Grace Sees Red

by Julie Hyzy

  I sat back, not quite sure what to expect.

  “This is a big step for you,” Randall continued. “My job is to make the transition as smooth and painless as it can be. You and I have worked together a couple of other times, Grace. I think that even though we have a lot of paperwork ahead of us, it won’t be too arduous a process.”

  There was something about this man’s high energy that always improved my mood. “I’m sure it won’t be.”

  “Good.” He slapped his hands together, rubbed them, then said, “You ready to begin?”

  “Almost,” I said.

  That surprised them. “Bennett,” I began, “I have an idea I’ve been meaning to discuss with you.” Shooting an apologetic smile at the adviser, I explained, “With all that’s been going on here recently, Bennett and I haven’t had a moment alone.”

  Randall slapped his hands on his knees. “I’ll give you privacy.”

  “No, no,” I said before he could get up. “This involves finances. And I’d like your opinion on this, too.” Turning to Bennett again, I said, “I haven’t brought this up with Scott or Bruce yet, but I was considering helping them out. Financially, I mean. Would you be okay with that?”

  “Would I be okay with that?” He seemed genuinely surprised by the question. “Gracie, this is exactly what I’m talking about. I’ve told you before that I want you to feel comfortable with your newfound affluence. And the best way to achieve that is to start making investment decisions on your own. We learn not only from our successes, but from our mistakes as well. Isn’t that right, Randall?”

  Scratching the side of his face, the jolly man frowned. “I need to understand what sort of financial help you’re considering. What will the money be used for?”

  I explained Bruce and Scott’s predicament and how their hopes of renting the Granite Building had been dashed. “The bank owns the property and, right now, it seems as though they intend to use it to open a new branch. If Bruce and Scott were able to buy the building outright, however, they’d be able to expand on their own timeline.”

  “Do your roommates have experience running a restaurant?” Randall asked. “You realize that that’s one of the most difficult businesses to launch successfully.”

  “They’ve never launched a restaurant before but both have managed high-end establishments in the past. That kind of expansion is a goal they’d hoped to work toward eventually. The building issues they’re facing now happen to be speeding up their timeline.”

  Randall pushed out his bottom lip. “How much of an investment are we talking about?”

  “That’s the part I don’t know. I can find out.”

  “Hang on.” Randall drew out his phone and began tapping into it. “The Granite Building, right?”

  “Right.”

  Within moments he’d pulled up whatever information he needed. “Here we go,” he said. “Round numbers, this is probably what the bank’s asking price would be.” Turning the device to face me, and then Bennett, he showed us the number.

  “That’s a lot of money,” I said.

  “For a building in that location, it’s fair.” Bennett pulled in a deep breath. “They’d also need working capital to make improvements.”

  “Do you think lending money to friends is a mistake?” I asked.

  “Let me make one point clear.” Randall held up a finger. “Unless you’re buying the building outright yourself and offering them a mortgage, you can’t lend them the money to buy the building.”

  “I can’t?”

  “Borrowed funds cannot be used as a down payment to secure a mortgage.” He shook his head. “You can gift them the money, but there are all sorts of tax consequences to that and I don’t recommend it. You can own the building yourself and be their landlord. Or you can form a partnership or corporation with them and—assuming the business turns a profit eventually—reap the benefits of a sound investment.”

  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here,” Bennett said. He offered me an indulgent smile. “There are no absolute right answers. What works for one person could result in miserable failure for another. Right now, what I want most is to watch you spread your wings and fly on your own. Make your best decision. Take some risk. Don’t worry about what Randall or I think.” He wagged a finger at me. “Mind you, if you want to tear down one wing of the mansion to rebuild it as a waterpark, I’d prefer to discuss the matter before the wrecking crews show up.”

  “Never.” I laughed. “I wouldn’t harm a single brick.”

  Bennett sobered. “Unless you must,” he said. “Change is a part of life. It’s how we survive and how we grow. You’ve taught me that. Innovation, development, and improvement are impossible if we refuse to evolve.”

  Over the past few years, I had suggested a number of modernizations—elevating our gift shop souvenirs, expanding choices in the Birdcage Room, and upgrading security—most of which had turned out to be tremendous enhancements. I thought about my recent idea to reclaim some of the office space and restore rooms to their former glory. Worth discussing, but not right now. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Talk with your roommates,” Randall said. “If you decide to go forward with this venture, I’ll help you come up with a business plan.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that.”

  “We’re going to be here for a while, aren’t we?” I asked.

  Randall patted the portfolio. “This is only the beginning,” he said with a mischievous grin. “I’ve got a whole wall of files like this one back at the office.”

  I felt myself blanch.

  “But don’t worry,” he hurried to assure me. “This one is the most important, the most intricate. Once these corporate documents are modified, the rest will be easy. A lot of signatures, sure, but not so many decisions. This one’s the master account. The one that rules them all.”

  “With that Lord of the Rings reference, I’m really getting worried.”

