by Julie Hyzy
“He doesn’t remember the mark?”
“He most definitely does.”
“Then why come here?”
“Nico doesn’t have any pictures of the mark on the skull. He neglected to have that done when he set up his gallery.”
“Cesare fell down on the job,” I said. “The question is, was that an oversight or was it intentional?”
“So you don’t trust the greasy little man either, do you?”
I laughed, despite myself. “Apt description. Truth is, I don’t know who to trust.” I thought about Bennett’s admission that Pezzati sometimes played fast and loose. “If anyone.”
Bennett adopted a faraway look again. “There’s more. First of all, I’m uncomfortable with my old friend making this extensive trip while he’s fighting illness. He promised he would wait until he was up to it, but Nico can be stubborn.”
“Tell him not to come,” I said. “I’ll scan copies and e-mail them.” A stutter-second later, I asked, “He does have e-mail, right?”
Amused, Bennett said, “I suggested that option. People of my generation aren’t as out of touch as you youngsters believe.”
“I never said you were out of touch.”
He made a conciliatory motion with his hand. “You’re too polite to say so, but I was behind the times until Davey started helping me out. But we’re getting off point here. Nico is determined to come out here for another reason. He believes that if he brings the skull and we compare it with the photos, he’ll have his proof.”
“Here or there, the proof will be the same. I don’t understand his need to travel across the ocean to see the pictures in person.”
Bennett’s mouth twisted. “He has more on his agenda.” Raising his voice, he spoke over his shoulder, “You getting all this, Frances?”
From the doorway: “Loud and clear. Keep going.”
Bennett’s eyes sparkled when he turned to face me again. “That woman. I don’t know why she doesn’t simply stomp in and make herself comfortable.”
She poked her head around the jamb. “Then who would stand guard out here to make sure no one else eavesdrops? Did you think of that?” Ducking back out of sight, she shouted, “And for the record, I do not stomp.”
Bennett’s wiry brows arched in amusement. “Noted,” he replied. Then to me: “About Nico. He has it in his mind to scoop up my pictures and take them and the skull to New York to confront Gerard.”
“What proof does he have that Gerard is behind the embezzlement?” I held my hands up, not understanding. “How much money are we talking about, anyway?”
“In American dollars, Nico has lost several hundred thousand over the past few months. They’re digging now to see how far back the problem goes.”
Incredulous, I asked, “How did no one notice that kind of money being routed through the kitchen?”
Bennett held up both hands in a helpless gesture. “When you trust your staff—”
“There’s no oversight?”
Again, the helpless expression. “I realize how lucky I am to have you watching out for my interests.”
“I still don’t understand how he knows Gerard is behind all this.”
“The accountant dug deeper. He found evidence of communication between Gerard and the cook. I’m sketchy on the details, because Nico had difficulty communicating through fits of coughing, but that’s the impression I get. The cook is under arrest, but swears she’s innocent. Of course.”
“Do you realize that it’s been less than a week since we visited there? How did all this come to pass so quickly?”
“I get the impression the accountant had begun looking into the books before we got there. Apparently that big guy, Angelo, was instrumental in arranging for this audit.”
“Huh,” I said. “There goes my theory of Angelo being the bad guy.”
“There’s another factor I was unaware of until now.”
“What’s that?”
“Nico intends to bequeath Villa Pezzati to his town, structuring the transfer much the way I have structured my gift to Emberstowne upon my death.”
“Why would he do that when he has children?”
“You know his opinion of Gerard.” Bennett waited for my nod before continuing. “Nico is afraid that Gerard will come after Irena. I got the impression he believes his son might weasel his sister’s share out from under her.” Bennett shook his head, looking very sad. “Nico is providing comfortably for Irena, of course. He simply wants to keep the estate out of his son’s hands.”
I sat back, digesting all this. “That’s huge.”
“Indeed.”
“Why did Angelo call for an audit, then? How does he figure into all this?”
“I was reluctant to push Nico for details.”
I crossed my arms on my desk and leaned forward. “Could Angelo have framed the cook? I understand we only met the woman for a minute or so, but she hardly struck me as the thieving type.”
Frances shouted from the other room, “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”
Bennett and I exchanged a look. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
• • •
MID-AFTERNOON, IT OCCURRED TO ME THAT Rudy had never shown up to tour Marshfield. Either that, or he’d neglected to ask for me. I was about to call down there to ask Doris if she remembered seeing anyone who fit Rudy’s description, when my cell phone rang.
I glanced at caller ID. Ronny Tooney. “Good to hear from you,” I said when I answered. “Did anything ever come from that lead you mentioned?”
Traffic, shouts, whistles, and rumblings in the background made me strain to hear. “Maybe,” he said. “What was the name of the guy you visited in Italy? Mr. Marshfield’s good friend?”
“Nico Pezzati.”
Squeals, like those from a braking bus, filled the beat of silence between us. A moment later he said, “You mentioned him in passing, that’s why it’s familiar, but you didn’t give me that name to investigate.”
