by Julie Hyzy
“You were phenomenal on that plane.”
Although his flattery seemed sincere, I wished he’d stop. “I assume you have news, or you’ve discovered something about Pinky.” I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but I couldn’t help myself. “Is that why you wanted to see me?”
He continued to face the wall of windows, clearly frustrated by my oblivious nonchalance. If my guard had been up slightly before, it was running at full red-alert now. Moon-eyed men didn’t show up on one’s doorstep without good reason, I reminded myself. I’d been pulled in before by a smiling face and a hidden agenda. I wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.
Ever polite, however, I gestured. “Let’s sit and talk awhile.”
Once we were settled near the windows, with the flowers forming a colorful barrier on the table between us, I leaned forward. “Your visit here comes as a bit of a surprise. I’m hardly prepared for it. Do you mind if I hit you with a few questions?”
He broke into a relaxed smile. “Fair enough,” he said, “shoot.”
“Have you remembered anything more about Pinky? Has anyone in the band been able to come up with a lead we might be able to follow?”
His brows came together briefly. He’d probably expected me to lead with something more personal. Shifting in his seat, he leaned forward and spoke quietly. “That Detective Williamson came to visit us yesterday. Wanted to clear up a few issues with Matthew. He showed up right before our concert,” he said, adding, “We played to a sold-out crowd. It was a smaller venue than what the Curling Weasels are used to, but we weren’t the warm-up band—we were on our own.”
He had interesting eyes. Expressive and clear, watching me with an alertness that took me aback. The diamond stud earring was gone, but his face was as craggy and acne-scarred as I’d first observed. Like Tommy Lee Jones, Adam had rugged, appealing charm. Didn’t matter. There was no way I’d allow myself to be pulled in by a compelling stranger who just happened to be around when I needed him and who just happened to find me wildly attractive. Not again.
The pride in Adam’s voice was evident. I smiled encouragement. “That’s wonderful.” Waiting a beat, I asked, “Did Williamson have any news?”
Adam’s expression dimmed. “He told us he was able to track her movements back a few days, but asked us not to share that.” He gave a wry grimace. “I guess I just did, didn’t I? I never mentioned I was coming here, but I wouldn’t expect he meant to keep it from you.”
“He knows her real identity then?” I pressed for more. “What is it? Did he tell you where she’d been before the charter flight? Who she worked for?”
“I can’t remember her real name. Williamson asked if it sounded familiar, but it didn’t. To me or to Matthew.”
I bit my bottom lip, wishing he would remember. “Was it close to ‘Pinky’ or completely different?”
He concentrated, staring out the window again. “I can’t remember. All I know is that I never heard it before. Sorry.”
“Was it an American name? Italian?”
He brightened, happy to be of help. “Definitely not Italian. I can tell you that. It was a pretty ordinary name, as I recall. The big news, though, is that this woman—whoever she was—has a criminal record here in the States.”
“For what?”
“He wouldn’t tell us.”
“Those two women who were with your band on the plane,” I began, “did they have any information to share that they didn’t mention?”
It was his turn to look confused. “I haven’t talked with them.”
“I assumed they were band wives. Or girlfriends.”
He threw back his head, eyes crinkling into small slits as he belly-laughed. “No, no way. Not a chance.”
“They seemed to be part of your crowd and . . .”
“They’re hired groupies.”
I shot him an “Are you kidding me?” look. “Come again?”
He scratched the top of his head. “I’ve been in the music business for a long time, and this band we’ve got now is the best I’ve ever worked with. Our agents think that the more we behave like a top act, the more we’ll be viewed as one.”
“Oh, come on,” I said, “even little garage bands have groupies. You’re head and shoulders above that level. Don’t tell me you don’t have fans.”
He made a so-so motion. “We do have fans. Quite a lot, actually. Contrary to popular belief, however, most of them don’t jump on a plane to follow us to Europe. Beyond that, a lot of our fans don’t fit the stereotype. Groupies are supposed to be eager, fast, and easy.” His cheeks went red. “We haven’t gotten there yet.”
“But you hope to.”
“The other guys do. Me, I’m not into the party scene. I love writing music, love playing it. I want the world to sing the songs I write.” He got a pained look in his eyes, as though remembering a past hurt. “All the rest of that stuff? You can keep it.”
Klaxon warning bells sounded in my brain. Oh sure, I thought. Come here unannounced, act all sweet and unpretentious. A wannabe rock star who didn’t crave fame and fortune? Spare me.
Maybe Adam had played a role in this conspiracy. Maybe he was trying to get close to me, hoping I’d let down my guard. Play along. At least until I knew what his angle was.
He was still talking. “Big names like the Curling Weasels have real groupies. We’re nowhere in the same league as the Weasels, you know that.”
“Count your blessings.”
“You don’t like hard rock?”
“I don’t like their sound, sorry,” I admitted. “When the Weasels come on the radio, I switch stations.” I leaned across the table and whispered, “Don’t tell them that, of course. I haven’t heard a lot of your original stuff, but what I heard in Florence was great.”
“Thanks,” he said, grinning now. “I’d love for you to come to one of our concerts. As my guest.”
