or am I somehow falling down in my chi-chi-pooh-pooh role?”

He laughed now, too. “That's exactly what I'm talking about. It seems to me that discovering you're the heir to such a vast fortune would make you look at life differently.”

“I don't want to look at life differently.”

“And I wish I'd never gotten T-boned,” he said. “But that doesn't make the reality go away. Surely life has changed for you. I imagine family, friends, and even strangers have approached you for a handout since the news hit.”

“I have very little family,” I said carefully. “So far, they're unaware. I hope to keep it that way.”

When he shot me a quizzical look, I shrugged. “Long story. I will admit that I get a lot of donation requests. They pour into Marshfield Manor by the thousands. They used to come to Bennett's attention. Now a lot of them come to me. I've had to hire a young woman to sort through and help weed out the money grabbers from the honest requests. But otherwise, no, not much has changed.” I turned to him. “But like I said, I don't want it to.”

“Most people probably wouldn't share that attitude. They'd be out taking trips, buying cars, living the high life.”

I tapped my fingernails along the armrest. “That's one of the reasons why I held off taking the DNA test for so long. I knew the truth in my heart and that was enough. I didn't need the world to know. All I care about is that Bennett and I are family. I didn't want anyone to think I loved him for his money.”

“You held off testing?”

“For a few years,” I said, staring out the windshield. “But it was so important to Bennett that I finally relented. And here we are.”

“Wow,” he said. He completed a lane change then shot me another glance. “Most people in your shoes would be giddy with glee. Don't get me wrong; I find your attitude fascinating and refreshing. But I have to ask: What's holding you back?”

I thought about Liza again, and how that chapter of my life was not yet completely written. “You know what?” I said. “Let's save that part of the story for another day, too.”

*   *   *

Bennett, Frances, and Lily were gathered in my office when Joe and I arrived. Except for the purple pouches that puffed beneath her eyes, Frances's face was devoid of color. I made quick introductions. It seemed I was doing that a lot lately.

“Pleased to meet you, Frances,” Joe said.

“So you're that new coroner Grace has been talking about.”
After shaking hands with him she rubbed her palm against the side of her pant leg. “Can't say I'm happy to meet you.”

“I get that a lot,” Joe said. “Completely understandable.”

“Good job spotting the judge's name on that warrant, Grace,” Lily said. “Seems father and daughter are both a little trigger-happy: The officer to make her first homicide arrest and Judge Madigan to bolster his daughter's career.”

“So it's bogus?”

“We didn't get that lucky.” Lily shook her head. “The warrant may have been issued in haste, but it's still valid.”

Frances turned to me. “When we showed up in court, Lily put the screws to that guy like you wouldn't believe. He still set my bail way too high.” She took a moment to beam at Bennett. “But like I told you, the Mister put up the cash to get me released. Thank goodness.”

“The police weren't happy about it,” Lily said, “but with help from a Rosette colleague, we were able to offer a strong argument for release. Thank goodness for small-town politics.”

“How long until Frances needs to be back in court?” I asked.

Lily named a date two weeks in the future as she pulled a file from her briefcase. “Here you go.” She handed Joe a copy of the autopsy report. “It isn't complete, of course, because it doesn't include final toxicology findings. My legal team will go over this tomorrow, but if you come up with any ‘Aha!' moments, I'd be happy to hear them.”

“Thanks.” Joe began paging through. “Did they give you an estimate as to when the tox results will be in?”

“They've put a rush on the lab, but I'm guessing we may not have a final answer before we go back to court for Frances's next hearing.”

Joe continued to flip through the papers.

“Thank you, Dr. Bradley,” she said. “Again, please contact me if you find anything of interest.”

He glanced up at the obvious dismissal. “Yes, sure,” he said. “I guess I'll take off now.”

I walked him out of the offices into the corridor. “Sorry,” I said. “She's a little brusque.”

“Part of the job description. Don't worry about it.”

“I can't thank you enough for all your help,” I said. “This has been a long day for you. I've eaten up all your time off. I'll bet you can't wait to get home.”

“Honestly, it's been enlightening,” he said. “It may sound weird, but I enjoyed myself.” He held the report aloft. “And as an added bonus, I have this absorbing reading ahead of me tonight.”

“Hello?” I called as I stepped through our back door that evening. The kitchen lights were off and although sunlight slicing through the back window provided enough illumination for me to see, the room felt more than empty, as though all the life had been sucked out of it. There were cleaning supplies strewn all over the table and cardboard boxes piled on each of the chairs.

“Bruce? Scott?” I called a little louder.

I heard the soft padding of Bootsie's paws down the stairs before she bounded into the room to greet me. “How are you, baby?” I asked as I dropped my purse on the table and stooped to pick her up. “Where is everyone?”

She opened her mouth and yawned. Not much of an answer.

A second later, I heard scuffling from the basement. “That you, Grace? We're down here.”

As I opened the door to head down, Bootsie twisted out of my hold. Jumping to the floor, she made her way over to her food and water bowls, turning to give me a sleepy-eyed “Go on without me” look.