I sat up a little straighter, a curious zing running up my spine. “He isn’t a suspect.”
Crowd sounds filled the phone space. Much too busy for Emberstowne. Even in the middle of tourist season. “What aren’t you telling me, Tooney? And where are you?”
“That list of names you gave me. I ran them all down as far as I could take them. I couldn’t find your Pinky character, though. If I had a last name—”
“Detective Williamson identified her.” I provided the basic details about Diane Waters of Brooklyn and waited for Tooney to write everything down. “Why did you ask me about Nico Pezzati?”
“I’m in New York City.”
The background noise finally made sense. “Why?”
“You said you’d cover expenses. I flew out through Southwest. They were about ten dollars more than taking a train, but I thought it was worth it to save time. I didn’t schedule a return flight. I can take the train back if you want.”
“I’m not quibbling about costs, Tooney. I want to know why you went out there.”
“Every name you gave me came up empty. Nothing. It was either they didn’t exist, or if they did, there was nothing pertinent to report.”
I rolled my wrist in a silent “Hurry it up” movement, even though he couldn’t see.
“You know I always want to do a thorough job for you. You’ve trusted me so far, and I don’t want to blow it.”
Exasperated, I couldn’t keep my impatience from showing. “Cut to the chase.”
He smacked his lips. “I went back and tried again. Digging deeper this time with every name. Still came up mostly empty.”
“Mostly.”
“Until I looked more closely at the leader of SlickBlade.”
I sucked in a breath. “Adam?”
“The very one.”
My hand gripped the receiver so tightly I was afraid I might crack it in half. “He was here. Friday. He came to see me.”
“Ah . . .” Tooney said as though that explained something. “He’s back in the Big Apple today. I spent the last couple hours following him. The guy lives in an upscale apartment overlooking Central Park.”
“Why? Why follow him? What happened?” As usual, Tooney wasn’t talking fast enough for me.
He explained, “The guy is rich, no question about it. Has a personal driver but seems to prefer walking.”
“Pinky lived in Brooklyn,” I reminded him. “Maybe there’s a connection.”
“I’ll look into it.”
“Tell me more about why you followed Adam.”
“You told me that SlickBlade didn’t own the chartered plane—that it belonged to the Curling Weasels.”
“That’s right.”
“When SlickBlade and everyone else on the list came up empty, I decided to check out the Weasels. See if anything popped.”
Where was Frances when I wanted her to listen in? Too late, I remembered she’d left the office to run an errand. “What did you find?”
“Do you know who manages the Curling Weasels?”
I shook my head, despite the fact Tooney couldn’t see. “Who?”
“A guy here in New York. He works out of a fancy office a couple of blocks away from Times Square. Adam from SlickBlade is up in that office right this minute, meeting with that manager. Want to know what his name is?”
I held my breath.
Tooney raised his voice to be heard over a sudden traffic crescendo. “He goes by Jerry Pezz,” he shouted, “but his real name is Gerard Pezzati.”
Chapter 26
THE MINUTE I HUNG UP WITH TOONEY, I DIALED WILLIAMSON, EAGER TO CONVEY THE information about Adam’s connection to Gerard Pezzati. Irena told me that her brother was ashamed of his living conditions and begged her not to visit. She sent him money to help keep him going. How despicable to scam one’s sister like that. Bennett had said that Nico was afraid of Gerard weaseling the estate from Irena. How apt that he managed the super successful Curling Weasels.
“The connection between the two has got to be important,” I told Williamson. “It’s too much of a coincidence, otherwise.”
The detective had me repeat what Tooney had reported, twice. “You understand this is all hearsay,” he said.
“Ronny Tooney is a private investigator.” The words tumbled out of my mouth with surprising ease. Even as recently as a half year ago, I would never have predicted my voicing such fervent support of the man. “He uncovered this as part of his investigation.”
Williamson grunted. “I’m not saying I’m convinced, but you’ve got that flight attendant . . .”
“Rudy. He said he might come visit today, but I haven’t seen him.”
“The fact that he’s wandering around town is curious. You had the lead singer from SlickBlade trying to get close to you, too. There are allegations he may have connections to your friends in Italy, and those Italian friends are on their way to visit.”
“We have to wait until Signor Pezzati is healthy enough to travel.”
“Whatever. There’s too much going on in your little hamlet to ignore. I’m coming out there.”
“That would be great,” I said sincerely.
“Don’t wait up for me,” he said. “I’m taking a detour to New York to verify some of what your personal P.I. came up with. When I get to Emberstowne, I’ll want to coordinate with your local P.D. Any idea who runs homicide out there?”
I gave him both Rodriguez’s and Flynn’s names. “I’ve worked with them before.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
I didn’t bother hanging up. I merely clicked to get the tone and dialed Rodriguez. As I did so, I heard the door to Frances’s office close. A moment later, her chair squeaked. Good. She was back.
