Grace Takes Off (22 page)

“Ah . . .” Tooney said as though that explained something. “He’s back in the Big Apple
today. I spent the last couple hours following him. The guy lives in an upscale apartment
overlooking Central Park.”

“Why? Why follow him? What happened?” As usual, Tooney wasn’t talking fast enough
for me.

He explained, “The guy is rich, no question about it. Has a personal driver but seems
to prefer walking.”

“Pinky lived in Brooklyn,” I reminded him. “Maybe there’s a connection.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Tell me more about why you followed Adam.”

“You told me that SlickBlade didn’t own the chartered plane—that it belonged to the
Curling Weasels.”

“That’s right.”

“When SlickBlade and everyone else on the list came up empty, I decided to check out
the Weasels. See if anything popped.”

Where was Frances when I wanted her to listen in? Too late, I remembered she’d left
the office to run an errand. “What did you find?”

“Do you know who manages the Curling Weasels?”

I shook my head, despite the fact Tooney couldn’t see. “Who?”

“A guy here in New York. He works out of a fancy office a couple of blocks away from
Times Square. Adam from SlickBlade is up in that office right this minute, meeting
with that manager. Want to know what his name is?”

I held my breath.

Tooney raised his voice to be heard over a sudden traffic crescendo. “He goes by Jerry
Pezz,” he shouted, “but his real name is Gerard Pezzati.”

THE MINUTE I HUNG UP WITH TOONEY, I DIALED WILLIAMSON, EAGER TO CONVEY THE
information about Adam’s connection to Gerard Pezzati. Irena told me that her brother
was ashamed of his living conditions and begged her not to visit. She sent him money
to help keep him going. How despicable to scam one’s sister like that. Bennett had
said that Nico was afraid of Gerard weaseling the estate from Irena. How apt that
he managed the super successful Curling Weasels.

“The connection between the two has got to be important,” I told Williamson. “It’s
too much of a coincidence, otherwise.”

The detective had me repeat what Tooney had reported, twice. “You understand this
is all hearsay,” he said.

“Ronny Tooney is a private investigator.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with surprising
ease. Even as recently as a half year ago, I would never have predicted my voicing
such fervent support of the man. “He uncovered this as part of his investigation.”

Williamson grunted. “I’m not saying I’m convinced, but you’ve got that flight attendant . . .”

“Rudy. He said he might come visit today, but I haven’t seen him.”

“The fact that he’s wandering around town is curious. You had the lead singer from
SlickBlade trying to get close to you, too. There are allegations he may have connections
to your friends in Italy, and those Italian friends are on their way to visit.”

“We have to wait until Signor Pezzati is healthy enough to travel.”

“Whatever. There’s too much going on in your little hamlet to ignore. I’m coming out
there.”

“That would be great,” I said sincerely.

“Don’t wait up for me,” he said. “I’m taking a detour to New York to verify some of
what your personal P.I. came up with. When I get to Emberstowne, I’ll want to coordinate
with your local P.D. Any idea who runs homicide out there?”

I gave him both Rodriguez’s and Flynn’s names. “I’ve worked with them before.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

I didn’t bother hanging up. I merely clicked to get the tone and dialed Rodriguez.
As I did so, I heard the door to Frances’s office close. A moment later, her chair
squeaked. Good. She was back.

“Ms. Wheaton,” Rodriguez said in surprise when I identified myself. “I was just about
to call you.”

“Isn’t that a coincidence,” I said. “What’s up?”

“We’re closing the books on Vandeen Deinhart. The guy’s clean. Clean enough that my
spinster aunt could run a white glove across his forehead and hear it squeak.”

“That’s almost poetic, Detective.”

“Don’t get used to it. I’m only telling you that because Flynn and I plan to start
looking elsewhere for suspects.”

About time.
“Elsewhere?” I prompted.

“We think it’s time to take a second look at your Picasso skull theory.”

Took you long enough.
“Great,” I said, then shared with him what Tooney had called to tell me. I also mentioned
Detective Williamson’s involvement. “Whatever you and Detective Flynn need, let me
know.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

I hung up and made my way in to see Frances.

“What did the dynamic duo have to say?” she asked.

“It’s what Tooney had to say that’s the most interesting,” I said. Frances’s eyes
went wide, her brows jumping in silent surprise as I told her about the connection
between my would-be suitor, Adam, and Signor Pezzati’s son, Gerard.

