Grace Takes Off (18 page)

“ARE YOU STILL WORRIED ABOUT BENNETT?”
Scott asked me that evening.

The three of us sat together in the parlor—me in my favorite wing chair with Bootsie
asleep on my lap, and Scott sprawled across the long sofa while Bruce sat squeezed
into the end nearest me, eyeing his partner’s comfort with bemused envy.

“Of course,” I said. “I can’t very well sit with him day and night, though. Not that
he’d allow me to.”

Bruce pointed at Scott’s feet, crossed on the cushion next to him. “You care to share
a little room with me?”

Scott sat up at the sofa’s far end. “Better?”

Bruce didn’t hesitate. He swung his legs onto the cushions Scott had just vacated
and crossed his arms behind his head. “Much.”

Scott whipped a pillow at him, catching him straight in the face.

“Boys,” I said. “Remember, it’s all fun and games until somebody rips the fabric.”

My gentle reminder that the sofa was old—it had been my grandmother’s—was not lost
on the two of them. “Sorry, Grace,” Bruce said, returning to a seated position. “It
was just that kind of day at the store today. I think we’re both punchy.”

“No harm done.”

Bruce picked up the conversation where we’d left off. “You can’t mother him, as much
as you may want to. Bennett’s a man who’s used to looking out for himself. He’s used
to succeeding, too. You start hovering, he’s going to feel weak. You don’t want that.”

I’d come to the same conclusion. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be vigilant where
his safety is concerned.”

“True enough,” Scott said. “Speaking of safety . . .” He elongated the word and exchanged
a look with Bruce. “You were too wiped out last night for us to ask but . . .”

I knew what was coming and braced for it. Bootsie must have sensed the tension because
she woke up, stretched her little white paws across my knees, then bounded over to
the couch to sit between the two men.

“We couldn’t help but wonder if you’d come to any conclusions. I mean, we were curious
if you’d thought about what you said you were going to think about—”

Bruce interrupted Scott mid-sentence. “You beat around the bush better than anyone.”
To me, he said, “What have you decided to do about Jack?”

The two of them faced me, looking like a pair of matching bookends, leaning forward
with their elbows perched on their knees, waiting for my answer with eager attention.
Bootsie watched me, too, as though she completely understood what was going on. Maybe
she did.

“I have given it thought. A lot of thought.” Mimicking their position, I placed my
feet flat on the floor and leaned forward. I’d made a decision, all right, but saying
it aloud made it real.

Even though it was only the three of us here, I felt my pulse race. “Here’s the deal:
I can’t deny that I’m attracted to Jack. I have been from the start.”

They both nodded, eyes wide as if to say, “Duh!”

“Bear with me.” I started again. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized
that I value Jack as a friend. I definitely don’t want to lose that. He’s a decent
guy. Kind, fair-minded—”

“Good looking,” Bruce suggested.

“Yes,” I laughed. “That, too. What I didn’t realize was the baggage he was carrying
and how heavy that burden was. How much it affected his entire life.”

I stopped to choose my words. “The thing is, once I got it, it was too late. He’d
pulled away.”

“Hurting you in the process,” Scott added.

“And that’s why I hurt him when he finally came around.” I shook my head, remembering.
“Little did I know. They say that relationships are all about timing. That’s an understatement.”

“So . . .” Bruce had inched forward. “You’re not answering the question.”

I was about to. “I realized a truth on this trip. I came to the conclusion that the
cons to pursuing a relationship with Jack far outweighed the pros. He and I already
had our chance. It was time to move on. No matter how much I believed that he and
I would make a good couple, I convinced myself I needed to cut ties and move on.”

“Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there?” Scott asked.

“But.” I heaved a deep breath. “I came to another conclusion too: I’m not a Vulcan
who lives by logic. I’m human. I can’t ignore my emotions.”

“And?”

The truth was hard to admit. “I
have
to try again. Unfinished business. Besides, I want to. Even knowing the risks. Jack
may not be right for me, but how can I know for sure unless I give this relationship
one more try?”

I waited for their reaction. Nothing.

“Well?”

They exchanged a glance I couldn’t parse.

“Come on,” I said. “This took a lot to divulge. Say something.”

Scott opened his hand toward Bruce, who took the floor. “While you were gone, we decided
that the best thing we could do for you was stay neutral. So we are.”

“You’re joking.”

Bootsie began grooming herself. She’d evidently become bored with the conversation.