“Ms. Wheaton,” Rodriguez said in surprise when I identified myself. “I was just about to call you.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence,” I said. “What’s up?”
“We’re closing the books on Vandeen Deinhart. The guy’s clean. Clean enough that my spinster aunt could run a white glove across his forehead and hear it squeak.”
“That’s almost poetic, Detective.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m only telling you that because Flynn and I plan to start looking elsewhere for suspects.”
About time. “Elsewhere?” I prompted.
“We think it’s time to take a second look at your Picasso skull theory.”
Took you long enough. “Great,” I said, then shared with him what Tooney had called to tell me. I also mentioned Detective Williamson’s involvement. “Whatever you and Detective Flynn need, let me know.”
“We’ll be in touch.”
I hung up and made my way in to see Frances.
“What did the dynamic duo have to say?” she asked.
“It’s what Tooney had to say that’s the most interesting,” I said. Frances’s eyes went wide, her brows jumping in silent surprise as I told her about the connection between my would-be suitor, Adam, and Signor Pezzati’s son, Gerard.
“That’s a little too cozy for comfort,” she said.
I shared what Bennett had told me about Pezzati bequeathing his estate to the town. “Gerard is out of the will completely. I guess this is his way of negotiating his own inheritance.”
“If he’s a hotshot New York manager for that band you mentioned . . .”
“Curling Weasels.”
“. . . Then it sounds as though he’s well off. Why jeopardize all he’s worked for by stealing from his father?”
“A sense of entitlement, perhaps?” I suggested. “I’ve heard of instances where kids believe their parents owe them.” I thought about my own inheritance, and that of my sister. How differently we’d handled what our mother had left us. How differently we handled life. I shook off the memories. Too painful. “We know nothing about Gerard as a person. We don’t know how he managed his apparent success. He may have built his empire by stealing funds from others.”
Frances clucked disapproval. “When Signor Pezzati arrives, will he stay with the Mister or at the Marshfield Hotel?”
“Bennett wants him to stay here. We were guests in his home, and Bennett believes it’s only fitting to extend the same hospitality.” I snapped my fingers. “That reminds me, I wanted to call before he leaves. I certainly hope someone besides Angelo makes the trip with him.”
• • •
MARCO ANSWERED THE PHONE AND, WHEN I identified myself, was quick to remind me of his desire to visit the United States. “I believe Signor Pezzati is coming to visit soon,” I said. Although these might not be the best circumstances under which to experience Marshfield, I was certain he’d find enjoyment in the trip. “Will you accompany him?”
“Unfortunately,” he said, with great care to get the word out properly, “I am not to be included. Signor Pezzati requires me to remain here.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Do you know who is coming with the signor?”
“There is discussion,” he said. “I believe Angelo.”
I’d been hoping to hear that Irena would be coming, too. I asked to speak with her. Marco thanked me for my kindness and promised to call her to the phone. “She and her father are at dinner. Just a moment.”
That’s right; dinners there were later than we were used to here. It was well after eight in the evening at Villa Pezzati.
Irena came on the line, breathless. “Grace,” she said with smiling exclamation in her voice. “So wonderful to hear from you.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt your meal,” I began.
“No, no. I’m delighted by your call. Father is beside himself with worry and believes you and Bennett can help him. This business about the skull is horrible. How could anyone do such a thing to my father?”
“He told Bennett that he believes your brother is behind it.”
She heaved a sigh. “Such an accusation makes me very sad.”
“Your father plans to confront Gerard.”
“I know,” she said. Her misery was evident. “I’m afraid this news is too much for his heart. Knowing how angry my brother makes him, I can’t imagine how he will survive such an altercation. My father is constantly trying to protect me. This time, I need to protect him.”
“So you’re coming with him?”
“Unless Angelo has his way.” She made a growling noise. “He tried to charter a jet yesterday—and leave without telling me. My father was in no shape to travel. He’s only slightly better today.”
“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t take on additional passengers. Strangers, I mean.” Thinking about Signor Pezzati and Irena alone with the burly bodyguard on the long flight over, I added, “Is there any way to leave Angelo behind?”
“I will try.”
“Be very careful, okay?”
“Is it that bad?”
For about a second, I considered telling her about Gerard’s connection to SlickBlade and the Curling Weasels. Although it wasn’t proof that Gerard had engineered Pinky’s spot on our tragic flight, the evidence was incriminating. Irena had enough to deal with. This could wait. “We’ll talk when you get here,” I said.
• • •
THAT NIGHT I FOUND MYSELF PACING THE house waiting for Bruce and Scott to get home. I’d told them about Hillary’s new project, but now that I’d heard Bennett’s side of the story, I’d begun to rethink my initial knee-jerk refusal. My roommates knew how much I cared for Bennett. They knew about the potential blood relationship, too. I needed their advice.
For the fourth time in as many minutes, I checked the kitchen clock. It would be at least another hour before they were home. I decided to strap Bootsie into her harness and sit on the rickety front porch, hoping the evening air would help clear my mind.
