Grace Takes Off (14 page)

“Are you in a rush to leave?” I asked. I glanced up at the clock on the blue wall
above the swishy doors and realized we’d landed more than two hours ago.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Couple things are still bothering me.” I indicated the other passengers still in
the waiting area: Adam of SlickBlade and his bandmate Matthew, with Millie resting
on her haunches next to him. Everyone else had taken off. Airport security had been
kind enough to bring our bags here, saving us the added headache of having to locate
them after the long ordeal. “I’d like to ask them a few questions.”

“Go ahead,” Bennett said with a squint. “As long as you tell me what you discover.”

“Deal.”

As I made my way toward Matthew, Adam sauntered over to intercept. “That was one heck
of a trip, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“Roughest flight I’ve ever been on.”

Wasn’t that the understatement of the year?

“My heart goes out to that woman Evelyn,” he went on. “She deserved better.”

“Do you know if she has family?” I asked. “This is going to come as a real shock to
them.”

He wagged his head. “No idea.”

Adam shuffled in place, clearly believing he needed to continue the conversation.
On a whim, I decided to include him as I cornered his bandmate. “Do you mind if we
ask him”—I pointed to Matthew—“about Pinky? I got the impression he didn’t know her
very well, and yet they seemed to be traveling together.”

Delighted to be of assistance, Adam joined me as I crossed the small lounge. Waxy
smells of floor polish and fast food combined in this fundamentally utilitarian room.
Faux leather seats were littered about the area in attached groups of three. Matthew
slouched in the center seat of one of these groups, head dropped back facing the ceiling,
one leg crossed over the other. If it weren’t for the hand holding Millie’s red leash,
the fingers of which were tapping out a rhythm only he could hear, I’d have believed
he’d fallen asleep.

Adam and I sat on either side of him, our weight causing the connected seats to wobble.
Matthew sat up quickly. “What happened?” he asked, looking alarmed. “Did they call
me?”

“I wanted to ask you a few questions,” I said, “before the police do.”

“Is that allowed?”

“It doesn’t seem to be a problem.” Two officers had been stationed inside the lounge
area, purportedly to make sure we didn’t leave before being questioned. They didn’t
seem to have an issue with us talking amongst ourselves.

Although I’d been involved in this entire situation from the very beginning and knew
that we had no plan to corroborate or conspire, I still thought it was shoddy police
work. The authorities had been handed a solved crime in a shiny, jet-shaped package.
All they cared about now was filling out the paperwork.

Adam followed my gaze and apparently my train of thought. He lifted his eyebrows and
grunted.

I addressed Matthew. “Here’s what I want to know: You brought Pinky into the group—”

“If I would have known she was packing, I would never have—”

“Slow down,” I said, “I’m not placing blame, I’m trying to understand. According to
Detective Williamson . . .” I waved in the direction of the interrogation room “. . .
the name Pinky provided was an alias. We’ll never find out who was behind her actions
if we don’t know her real name.”

He folded his arms and stared out at nothing. “I don’t know it.”

Adam sat sideways in his chair, elbows propped on his open knees, fingers clasped.
He gave a patient sigh. “Come on, bro. Listen to the lady. All she wants is to ask
you a couple questions. Quit acting like an idiot here. Nobody thinks you had anything
to do with that poor stewardess getting killed. But if there’s some way you can help . . .”
He let the thought hang for a moment before he chucked Matthew on the shoulder. “Maybe
you should chill a little here and listen to the questions before you jump down our
throats.”

Matthew leaned forward again. Not acquiescence. More like resignation. I knew he wasn’t
about to launch into the conversation and beg me to question him, so I started in
without waiting. “Did she give you her real name?”

Hunched over now, he shrugged. “Just Pinky.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“At the club. Last night. She was hanging around backstage and in between sets told
me she had some problems and needed to get back home to the States.”

“What kind of problems?”

Matthew grimaced. “Said her mother was sick.” He blew raspberries. “The oldest con
in the book, huh? And I fell for it. She said that her mother had been taken to the
hospital and that she might not make it more than a day or two. She said she didn’t
have money for a flight and did I know anyone heading to the East Coast?”

I exchanged a glance with Adam, whose brow furrowed over concerned eyes. It appeared
as though he wanted to say something, but kept quiet as Matthew continued.

“I felt sorry for her. It wasn’t like she was into me or anything.” He seemed to seek
our acceptance on this point. I nodded. “I sure wasn’t into her. She was nice enough,
but as soon as we got to the plane, she didn’t even bother faking it.” To punctuate
his words, he leaned down. Millie anticipated his move and flopped onto her back so
he could rub her stomach. “When I told her we had a jet scheduled for the next day,
she was all over me, begging me to let her come along. I said it was okay as long
as Slick said it was.”