“It’s not like we’re disinterested. We’re
very
interested in what happens next.” Scott looked to Bruce for support before continuing.
“It’s just that we’ve given you some bad advice: ‘Go for Jack’ when the timing wasn’t
right. ‘Go for Mark,’ and we all know how that turned out. . . .” His mouth twisted.
“We’re sorry, Grace. We only want what’s best for you.”

“Problem is,” Bruce chimed in, “we don’t know what that is. So we vowed not to say
a word, no matter what you decided.”

I tried again. “You’re kidding, right?”

They didn’t answer. Bootsie stopped grooming long enough to look at me. I think she
and I were in agreement.

“Any bad decisions I made, I made on my own. None of that was your fault.”

“Maybe not,” Bruce said. “Consider us a jinx then. We believe it’s better if we keep
future opinions to ourselves.”

“Huh.” I sat back. “You’re obviously not kidding. I guess I need to understand this
new neutrality. Does this mean that I shouldn’t tell you what happens when I go to
visit Jack tomorrow?”

Scott’s face broke out into a huge smile. “You plan to talk to him
tomorrow
?”

I laughed as Bruce rolled his eyes. “Real impartial there,” he said, then turned to
me. “We definitely want to hear everything. And we’ll try”—he shot an exaggerated
glare at Scott, who was working hard to adopt a dispassionate expression—“to keep
our opinions to ourselves. For your sake, Grace.”

I laughed, feeling good knowing that, despite their professions of objectivity, my
roommates were behind me on this one. “Sounds fair.”

• • •

BY THE END OF THE NEXT WORKDAY, I WAS
feeling like a champ, quite proud of myself for having gotten so much accomplished.
I’d made copies of Bennett’s skull photographs yesterday. Today, I returned the originals
to their albums. I decided to keep them in my office until Bennett and I made time
to browse.

With Frances’s assistance, all my outstanding
to-dos
were now crossed off as
dones
, and I’d even worked ahead on a couple of tax and reporting issues. I’d been hired
as curator, but my job often felt more like that of a conglomerate’s CEO.

I felt particularly great about the investigative work I’d managed on Vandeen Deinhart.
Though I had to admit that his background didn’t scream “attempted murderer,” I didn’t
like the man. He wasn’t my top suspect, and my gut told me he was innocent of the
in-flight attempt on Bennett’s life.

Problem was, I didn’t have a top suspect, and until I did, Deinhart couldn’t be crossed
off the list. I called Fairfax Investigations and Ronny Tooney to ask them both for
updates. Fairfax had little more than background to share on the names I’d provided—information
that more or less duplicated what I’d been able find out for myself through a few
Internet searches.

Tooney, on the other hand, promised to get back to me soon because there was a lead
he’d uncovered and intended to follow. When I tried pressing for details, he said
it was too early to share, but not to be concerned. Even if his theory bore results,
he promised that it didn’t pose immediate danger for Bennett.

I hung up, knowing Bennett was safe as long as he remained within Marshfield’s guarded
walls. Additionally, Terrence’s team was under strict orders to accompany him if he
went out anywhere. I knew Bennett chafed at the round-the-clock attention, and I didn’t
know how much longer I could get him to agree to bodyguards shadowing him wherever
he went.

While I was thrilled that no one had tried to kill Bennett since we’d returned, I
couldn’t help but believe that whoever had been behind Pinky’s attack was simply waiting
for a new opportunity to strike. I hoped to heaven we’d figure out who it was before
they made any fresh attempts.

“Good night, Frances,” I said on my way out.

She glanced at her watch. “You’re leaving close to on time today.”

As always with Frances, it was hard to determine whether that was an innocuous comment
or an attempt to dig for dirt. Experience warned me to assume it was the latter. Either
way, I knew better than to share my plan to reconnect with Jack. With Frances’s gossipy
superpowers, Jack would be liable to hear all about it before I even made it to my
car.

I acknowledged her comment as noncommittally as I could. “Might as well get an early
start on the weekend.”

She sniffed. “That two-week vacation must have worn you out.”

I ignored the sarcasm by turning the tables. “Any special plans for the next couple
of days?”

My question flipped a switch, the way I knew it would. She blinked away her glare
and turned her attention to a pile of papers on her desk. “Did you get a chance to
approve the time sheets?”

She knew I had. This was her way of deflecting attention away from what she did every
weekend. The woman had a right to her secrets, even if she didn’t respect others’
rights to the same. Still, I had a sneaking feeling that someday I’d know why she
was always unavailable from Friday night until Monday morning.