There it was. The invitation oozing out as innocently as anything. “Thank you,” I said pasting on as sincere a smile as I could muster. How could I keep him close enough to determine his true motivation without putting myself in harm’s way? “I don’t get to concerts very often. In fact, encountering you at that bar in Florence was the first time I’d been at a live music event in a long time. How did you get that gig?”
He talked about his agent, their manager, and all the other clubs they’d played in Europe during their two-week trip. I piped in with questions asking for specifics regarding individuals, locations, and details. I thought for sure that he’d drop a familiar name—one that I could tie to Pinky, or Angelo, or Cesare. Maybe even one tied to the Pezzati family.
Adam was an engaging storyteller, gregarious now that he had my attention. He gestured with wide arms and expressive brows. Most of his stories were tales of mishaps on the road. He told them in such a light, self-deprecating way that I couldn’t help laughing, despite my unwavering resolve to stay objective. I eventually turned the conversation back to the flight, and tried again, unsuccessfully, to pin him down—to uncover a clue that he might unwittingly divulge.
We talked a little more about our harrowing experience on the plane and Pinky’s possible motives. I made a mental note to contact Detective Williamson at my earliest opportunity, but when I asked about him again, Adam shifted positions and shrugged. It was clear there was little more I’d be able to glean from this line of conversation. And if Adam couldn’t help me, I saw no need to keep talking.
I stood. “Wow, Adam, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you coming all the way out here to give me this update.”
He got to his feet, looking shocked at the abrupt end to the conversation. His gaze fell to the flowers on the table, as though asking them for advice.
Here it comes. Staving off what I knew was coming, I plastered on a cheerful smile and pointed towar
d the door. “We’ll be shutting down soon. You wouldn’t want to be trapped.” I winked. “Lots of history in this house. You never know when you might encounter a ghost.”
“I’ll bet you could get out,” he said with a sly smile. “I’m sure you’ve got all the codes and keys. Am I right?”
Zing. I felt the hot warning shoot up my back. “Nope,” I lied. “Security handles all that. I have to go through them for everything.”
I picked up my flowers and led the way out. As we walked back to the front of the home, uniformed guards walked by in sets of two, giving credence to my fib. They were doing a final sweep of the grounds before locking the tourist sections up for the night. Doris had closed up the front desk. “Leaving so soon?” she asked Adam with a not-so-subtle eyeball of the flowers. “I thought you might be here for the weekend.”
“Nope,” I said, heading off any chance of that conversation gaining traction. To Adam, I said, “It was so nice of you to stop by. You’ll let me know if you hear anything else about Pinky or if you hear more from Williamson, won’t you?”
“Sure.”
I waited for him to leave. He didn’t.
Doris had stopped what she was doing and was watching with undisguised interest.
“Uh,” Adam said. “I forgot to ask. Do you know of any good places to eat? I don’t plan to leave until tomorrow morning.”
“Doris,” I said, “do you have any of those Emberstowne pamphlets we used to keep back there?”
She grumbled about having already locked up, but pulled out her keys and obliged us. “Here you go,” she said as she opened the fold-out map and pointed. “Your best bet’s here,” she said, “on Main Street. But you better get moving. All the good places crowd up quick on the weekends.”
“Thank you.”
Doris locked up again in a hurry this time, as though she was afraid I might ask for another small favor. She came around the desk and started toward the back of the house, where there was a passage to the employees’ underground garage. She raised a hand over her head. “See you Monday, Ms. Wheaton.”
“Good night,” I said to her back.
The giant house fell suddenly silent when she disappeared around the far corner. All the security guards were off to their posts. “Thanks again for coming,” I said.
Adam looked around. “Sure gets quiet here fast.”
“It’s a big house.”
He took that in. “Lots of secrets in these walls. I can feel them.”
He may not have meant his comment to sound menacing, but it did. “The front gates are locked up,” I said. “There’s one last shuttle waiting outside for an all-clear from security. You’ll want to grab that one, or you’ll be stuck here all night.”
He got an amused look on his face, but didn’t share whatever had put it there. Slapping the booklet against his palm, he said, “I guess I’ll go then.” He seemed to be waiting for me to stop him. I stepped to the side and opened the front door. As promised, the white shuttle bus idled outside.
He started out, but stopped and turned in the doorway. “I came all this way to ask you something I should’ve asked you back in that waiting room when we landed.”
Here it comes.
He worked up a shy smile. “Are you . . . single?” He was either sincere or one heck of a great actor. I wondered, briefly, if I wore a flashing neon sign that read “GULLIBLE” in all caps over my head.
“I’m . . .” How to answer? Without a quick quip at my disposal, I opted for the truth. “I’m not in a relationship at the moment. But that . . . may change.”
He tilted his head. “Oh?”
I wasn’t about to explain my situation with Jack. I shrugged. “Time will tell.”
“I guess asking you to dinner tonight would be out of the question then.”
“I . . .”
“One dinner couldn’t hurt? Could it?”
“I’m sorry. I have plans.”
He smiled and nodded. “Thanks for talking.” He held up the Emberstowne pamphlet. “See you around.”