Bruce and Scott waited for me at the bottom of the stairs.
Clad in dirty jeans and sweat-stained T-shirts, they wore identical expressions of frustration. “You're just in time,” Scott said as I made my way down.

“For what?”

“For the grand reopening of Amethyst Cellars,” Bruce said. “
In
the cellar. What could be more appropriate?” When he gestured me forward, I noticed his hands were covered in grime.

Crates and boxes—dozens of them—were lined up about shoulder height along the far wall. I recognized wine cases among the varied sizes and shapes. And I couldn't miss the bloodred wine staining most of the cardboard before me.

Set in front of the boxes were fragments of furniture. Or at least that's what they looked like to me. Amethyst Cellars's cherrywood cabinetry—spotlighted and shiny—always looked so rich and elegant. Here, broken into components under harsh fluorescent light, the red-colored wood looked scuffed, old, and forlorn.

“This is only half of it,” Scott said. “There's more upstairs in the living room and parlor. We don't have it in us to carry the rest down here tonight.”

“You guys have been moving everything here yourselves?” I asked.

“We had no choice,” Bruce said. “If we didn't get it out today, we risked losing our inventory when the contractors came in. Building inspectors are forcing our landlord to gut the place before putting it back together. Anything left there after five o'clock this afternoon gets tossed.”

“But none of this was your fault.”

“Tell that to the inspectors,” Scott said. “Their job is to ensure safety. They don't care about stuff.”

“Have you eaten?” I asked.

Bruce waved to indicate a pile of fast-food papers and bags. “We brought in burgers about an hour ago. Sorry we didn't think to order anything for you.”

“Don't worry about it,” I said.

“But it gets worse,” Scott said.

“How can it?” I shook my head. “Forget I said that. What do you mean?”

“The landlord is already warning us that with all the money he's putting in to restoring the building, he's going to have to raise our rent.”

“That's ridiculous.”

Bruce made his way over to one of the battered cases on the floor. He opened the purple-spattered cardboard flaps of one marked “Rioja” and pulled out a bottle, hefting it one-handed. “Can't sell this.” He turned the bottle so its label faced me. Streaked with red, it looked as though it had been caught in a rain shower of wine. “May as well drink it. We deserve it after the long day we've had, don't we, Scott?”

At the dismay on my face, Scott said. “At least half the bottles are stained like that. Some worse. We may eventually be able to offer customers a demolition discount, but that plan is a long way off.”

“How many bottles did you lose completely?” I asked.

Bruce shrugged. “I have a guess. Do you?”

“Broken bottles?” Scott nodded. “I think we lost at least eight cases.”

Bruce shook his head. “More like twelve.”

Scott's shoulders drooped.

“Insurance will cover some of the loss, at least.” Bruce was still holding the bottle of Rioja. “And on that happy note, let's go upstairs and celebrate that we didn't lose more.”

I followed them as they trudged into the kitchen. Their despair was absolute, their misery complete. They had hopes, dreams, and plans, but no way to implement any of it. But even as my heart broke for them, I felt a tingle of anticipation.

When we got to the top of the stairs, Scott turned the kitchen lights on and Bruce handed me the bottle. “Care to do the honors, Grace? I can't wait to get out of these filthy clothes, and I'll bet Scott feels the same way.”

“Sure.” I moved to the drawer where we kept the corkscrew.

“I need a shower,” Scott said. “Maybe two.”

They sounded so utterly dejected and yet my excitement continued to build. I couldn't wait for them to come back down. Spinning, I caught them as they crossed the threshold to the dining room. “Wait.”

They stopped in their tracks.

“What's wrong?” Scott asked.

“We didn't ask you how everything went with Frances today,” Bruce said. “I'm so sorry. We've been so busy that I completely forgot. Have the Rosette detectives finally seen the light and dropped charges?”

“No.” I raised a hand to my forehead. I couldn't believe how much had transpired today. “Frances was arrested,” I said. “This morning.”

Bruce reached out to grab the doorjamb as though to steady himself. “And you let us go on and on about our problems? How is she? Where is she?”

Scott's mouth had dropped open. “No.” He drew the word out. “No, that can't be.”

“It's okay,” I said, talking quickly now. “No, wait. It's not okay. But at least she's been released. Bennett covered her bail.”

“Thank heavens for Bennett,” Bruce said.

“But charges are still pending?” Scott asked.

“They are. And we can't let our guard down for a moment. Bennett, Tooney, and I—along with Joe Bradley, the coroner—are doing our very best to ensure those charges are dismissed. And soon.”

“I'm so sorry,” Bruce said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Yes, there is,” I said. “I know you want to get cleaned up but this can't wait. Would you both please have a seat?”

As they moved the boxes, cleaning supplies, and assorted detritus, I opened the bottle of wine and pulled three glasses from the shelf.

“You know we'll do whatever we can,” Scott said.

“I know that. And I'm counting on you both.”

I placed the glasses on the table and began to pour.