“I sent them out to our payroll company an hour ago,” I said. “I could have sworn
I told you.”

She didn’t look up. Frances despised being wrong. For her to pretend that she hadn’t
remembered spoke volumes. Whatever she was hiding, it was important enough to color
her cheeks and keep her gaze averted. She mumbled something unintelligible.

I started to say, “If there’s nothing else—” when her desk phone rang. She gave me
the universal sign for “don’t leave in case it’s for you,” and answered.

She listened for a moment then said, “She’s walking out the door, why?” A moment later
she gave me a quizzical look as she continued to talk to the person on the other end.
“Did he say what he wanted?”

Another moment. I stepped closer to the desk, straining to hear, but all I could make
out was a tinny mumble, muted by Frances’s head against the receiver.

Her expression darkened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I took another step forward. “What’s not a good idea?”

She held up a finger. “After all she and the Mister have been through?” She made a
noise that sounded like
pheh
. “I don’t think so.” She shot me a look that asked,
Can you believe this
?

I had no idea. I wanted to snatch the phone out of her hands and demand to know what
was going on. “Who is it?” I asked.

Another “wait” finger. “You can tell him I’ll tell her, but he’d better not hold his
breath.”

With that she hung up, grousing.

“Who was that? Who’s ‘he’?”

Frances folded her arms across her ample bosom. “Can you believe the nerve of some
people?”

“No, I can’t. Now tell me what you know.”

“One of those men from the band, Slickwhatever, is here. Wants to talk with you.”

“Which one?”

“Said his name was Adam.”

“Oh my gosh,” I said, “maybe he’s remembered something about Pinky. This is great.”

“I don’t think he’s here to share clues with you,” she said. “Not according to what
Doris said.”

The tone of her voice made me wary. I stopped myself before bolting out the door.
“Why? What did Doris say?”

“He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers.”

MY FREE HAND FLEW TO MY FOREHEAD.
“What?”

“You’re blushing,” Frances said unnecessarily.

Was I? I hadn’t given Adam any signal that I was interested in him. Not in the least.
“Maybe he brought flowers just to be nice?” It sounded lame, even to me.

“Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced. Making a little shooing motion with her hands she
said, “If I’d
known
, I’d have told Doris to send him up. Go on now, hurry before he leaves.”

“There’s nothing to ‘know,’” I said. “I’m sure he’s here to give me an update.” I
frowned. “At least I hope that’s why he’s here.”

I flew down the stairs, eager to find out what he had to share, though puzzled by
the idea he’d brought flowers. The attraction I’d felt for Adam, both on the plane
and afterward, when we conversed in the waiting room, had been purely platonic. At
least on my end. This visit of his, coming out of the blue, was throwing me for a
loop. Flowers? There had to be a mistake.

Or . . .

I stopped dead in my tracks.

I’d made it into the part of Marshfield that was open to visitors on the tour and
was about to take the main staircase when I remembered another man who had taken recent
interest in me. I shuddered, recalling how
that
had turned out.

Resuming my course, I took the center steps down as quickly as I could manage while
disjointed thoughts raced through my brain. I’d been intent on visiting Jack today.
Intent on talking with him about rekindling whatever we thought we’d had. Adam’s arrival
threw an unhappy detour into my plan.

When I reached the main floor with the front desk in view, the first thing I saw was
Adam’s backside. He was leaning over the desk, his right arm perched atop it, his
left hand holding a bouquet of colorful blooms down by his side. As I approached,
I heard him ask who Frances was. “So this woman says I should leave, but then says
I should stay? Why can’t I just talk with Grace directly? Let her decide if she wants
to see me or not.”

I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Adam.”

He straightened at once, surprise and pleasure leaping to his features as the handful
of flowers sprang up between us, bringing with it a gust of sweet air.

“Grace,” he said. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should call first,
but I thought maybe if I did . . .”

He stopped himself mid-sentence and handed me the bouquet. “These are for you.”

I accepted the rainbow collection of pink and red roses, purple irises, orange and
yellow daisies, and lush greenery. I took an appreciative sniff.

Unencumbered now, he ran his hands through his hair. I was glad he hadn’t shown up
wearing the black wig. “I wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea. I mean, I probably
should have called first but decided to take a chance because I thought if I called
you might politely tell me to bug off.”

