by Julie Hyzy
I held the gun in my right hand, pointing skyward. Not the safest way to carry it, but it would have to do. I’d fired guns before and knew how to handle them. This wasn’t a semiautomatic, and I’d double-checked. The cylinder was full.
I opened the leftmost door and slid into the hallway. Out here, night lights illuminated the floor in small patches, and it took me a half second to assess where I was in relation to Bennett’s room.
I moved quickly to my right, taking long strides. I passed rooms I’d never seen and fought down fear as I picked up speed. I had two choices. Wait for Jepson in the study and shoot him when he emerged, or go directly to Bennett’s room, warn him, and call security. I didn’t think I could actually pull the trigger on Jepson so this was a no-brainer.
I raced past the study and bolted into Bennett’s sitting room, out of breath. It was dark, as I’d expected. “Bennett?” I called out. I made my way to his bedroom. “Please, wake up. It’s Grace. We need—”
He was in bed, but I could tell by his voice he hadn’t been asleep. “What? Who?”
“It’s Grace,” I said trying to speak slowly, but moving quickly to his side. “Someone’s coming—”
Before I could get the words out, Bennett wheeled his legs over the side and got to his feet. Standing in front of me, he pointed to the door. “Get out, now. I’m calling security.”
“Yes, please call security,” I said, looking around for a telephone.
He grabbed the revolver out of my hands. “My God,” he said, examining it. “A gun?”
Too late, I heard scuffling in the hallway. “Get down,” I said. Shoving Bennett away, I raced back to the doorway, and peered around it just as Jepson arrived in the sitting room, his gun at waist level. He slowed long enough to cock an ear toward the bedroom door.
“What the devil is going on?” Bennett boomed.
Jepson turned at the sound and sprinted toward us.
The moment he crossed the threshold, gun extended, I clasped my hands together and slammed my arms down on his. The gun went off, but I’d knocked his aim so that it fired toward the ceiling. With that split second of surprise working to my advantage, I jammed my knee into Jepson’s side. He hadn’t expected an ambush but recovered fast enough to twist toward me, gun pointed. My ears were still ringing when another shot went off. And another.
I called out to Bennett, but couldn’t hear my own voice. The next thing I knew I was on the floor. It got suddenly dark and then I heard nothing at all.
Chapter 29
WHEN I AWOKE, THE FIRST THING I NOTICED was that it hurt to open my eyes against the brightness. I thought I heard someone say, “She’s awake,” but I couldn’t be sure.
Another voice: “Don’t go to the light,” then, “Woo . . . woo . . .”
My mouth was dry, my lips cracked, and when I finally got my eyes open, my first word, “Scott?” came out groggy.
Scott and Bruce stood on either side of my bed. But I wasn’t home. And no hospital was decorated like this. “Where am I?” I asked.
My roommates exchanged a look I didn’t understand. “How are you feeling?” Bruce asked. “What do you remember?”
I tried to sit up, realizing too late that my right arm was bandaged between the elbow and shoulder. Not only that, it was sore as all get out. Nothing made sense. “What happened? Is Bennett okay?”
Scott patted my hand. “Why don’t you rest a little longer and maybe when you’re fully awake—”
“I’m fine right now,” I said, levering myself to a sitting position using only my left arm. Not fun. “And I need to know what’s going on.” As I sat up, I looked out the wide window to my right. “I’m at Marshfield?” I said incredulously. But the softness of the sheets and the lush surroundings told me I could be nowhere else. “This is surreal.”
Bruce lifted a glass of water with a bent drinking straw to my lips. I sipped quickly, bathing my parched throat with cool, heavenly water. I swallowed, then sipped more.
“Not too much. Take it slow,” he said then added: “All of this makes perfect sense. But since you aren’t going to let us out of here unless we explain, I guess we’ll just have to.” He put the water down, then pulled up a Louis XIV chair and sat, clearly eager to dish the dirt. “First—what’s the last thing you remember?”
