Grace Takes Off (20 page)

“This is a pretty town,” Adam said. “I can see why you love it here.”

“I never said that I did.”

He gave me a shy grin. “Not in so many words.”

If I was stuck with him for another block, I figured I might as well push for more
information. “I plan to get in touch with Detective Williamson as soon as I can. I’m
hoping he can shed some light on everything that happened. Can I ask you a favor?”

“Please do. I’d be happy to help if I can.”

“Would you mind sending me Matthew’s contact information? I have to believe he knows
more about Pinky . . .” I’d been about to say “than he admits,” but realized that
might sound accusatory. Instead, I hedged, “. . . than he actually realizes.”

“I can do that,” he said. “I’ve got your cell phone number. I’ll call you with the
information.”

“Let me give you my personal e-mail address, too. Sometimes that’s faster.” I stopped
walking to dig out pen and paper from my purse. Thinking it would be easier to write
on the hood than balancing the items in my hand, I gestured, “Maybe we should do this
at my car.”

That’s when I saw the man standing next to my little Civic. Familiar, though out of
context. Less than a second later, I remembered. Startled, I instinctively grabbed
for Adam’s arm. “That’s Rudy.” Paper crumpled in my fist, I pointed with the pen.
“That’s him. Isn’t it?”

As the words tumbled out of my mouth, it hit me that both men appearing here on the
same day was too strange to be coincidental. I jerked my hand back. Realization made
me jump away, closer toward the street. Away from Adam.

“Why is he here?” I asked with dripping accusation.

Looking as shell-shocked as I felt, he didn’t seem to notice my tone. Instead, he
started forward after Rudy, moving fast. “Hey,” he called.

But in the three heartbeats it had taken for us to react, Rudy had turned away, immediately
swallowed up by the crowd in the dark. Streetlights, designed more for ambience than
for bright illumination, didn’t help as Adam gave chase, with me not far behind.

At the next intersection, however, I stopped short. What if that had been the plan?
Get me to follow. Separate me from the crowd?

Out of breath, more from alarm than from exertion, I gave up pursuit, feeling a peculiar
sense of déjà vu.

I hurried back to my car, eager to get away. I’d just unlocked the driver’s side when
Adam appeared next to me. Sweat beaded above his lip and along his hairline. He rested
an arm along my car door’s frame, effectively blocking me from getting in.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

Oblivious to my question, Adam said, “I called Rudy’s name, but he didn’t turn. Do
you think we were mistaken?”

“I think you should get your sweaty arm off my car.”

He stepped back, looking confused. “Why are you angry?”

“Why do you think?” Simmering resentment—at myself for being so gullible—shot my words
out unchecked. Empowered by the crowds, knowing he couldn’t harm me if I created a
scene, I advanced on him. “Do I have a neon sign over my head? Is that it? How does
Rudy figure into this equation? Huh?”

His bottom lip went slack.

I took another step forward. “Huh?”

“I don’t know what you think.” Adam’s voice was low. “I’m just as surprised to see
him here as you are.” He closed his mouth and scratched the side of his head. “I can’t
speak for Rudy, but I can tell you that I came here to see you. That’s it.” He gave
a self-conscious shrug. “I like you. Whatever I did to make you angry, I’m sorry.”

He offered a half-hearted smile, and for the second time that day said, “See you around.”

ADAM DISAPPEARED INTO THE NIGHT AS EASILY AS RUDY HAD. I SHOOK MY HEAD, STARING
down the block, my breath coming in short gasps, my heart beating a rhythm that was
at once panicked and furious.

When I finally managed to get myself under control, I drew in a deep breath of the
muggy night air, and congratulated myself on handling that as well as could be expected.
With a precautionary glance in all directions, I finally opened my car door and slid
behind the wheel.

A folded piece of paper sat under my wiper blade, one corner lifting up in the faint
breeze as though waving hello. Wanting to be noticed.

I clambered back out, grabbed the white sheet and opened it. On it was written:
Rudy (flight attendant)
and a local phone number.

I remembered having offered a blanket invitation to come visit if he was ever in the
area. I hadn’t expected him to simply show up without calling, of course.

Misery and embarrassment settled on my shoulders like an itchy blanket that I wanted
to throw off but couldn’t find the strength to lift. I’d all but accused Adam of conspiring
with Rudy. I rubbed my clammy forehead, ashamed to realize that I’d behaved a lot
like Flynn. Accuse first, ask questions later.

Still standing outside my car I stared down the street, hoping to catch a glimpse
of Adam. Did he deserve an apology? I wasn’t sure.

Why did I feel like such a jerk?

• • •

I WAITED UNTIL THE NEXT MORNING TO CONTACT
RUDY, LEAVING A VOICEMAIL FOR HIM AT what turned out to be his hotel. In my message,
I expressed surprise at his visit and I encouraged him to return the call.

