“You’re right,” Bryce said. “You have to explain things to me and I have to explain to her. I work for her, you moron, and until today, you worked for me.”
Winston’s eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to Bryce. “I am tired of this shit and I’m not playing games anymore. Let’s take care of everything right now.”
“You won’t like it,” Bryce said quietly. “The repercussions, you know?”
For a long moment, Grace wasn’t sure which way it would go. Then Winston charged out of the house, slamming the kitchen door so hard it popped back open. Gravel hit the side steps as he gunned his truck and raced down the driveway.
“What are you doing here?” Bryce asked.
“My house, remember?” Grace looked around the room. “Between the soot and mud and Winston’s artwork, there’s a lot of work to do.”
“I’ll get a crew on it.” His tone was still cool and he was looking at her with an expectant expression.
Her already thin patience snapped. “What? Am I supposed to thank you for sorting him out? I told you I didn’t want him here and now I’ll have to go through all kinds of aggravation with Stark and Niki because he’s unemployed again. If you hadn’t hired him in the first place-”
“Okay, okay.” Bryce put his hands up in mock defense. His boyish grin was back. “You are feisty when you get worked up.”
“You know it was arson, don’t you? And Winston did it.”
“Now wait a minute. No way! Arson? Winnie? He’s a jerk sometimes, and he’s got problems with alcohol and other things, but arson? No.”
“How about vandalism? You know he’s the one leaving that stupid message.”
“Which is why he’s off this job.”
“So he broke in here last night and spray painted the cabinets, but he didn’t cause the fire?”
Bryce had moved closer as they talked, and now Grace took a step back. She wasn’t ready to be placated.
He stopped where he was. “Look, if Winston did cause the fire, it was an accident. It was a bucket of rags, Gracie. Rags saturated with solvent can combust if they’re stored packed together. I’ve seen it happen and I really ride the guys about it. Anyone who does this kind of work knows you don’t keep work rags that way. When I took Winnie off the shutter project, the only thing left for him to do was digging out bricks and cleaning up. So far he hasn’t managed to break any bricks, but maybe he got sloppy with the cleanup.”
“Someone was in the house, Bryce.”
“Well, Winnie obviously did get in here at some point, but he didn’t set the fire. I’m sure of it. I think you just didn’t see the walls in here when you locked up.”
“Someone woke me up. In my bedroom. Before I could get myself together, they were gone and when I got downstairs, the door here at the rear hall was open and smoke was pouring in. Thank God Avril saw the flames and called 911.”
Bryce closed the gap between them and pulled her into his arms.
“Avril saved the house with her 911 call and the intruder saved me,” Grace mumbled into his shoulder. Bryce stepped back but kept a gentle hold on her arms. “Yeah, Gracie - about Avril. She’s been good to me and ordinarily, I wouldn’t say anything, but you may want to keep your distance there.”
“Why?”
“You know she had a feud with your grandmother, right?”
Grace nodded. “But she’s been supportive, in an overbearing sort of way, since she learned I owned the house.”
“And why is that?” he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe Avril wanted the house out of the Delaneys’ hands. She’s always had a chip on her shoulder towards the whole family, and now you’re her favorite person? It doesn’t track. In fact, if I had to pick someone as an arsonist, I’d consider Avril.”
Grace stared at him before saying, “That’s ridiculous! She owns the property next to the back woods. Why wouldn’t she want me to renovate the house and clean the land up?”
“She’s old and she’s carried a grudge for a long time. She hated Emma Delaney for years and didn’t you say you look like your grandmother?”
“So I’ve been told,” Grace answered. “Avril said she and Emma had a falling out when my mother took me and left. But ‘hate’ is a very strong word.”
“Well, someone doesn’t want you here.” Bryce gestured toward the cabinets. “I hope it’s only Winnie. I guess you won’t be going back to Niki’s?”
“No.” She told him about McNamara’s visit and the identity of the woman in the grave. “Avril wants me to stay, and I’ll feel better if I can keep an eye on her for a day or so. It’s ridiculous, but I feel responsible for her loss.”
“As long as she doesn’t agree with you, I guess you’ll be safe there.” He pulled her back in for a kiss.
Grace tried to relax into his embrace but her thoughts wouldn’t be silenced. Something was wrong. Something besides murder, arson, and anonymous messages. She let Bryce hold her because she had no idea what else to do.
By Monday, Grace had resigned herself to rebuilding both back porches, replacing the windows across the back of the house and repainting the downstairs rooms.
The day was fractured with the crews assessing the damage and conferring with Bryce on a new work schedule. Grace shuttled between construction conferences and errands for Bryce. Now that Winston was gone, the importance of the gopher job became clear. By late afternoon, she was exhausted and depressed at the increased scope of work. Her list of chores had expanded to include an insurance claim for the damage from the fire. She quickly learned that arson-involved claims move slowly.
Bryce and the workers had been gone for an hour when she heard loud voices outside. Finding Winston and Aidan Banks in a fight in her driveway was the last straw in the irritating day.
“Stop it!” she screamed, causing Banks to shift his focus to her for the second Winston needed to land a blow squarely in the middle of his face.