  “Don’t be. Let’s start with the basics.” Grin firmly in place, he opened the portfolio’s blue cardboard cover and turned it to face me. “Will you confirm your information?”

  “Sure.” Even though I’d provided my vital statistics to Randall weeks earlier, I read over the listing of my full name, address, birth date, and social security number to confirm accuracy. While I went over the data, Frances came in with a tray laden with a plate of pastries, coffee, and three cups and saucers that trembled softly against one another as she laid the spread on the far edge of my desk. My first thought was: Only three cups? Frances always included a setting for herself when she brought in treats. But this time was different; we weren’t discussing Marshfield Estates—the property. We were discussing Marshfield family matters. She couldn’t be part of the conversation.

  Her hands shook as she placed the first cup in front of me. “You know what, Frances?” I asked. “I can do this.”

  At first, she flashed a hot glare. Any other day, she may have quipped that my offer to help was a lame attempt to get rid of her. Today, however, her indignant expression fell away almost immediately. “I’ll get back to my office,” she said quietly. “In case Lily calls with an update.”

  “Let me know if you hear any news,” I said.

  Without a word, she nodded and left the room. My heart broke for her when she quietly shut the door between our offices.

  Even Bennett winced.

  “She never does that,” I said. To Randall, I explained, “Frances is notorious for eavesdropping.”

  Bennett stared after her. “Why can’t we be done with this nonsense already? The poor woman.” When he turned to me again, he shook his head. “Frances may not be the warmest member of the staff, but even at her prickliest, she doesn’t deserve this.”

  I wished I could skip this meeting with Randall and get back to Indwell. Whatever the answers were, they were
there. I didn’t know how I’d uncover the truth behind Gus’s death, but I knew that sitting here signing papers wasn’t going to do it.

  “All the information is correct,” I said to Randall.

  “I’m relieved to hear it.” As he turned to the portfolio’s next page, he grinned again. “Because I’ve used that data to prefill the forms we need you to sign today.”

  Randall went through each document, one by one, explaining what it meant and why it was necessary. “I’ll provide you with copies of each,” he said. “Digital copies, if you prefer.”

  “I do,” I said.

  We’d gotten through about five sections of the massive portfolio when scuffling sounds from Frances’s office stopped me mid-signature.

  “What’s going on in there?” I got to my feet.

  Both men followed me to the door. “Is your assistant all right?” Randall asked.

  “I don’t know—”

  Though muffled slightly by the heavy wooden door between our offices, Frances’s exclamation, “You wouldn’t dare!” shot me into action.

  I bolted into her office, not knowing what to expect.

  Her neck red, her face flushed, Frances stood, shifting her attention between two women, who were advancing on her position, coming at her from either side of the desk. Behind them, near the door, Flynn leaned back, hand cupping his chin. Next to him, Rodriguez mopped his face with a handkerchief.

  “Miz Wheaton.” The older detective’s relief was palpable. “We could use your help.”

  Chapter 22

  “What’s going on in here?” I asked.

  Frances, Flynn, and Rodriguez began talking at once. I tuned them out. In the split second I had to assess the two women flanking Frances’s desk—noting their brisk impatience and the hip-level bulge beneath each of their blazers—I knew they must be Rosette’s detectives.

  And one heartsick beat later, it dawned on me why they were here.

  “Stop,” I said. And to my surprise, all chatter ceased.

  As I crossed the room, Bennett spoke in low tones, directing Randall out. “Please wait for me in the break room down the hall,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

  Randall didn’t argue.

  I skirted past the shorter of the two detectives to take a position next to Frances. Heat and fear rolled off of her. “Are you okay?” I asked.

  She didn’t make eye contact. “For now.”

  Behind everyone, Bennett raised a hand, catching my attention. He mimed making a phone call. A second later, he was gone.

  “My name is Grace Wheaton,” I said to the two women. “I’m in charge of Marshfield Manor. May I see some identification from both of you?”

  They exchanged an amused glance. “Sure,” said the one nearest Frances. Big-boned with wide features and skin the same color as her pale hair, she flipped her badge case open. “My name’s Madigan,” she said as I read along. “And Nieman over there is my partner. Detectives from Rosette. We have a warrant for Frances Sliwa’s arrest.”

  Though I knew my efforts were largely futile, I held out my hand. “May I see the warrant?”

  Nieman was shorter than Madigan with a thick torso and dark, wiry hair. The abundance of charcoal liner she’d applied made her eyes look like shiny outlined pebbles.

  While Madigan reached for papers from her back pocket, I lasered my attention on Rodriguez and Flynn. “You couldn’t have given us the courtesy of a heads-up?”

  “Not our call,” Flynn snapped, but he shot a look of contempt at Madigan as he did so.

  Rodriguez ran the handkerchief across his forehead again, then swiped the back of his neck. “Grace, I’m sorry. It’s not our case.”

  I took the papers from Madigan without thanking her. Frances edged close. Her shoulder grazed my arm as I read.

  “Did you examine this warrant?” I asked Rodriguez.

  He nodded, looking miserable. “Yeah. Everything’s in order.”