Bootsie watched me putter around the kitchen, winding between my legs as I soaped
up the morning mugs and dunked them under the warm running water. She wasn’t used
to me being home—both because I’d been out of the country with Bennett for so long
and because I’d spent most of the week at Marshfield catching up. “It’s Saturday,”
I said to her.

She sat on the dark rug we used to protect the kitchen’s wood floor from wild sudsy
splashes. What difference we thought it made to the scarred oak was anyone’s guess,
but it made us feel proactive. That was my new mantra these days. No longer would
I accept situations or people at face value. In order to protect myself, I needed
to maintain a shield. My blemishes might not be as visible as my floor’s, but the
scars ran much deeper.

I finished tidying the kitchen, showered, and, once I’d decided it was respectably
late enough on this weekend morning to bug Detective Williamson, I pulled out his
card and dialed.

His clipped “Williamson” interrupted the first ring.

“This is Grace Wheaton,” I began.

“You got my message then?” he asked. “I was afraid I’d called too late last night.”

He must have left a message at Marshfield. “As a matter of fact, I’m calling because
Adam from SlickBlade told me you’d discovered information about Pinky. Is that true?”
I half expected Williamson to react in surprise, to discount Adam’s assertion. That
would prove once and for all that the lead singer of SlickBlade had made it up.

“He came to tell you about that in person?” Williamson said. The disbelief in his
voice, coupled with the implied substantiation of Adam’s story, made me frown, despite
the fact that information on Pinky was exactly what I wanted right now.

“You mean you found her?”

“That Priscilla alias slowed us down for a while but we found her. Diane Waters. But
the info about her living in Brooklyn didn’t change.” He rattled off her birth date.
A little quick math. Pinky had five years on me. I would have guessed ten.

“Who was she working for?”

Williamson snorted. “That’s the thousand-dollar question. Born and raised in the city,
she lost her share of jobs before picking up and relocating to Europe about ten years
ago.”

“She was living in Florence, then?”

“This Diane was a nomad. We’re still backtracking. I can’t say where she was living.
Not yet.”

This wasn’t sounding promising. “What did she do to support herself?”

“Odd jobs. Maid. Office work when she could get it. We’re still investigating. No
solid career path, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I asked Williamson if Pinky might have had any connection to Vandeen Deinhart here
in the States, or Cesare, the art expert, in Florence. He hedged.

“I left that message for you out of courtesy, Ms. Wheaton.” His voice strained for
patience. “There’s no proof that she was working for anyone. She may have simply cracked.
This Diane was clearly a disturbed individual. Let’s not imagine conspiracies.”

I wasn’t imagining, but I bit my tongue rather than risk his wrath. At this point
keeping the lines of communication open was paramount.

Changing the subject, I injected perkiness to my voice. “By the way, remember Rudy?
The flight attendant who ultimately killed Pinky?”

Williamson grunted the affirmative.

“He’s here.” I waited a beat to let that sink in. “In Emberstowne.”

Williamson started to reply. I cut him off. Maybe if I fed him a few details he’d
come up with conspiracy theories of his own. With any luck, they’d match mine. I kept
my tone light. “He showed up the same day Adam did. Isn’t that a weird coincidence?”

“You saw them? Together?”

“Adam came to see me at Marshfield. Rudy left me a note.”

Through the phone line I heard the paper shuffling. I waited until he spoke again.
“Did they say what they wanted?”

My cheeks grew hot and I was grateful Williamson couldn’t see my blush through the
phone. “Adam asked me out on a date,” I said quickly. “I have no idea about Rudy.
I left him a message. Haven’t heard back yet.”

“You think he’s there for romantic purposes as well?”

“I’m not the sort of woman who inspires men to traverse the globe to ask me out.”

He made a noise. I couldn’t discern its meaning. “Thank you, Ms. Wheaton. If you talk
with either of these men again, please ask them to call me.”

I started to say, “Will you let me know—” but he’d already hung up.

• • •

MY DOORBELL RANG LESS THAN AN HOUR
later. Bootsie scampered ahead of me, curious as always. We had a small living room
adjacent to the front door, set off from the foyer by oak pillars set atop rectangular
dividers. She leapt up onto the top of the base nearest the door and lifted her white-splashed
nose in the air, waiting for me to allow our visitor in.

“Hillary?” I said. Unable to prevent my shock from showing, I struggled to find a
polite way of asking what she was doing on my front porch. “What a surprise,” was
the best I could manage.

Even though it was still early, the day was swelteringly hot. You’d never guess it
to look at Hillary, whose blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek low ponytail. She
wore a navy-and-white-striped sleeveless tank over white cropped pants. She belonged
on a yacht, not my dilapidated front porch. I pushed open the screen door to allow
her in, making sure Bootsie didn’t make a break for escape. I know I wanted to.

Hillary smiled as widely as I’d ever seen, making me even more wary. She carried a
dish, covered in aluminum foil. “Thank you,” she said, making her way in. “Now that
we’re neighbors, I thought I’d stop by and say hello properly.” She handed the dish
to me. “Here. I made them myself.”