Grace, who hadn’t hit anyone since second grade recess, launched herself at Winston and put the day’s frustration into a shove that sent him staggering backward, tripping over his own toolbox and landing flat on his back in the gravel. Ignoring the groaning Winston, she bent down next to Banks, who had bounced off the tailgate of Winston’s truck and sat on the ground holding his bleeding face.
“Hang on,” she said, fishing in her jeans’ pocket for her cell. “You’ll be fine.”
This brought a series of loud squawks from Banks, who sounded like he was strangling.
“Try and stay calm, I’m dialing 911 -”
Banks snatched the phone away from her and threw it toward the house. “Naaa!” he managed as he struggled to his feet. After giving Grace a look that made her back up, he walked, more or less in a straight line, to his car.
She watched him leave before moving to pick up her phone and check on Winston.
“I ought to sue you,” he said as he sat up and rubbed the back of his head.
“I ought to shoot you for trespassing.”
“I’m not trespassing. I came to work on the porch. See?” He pointed to the toolbox he’d tripped over.
Was he on drugs? He certainly appeared addled. Brain damage? “Were you going to work in the dark tonight? You were fired, Winston. Besides, there are no porches. You burned them up, remember?”
They both looked at the back of the house. The remains of the back porch and the sleeping porch above it had been removed and the house looked naked without them. Naked and scorched. The doors to both porches now opened onto empty space and were covered by plywood.
“It wasn’t me. I told you.” Winston whined.
“It wasn’t you who set the fire, or it wasn’t you who painted ‘MINE’ on the kitchen wall?” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Get out of here before I call the police. The other police - McNamara. If you come back again, he’ll arrest you.”
“I left some tools, I’ll just -”
“Take one more step toward the house and I’ll cal
l 911. I don’t think the drug test they’ll give you in booking will come back negative, do you?”
“Bitch,” he spat at her.
She could feel her heart pounding with the need to run, but she stood on the scraggly patch of grass that passed for the side lawn of Delaney House and watched as Winston drove away.
It will never be over, she thought.
Chapter Thirty-Three
She might have known Banks would lodge a complaint. Lee McNamara was coming up Avril’s walk when Grace left the following morning. He had an official tone to his voice when he asked for details of the altercation.
Grace sighed. This was what her life had come to: one fight after another and the police in the middle of everything. She said, “I walked outside last evening to find your Corporal Banks in a shoving match with Winston Delaney. Banks took a blow to the face that looked like it did a lot of damage. When I tried to call 911 for help, he grabbed my phone out of my hand, threw it, and left.” She pulled the iPhone with its cracked screen out of her pocket and held it up. “I don’t suppose the department will reimburse me for this?”
McNamara frowned. “Have it fixed or replaced and give me the bill.”
“You have a slush fund to cover that hothead’s damage?” she asked and instantly wished she hadn’t. He was being nice and she sounded anything but.
McNamara sighed. “We’ve run through that pot of money, but I’ll figure something out. Do you know what he and Winston were fighting over?”
She’d thought of little else, but had no answers. “No, do you?”
“What did your cousin say?”
“Mostly he whined about how I’d hurt his back when I pushed him away from Banks.”
McNamara’s smile lit up his face. “Oh, really? You broke up the fight?”
“I’m guessing Banks didn’t mention that part?”
“He probably forgot.”
“Of course he did. Is his nose broken?”
“Not too bad. It’ll only improve his looks, if not his disposition.” McNamara glanced at his watch. “I’m on my way to check in with Miss Oxley. I don’t have any news, but I wanted to see how she’s coping.”
“That’s kind of you.”
“It will be a kindness when I have some answers for her. But, for now, on behalf of the department, I apologize for Corporal Banks’ behavior. He was off duty, happened to be driving past and saw Delaney pull into your driveway. He stopped to ask a few questions and things deteriorated rapidly. Banks says he was defending himself, Ms. Reagan. He didn’t initiate the brawl, but I’m sorry you had to witness it and, uh, intervene.” He grinned again.
“Polite of you not to laugh until you leave.”
McNamara’s smile widened, warm and genuine. “You have no idea what a struggle it is.”
“Avril said you were nearly killed!”
Grace punched the volume down on her phone, taking care not to slide her finger over the cracked screen. She’d already cut herself twice. She wanted to ask Mosley if Avril had called to tell him about the fire or that his long lost fiancé had been found, but he was still ranting about her poor choices and their consequences.
“I need to see you,” Mosley said when he wrapped up his rehash of all the reasons why she should cut her losses and sell the half-finished house to him.
She was sitting on the sixth step of the cantilevered staircase, her favorite spot. Late afternoon sunshine streamed through the turret windows, washing over her, warming the old wood and lighting the ruby glass in the small window above the front door. Oddly, Mosley’s voice didn’t detract from her surroundings, he seemed to be a part of it, natural even when irritating. He was the thorn on her rose bush, she thought. She was very tired.
Mosley’s tone changed and she refocused. “Well, if you won’t be sensible and discuss selling, I’ll go on to the other reason I called. As the attorney for your grandmother’s estate, I’ve been asked to facilitate a meeting between you and your Uncle Stark. He and Connie would like to talk with you.”