He glanced over to Adam, who let out a low whistle. “Sounds like she targeted us specifically.
No idea why. We get hangers-on from time to time,” he explained. “Nobody as wacky
as this chick, mind you. Anyway, I was busy with the sound mixing guy at the club—he
wasn’t getting me because of the language issue—and I agreed without really thinking
about it too hard. I’m sorry.”

Heaven help us if the rest of the world were this gullible.
“I guess it’s almost like picking up a hitchhiker,” I said. “You take your life in
your hands.”

“We’ve picked up lots of hitchhikers on the bus. Plenty of times,” Matthew said, as
though that absolved them.

Adam apologized again. “We blew it. There’s no disputing that. And we’ll do whatever
we can to help.” He nudged Matthew. “Won’t we?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“If it’s any consolation to you, Grace,” Adam continued, “we’re in it pretty deep,
too. That plane isn’t ours.” He shot a glare at Matthew as though warning him not
to interrupt. “It hasn’t been announced yet, but we’ll be the warm-up band for Curling
Weasels at their next concert.”

“Whoa,” I said. “They’re huge.”

“Yeah, and they’re none too happy about this.” Adam held out a hand as though the
waiting room symbolized all we’d been through. “We’re keeping that info on the downlow.
If you don’t mind.”

“Got it.”

“If the press finds out, they’ll spin it into a convoluted conspiracy.” Adam met my
gaze with his concerned one. “That won’t help you get answers. Once the media gets
wind of Curling Weasels’ involvement, they won’t care what really happened, and we
can kiss the truth good-bye.”

I pulled a couple of business cards out of my purse, scribbled my cell phone number
on the back, and then handed them to Adam and Matthew. “I’ll keep the Weasels out
of this as much as I can,” I said, “as long as you promise to get in touch if you
find out anything.”

Matthew stuck the card in his back pocket. I wondered if he’d toss it at the first
opportunity. In contrast, Adam held the card in both hands. “I promise,” he said.

When the door opened and Detective Williamson called Matthew to come in next, Bennett
and I said good-bye to Adam. Within minutes we were safely ensconced in the backseat
of one of Bennett’s cars and finally, blissfully, headed home.

“Don’t worry, Gracie,” Bennett said. “Once we’re back at Marshfield, we’ll be able
to shake off all this unpleasantness.”

I nodded, but only to be polite.

IT WASN’T JET LAG OR MY INTERNAL CLOCK
being messed up that had me at my desk before six the next morning. It was a need
to grab hold of my bearings before the day got away from me. Although my capable assistant,
Frances, had been left in charge in our absence, there was still much to do to catch
up.

I had a slew of tasks I needed to cross off my list. First and foremost, I wanted
to find out more about Pinky. I’d have to draw on every resource I could. In the past,
Marshfield had used a service, Fairfax Investigations, to look into sensitive matters
on its behalf. Their offices weren’t open yet, so I left them a voicemail to call
me. I debated leaving a voicemail for Ronny Tooney, but was afraid of waking him.
He’d become an ally of sorts, but I decided to call him at a more respectable hour.

Until then, I started through the tidy piles of notifications Frances had so precisely
placed on my desk. As I read reports from the various departments, my mind wandered
back to my homecoming late last night, with Bootsie snuggling close as I lifted her
to my chest. Having waited up for me, Scott had shouldered the luggage and tugged
it in through the back door, while Bruce pulled me into a huge bear hug that threatened
to squeeze Bootsie out of my arms.

My roommates had been as overjoyed to see me as I was to be home. Even though I struggled
with fatigue, I insist they bring me up to date on all that was new at Amethyst Cellars,
their wine shop, everything that had happened with Bootsie, and a few tidbits about
the neighborhood. I took it all in, happily digesting the news but suspecting that
they were avoiding one topic in particular.

“What about Hillary?” I’d asked. “Was her move-in day as big a production as we all
expected?”

Bruce and Scott had exchanged a look before Bruce said, “We haven’t seen her.”

Scott had held out his hands. “There’s been nothing going on over there since the
day she arrived—which was pretty quiet, to be honest. No movement. Not a peep.”

I thought about that conversation now as I sorted through the time cards, stopping
for a moment to stare out my office window overlooking the verdant Marshfield gardens.
It wasn’t like Hillary to keep a low profile. The idea of her being our neighbor was
almost too much to bear. Everything I knew about the woman screamed “Look at me.”
I couldn’t imagine her having completed the move without taking out a full-page ad
in Emberstowne’s local newspaper and organizing a parade in her own honor.

