Grace Takes Off

by Julie Hyzy

  Bruce pointed at Scott’s feet, crossed on the cushion next to him. “You care to share a little room with me?”

  Scott sat up at the sofa’s far end. “Better?”

  Bruce didn’t hesitate. He swung his legs onto the cushions Scott had just vacated and crossed his arms behind his head. “Much.”

  Scott whipped a pillow at him, catching him straight in the face.

  “Boys,” I said. “Remember, it’s all fun and games until somebody rips the fabric.”

  My gentle reminder that the sofa was old—it had been my grandmother’s—was not lost on the two of them. “Sorry, Grace,” Bruce said, returning to a seated position. “It was just that kind of day at the store today. I think we’re both punchy.”

  “No harm done.”

  Bruce picked up the conversation where we’d left off. “You can’t mother him, as much as you may want to. Bennett’s a man who’s used to looking out for himself. He’s used to succeeding, too. You start hovering, he’s going to feel weak. You don’t want that.”

  I’d come to the same conclusion. “That doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be vigilant where his safety is concerned.”

  “True enough,” Scott said. “Speaking of safety . . .” He elongated the word and exchanged a look with Bruce. “You were too wiped out last night for us to ask but . . .”

  I knew what was coming and braced for it. Bootsie must have sensed the tension because she woke up, stretched her little white paws across my knees, then bounded over to the couch to sit between the two men.

  “We couldn’t help but wonder if you’d come to any conclusions. I mean, we were curious if you’d thought about what you said you were going to think about—”

  Bruce interrupted Scott mid-sentence. “You beat around the bush better than anyone.” To me, he said, “What have you decided to do about Jack?”

  The two of them faced me, looking like a pair of matching bookends, leaning forward with their elbows perched on their knees, waiting for my answer with eager attention. Bootsie watched me, too, as though she completely understood what was going on. Maybe she did.

  “I have given it thought. A lot of thought.” Mimicking their position, I placed my feet flat on the floor and leaned forward. I’d made a decision, all right, but saying it aloud made it real.

  Even though it was only the three of us here, I felt my pulse race. “Here’s the deal: I can’t deny that I’m attracted to Jack. I have been from the start.”

  They both nodded, eyes wide as if to say, “Duh!”

  “Bear with me.” I started again. “The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I value Jack as a friend. I definitely don’t want to lose that. He’s a decent guy. Kind, fair-minded—”

  “Good looking,” Bruce suggested.

  “Yes,” I laughed. “That, too. What I didn’t realize was the baggage he was carrying and how heavy that burden was. How much it affected his entire life.”

  I stopped to choose my words. “The thing is, once I got it, it was too late. He’d pulled away.”

  “Hurting you in the process,” Scott added.

  “And that’s why I hurt him when he finally came around.” I shook my head, remembering. “Little did I know. They say that relationships are all about timing. That’s an understatement.”

  “So . . .” Bruce had inched forward. “You’re not answering the question.”

  I was about to. “I realized a truth on this trip. I came to the conclusion that the cons to pursuing a relationship with Jack far outweighed the pros. He and I already had our chance. It was time to move on. No matter how much I believed that he and I would make a good couple, I convinced myself I needed to cut ties and move on.”

  “Why do I sense a ‘but’ in there?” Scott asked.

  “But.” I heaved a deep breath. “I came to another conclusion too: I’m not a Vulcan who lives by logic. I’m human. I can’t ignore my emotions.”

  “And?”

  The truth was hard to admit. “I have to try again. Unfinished business. Besides, I want to. Even knowing the risks. Jack may not be right for me, but how can I know for sure unless I give this relationship one more try?”

  I waited for their reaction. Nothing.

  “Well?”

  They exchanged a glance I couldn’t parse.

  “Come on,” I said. “This took a lot to divulge. Say something.”

  Scott opened his hand toward Bruce, who took the floor. “While you were gone, we decided that the best thing we could do for you was stay neutral. So we are.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Bootsie began grooming herself. She’d evidently become bored with the conversation.

  “It’s not like we’re disinterested. We’re very interested in what happens next.” Scott looked to Bruce for support before continuing. “It’s just that we’ve given you some bad advice: ‘Go for Jack’ when the timing wasn’t right. ‘Go for Mark,’ and we all know how that turned out. . . .” His mouth twisted. “We’re sorry, Grace. We only want what’s best for you.”

  “Problem is,” Bruce chimed in, “we don’t know what that is. So we vowed not to say a word, no matter what you decided.”

  I tried again. “You’re kidding, right?”

  They didn’t answer. Bootsie stopped grooming long enough to look at me. I think she and I were in agreement.

  “Any bad decisions I made, I made on my own. None of that was your fault.”

  “Maybe not,” Bruce said. “Consider us a jinx then. We believe it’s better if we keep future opinions to ourselves.”

  “Huh.” I sat back. “You’re obviously not kidding. I guess I need to understand this new neutrality. Does this mean that I shouldn’t tell you what happens when I go to visit Jack tomorrow?”

  Scott’s face broke out into a huge smile. “You plan to talk to him tomorrow?”