  “There was nothing we could do,” Flynn said. “These two didn’t even want us along, but our chief insisted.”

  I swallowed fear as I studied the document, though I had no idea what I was looking for. I squinted at the name on the bottom. “Who signed this warrant?”

  Madigan answered, “Judge Madigan.”

  “Judge Madigan?” I repeated. “That’s your name.”

  “Irrelevant.”

  Madigan reached, but I pulled away. “Any relation to you?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  When I continued to refuse to return the warrant, Madigan said, “My father.”

  “You don’t think there’s a little conflict of interest here?” I asked.

  “Facts are facts.” Madigan snatched the document back from me. “The judge wouldn’t have issued the warrant without probable cause. You want to challenge that, be my guest. But right now this warrant is valid and I have a duty to bring Frances Sliwa in.”

  I could feel Frances tremble. “I don’t want to go,” she said hoarsely. “Can I refuse?”

  The thought of Frances being put through jail intake procedures made my stomach quake. “This isn’t right,” I said.

  Madigan shook her head. “Preliminary tox results are in. Our victim could have died of an insulin overdose.”

  “Could have?” I asked, jumping on the qualifier. “That’s not exactly definitive. You’re still waiting for final results, then?”

  “Preliminary findings are not inconsistent with an insulin overdose.”

  “And you’re arresting Frances on that?”

  “We have the warrant.” Madigan’s patience with me was gone. “Please step away from the suspect.”

  Frances gripped my forearm with both hands.

  When Madigan took a step closer, I noticed that Bennett had returned to the room. I could tell he was trying to signal me, but my focus was on the detective three feet away.

  “Listen, hang on,” I said. “The autopsy. What about that?”

  “Ms. Wheaton, please step out of the way. You’re making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “What about defensive wounds?” I asked. “If Frances really did kill Gus, how come he didn’t fight back?” I pointed to my assistant, who was clutching me close, like a terrified toddler. “Frances has no bruises, no scratches, nothing. Do you really think she could have injected Gus without him noticing? Could someone inject you without your knowledge?”

  “He could have been asleep,” Nieman said.

  “You think he wouldn’t wake up when a needle’s jammed into his thigh?” With my free hand I pantomimed, repeatedly slamming my fist against my leg. “And wait—if the killer used four vials, that means four punctures, doesn’t it?”

  Madigan had dead eyes. “Ma’am, we could take you in for obstruction of justice. Please step aside.”

  Frances tightened her grip. These two cops would have to arrest me before I’d let them take her into custody.

  “Where were they?” I asked.

  Madigan and Nieman exchanged a glance. Nieman took a step forward.

  “Stop, right there, both of you,” I said in a voice that came from somewhere primal and deep.

  They stopped.

  “Answer me. Where were the puncture wounds on Gus’s body?” I still held out hope that the man had injected himself. “How many were there?”

  Nieman sent her partner a puzzled look.

  I pounced on what I hoped was a crack of doubt in the shorter detective’s certainty. “Were the puncture marks between Gus’s toes?” I asked. “Do you think maybe he did it himself and tried to hide the evidence?”

  “Ms. Sliwa’s attorney will be given a copy of the autopsy report,” Madigan said. “We have no reason, nor inclination, to discuss the matter with you. Now, for the last time, please step aside.”

 
She started for me as the office door opened.

  “Hold on one minute.” Lily Holland stormed into the room, arms high and outstretched. “Ms. Sliwa is my client. She’s not going anywhere until I say she is.”

  Madigan huffed with impatience. Nieman seemed relieved.

  “Thank goodness I was on my way here.” Out of breath, Lily strode past them, coming to stand behind the desk with Frances and me. I would have stepped away and returned to Bennett’s side, but Frances held fast.

  Lily faced Madigan and held out a hand. “Let’s see the warrant.”

  “How many times do we have to go through this?” Madigan asked as she handed over the document again.

  Even though I knew everyone in the room could probably hear me, I whispered to alert Lily to the fact that Madigan and the judge were related to one another.

  Lily scanned the text quickly. “You call this probable cause?” she asked without looking up. She made several wordless expressions of distaste before handing the warrant back to Madigan. “How did you ever get a judge to sign off with so little substance?”

  “We’re here to arrest Ms. Sliwa,” Madigan said. “Not to debate the process.”

  Lily scoffed. “We’ll see.” To Frances, she said, “It looks as though you and I will be taking a quick trip to Rosette today.”

  Frances’s fingers dug deeper into my arm. “I didn’t do it.”

  Lily turned a finger toward herself, making direct eye contact with Frances. “Keep your attention on me. Let me handle everything. You were advised of your rights, I assume?”

  Frances nodded.

  “Don’t say a word.” She waited for Frances to acknowledge her. “Good. Not a single word. Let me do my job.” She placed an arm around my assistant’s shoulders. “It’s time to go now. But don’t despair. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Lily’s gaze settled on Frances’s hands, still clamped around my arm.

  “I’ll come with you,” I said.