As I’d snuggled Bootsie, I’d told my roommates what had happened on the flight across
the Atlantic, and tried in vain to dismiss their concerns. The problem was, I was
worried—a great deal more than I let on. As usual, however, Bruce and Scott saw right
through my assertions that all was well now that the authorities were in charge.

“But who hired Pinky?” Bruce had asked.

That question haunted me now as I pulled the timecards closer and forced myself to
focus. I hadn’t had a reply for Bruce, and I knew I couldn’t rest until I had answers
that made sense.

The door to the next office opened and shut. A quick glance at the clock told me it
was far too early for employees to be arriving. That left security or an intruder
as the only options behind the noise.

I stood. “Hello? Who’s there?”

Before I could make it to the door that connected my office with Frances’s, she walked
in, scowling. “Give me a fright, why don’t you?” she demanded. “What are you doing
here at this hour?”

I opened my mouth to automatically respond in kind to her snippy tone, but was surprised
by the sudden rush of affection I felt for the purple polyester–clad woman glaring
at me. I was glad to see my cranky assistant, and shocked by such an unexpected reaction.
The two deaths on the flight home yesterday had clearly wrought havoc with my emotions.

I managed to instill enough sarcasm into my truthful reply to keep her from falling
over in a faint. “I missed you, too, Frances.”

“Humph,”
she said, turning her back to me as she trundled away.

I followed her to her desk. “How did it go while we were gone?”

She pulled her beige purse off her shoulder and dropped it onto the desktop with a
heavy thud. “Is that why you’re in early? To check on what I’ve been doing while you
and the Mister have been gallivanting all over the globe? Let me tell you something—”

“I’m here early because I need your help,” I said quietly. “Bennett’s in danger.”

Her mouth clamped shut, tadpole eyebrows bunched together over her alarmed, beady
eyes. “Be more specific.”

I took a seat in front of her desk and pointed. “Sit down. I need to bring you up
to speed.”

As I retold the story of Pinky’s attempt on Bennett’s life, her subsequent killing
of Evelyn, and how Rudy had saved the day by taking Pinky down, Frances’s eyes by
turns went wide then tightened. Her mouth opened and shut as she struggled against
the urge to interrupt. It dawned on me about halfway through the story that this was
one of the rare times I was able to bring news to her. Frances always seemed to have
an ear to the ground and a finger on the pulse of Emberstowne. She was always ten
steps ahead of me. Not this time.

“Wait, wait. That can’t be the end of it,” she said as I wound to the conclusion of
my tale. “Pinky must have been in cahoots with someone else.” Frances’s face reddened.
The tadpoles squished together. Her disapproving eyes sparked with anger, and little
bubbles of spit gathered in the corners of her mouth. “Why would anyone want to kill
the Mister?”

“That’s what we”—I wiggled a finger between us—“have to find out.”

She sat back a little bit. She blinked. “You and I?”

“There’s no way we can accomplish all this alone, though. We’ll need help.”

Reaching for the phone, she said, “I’ll call Fairfax.”

“Already done.” I pointed to the clock on her desk. “I think it’s a decent enough
hour to call Ronny Tooney now, too. I’ll do that in a minute.”

She sniffed. “Like he could handle something this important.”

“He’s done pretty well for us in the past.”

“Pheh,”
she replied. “He got lucky and he knows it.”

I let that pass. “Bennett has his WizzyWig board meeting this afternoon,” I said,
“But I’m seeing to it that he doesn’t go alone.”

She gave me one of her cheeky glares. “How do you plan to protect him? Tuck a gun
into your skirt and play bodyguard?”

Dealing with Frances required grappling with her frequent grousing, including that
fun quip. “I called Terrence yesterday,” I said, exercising extreme patience, “on
the ride back from the airport. He and a couple of his staff will accompany Bennett
to the board meeting today.” I arched my brows to prevent her from jumping in before
I’d finished. “And before you snarl, yes, I’ve already gotten Bennett to buy into
this arrangement.”

“Snarl?
Humph,
” she said again, scowling.

“Bennett mentioned that Vandeen Deinhart is particularly upset about this new acquisition.
Bennett is positive Deinhart wouldn’t try anything drastic to keep the deal from going
through, but you and I both know better than to trust anyone. Especially where money
is concerned. Has anything unusual been going on here?” I asked.

Her little eyes relaxed ever so slightly, and when she asked, “Wouldn’t I have alerted
you if there was?” her words had a bit less bite.

“Of course you would have,” I said smoothly. “I only ask because now that you know
what happened on our flight, you may interpret things differently.”

She considered that. “Best of my knowledge, nothing amiss.”

“Good. I guess,” I said. “I almost wish we had something to look into.”