  I laughed as Bruce rolled his eyes. “Real impartial there,” he said, then turned to me. “We definitely want to hear everything. And we’ll try”—he shot an exaggerated glare at Scott, who was working hard to adopt a dispassionate expression—“to keep our opinions to ourselves. For your sake, Grace.”

  I laughed, feeling good knowing that, despite their professions of objectivity, my roommates were behind me on this one. “Sounds fair.”

  • • •

  BY THE END OF THE NEXT WORKDAY, I WAS feeling like a champ, quite proud of myself for having gotten so much accomplished. I’d made copies of Bennett’s skull photographs yesterday. Today, I returned the originals to their albums. I decided to keep them in my office until Bennett and I made time to browse.

  With Frances’s assistance, all my outstanding to-dos were now crossed off as dones, and I’d even worked ahead on a couple of tax and reporting issues. I’d been hired as curator, but my job often felt more like that of a conglomerate’s CEO.

  I felt particularly great about the investigative work I’d managed on Vandeen Deinhart. Though I had to admit that his background didn’t scream “attempted murderer,” I didn’t like the man. He wasn’t my top suspect, and my gut told me he was innocent of the in-flight attempt on Bennett’s life.

  Problem was, I didn’t have a top suspect, and until I did, Deinhart couldn’t be crossed off the list. I called Fairfax Investigations and Ronny Tooney to ask them both for updates. Fairfax had little more than background to share on the names I’d provided—information that more or less duplicated what I’d been able find out for myself through a few Internet searches.

  Tooney, on the other hand, promised to get back to me soon because there was a lead he’d uncovered and intended to follow. When I tried pressing for details, he said it was too early to share, but not to be concerned. Even if his theory bore results, he promised that it didn’t pose immediate danger for Bennett.

 
I hung up, knowing Bennett was safe as long as he remained within Marshfield’s guarded walls. Additionally, Terrence’s team was under strict orders to accompany him if he went out anywhere. I knew Bennett chafed at the round-the-clock attention, and I didn’t know how much longer I could get him to agree to bodyguards shadowing him wherever he went.

  While I was thrilled that no one had tried to kill Bennett since we’d returned, I couldn’t help but believe that whoever had been behind Pinky’s attack was simply waiting for a new opportunity to strike. I hoped to heaven we’d figure out who it was before they made any fresh attempts.

  “Good night, Frances,” I said on my way out.

  She glanced at her watch. “You’re leaving close to on time today.”

  As always with Frances, it was hard to determine whether that was an innocuous comment or an attempt to dig for dirt. Experience warned me to assume it was the latter. Either way, I knew better than to share my plan to reconnect with Jack. With Frances’s gossipy superpowers, Jack would be liable to hear all about it before I even made it to my car.

  I acknowledged her comment as noncommittally as I could. “Might as well get an early start on the weekend.”

  She sniffed. “That two-week vacation must have worn you out.”

  I ignored the sarcasm by turning the tables. “Any special plans for the next couple of days?”

  My question flipped a switch, the way I knew it would. She blinked away her glare and turned her attention to a pile of papers on her desk. “Did you get a chance to approve the time sheets?”

  She knew I had. This was her way of deflecting attention away from what she did every weekend. The woman had a right to her secrets, even if she didn’t respect others’ rights to the same. Still, I had a sneaking feeling that someday I’d know why she was always unavailable from Friday night until Monday morning.

  “I sent them out to our payroll company an hour ago,” I said. “I could have sworn I told you.”

  She didn’t look up. Frances despised being wrong. For her to pretend that she hadn’t remembered spoke volumes. Whatever she was hiding, it was important enough to color her cheeks and keep her gaze averted. She mumbled something unintelligible.

  I started to say, “If there’s nothing else—” when her desk phone rang. She gave me the universal sign for “don’t leave in case it’s for you,” and answered.

  She listened for a moment then said, “She’s walking out the door, why?” A moment later she gave me a quizzical look as she continued to talk to the person on the other end. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  Another moment. I stepped closer to the desk, straining to hear, but all I could make out was a tinny mumble, muted by Frances’s head against the receiver.

  Her expression darkened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  I took another step forward. “What’s not a good idea?”

  She held up a finger. “After all she and the Mister have been through?” She made a noise that sounded like pheh. “I don’t think so.” She shot me a look that asked, Can you believe this?

  I had no idea. I wanted to snatch the phone out of her hands and demand to know what was going on. “Who is it?” I asked.

  Another “wait” finger. “You can tell him I’ll tell her, but he’d better not hold his breath.”

  With that she hung up, grousing.

  “Who was that? Who’s ‘he’?”

  Frances folded her arms across her ample bosom. “Can you believe the nerve of some people?”

  “No, I can’t. Now tell me what you know.”

  “One of those men from the band, Slickwhatever, is here. Wants to talk with you.”

  “Which one?”

  “Said his name was Adam.”

  “Oh my gosh,” I said, “maybe he’s remembered something about Pinky. This is great.”

  “I don’t think he’s here to share clues with you,” she said. “Not according to what Doris said.”

  The tone of her voice made me wary. I stopped myself before bolting out the door. “Why? What did Doris say?”

