Grace Sees Red (7 page)

Seated at my desk with my fingers clasped atop my head, I swiveled to stare out the window at the sunny landscape. More than anything, I wanted this cloud of suspicion to go away. And I wanted it gone now. The best way I could think to accomplish that was to track down as much information about the situation as I could, using every means available.

My first instinct had been to alert our favorite private investigator, Ronny Tooney. Catching myself, I silently mouthed, “Bronson.” It was taking me a long time to get used to using his real first name. The man had provided invaluable assistance to us over the years. Even if nothing could be done to dissuade the police from investigating Frances, Tooney—I was sure—would be able to come up with some interesting way to help prove her innocence.

Even though I knew he could be trusted to keep our confidence, Frances's admonishment to keep the story to myself prevented me from alerting the resourceful detective. But I had to do something. Deep in thought, I bit my lower lip. We couldn't let Frances twist in the wind until the police cleared her. I knew from experience how long that could
take. Though perennially cranky, and quick to criticize others, Frances was not nearly as indestructible as she pretended to be.

“I know you're a lady of leisure these days, but do you think you could pretend to be working instead of daydreaming?”

I sat up, dropping my hands to my lap. “Where's the fun in that?”

Frances crossed my office carrying a tray. On it were two steaming mugs of coffee, a pitcher of cream, and two plated croissants as well as necessary silverware and linens.

She placed the tray on my desk, took one of the mugs, one of the croissant plates, and sat down across from me. “Help yourself. I'm not going to spoon-feed you.”

“Thanks, Frances.” Gentle heat radiated off the golden-brown pastry and I got a warm whiff of yeasty deliciousness as I brought the croissant to my side of the desk. I added cream to my mug then took a sip of the brew. “Excellent coffee.”

“Three-and-a-half scoops of grounds. After you let the water run for a full minute.” She held her cup so close to her face that I could only see her eyes over the top of its rim. “Remember that in case I get hauled off to prison and you're stuck making it yourself.”

“That's not going to happen,” I said. “You do know that, don't you?”

“I know that the two geniuses who run Emberstowne's homicide department are always ready to jump at the obvious answer. If it weren't for you and me, there's no telling how many innocent people they'd have locked up and how many murderers would still be running free.”

“Rodriguez and Flynn aren't that bad.”

“They're not that good, either.”

“Regardless,” I said, “we aren't dealing with them this time. I'm sure that the officers in charge of the investigation at Indwell will either determine that Gus died of natural causes, or that—if someone did kill him—it wasn't you.”

She gave an indignant snort. “I almost wish it
had
happened in Emberstowne. At least we can handle those two goofballs. We have history with them.”

“I was thinking,” I began gently, “of bringing Tooney in on this.”

“No.”

“You know he wouldn't breathe a word.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She placed her mug on my desk with a
thud
. “It's bad enough you and the Mister are involved. When I said that I don't want anyone else in town to know, I meant
nobody
else. You know as well as I do that the minute even one other person gets wind of what went down at Indwell yesterday, my reputation is shot.”

“Not at all, Frances.” Though tempted to break into my croissant and enjoy its flaky goodness, I pushed the plate aside. “There's not a soul here at Marshfield and there's not anyone in town who'd believe you capable of murder.”

She waved the air. “Well, of course they know I didn't murder anyone. That's not what I'm talking about.”

I sat back. “It's that important to you to keep your relationship with Percy a secret?”

“Nobody can know about him.”

“Why not?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter. It's not like he's got another wife in town or anything like that.” She chewed the inside of her cheek. “I just don't want people around here to find out that I spend so much time taking care of him.”

I waited.

She picked her mug back up and took a long sip before answering. “You always ask how I know things before I'm supposed to know them. You always give me grief about my grapevine.”

“I find it uncanny how much you come up with, and how fast.”

“What you don't know is that those grapevine people will gleefully turn on one another in an instant if the scoop is juicy enough.” She took another sip of coffee. “Sometimes, even if it's dull as nuts. Trust me, I've known these people for
decades. Loyalty goes out the window when there's a good story to tell.”

“Decades?” I picked up on the word. “If you've been friends with these folks that long, they must know you were once married to Percy.”

“Who said they were friends?” Frances snorted. “Just because I've known a few of them most of my life doesn't mean I trust them. Let me tell you—they're masters at making you believe they're sincerely interested in your life and happiness. But that's only to butter you up and get you to talk. And while you're spilling your soul, they're soaking up details to share later.”

“Details they share with you.”

Frances acknowledged that without comment. “Information is like currency. It's power. They hold it, they wield it. They almost ruined you, you know.”

“What?” Even though I knew shouldn't, I asked, “When?”