“That’s a little too cozy for comfort,” she said.

I shared what Bennett had told me about Pezzati bequeathing his estate to the town.
“Gerard is out of the will completely. I guess this is his way of negotiating his
own inheritance.”

“If he’s a hotshot New York manager for that band you mentioned . . .”

“Curling Weasels.”

“. . . Then it sounds as though he’s well off. Why jeopardize all he’s worked for
by stealing from his father?”

“A sense of entitlement, perhaps?” I suggested. “I’ve heard of instances where kids
believe their parents owe them.” I thought about my own inheritance, and that of my
sister. How differently we’d handled what our mother had left us. How differently
we handled life. I shook off the memories. Too painful. “We know nothing about Gerard
as a person. We don’t know how he managed his apparent success. He may have built
his empire by stealing funds from others.”

Frances clucked disapproval. “When Signor Pezzati arrives, will he stay with the Mister
or at the Marshfield Hotel?”

“Bennett wants him to stay here. We were guests in his home, and Bennett believes
it’s only fitting to extend the same hospitality.” I snapped my fingers. “That reminds
me, I wanted to call before he leaves. I certainly hope someone besides Angelo makes
the trip with him.”

• • •

MARCO ANSWERED THE PHONE AND, WHEN I
identified myself, was quick to remind me of his desire to visit the United States.
“I believe Signor Pezzati is coming to visit soon,” I said. Although these might not
be the best circumstances under which to experience Marshfield, I was certain he’d
find enjoyment in the trip. “Will you accompany him?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, with great care to get the word out properly, “I am not
to be included. Signor Pezzati requires me to remain here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know who is coming with the signor?”

“There is discussion,” he said. “I believe Angelo.”

I’d been hoping to hear that Irena would be coming, too. I asked to speak with her.
Marco thanked me for my kindness and promised to call her to the phone. “She and her
father are at dinner. Just a moment.”

That’s right; dinners there were later than we were used to here. It was well after
eight in the evening at Villa Pezzati.

Irena came on the line, breathless. “Grace,” she said with smiling exclamation in
her voice. “So wonderful to hear from you.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt your meal,” I began.

“No, no. I’m delighted by your call. Father is beside himself with worry and believes
you and Bennett can help him. This business about the skull is horrible. How could
anyone do such a thing to my father?”

“He told Bennett that he believes your brother is behind it.”

She heaved a sigh. “Such an accusation makes me very sad.”

“Your father plans to confront Gerard.”

“I know,” she said. Her misery was evident. “I’m afraid this news is too much for
his heart. Knowing how angry my brother makes him, I can’t imagine how he will survive
such an altercation. My father is constantly trying to protect me. This time, I need
to protect him.”

“So you’re coming with him?”

“Unless Angelo has his way.” She made a growling noise. “He tried to charter a jet
yesterday—and leave without telling me. My father was in no shape to travel. He’s
only slightly better today.”

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t take on additional passengers. Strangers, I mean.”
Thinking about Signor Pezzati and Irena alone with the burly bodyguard on the long
flight over, I added, “Is there any way to leave Angelo behind?”

“I will try.”

“Be very careful, okay?”

“Is it that bad?”

For about a second, I considered telling her about Gerard’s connection to SlickBlade
and the Curling Weasels. Although it wasn’t proof that Gerard had engineered Pinky’s
spot on our tragic flight, the evidence was incriminating. Irena had enough to deal
with. This could wait. “We’ll talk when you get here,” I said.

• • •

THAT NIGHT I FOUND MYSELF PACING THE
house waiting for Bruce and Scott to get home. I’d told them about Hillary’s new project,
but now that I’d heard Bennett’s side of the story, I’d begun to rethink my initial
knee-jerk refusal. My roommates knew how much I cared for Bennett. They knew about
the potential blood relationship, too. I needed their advice.

For the fourth time in as many minutes, I checked the kitchen clock. It would be at
least another hour before they were home. I decided to strap Bootsie into her harness
and sit on the rickety front porch, hoping the evening air would help clear my mind.