“The suspense is too much,” Bruce said. “Forget the wine. Just tell us already.”

“The wine is part of it.” They shot confused expressions at me and at each other. “I have two favors to ask.”

When all three glasses were poured, I set the bottle on the table and sat down. “Okay, the first favor involves one of the people in Gus's life who sort of works in your line of business. A man named Anton Holcroft.”

“The restaurateur?” Bruce asked.

“You know him?”

Scott's jaw dropped again. “This ‘Gus' Frances is accused of killing—the victim. Are you talking about Gustave Westburg?”

My turn to look surprised. “How do you know these people?”

“We don't,” Bruce said. “But we've heard of them. They owned a slew of restaurants along the coast. Hugely successful.”

“They made a killing together,” Scott said.

Bruce frowned. “Scott!”

“Oh, sorry. Bad choice of words.”

“How did I never hear of them before?” I asked.

Scott shrugged. “Probably because you aren't in the business.”

“And because they sold out their holdings about ten years ago. Well before you moved down here.” Bruce tapped the table. “What do you need us to do?”

I gave a little laugh. “I was going to ask you to do some homework on Anton for me. I'd like to know what kind of man he is, what makes him tick. I met him only once and my impression was that he was truly broken up by the news of Gus's death, but that could have been an act.”

Bruce and Scott exchanged a glance across the table. “We
could
contact him under the guise of looking to hire a consultant,” Bruce said. “I mean, we would love to work with Anton Holcroft if we could, so that isn't much of a stretch. The fact that we have no money to actually hire him is beside the point.”

“And that's where we come to the other favor.”

The two waited expectantly.

“I want to buy the Granite Building,” I said. “And provide you whatever funds you need to make it operational.”

They exploded with questions and surprised exclamations.

“Grace, what?”

“No, we can't let you do that.”

“That's too much money. Not a chance.”

I waited for them to jabber themselves into silence.

Bruce finally said, “That's extraordinarily generous of you, but we told you before—we won't take a handout.”

“But that's the beauty of this. It isn't a handout.” Excited, I sat up straighter, as the idea I'd broached to Bennett gained momentum in my heart. “Not if we're partners.”

The two men looked at each other then at me. The room remained silent for about a count of five.

“What are you talking about, Grace?” Scott asked, speaking slowly. “What do you mean by ‘partners'?”

Mounting enthusiasm warmed me. I leaned forward, elbows on the kitchen table. “The Granite Building is still available for sale, isn't it?”

“As far as we know,” Scott said. “But remember, the bank wants to put up a new branch in that location.”

“But the chamber of commerce would have to approve that. Which they may not choose to do if there's a better option.”

“True,” Scott said. “But that's a long shot.”

“Not if we offer to buy it outright. No mortgage. The bank walks away with a nice profit on their foreclosure and you have a new home for Amethyst Cellars.”

“You would do that for us?” Bruce asked.

“I've been thinking about this for some time, but I needed to discuss it with Bennett's financial guy before I mentioned it to you.”

“You talked this over with Bennett's financial guy?” Scott asked.

“He said that I could either hold the mortgage myself or
partner with you two.” I waited a beat. “I'd rather be your partner than your landlord.”

The two of them sat in shocked silence.

I cleared my throat to recapture their attention. “I wouldn't want to push myself in as a managing partner, though. More a silent investor. You two have built something special here, and I'm not savvy enough about the wine or restaurant business to have an informed opinion. You won't have to consult me on every decision, but I do want to invest enough to get you started in the new location.”

“But, but”—Scott's brow furrowed as my proposal sunk in—“we can't ask you to do that.”

“You're not asking me. I'm offering.” My words came faster. “With the funds Bennett has made available to me, I can do this.”

“Grace, wait.” Scott held up both hands as though to ward me off. “We haven't developed a business plan yet. We haven't ordered an inspection on the building. It may not be up to code, and repairs could cost you more than the investment is worth. This may not be a sound financial decision.”

“I'm not investing in a building,” I said. “I'm investing in
you
. I have no doubt that you'll examine every detail before moving forward. That you'll do whatever homework you feel is necessary.” I made eye contact with each of them in turn. “Trust me, I
want
to do this. Bennett has encouraged me to invest in ventures I believe in. And I believe in you.”

This time when they exchanged glances, there was something in their eyes that hadn't been there five minutes earlier: hope.

“This is too generous of you,” Bruce said.

I grinned. “Not generous at all. I've seen what you two are capable of. I expect us all to turn a tidy profit.”

Spontaneously, we stretched our hands out across the table and grasped tightly. “We make an awesome team, don't we?” I asked.

Bruce's eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. “We do.”

My cell phone rang, interrupting our warm moment of togetherness.

“Thank you, Grace. Thank you, so very much.” Scott's voice was thick with emotion. He smiled and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow morning, we'll go talk to the bank.”

“Good. Keep me updated,” I said as I released their hands and reached for my phone. “It's the coroner,” I said when I saw the caller ID. “I hope it's good news.”