  “He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers.”

  Chapter 22

  MY FREE HAND FLEW TO MY FOREHEAD. “What?”

  “You’re blushing,” Frances said unnecessarily.

  Was I? I hadn’t given Adam any signal that I was interested in him. Not in the least. “Maybe he brought flowers just to be nice?” It sounded lame, even to me.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, unconvinced. Making a little shooing motion with her hands she said, “If I’d known, I’d have told Doris to send him up. Go on now, hurry before he leaves.”

  “There’s nothing to ‘know,’” I said. “I’m sure he’s here to give me an update.” I frowned. “At least I hope that’s why he’s here.”

  I flew down the stairs, eager to find out what he had to share, though puzzled by the idea he’d brought flowers. The attraction I’d felt for Adam, both on the plane and afterward, when we conversed in the waiting room, had been purely platonic. At least on my end. This visit of his, coming out of the blue, was throwing me for a loop. Flowers? There had to be a mistake.

  Or . . .

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  I’d made it into the part of Marshfield that was open to visitors on the tour and was about to take the main staircase when I remembered another man who had taken recent interest in me. I shuddered, recalling how that had turned out.

  Resuming my course, I took the center steps down as quickly as I could manage while disjointed thoughts raced through my brain. I’d been intent on visiting Jack today. Intent on talking with him about rekindling whatever we thought we’d had. Adam’s arrival threw an unhappy detour into my plan.

  When I reached the main floor with the front desk in view, the first thing I saw was Adam’s backside. He was leaning over the desk, his right arm perched atop it, his left hand holding a bouquet of colorful blooms down by his side. As I approached, I heard him ask who Frances was. “So this woman says I should leave, but then says I should stay? Why can’t I just talk with Grace directly? Let her decide if she wants to see me or not.”

  I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, Adam.”

  He straightened at once, surprise and pleasure leaping to his features as the handful of flowers sprang up between us, bringing with it a gust of sweet air.

  “Grace,” he said. “I didn’t know . . . I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should call first, but I thought maybe if I did . . .”

  He stopped himself mid-sentence and handed me the bouquet. “These are for you.”

  I accepted the rainbow collection of pink and red roses, purple irises, orange and yellow daisies, and lush greenery. I took an appreciative sniff.

  Unencumbered now, he ran his hands through his hair. I was glad he hadn’t shown up wearing the black wig. “I wasn’t sure if this was such a good idea. I mean, I probably should have called first but decided to take a chance because I thought if I called you might politely tell me to bug off.”

  I think he must have read confusion on my face because he hurried to explain: “I thought you were awesome on that plane. You stayed cool and pulled together. You didn’t freak or melt down. I never told you how impressive that was—how remarkable I thought you were. I figured I should, and in person is always better.”

  “Thank you,” I said, “for the flowers and the compliment.” Touched by his disconcerted rambling, I had to struggle to maintain my guard.

  He pointed to the profusion of color in my arms. “After all you did, I couldn’t come empty-handed. That wouldn’t be right.”

  Doris was a lot older than Frances, but she operated in the same grapevine. I ignored her growing smirk. Rather than keep up this conversation for the benefit of our front desk clerk’s entertainment, I motioned for Adam to follow me. “C
ome on, I’ll show you around a little.”

  Alarmed, he pointed to the desk. “I didn’t pay my entrance fee yet.” Digging for his wallet, he said, “Hang on.”

  I gave his arm a gentle tug. “It’s on the house. Besides, it’s almost closing time. Too late in the day to get your money’s worth.” Marshfield wouldn’t shut down for another hour to allow the stragglers to finish their self-guided tour of the manor, but we had stopped accepting new guests for the day. “We’ll hit one of my favorite spots instead.”

  Doris had been watching this little banter with wide eyes. She anticipated where I was headed and cupped a hand to her mouth to call out, “They stopped serving tea at four.”

  Like I didn’t know that. “Thank you, Doris,” I called back.

  “So this is where you work, huh?” Adam’s gaze swept up and down each wall, taking in as much as he could. “It’s magnificent.”

  I chose not to rush him, instead providing light commentary as we meandered through the many rooms. He seemed to appreciate the bits of trivia I shared, and even asked a couple of questions that made me believe he wasn’t a stranger to the world of antiquities. I led him deep into the house to one of my very favorite spots to wow first-time visitors—the Birdcage Room.

  As we stepped into the sunny, two-story area, Adam drew in a sharp breath. “Wow. This is incredible. I thought you meant this room was full of birdcages. This is like being in a giant birdcage.” His voice echoed in the emptiness as he took a long look around. This late in the day, tables and chairs were vacant. The harp was covered, its musician gone until morning. We made our way across the room to the giant, curved wall of windows that overlooked the patio and south gardens.

  We stood next to each other facing outward for a solid count of twenty. When I turned to him, I discovered that he was studying me, as though waiting for me to resume the conversation. I shrugged. “I have to admit to being surprised to see you,” I said. “I take it your band is performing in the area?”

  “No.”

  “You . . . you came out here just to see me?” I asked, trying hard to keep the incredulity in my voice to a minimum.