“No,” I said. “Before that, I need to know—how is Bennett?”
From a corner of the room, I heard his voice. “I’m doing just fine, Gracie. Thanks to you.”
Gracie? No one had called me that since I was a kid.
He stepped forward to stand behind Bruce.
“You’re not angry with me anymore?” I asked.
His eyes tightened for the briefest of moments, then he smiled. “How could I be? You saved my life and risked yours doing it.” He waved a hand at Scott and Bruce. “You catch up with your friends. We’ll talk later.”
As soon as he left, I turned to my roommates. “What day is today?”
“Saturday.”
My mouth was beginning to feel normal again. “You mean all this happened last night? It feels like I’ve been out for days.”
“Hours, actually. It’s just past six in the morning. You were sedated while they sewed you up.”
“What?” I said. “Talk. Now.” I wiggled forward, coming to a sudden and startling realization. “My clothes are gone,” I said, pointing to the pale pink nightgown I wore over what felt like appropriate undergarments. “Who did this?”
“Bennett had a nurse here with you. She took care of your incidentals.”
Thank God.
“Okay,” Bruce began. He looked up to Scott who was still standing to my right. “Jump in whenever you want.” To me, he said, “From what we’ve been able to put together, Jepson shot you, and Bennett shot Jepson.”
“Jepson. Where is he?”
The two men exchanged a look. This time I understood completely. “Jepson’s dead?” They nodded. “What about Melissa? Where is she?”
Scott interjected. “She’s under arrest and giving her statement now.”
I sat up. “I have to talk to the police. Jepson was controlling her. I don’t think she realized what she was doing.”
Bruce placed his hand over mine. “That may be, but she knew enough to allow Jepson access to the mansion. That’s how he was able to get in and kill Abe and almost kill you. She’s not so innocent here.”
I sat back. They were right. “Are you guys on a first-name basis with the detectives, or what? How did you get all this information?”
Bruce fidgeted in his chair. “As a matter of fact, we are buddies with the cops now. They picked up Dina St. Clair in Tennessee and she’s being brought back here to face charges. That is,” he added, “after she faces charges in Tennessee, Kentucky, West Virginia, and Maryland.”
“For pulling scams?”
“She targets small businesses. All kinds of businesses. It’s a real living for her.”
“At the expense of innocent, trusting people,” I said. “What else?”
Bruce’s grin was wide. “Remember how you made us call Grape Living to check on her, and that’s when we found out how badly she’d taken us?”
I nodded.
“Well, turns out the magazine feels responsible, so they’re sending out a real reporter to do a story after all.”
“Are you serious?”
Scott held up a hand. “This won’t be a feature spread like the one Dina promised. This will be a lot smaller, maybe just a paragraph or so. But they promised a picture.” He held up his thumb and index finger close to one another. “An itty-bitty picture.”
Bruce was grinning. “But it’s still Grape Living.”
Their good mood was contagious. “So why am I here?”
“Bennett insisted. Once the paramedics and police came and sorted everything out, he refused to let you out of his sight.”
“Wow.” I looked at my arm. “Did I lose a lot of blood? Why don’t I remember any of this?”
/> “That’s normal. You must have blocked it. I’m sure it will come back.”
“I didn’t faint,” I said, feeling suddenly pathetic. “Did I?”
Bruce stood up. “Tough girl like you, faint?” He winked at Scott. “Not a chance.”
They left me alone then, with still too many questions left unanswered. I stared out the window and tried to use the sun’s movement to figure out exactly where in the mansion this room was located. Clearly I was in Bennett’s private residence.
I knew I should rest, but I couldn’t sleep. I’d slept enough.
I wiggled out of the giant four-post bed and lowered myself to the ground. There was a sling on a table next to the bed. Gingerly, I fitted it around my neck and arm, sucking in a breath at the instantaneous shooting pain. Biting my lip, I took a slow barefoot tour of the room, allowing my breath and heartbeat to resume normal speeds.