Chapter 23
JACK’S OFFICE WAS DARK BY THE TIME I GOT there. The tiny, candy-apple red storefront trimmed in bright white had lush greenery spilling from wide flower boxes beneath its picture window. I’d been afraid of this. Adam’s unexpected appearance had done more than rattle me; it had thrown me off schedule. I’d intended to talk with Jack here, alone, quietly.
I’d counted on it being a Friday night and there not being a lot of last-minute business. I could say what I had to say then take my leave. Topmost on my list was letting him know that I missed his friendship. I didn’t harbor hope of Jack jumping at the chance to rekindle whatever we thought we might have had at one point, but I wanted to plant the seed. Seeing as how Jack had been Marshfield’s landscape architect until very recently, the analogy felt apt.
It had taken every ounce of courage and belief in myself to bring me to this moment. Now that I’d made the decision to talk with Jack, I chafed at the delay.
A shadow crossed the back of the office. I cupped my hands to peer in through his front window. Maybe he was still there.
The shadow stopped moving, then waved and made its way forward.
Jack’s younger brother, Davey, opened the office front door, causing the bells overhead to jingle a hello.
“He’s gone for the day, Grace. Anything I can do for you?”
Davey was kind enough not to make a big deal out of my unexpected appearance at Jack’s front door. Davey had been witness to much of the trouble Jack and I had gone through, and I believed he, too, was hoping we’d find common ground.
After a harrowing escape from a dire situation not all that long ago, Davey had gone to work for Bennett as a personal assistant. From all accounts, that was working out wonderfully for both of them. “What are you doing here tonight?” I asked. “I thought you gave up garden work.”
“Jack couldn’t open a few documents on his computer. Turns out he needed a software upgrade. Simple fix. Now he can get back to studying.”
“How is he managing to keep the business going and study for his law degree at the same time? That’s got to be tough.”
Davey gave a sad smile. “He’s been through tougher.”
We both knew what he meant. Taking my leave, I said, “I guess I’ll see you around.”
“Jack’s at Hugo’s,” Davey said. “At the bar. I told him I’d meet him when I was done, and I’d planned to head over there now. If you don’t mind, maybe you could stop by and let him know his computer’s all set.”
“Davey . . .” He was setting me up and we both knew it.
“You’d be doing me a huge favor. Honest.”
“I don’t believe that for a minute.”
“Come on.” Davey grinned. He looked so much like his brother, it took my breath away. “Hugo’s is only a couple of blocks away. What can it hurt?”
• • •
I STEPPED OUT OF THE WANING SUN INTO THE relative cool and low-lit Hugo’s. The young hostess greeted me with an expectant look and a bright smile. I pointed and said, “Going to the bar.”
“No problem, have a nice time.”
I scooted around her and made my way past the few tables up front, taking pains to avoid making eye contact with anyone. This wasn’t my ideal scenario for a talk with Jack, and the fewer witnesses, the better. I hoped to sneak in unobtrusively and sneak out again without anyone the wiser. Although I didn’t know everyone in Emberstowne, Frances had plenty of eyes and ears among the residents, all of whom seemed to know that I was the manager of Marshfield.
The place was filling up quickly, as Doris had predicted. This was our town’s busy season and by seven there would be lines out the door. I ducked around the next corner into the bar area and spotted Jack right away.
I took a deep breath, tugged at the hem of my blouse, and made my way over.
He had a beer in front of him, his arms stretched across the bar on either side of his glass, his eyes forward. Lost in thought.
I slid onto the stool next to him. “Hey, Jack.”
He turned to me, startled. “Grace.”
“Davey said you’d be here. He asked me to tell you that your computer’s all set.”
“That’s great,” he said, blinking. “Where did you see Davey? Is he here?”
I was spared answering when the bartender meandered over. “What would you like?” he asked.
Right about then I could have gone for a martini, or two, but decided this was better done clearheaded. “Just water,” I said with an apologetic shrug. “I’m driving.”
“Driving?” Jack asked as the bartender filled a glass and placed it on the bar next to me. I thanked him. “You’re not that far from home.”
“I’m here straight from work.”
He gave me a quizzical glance, but didn’t ask.
“I stopped by your office,” I began. “That’s where I ran into Davey.”
“You came to see me?”
Water was cool relief down my suddenly clogged throat. What had I been thinking coming here?
“Trouble at Marshfield with the gardens?” he asked. “I checked in with Old Earl while you were in Europe; he assured me there were no issues.”
I placed the glass back on the bar, keeping a grip on it. I studied my hand as though it belonged to someone else. “No trouble. You left the place in pristine condition. You trained the staff well. They’re keeping up.”
He took a deep drink of his beer. “Then this is a personal visit?”
“I guess it is.” There was no turning back now.
His eyes were clouded, sad. I didn’t know how to read that, although I clearly wasn’t getting the positive vibe I’d hoped for. Expected, even. He ran a finger along the J-shaped scar on his cheek and I remembered him telling me how it got there. How his life had spiraled out of control so many years ago. I thought about how my involvement in his history had caused so much recent pain among his family. No matter what Bennett said to the contrary, I felt responsible. I was responsible.