I think he must have read confusion on my face because he hurried to explain: “I thought
you were awesome on that plane. You stayed cool and pulled together. You didn’t freak
or melt down. I never told you how impressive that was—how remarkable I thought you
were. I figured I should, and in person is always better.”

“Thank you,” I said, “for the flowers and the compliment.” Touched by his disconcerted
rambling, I had to struggle to maintain my guard.

He pointed to the profusion of color in my arms. “After all you did, I couldn’t come
empty-handed. That wouldn’t be right.”

Doris was a lot older than Frances, but she operated in the same grapevine. I ignored
her growing smirk. Rather than keep up this conversation for the benefit of our front
desk clerk’s entertainment, I motioned for Adam to follow me. “Come on, I’ll show
you around a little.”

Alarmed, he pointed to the desk. “I didn’t pay my entrance fee yet.” Digging for his
wallet, he said, “Hang on.”

I gave his arm a gentle tug. “It’s on the house. Besides, it’s almost closing time.
Too late in the day to get your money’s worth.” Marshfield wouldn’t shut down for
another hour to allow the stragglers to finish their self-guided tour of the manor,
but we had stopped accepting new guests for the day. “We’ll hit one of my favorite
spots instead.”

Doris had been watching this little banter with wide eyes. She anticipated where I
was headed and cupped a hand to her mouth to call out, “They stopped serving tea at
four.”

Like I didn’t know that.
“Thank you, Doris,” I called back.

“So this is where you work, huh?” Adam’s gaze swept up and down each wall, taking
in as much as he could. “It’s magnificent.”

I chose not to rush him, instead providing light commentary as we meandered through
the many rooms. He seemed to appreciate the bits of trivia I shared, and even asked
a couple of questions that made me believe he wasn’t a stranger to the world of antiquities.
I led him deep into the house to one of my very favorite spots to wow first-time visitors—the
Birdcage Room.

As we stepped into the sunny, two-story area, Adam drew in a sharp breath. “Wow. This
is incredible. I thought you meant this room was full of birdcages. This is like being
in
a giant birdcage.” His voice echoed in the emptiness as he took a long look around.
This late in the day, tables and chairs were vacant. The harp was covered, its musician
gone until morning. We made our way across the room to the giant, curved wall of windows
that overlooked the patio and south gardens.

We stood next to each other facing outward for a solid count of twenty. When I turned
to him, I discovered that he was studying me, as though waiting for me to resume the
conversation. I shrugged. “I have to admit to being surprised to see you,” I said.
“I take it your band is performing in the area?”

“No.”

“You . . . you came out here just to see me?” I asked, trying hard to keep the incredulity
in my voice to a minimum.

“You were phenomenal on that plane.”

Although his flattery seemed sincere, I wished he’d stop. “I assume you have news,
or you’ve discovered something about Pinky.” I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but
I couldn’t help myself. “Is that why you wanted to see me?”

He continued to face the wall of windows, clearly frustrated by my oblivious nonchalance.
If my guard had been up slightly before, it was running at full red-alert now. Moon-eyed
men didn’t show up on one’s doorstep without good reason, I reminded myself. I’d been
pulled in before by a smiling face and a hidden agenda. I wasn’t about to make the
same mistake again.

Ever polite, however, I gestured. “Let’s sit and talk awhile.”

Once we were settled near the windows, with the flowers forming a colorful barrier
on the table between us, I leaned forward. “Your visit here comes as a bit of a surprise.
I’m hardly prepared for it. Do you mind if I hit you with a few questions?”

He broke into a relaxed smile. “Fair enough,” he said, “shoot.”

“Have you remembered anything more about Pinky? Has anyone in the band been able to
come up with a lead we might be able to follow?”

His brows came together briefly. He’d probably expected me to lead with something
more personal. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward and spoke quietly. “That Detective
Williamson came to visit us yesterday. Wanted to clear up a few issues with Matthew.
He showed up right before our concert,” he said, adding, “We played to a sold-out
crowd. It was a smaller venue than what the Curling Weasels are used to, but we weren’t
the warm-up band—we were on our own.”

He had interesting eyes. Expressive and clear, watching me with an alertness that
took me aback. The diamond stud earring was gone, but his face was as craggy and acne-scarred
as I’d first observed. Like Tommy Lee Jones, Adam had rugged, appealing charm. Didn’t
matter. There was no way I’d allow myself to be pulled in by a compelling stranger
who just happened to be around when I needed him and who just happened to find me
wildly attractive. Not again.