Were I to design the perfect space, this would be it: a window seat with cushions overlooking the grounds to the south; a cloud-covered mural ceiling; cheery salmon-colored walls; and thick rugs on the wood floor. I recognized a real van Gogh on one wall, and a John Singer Sargeant on another. I made my way over to a wing chair and sat.
My solitude was short-lived. Almost the minute the clock struck seven, Rodriguez and Flynn were outside my door, requesting a statement. They didn’t have a lot to add to the story Bruce and Scott had told me, but I did glean two important pieces of information: Percy was going to be fine; and the strange paper the threatening letters had been written on had been found at the Delling/Jepson household.
“Did you find a music box?” I asked, and explained why I wanted to know.
“Found it just in time. It was boxed, ready to be mailed to an address in Europe. Probably some collector. We’re following up.”
I gave my official statement and they left. About twenty minutes later, I heard a familiar voice behind me: “Am I bothering you?”
I turned. It hurt.
Jack stood in the doorway, holding a bouquet of heavy-headed pink flowers held together by a makeshift grip of aluminum foil. “Peonies,” he said as he crossed the room and handed them to me. “For our hero.”
When I reached to take the flowers, my arm didn’t seem to hurt so much. “They’re beautiful.”
He took the chair opposite mine. “I picked them from the gardens.”
“These are perfect,” I said, bending my head to smell them. “I love them.”
At that, he sat up a little straighter. “Everybody here is buzzing about what went on. Lot of rumors going around, too.”
“I’ll bet.”
Clearing his throat, he pointed to my arm. “You obviously need time to recover.”
Our date. Tonight.
He looked crestfallen. “You forgot.”
“No, I didn’t forget,” I said. “But I’m not completely myself yet. They tell me today is Saturday. But I feel as though I’ve been out of touch for a week.” I sighed. “The sooner I get home, the better.”
“Tough being cooped up?”
From the doorway: “Excuse me.” One of the butlers arrived, carrying a tray. Just like in the movies, it had a bud vase and a single rose. This one, pale yellow. The butler placed the tray on the low table in front of me and stood straight. “My apologies,” he said. “I was unaware we had guests.” Turning to Jack, he asked, “Would you care for breakfast, sir?”
“Thanks, no,” he said standing. “I need to get going.”
The butler, dismissed, left immediately.
“Hang on,” I said to Jack. “Let’s see what’s in here.” I lifted the silver dome to find a steaming plate of scrambled eggs, hash browns, biscuits, fresh fruit, coffee, and two kinds of juice. Additionally, the staff had added a note to ring for whatever I needed.
“I should ring?” I said laughing. “I could get used to this life.”
Jack smiled. “I’ll bet you could.” He started for the door, but turned and waved. “We’ll talk soon.”
I hoped so. There were many things I wanted to learn about him. So many questions. He was an intriguing fellow, this Jack Embers. And I wanted the opportunity to get to know him better. “I’m looking forward to that,” I said.
“So am I,” he said and then he was gone.
Chapter 30
AS BEAUTIFUL AS MY SURROUNDINGS WERE, by three o’clock I was itching to get out of there. I had called Bruce and Scott and left a message asking them to bring me some clothes so I could go home, but neither had called me back.
I poked my head out into the hallway, looking both ways down the corridor. “Hello?”
No answer.
I returned to the window and stared out over the grounds. “I need to go home.”
Bennett had snuck up on me again, and I jumped when he asked, “Don’t you like it here?”
Was everyone going to surprise me from the doorway?
“Thank you,” I said, “for taking such good care of me.”
He gestured to the two seats Jack and I had vacated earlier. “The least I could do.”
As we sat, I decided to broach a difficult topic, “About what Frances has been telling you . . .”
He leaned forward. “Just one question: Is it true?”