“Yes, well.” Frances worked her jaw in a way that let me know she was about to unload
a big piece of news. “There’s more. Nothing to do with the Mister. Not precisely.”
She slammed her mouth shut and struggled for control. Her lips writhed, making me
believe she was attempting to keep from spewing in an angry eruption.

I sat back a little, but knew my assistant well enough to hazard a guess. I kept my
tone even. “Frances . . . did something happen between you and Hillary while we were
gone?”

“Did something happen?” she repeated in a voice loud enough to startle staff on the
first floor. “I’ll say it did. I’m sorry you and the Mister had the kind of trouble
you did on that airplane, but I had my hands full with that . . . that . . .”

Her face had gone bright red and I was afraid she might explode in front of me. “What
happened?” I asked.

She took a breath, calming down enough to answer with steady, rather than crazed,
fury. “That businessman of hers—that, that . . .”

“Are you talking about Frederick?” I supplied. The week before Bennett and I had taken
off on our European jaunt, Hillary had dropped a couple of bombs on us: She was moving
to Emberstowne, and she was launching a new interior design enterprise with a fellow
named Frederick. From what we could tell, she wasn’t interested in him romantically,
but I would lay odds that she’d used whatever feminine wiles were at her disposal
to manipulate his cooperation to ensure financial backing for her fledgling business
venture. “What happened?”

“That headstrong girl will be the death of me.” As her angry spittle threatened to
provide my second shower of the day, it occurred to me how often Bennett had used
the same description when referring to his stepdaughter. “I told her she wasn’t allowed
in the Mister’s rooms while he was gone, but did she abide by the boundaries I set?”

I waited.

“Of course she didn’t,” Frances went on. “That girl has never had respect for authority.
Somebody needed to teach her a lesson when she first came to live here. I’m telling
you, if she were my daughter—”

“What did she do up there?” I asked to keep Frances focused.

“Took photographs. Lots of them.”

I sat back, confused. “You mean ‘took’ as in stole or borrowed, or ‘took’ as in captured
images with a camera?”

Frances’s cheeks puffed. Her face flushed red. Clearly, I’d interrupted her diatribe
with a stupid question. “She’s using
pictures”
—Frances pantomimed operating a camera—“from the Mister’s quarters to create a portfolio
for herself.”

“Whoa, wait,” I said. Frances favored me with a look of congratulations for finally
catching on. “She didn’t design those rooms. Bennett hired professionals.”

“I reminded her.”

“Years ago,” I continued. “Those rooms haven’t been changed in decades. She can’t
waltz in here and claim them as her work.”

Frances wiggled her head. “You think I didn’t argue that point? Hillary says it doesn’t
matter. She believes she’s fully capable of creating those kinds of designs, so why
not pretend she did?” Frances waved her hands in the air dismissively. “Of course
she claims that this is only temporary. Says she’s borrowing the rooms just long enough
to build up her own clientele.”

“But that makes no sense.”

As though reading my mind, Frances asked, “Hard to have a battle of wits against an
unarmed opponent. She’s a twit.”

In spite of myself, I laughed then sobered as I rubbed my temple. “I can’t fight this
battle right now. There’s too much at stake here. Bennett could be in danger.” I stopped,
then corrected myself. “Forget ‘could be.’ I’m sure he is. I can’t let anything distract
me from protecting him. Once we get to the bottom of that”—I hoped we could do so
quickly—“then I’ll tackle the Hillary problem.”

Frances snorted, but didn’t disagree with the plan. “Have you called those two Keystone
Kops down at the police department yet?”

Although this matter was not in our local detectives’ scope, the two of them, Rodriguez
and Flynn, might be able to lend assistance. Or at least provide guidance. “Not yet,”
I said. “I was waiting to tell you first.”

“I’ll take care of that. Is your morning free?” she asked, picking up the phone. “Can
you meet them in an hour?”

“I’ll make it a priority to meet them whenever they can get here.” I sent another
quick glance at the clock. “It may be too early for them.”

She sat up, poker straight. “Too early to protect the Mister? I think not.”

I stood to return to my office. “I’ll be here.”

“Good,” she said as she dialed. “Let me sort through some business. I have a few other
pieces of news you may be interested in hearing, too.”

From the shrewd look in her eye, I deduced she had news of Jack. My stomach did an
anticipatory flip-flop, as it usually did when I thought of him, but I tamped down
my curiosity, reminding myself that there were bigger issues to deal with at the moment.
Truth was, I’d had a great deal of time to think while Bennett and I had been away,
and I’d come to a decision of sorts.

I’d no sooner stepped into my office when Frances called to me. “They’ll be here in
less than a half hour.”

The woman might annoy most of the staff with her nosiness and dogged determination,
but she took care of Bennett. I couldn’t ask for more. “Thanks, Frances.”