The pride in Adam’s voice was evident. I smiled encouragement. “That’s wonderful.”
Waiting a beat, I asked, “Did Williamson have any news?”

Adam’s expression dimmed. “He told us he was able to track her movements back a few
days, but asked us not to share that.” He gave a wry grimace. “I guess I just did,
didn’t I? I never mentioned I was coming here, but I wouldn’t expect he meant to keep
it from you.”

“He knows her real identity then?” I pressed for more. “What is it? Did he tell you
where she’d been before the charter flight? Who she worked for?”

“I can’t remember her real name. Williamson asked if it sounded familiar, but it didn’t.
To me or to Matthew.”

I bit my bottom lip, wishing he would remember. “Was it close to ‘Pinky’ or completely
different?”

He concentrated, staring out the window again. “I can’t remember. All I know is that
I never heard it before. Sorry.”

“Was it an American name? Italian?”

He brightened, happy to be of help. “Definitely not Italian. I can tell you that.
It was a pretty ordinary name, as I recall. The big news, though, is that this woman—whoever
she was—has a criminal record here in the States.”

“For what?”

“He wouldn’t tell us.”

“Those two women who were with your band on the plane,” I began, “did they have any
information to share that they didn’t mention?”

It was his turn to look confused. “I haven’t talked with them.”

“I assumed they were band wives. Or girlfriends.”

He threw back his head, eyes crinkling into small slits as he belly-laughed. “No,
no way. Not a chance.”

“They seemed to be part of your crowd and . . .”

“They’re hired groupies.”

I shot him an “Are you kidding me?” look. “Come again?”

He scratched the top of his head. “I’ve been in the music business for a long time,
and this band we’ve got now is the best I’ve ever worked with. Our agents think that
the more we behave like a top act, the more we’ll be viewed as one.”

“Oh, come on,” I said, “even little garage bands have groupies. You’re head and shoulders
above that level. Don’t tell me you don’t have fans.”

He made a so-so motion. “We do have fans. Quite a lot, actually. Contrary to popular
belief, however, most of them don’t jump on a plane to follow us to Europe. Beyond
that, a lot of our fans don’t fit the stereotype. Groupies are supposed to be eager,
fast, and easy.” His cheeks went red. “We haven’t gotten there yet.”

“But you hope to.”

“The other guys do. Me, I’m not into the party scene. I love writing music, love playing
it. I want the world to sing the songs I write.” He got a pained look in his eyes,
as though remembering a past hurt. “All the rest of that stuff? You can keep it.”

Klaxon warning bells sounded in my brain. Oh sure, I thought. Come here unannounced,
act all sweet and unpretentious. A wannabe rock star who didn’t crave fame and fortune?
Spare me.

Maybe Adam
had
played a role in this conspiracy. Maybe he was trying to get close to me, hoping
I’d let down my guard.
Play along.
At least until I knew what his angle was.

He was still talking. “Big names like the Curling Weasels have real groupies. We’re
nowhere in the same league as the Weasels, you know that.”

“Count your blessings.”

“You don’t like hard rock?”

“I don’t like their sound, sorry,” I admitted. “When the Weasels come on the radio,
I switch stations.” I leaned across the table and whispered, “Don’t tell them that,
of course. I haven’t heard a lot of your original stuff, but what I heard in Florence
was great.”

“Thanks,” he said, grinning now. “I’d love for you to come to one of our concerts.
As my guest.”

There it was. The invitation oozing out as innocently as anything. “Thank you,” I
said pasting on as sincere a smile as I could muster. How could I keep him close enough
to determine his true motivation without putting myself in harm’s way? “I don’t get
to concerts very often. In fact, encountering you at that bar in Florence was the
first time I’d been at a live music event in a long time. How did you get that gig?”

He talked about his agent, their manager, and all the other clubs they’d played in
Europe during their two-week trip. I piped in with questions asking for specifics
regarding individuals, locations, and details. I thought for sure that he’d drop a
familiar name—one that I could tie to Pinky, or Angelo, or Cesare. Maybe even one
tied to the Pezzati family.

Adam was an engaging storyteller, gregarious now that he had my attention. He gestured
with wide arms and expressive brows. Most of his stories were tales of mishaps on
the road. He told them in such a light, self-deprecating way that I couldn’t help
laughing, despite my unwavering resolve to stay objective. I eventually turned the
conversation back to the flight, and tried again, unsuccessfully, to pin him down—to
uncover a clue that he might unwittingly divulge.