“I can only imagine,” Grace said dryly. She sat up straight and stretched her legs out, stretching muscles that were surprisingly sore. Was she getting old on top of everything else? “I’m not hiring Winston back. In fact, he’s not allowed on the property.” She wondered if Mosley was hitching up his pants in the brief silence that followed. “But you can also tell Stark I’m not pressing charges.” She let Mosley work out for himself what the possible crime might be.
He finally said, “I have to say, I don’t know why he wants to talk to you, which is why I would prefer to be present. If you could be here at two tomorrow, I’ll schedule Stark and Connie to join us at three. There are a couple of other issues on a different topic that you and I need to discuss.”
“I’m serious,” Grace said. She could smell bad news wafting through the phone. “Winston is off the property, and I’m not changing my mind this time.”
“Duly noted. I’ll back you up on that.”
“I don’t need you to back me up, or to chaperone my meeting with Stark. I’m perfectly capable – ”
“For heaven’s sake!” Mosley’s cracked baritone blasted through the phone. “I know each of you are perfectly capable of tearing each other limb from limb, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it on my watch. Now, will you please come here tomorrow at two? I need to talk to you and it has nothing whatsoever to do with Winston.”
On his watch?
Another piece of the puzzle that was Mosley clicked into place, and Grace smiled as she hung up. The old lawyer saw himself as the captain of the ship that was the Delaney family. She looked around the hall and remembered her first impression of Emma’s representative — the Crypt Keeper. Her smile faded. Mosley never stopped trying to steer what was left of the family toward what he claimed were Emma’s wishes. He knew the family’s secrets. He also knew more about Audrey Oxley’s disappearance than anyone alive. Had he killed her?
Grace hugged her knees to her chest and wished herself far away.
The fire recovery company finished its work and by Wednesday morning, Grace was ready to move back to the attic apartment. The guest room Avril had given her had been lovely in the Sixties when it was last decorated, but the mattress was hard and the room felt stale. Grace didn’t think anyone had slept in there for a long time.
She might not have been accustomed to guests, but Avril wasn’t willing to let Grace leave without a fight. She’d been slow to process the news of her sister’s death and had allowed Grace to look after her while she took to an upholstered rocker in her dusty den. The rocker faced a wide window with a view the backyard and the wall that ran along the back of the Delaney property. The wall that had hidden her sister’s grave for so many years.
Grace left her with the newspaper and a tray of tea and toast each morning. In the evenings she made a hot meal and updated Avril on the renovation progress. By Wednesday Avril began to perk up and talk about something other than the funeral she was planning for her sister. Grace thought she could safely leave.
Avril thought otherwise. “You can’t go back there,” she said. “You don’t know who started the fire.”
“I’ve got a good idea, and I don’t think he’ll try it again.” She intended to make sure of that when she met with Stark and Connie.
Avril was shaking her head. “You don’t know, not for sure. I’ve told you, kids hang out in those woods. Anyone could have done it.”
Grace told her about the new spray-painted message on the kitchen walls.
“The police are keeping an eye on Winston, and Bryce has fired him. I’ve had the locks changed again, and that’s another reason I have to move back. Only Bryce and I have keys and he can’t be there every time someone needs to get in.”
“You don’t have an occupancy permit,” Avril said.
Grace was relieved to hear the old woman’s voice back to her regular lecturing tone, even if it meant they were going to continue to argue. “I need to get back,” she said.
“Even if you’re willing to break the law, you need me and I’m not quite ready to get back to work.” The pugnacious tilt of Avril’s head warned Grace to weigh her response carefully.
“I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop. I’ll come by each day and update you until you feel well enough to get out.”
“Oh, stop it!” Avril pushed herself up and out of the rocker. “I’m not sick, just feeling puny. Go on back to your house and if that jackass Aidan Banks comes snooping around, tell him you’re still living with me.”
Grace decided it would be a good answer for anyone who asked.
“And,” Avril’s voice took on a sly tone, “you may as well let Bryce stay with you. He’ll protect you and you two aren’t fooling anyone.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
The Gum Snapper took her into Mosley’s office as soon as she arrived. The lawyer was waiting for her and once the coffee tray was in place on the small conference table, he got down to business without any of his usual chatter.
“I’m sorry to be so mysterious, but we have a difficult subject to discuss and there is no easy way to broach it. As you know, your grandmother and grandfather were my clients. On several occasions, your mother was as well.” Mosley paused. When Grace sat back in her chair without comment, he patted the peak of his white pompadour. The hair didn’t give.
“But not Stark?” she finally asked.
“Your uncle has always preferred his own counsel.”
“Sounds about right,” she said. “So let’s get to whatever it is you have to tell me.”
Mosley nodded, but fidgeted a moment more before saying, “Emma sent me to see Julia about a month before they both passed away.”
“What! Why?” Grace frantically ran through the timetable of that awful period. She’d still been working, but not full time, and every spare moment was spent with her mother. She would have known, surely, if Mosley had appeared.
Squatter's Rights Page 18