“When Abe was murdered, right after you first started working here, a couple of them tried to get people to believe that you were responsible. They started spreading rumors about how you staged the whole ruckus in the Birdcage Room just to give yourself an alibi.”

“That's ludicrous.” Despite the fact that the case had been solved a few years ago—with my assistance, no less—I felt a rush of anger. “How could anyone suggest such a thing?”

“Don't worry; I shut that one down.” A ghost of a smile crossed Frances's lips—the first hint of reduced tension I'd seen from her since her coffee-making lesson this morning.

“You stood up for me?”

“Don't get all sappy.” She rolled her eyes. Another good sign. “I may not have liked you very much back then, but anybody with a brain could see that you didn't kill Abe.”

“Why do you bother with these folks if they're so bad?”

Frances shrugged. “Hard to resist good gossip.”

“I don't believe you.”

She shrugged again. “What can I say? I'd rather be an ally than a target.”

Frances must have sensed the pity I was feeling for her because she shot me a warning look. “Enough about all that. You and I need to talk about how soon this lawyer woman, Lily, can clear my good name.”

“What did she tell you on the ride back?”

“Mostly she explained procedures and told me what to expect.” Frances barked another laugh. “Like I haven't seen a homicide investigation in action before. She says she'll call me today after she's had a chance to consult with the detectives. She wants to feel them out to see what we're up against. I told her we shouldn't be up against anything because I didn't do it.”

“It's a ridiculous situation, we all know that. But I'm glad Bennett called her in. It's good that you have an advocate.”

I stopped when I heard Frances's office door open. She frowned.

I asked, “Are we expecting anyone?”

“Not that I know of.”

As Frances got to her feet, our unexpected guests appeared in the doorway.

Rodriguez and Flynn strode in, Rodriguez breaking into a wide smile the moment he spotted Frances. “There you are,” he said, pointing triumphantly. The middle-aged homicide detective—once obese—had worked hard to trim himself down to pleasantly chubby after a near-fatal heart attack the previous year. His weight had dropped off as his zest for living skyrocketed. Turning to address his partner, he added, “Told you we'd find her here, safe and sound.” To us, he said, “Morning, ladies. Mind if we come in? We'd like to hear about all your excitement yesterday.”

Frances's cheeks were bright red, her expression fierce. Rather than speak, she sputtered, “What are you talking about?”

Flynn scowled. “You're a wanted woman. Don't tell me this comes as a surprise.”

She spun on me. “Did you—?”

I held up both hands. “Not a word, Frances. I swear.”

“There you go again,” Flynn said, “jumping to conclusions. Grace has nothing to do with us being here this morning. Your
little skirmish in Rosette, however, does.” Thinner and far more fidgety than the older detective, Flynn crossed his arms and tried to stare us down. If we hadn't known him as well as we did from so many prior entanglements, the two of us may have been intimidated by the tall, angry detective with the shiny shaved head. As it was, Frances looked ready to deck him.

Rodriguez laid a hand on his partner's shoulder. “The department in Rosette notified us. Professional courtesy, you understand. We decided to stop by to see how you were doing.”

“Yeah, that's it. We're here to make sure you're okay.” Flynn didn't even attempt to mask his sarcasm. He spied the mugs of coffee and croissants and asked, “Mind if we have a little chat?”

I ignored Frances's glare of disapproval. “Have a seat, gentlemen,” I said. “Would you like coffee?”

Rodriguez broke into a wide smile. “If it wouldn't be too much trouble.”

With a huff, Frances started for the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

She flung her hand out. “Coffee doesn't magically appear by itself, you know.”

“Please,” I said, “have a seat. I'll get something sent up from the Birdcage Room kitchen. I think we can find someone willing to bring us a carafe and a couple of pastries.”

She pursed her lips but didn't argue.

I picked up the phone. Remembering that the staff in the Birdcage Room probably wasn't at full force for the day yet, I made a quick last-minute decision and opted to call Theo, Bennett's butler, instead. We spoke for less than a minute and he promised he'd be down with my request shortly.

In that brief space of time, we settled ourselves in our usual positions: me behind the desk, Rodriguez across to my left, Flynn across to my right, and Frances to my far right, perched on the small sofa against the north wall. She sat with her
ample arms folded across her chest, looking ready to head-butt the first person who spoke.

“What do you know?” I asked the detectives. “What did the other police department tell you?”

Flynn jerked his thumb toward Frances. “They wanted to know if we were acquainted with Suzy Sunshine over there.”

“Let me handle this, amigo.” Rodriguez repositioned his chair to be able to address both me and Frances at the same time. He wiggled his hand, silently directing Flynn to scoot back out of his sight line. Once that was complete, Rodriguez laced his fingers across his midsection. Although he no longer possessed a triple-extra-large body, he still shifted slowly, as though he hadn't yet become accustomed to his trimmer frame.