In a million years, I would not have expected to be having this conversation with Bennett, especially not while wearing a long pink sleep shirt and bare feet. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Frances thinks you might have doctored your grandmother’s personnel record.”
“I didn’t,” I said, my anger flashing. “But if believing that makes everybody happy, then so be it.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I really want to know, Grace. Frances hasn’t yet shown me anything. I got the story secondhand. And, knowing that woman the way I do, I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions without checking the facts first. My apologies. I admit, I’ve become jaded over the years. So many people try to prove a familial relationship. They’re out for money, prestige . . . whatever that elusive thing is that makes people happy.” Lost in his own musings, he seemed to forget I was there. Bringing himself back to the present, he said, “Tell me what you found.”
I shrugged. “I just looked up my grandmother’s file because I was nosy.”
He laughed. “That you are.”
“In it was a letter from your aunt, suggesting that my grandmother Sophie might have gotten too . . . close . . . to your father.”
He nodded.
“My grandmother was fired,” I continued. “She was pregnant.” I held up a hand. “That’s certainly no proof, to be sure. But things started to make sense all of a sudden . . .”
“Go on.”
“At home I found a picture of your father, holding a baby. And a letter, unsigned, that said he couldn’t leave his fortune, or young son.” I pointed. “I thought he might be talking about you,” I continued. “I kept digging and found the document that awarded the house to my mother.”
“The old Careaux house.”
“The trust was prepared by your law firm.”
He nodded. “My father loved that old house. Drove past it all the time. I always wondered about his fascination with it.” Looking pensive, he said, “Now I see what you mean about things falling into place.”
I waited.
“So, what now?” he asked. “Should I expect a court order for a DNA test?”
For the first time, I smiled. “No.”
He seemed genuinely surprised. And that surprised me.
“No?” he asked. “Why not? You have enough evidence to support a claim against the manor. Why not get the final proof?”
We had both scooched forward as we talked, and I placed my hand on one of his. “What good would that do? If your father is really my grandfather, he knew about his daughter. And he provided for her. Just as he chose to provide for you. You have your inheritance, and I have mine. I don’t plan to make any claim against you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have any idea how much I’m worth?”
“I run the manor, remember? Of course I do.”
“And you’re willing to give that up?”
“I can’t give up something that was never mine to begin with,” I said. “And here’s the thing: If we’re related, it’s on your father’s side. It’s mothers who carry mitochondrial DNA. We could take a test and still not know any more than we do now.”
He nodded.
I went on. “And . . . I like believing that we may be related. A test may take that all that away.”
“You’re a strange girl,” he said.
“Is that a compliment?”
He smiled then but his eyes grew red, and tears pooled in their pale blue depths. “I miss Abe,” he said.
I patted his hand. “I do, too.”
He swallowed. “I told him once that I would never let anything happen to him. I failed at that, didn’t I? Failed completely. But he didn’t. He took a bullet for me.” Bennett wiped his eyes looking embarrassed by his show of emotion. “And now you did, too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that.
After a moment, he composed himself. “Gracie,” he said. “May I call you that?”
“I like it.”
“This has been a very tough time. I haven’t been terribly kind to you, you’ve had to deal with the wrath of Hillary, and the cattiness of Frances. You’ve even been shot . . .” He took a breath. “I wouldn’t blame you if you left here and never returned. But I’ve come to recognize that you’re exactly right for Marshfield Manor.” He gave me a pointed look. “You belong here. Is there anything I can do to convince you to stay on?”
Overcome by the enormity of everything that had happened, relief washed over me, taking my breath away. But even stronger was the awareness of all I’d accomplished in these crazy couple of weeks.
Bennett waited for my answer, looking anxious, little knowing how determined I was to hold on to his hard-won trust and my newfound strength. “I’m not so wild about having been shot,” I said, “but these have been the most exciting weeks of my life. I wouldn’t trade this job for the world.”