I peeled the foil back to reveal a mountain of gorgeous, gooey raspberry bars individually
displayed in crisp paper serving cups. “Hillary, you shouldn’t have,” I said. “You’re
the new neighbor. I’m supposed to be bringing goodies to your house as a welcome.”

She waved me off. “Why stand on ceremony?” she said. Very un-Hillary-like. What was
she up to?

I closed the front door and noticed that she’d bent over to cup Bootsie’s face in
her hands. The little mongrel was eating up the attention with half-closed eyes and
an audible purr. “Look at this sweetheart. I didn’t know you had a cat. Boy or girl?”

“Girl. Bootsie.”

Hillary eyed her up and down. “Still a kitten, isn’t she?”

“You know cats?”

“Always. Baxter’s my only prince at the moment, but he’s getting up there in age.
Almost twelve.”

I invited her to sit in the parlor while I put the raspberry bars away in the kitchen.
To my surprise, she followed me in and pulled out a chair at the table. Okay. Casual
it is. I changed my trajectory and placed the dish of sweets between us.

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

She demurred, folding her hands atop the table and tilting her head in such a way
that she was studying me from beneath artfully mascaraed lashes. The coquettish move,
if meant to disarm, was utterly lost on me. I dragged out the chair and sat, bringing
our gazes level.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said.

That was an understatement.

“You said you wanted to be neighborly.” I pointed to the dish of raspberry bars.

“That’s the main reason, of course.” She gave a quick smile, acknowledging that we
both knew she’d come up with an excuse to cover her real agenda.

Hard as I tried to come up with a possible explanation for her presence at my kitchen
table, I couldn’t. I waited, selecting a raspberry bar from the tempting pile.
I should pull out plates
, I thought, then gave a mental shrug. Each bar had its own pastel cupcake paper.
Good enough.

“I do have one other reason.” Another flash of teeth. “I’d like to ask a teensy favor.”

My cell phone rang. Was that relief on Hillary’s face? The interruption gave us both
breathing space. I didn’t recognize the number, though the area code told me it was
a local call. I stood up to answer, making my way toward the front of the house for
privacy even though this could turn out to be nothing more than a pesky telemarketer.
“Hello?”

“Is this . . . Miss Grace Wheaton?” The heavy accent and halting English was a giveaway,
but to be polite, I let him go on. “This is Rudy.” He hurried to clarify, “The flight
attendant from the plane,” as though I wouldn’t be able to put that together. “I am
very happy you have seen the message I left for you.”

“Yes, I did,” I said, speaking slowly. “Although I have to admit I was surprised to
hear from you.”

“I am apologetic if I am intruding.”

“Not at all,” I said, crossing the dining room and parlor to put some distance between
me and Hillary. There was nothing particularly secretive about this phone call, I
realized, but I still preferred to keep Hillary’s nose out of my business. I made
it to the living room by the front door. “What brings you to Emberstowne?”

“The authorities required me to remain for several days in the United States and I
have not yet secured a return flight assignment.”

“An impromptu vacation for you, isn’t it?”

He laughed, but I wasn’t sure he’d understood.

Which reminded me. “How did you know which car was mine?” I asked. “To leave the note,
that is.”

This time when he laughed I could tell he meant it. “You are well known here. I asked
several shopkeepers about you and everyone knew you and recognized your car. I could
only think of that.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“You and the elderly gentleman were so kind after our . . . incident on the airplane.
You both invited me to visit your beautiful mansion. I intend to do so.”

“It’s Bennett’s home, not mine, but it’s wonderful that you’re taking time to visit.
I know you’ll enjoy it. I’d love for you to tour as my guest.” Thinking fast, I considered
ways to arrange to meet him. “If you’re free later today or tomorrow, I’d be happy
to escort you.”

“My apologies. I have already made a plan for today and the next. Will you be available
on Monday?”

“I will. When you get to Marshfield, give them my name. Don’t pay an admission fee.
I’ll come down to get you.”

“You are a most gracious host,” he said, and thanked me for my time.

“See you Monday,” I said, and hung up.

I returned to find Hillary bending off the side of her chair, dangling a tiny catnip-filled
mouse on a string in front of Bootsie, laughing as the kitten batted at it with her
pillowy pink paws.

“You said something about a favor?” I asked when I returned.

Enraptured by the cat, she didn’t seem motivated to reveal what it was, so I prompted,
“What do you need?”

She sat up, allowing Bootsie to grab the play mouse with her teeth. A moment later,
the kitten was batting it around the wood floor, chasing and pouncing as she bounded
around the room. Hillary fingered one of her glittery silver earrings. The triple
hoops’ gentle jangling made the room’s silence more profound. She kept playing with
the metal, weighing her words, it seemed.

Buying her time and giving in to temptation, I took a bite of the dessert and exclaimed
over its deliciousness. I wasn’t lying.

She nodded her thanks, eventually finding her voice. “Papa Bennett hired me.”