“That's better,” he said.

“What
I'd
like to know is what they told you about the actual crime,” I said. “And how soon they think Frances can be cleared.”

“Doesn't work that way.” Rodriguez shook his head. “They were looking for information from us. We didn't get much from them. Other than learning that our friend here is a person of interest in their homicide investigation, that is.”

“She didn't do it, you know.”

“Knowing something and proving it are two different animals.”

“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”

“Don't get all worked up yet, Miz Wheaton,” Rodriguez said. “We told Rosette's officers that we knew Miz Sliwa very well and that she'd even assisted us in several of our investigations.”

“Assisted.” Frances snorted. “Did your jobs for you, you should have said.”

Flynn about flew off his seat. “We vouched for your character, lady. We can take it back. How do we really know you didn't have anything to do with this homicide? Maybe you saw your chance and took it. Maybe you thought that because you've been up close and personal with so many of
our
investigations that you could outsmart their police department and get off scot-free. Is that it?”

Frances had a wide, wobbly neck. I'd never seen veins stand out in it before now.

“Cut it out, Flynn. That's no way to talk to one of our friends,” Rodriguez said. Addressing Frances, he added, “We know you're innocent, but we're officers of the law and our job is to follow where the evidence takes us. We plan to ask you a few questions, check out a few leads, and then report our findings to the guys in Rosette.”

“Guys?” Frances asked. “For your information, the homicide detectives there are female.”

Rodriguez drew in a sharp breath. “Yes, we've spoken with one of them. I assure you, I meant no disrespect. We often use ‘guys' without specifying gender. But thank you for the clarification.” Continuing smoothly, he went on, “We would appreciate your full cooperation, Miz Sliwa.”

She squared her shoulders. “If they told you what happened yesterday, then you already know everything.”

“Yeah, right.” Flynn edged forward in his seat. “We didn't even know you were married. Thanks a lot for that. Made us look like idiots.”

Cutting Frances off before she could make a snarky comment, I jumped in. “Enough. We're not getting anything accomplished here.”

At that moment the outer office door opened.

“That must be the coffee,” Frances said, getting to her feet.

“Sit down, Frances,” I said. “I'll take care of it.”

From the low voices filtering in, I could tell that two people had arrived. “In here,” I called.

Theo carried a silver tray laden with a selection of breakfast pastries; a large carafe; and assorted cups, plates, and silverware.

Bennett came in behind him. “I hope I'm not intruding,” he said. “Detective Rodriguez, you're looking well. Detective Flynn, good to see you again. I trust you're both here to help
us prove Frances's innocence in the difficult matter we encountered this weekend.”

Both Rodriguez and Flynn got to their feet to shake hands with the mansion's owner. “We'll do our best,” Rodriguez said.

Flynn tilted his head to indicate Frances. “Assuming she cooperates.”

Bennett fixed his gaze on Frances. “We will all cooperate,” he said as he shifted his focus to Flynn. “Frances's well-being is paramount here, and we trust that you will do your utmost to help uncover the truth in this situation. If you find that you cannot perform your duties—for whatever reason—let me know now. I would be happy to engage professionals to pick up your slack.”

The tip of Flynn's nose went pink. He worked his jaw. “No need for that.”

“Good to hear,” Bennett said as he pulled a chair over from across the office.

Tension in the room lessened as Theo cleared away the mugs Frances had brought for us and began setting new cups and saucers on the empty edges of my desk. Silently, we all waited for him to complete the task.

“Speaking of other professionals,” I said the moment Theo left us, “I suggested bringing Ronny Tooney in at first. But Frances said she'd rather not.”

Flynn gave a mirthless laugh. “That guy.”

Bennett had positioned his chair between Flynn and Frances. Facing Flynn again, he asked, “What did we just say about cooperation? Mr. Tooney has proved to be an invaluable asset to Marshfield Manor.” Bennett softened his words with a fleeting smile. “As have you, Detective Flynn. Right now one of our trusted employees—a friend—is in trouble. I repeat, if you find that this particular situation is too difficult to manage, please tell us now.”

Chastised a second time, Flynn flushed again. “I say things to let off steam sometimes.” He shrugged. “I don't really mean anything by it.”

Bennett turned to Frances. “I believe it would be a good idea to bring Mr. Tooney in on this matter. He is very discreet.”

Frances grumbled. “So much for keeping this quiet,” she said. “Fine. Call him. If these two already know what went on at Indwell, probably everybody in Emberstowne does, too.”

Rodriguez helped himself to coffee then settled back in his chair. “Neither Flynn nor I have any reason to discuss the matter with anyone outside our department,” he said. “And even though we don't have jurisdiction in Rosette, we may be able to offer suggestions to help you navigate this situation. At least until you're cleared of suspicion.” He regarded Frances with warm compassion.