The sun was doing its nightly disappearing act, purpling the clouds and shooting beams
of shimmering orange out in its bursting farewell. I made my way down the graying,
crooked steps to sit on the very bottom one. That would allow Bootsie the full six
feet of her leash to explore whatever sidewalk, soft grass, and jumping bugs she could
reach on the nearby ground. So engrossed was I in watching her belly-crawling antics
that I didn’t notice Jack until he was almost halfway up my front walk.

My breath caught in my throat. “Hi,” I said in a strangled voice. He wore dress slacks
and a collared shirt. Loafers that made no sound against the concrete. Too surprised
by his appearance sauntering up my walk, I didn’t have time to summon a dismissive
“Oh, it’s you” tone. Nope, in that one high-pitched “Hi,” I communicated embarrassment
from the meet-up with Becke the other night and my instinctive appreciation of him,
looking all cleaned up and handsome.

“You busy?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Does it look like it?”

He closed the distance between us, crouching to pet Bootsie. “She remembers me,” he
said when she nuzzled against his hand.

I started to say, “She does that with everyone,” but bit my lip.

He sat next to me, asking, “May I?” even as his back end met the uneven step.

My natural inclination was to apologize, and I started to form the words to express
regret for interrupting his date with Becke on Friday. This time, however, I held
my tongue. He’d come to see me. There must be a reason.

Crickets chirped, welcoming the rolling dusk.

He picked up a thick twig and began peeling at its bark with a fingernail. One long
pale green line in a bumpy brown stub. “Becke’s not moving in with me,” he said.

“Change of plan?”

His face tightened. “She’s moving into my dad’s house. That’s all it is. She and her
kids are going through a bad time and my dad’s house is, well, you know . . .”

I did know. While the paternal head of the Embers family served time in prison, the
house remained empty.

“Having them live in it is good for everyone,” Jack said, still scratching at the
twig. More lines of pale green joined the first. “She catches a break, and I don’t
have to worry about vandals.”

“We have that much vandalism in Emberstowne?”

Even in the rapidly waning light, I could see his cheeks color. He turned his attention
away from the twig and met my wavering gaze. I wasn’t feeling particularly strong
right now, but I wasn’t about to play the compliant female, either.

His mouth was so tight I could barely see his teeth when he spoke. “I’m doing a favor
for someone I was once close to. Is that so wrong?”

“Very gentlemanly.”

My sarcasm sat between us like a lump.

I kept my gaze averted for as long as I could. Tiring of treading the awkward silence,
I reached for Bootsie, who wiggled away. “I should get in.” I reached for her again.

“Wait,” he said. “Please.”

That surprised me into silence.

“Who was the guy you met outside Hugo’s Friday night?” he asked.

I sat back. “You followed me?”

“I wanted to explain and to apologize for Becke’s behavior. All I’m doing is giving
her a place to stay, a home for her kids.”

“She wants more, doesn’t she?”

“I don’t.” He waited for me to make eye contact. “You know that, don’t you?”

I lifted my gaze to the inky purple sky. Stars were out there, almost. I could feel
their presence even if I couldn’t yet see them. “Lately it feels as though I don’t
know anything.”

“They say timing is everything in relationships.”

Hadn’t I just told myself that? “They do.”

“Can we try again?” he asked. “Start over?”

I hesitated.

He handed me the twig. I could barely make it out, but he’d scratched a word in the
little branch. It read, “Maybe?”

My stomach flip-flopped at the touching gesture. I swallowed as hope and memories
of disappointment collided in my heart, making it swell even as it raced with fear
and anticipation.

“Becke,” I finally said. “She’s going to be a force to contend with.”

“I can handle her.”

I squinted, barely able to see the shrubbery nearest the street now, but with sudden
clarity when it came to mistakes of the heart I’d made in the past. I couldn’t make
those mistakes again. I turned to him. “I won’t fight another woman for a man’s affection
or attention—”

“I don’t expect you to.”

Temptation was terrific. Gathering all the strength I could muster, I said the words
that were right for me, right now. “Get Becke settled. Do whatever you need to do
for her. It really is a great kindness you’re offering.”

“I swear there’s nothing—”

Emboldened by the power of my decision, I reached forward and placed my finger against
his lips. They were soft, warm pillows in the rapidly cooling night air, but I wouldn’t
allow myself to think about them right now. Not in that way. “I won’t be ‘the other
woman’ in Becke’s world. She’ll never be genuinely settled until she understands that
you’re not part of her new life. Until then, I won’t be involved in the drama. I can’t.”