She squirmed.

The detective kept his gaze trained on her. “Why don't you tell us what happened? Everything you know, starting from the moment you arrived at Indwell Estates yesterday.”

“I got there Saturday, not yesterday. I always get there Saturday and leave Sunday,” she said.

“All right, good. You arrived at Indwell on Saturday. Take us through it.”

She did.

As she recounted her experiences, Flynn—making short work of three pastries between sips of coffee—interrupted twice to ask questions. Rodriguez remained silent, taking notes. When Frances got to the part where Bennett and I entered the scene, she invited us to chime in. All in all, there was very little she divulged that I didn't already know.

To her credit, Frances had delivered facts objectively, and—with few exceptions—had refrained from shading her narration with color commentary.

I hadn't known she had it in her.

Almost as though she'd heard me voice the sentiment, she added, “That lawyer Lily Holland warned me that I need to keep emotion out of this.” She shot me a silent query that asked “How did I do?”

I nodded approval.

Rodriguez shut his notebook and got to his feet “We'll stay in touch with Rosette's department and keep you all apprised
as much as possible.” As the rest of us rose, some silent signal passed between the two detectives. “Flynn,” he said, “why don't you get Miz Sliwa's home contact information, in case we need to reach her during off-hours?”

Flynn nodded and started for the door, fully expecting my assistant to follow.

“Where are you going?” she asked. “I know my own phone number. You can write it down here.”

Flynn scratched the back of his bald head. “I keep my contacts in an old-fashioned Rolodex,” he said, then pointed toward her office. “I'd prefer a business card. Do you have any?”

“Of course I do.”

“Let me have one of those, then. I'll jot your home info on the back.”

My assistant huffed, but trundled toward the door with Flynn in tow.

As soon as they were gone, Rodriguez stepped up to my desk and invited Bennett to come closer. “Listen, I've been a cop most of my adult life. I know how we operate.” Speaking quietly, but faster than I'd ever heard him before, he flicked a glance between us and continued. “Our girl here is in trouble. Rosette's department has their sights set on her and even though the evidence is circumstantial right now—the argument she had with the victim, her husband's missing medication, and finding the cap in the victim's room—if toxicology comes back positive for insulin, she's going down for this.”

“Her lawyer—” I began.

“Can only do so much,” Rodriguez finished. “She can't stop them from arresting her, and she can't convince the cops they have the wrong person if there's no one else with means, motive, and opportunity.”

“This is ridiculous,” Bennett said, raising his voice. “What can we do?”

“Keep her calm.” Rodriguez held an index finger to his lips. “She's on her best behavior but we can all see the strain taking its toll. There's no point getting her riled up. Let's just hope the autopsy results confirm a natural death.”

“I wish this had all happened here,” I said. “I trust you and Flynn. I trust our people. I don't know those detectives in Rosette.”

Pain crossed Rodriguez's face. “One more thing,” he said. “Flynn and I are sworn to uphold the law. Even though we don't have jurisdiction, we can't ignore evidence if it's presented to us and we can't share information with you and Frances if it compromises Rosette's investigation.”

I drew in a sharp breath. Bennett frowned.

Rodriguez words came out very quickly. “We know Frances well enough to believe she's innocent. But none of us really know for certain that she didn't kill the victim.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but Rodriguez held up a placating hand.

“Flynn and I truly believe she's being unjustly accused, but I need you both to know that while he and I can advise you about rights, and suggest courses of action, we cannot do anything to jeopardize the process.”

Flynn poked his head in, locked eyes with Rodriguez, and asked, “Are you done socializing? We've got work to do.”

“Coming, amigo,” Rodriguez said with a wink. “Just enjoying a little more of this delicious coffee before we leave.”

His hands on the doorjamb, Flynn nodded. “Anything else we need from Ms. Sliwa while we're here?”

Rodriguez ran a hand along his chin. “Have her jot down the names of everyone she encountered at Indwell on Saturday and Sunday. Just in case we happen to talk to a few of them.”

Flynn gave him an “Are you kidding me?” look. Rodriguez shrugged.

When Flynn disappeared again, Rodriguez turned to me. “You have a talent for getting into the middle of these things, Miz Wheaton. I have an idea of how to put that to use.” He shot a quick glance toward the open doorway between the offices. “You've met the new coroner, haven't you?”

“Just once. When you and Flynn were investigating the victim in our backyard over the winter, he let me sit in his van and keep warm.” Even though that single interaction had been brief, I clearly remembered two things: the new coroner
had required the assistance of a cane to walk, and he possessed a dry sense of humor.

“Dr. Bradley,” Rodriguez said. “Joe. Give him a call.”