by Julie Hyzy
Frances twisted her mouth in disapproval. “You’re the boss,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’m merely an assistant.”
This would have been the perfect setup for me to tell Frances that she was so much more than just an assistant, but her peeve bugged me. I was still charged from my unsettling conversation with Adam and wasn’t in the mood to placate my never-happy employee. I waited until she’d made it to her own office to call up Hillary’s message, very glad that I had the capability of listening through the receiver rather than blaring it aloud in the room.
“Good afternoon, Grace. This is Hillary,” she began, oh-so-professionally. “I understand that you’ve been in contact with Bennett Marshfield about our arrangement. I’d like to set up our first appointment whenever is convenient for you. We’ll need to decide the scope of the project and share our ideas with one another. I’m booked this week with that other client I mentioned. As of next Monday, however, I’m wide open. Give me a call.” She rattled off her new business number.
I hung up and rested my head against the back of my chair. I knew putting Hillary off until next week was no answer, but it sure felt good right now.
• • •
BENNETT STROLLED IN A LITTLE WHILE later. “Good afternoon, Frances. How was your day?”
She mumbled a reply.
“What was that?” he asked.
Glad to hear a friendly voice, I got up and made my way into Frances’s office in time for Bennett to ask her another question. He turned to me. “What’s this about New York?”
I glared at my assistant before explaining our plan to visit Gerard Pezzati.
“You think that’s wise?” Bennett asked.
I wasn’t in the mood to argue for fear that my agitation would get the best of me. “Plans aren’t set in stone yet,” I said. Then changing the subject, I asked, “What brings you down here?”
Bennett brightened. “I received a call from Irena earlier. They should be here tomorrow morning.”
“Signor Pezzati is well enough to travel?” Frances asked. “Pneumonia is nothing to sneeze at.”
Bennett held on to the back of a chair, the long fingers of both hands stretching down the tight leather. “I agree. They’re expected to land shortly after five. That puts them here before seven A.M. I’ll have their rooms set up and food brought in. I expect they’ll want to sleep. Even traveling by charter can be exhausting.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if they want to see the skull photos right away,” I said.
Bennett’s brows came together. “I suppose they might. I’m reluctant to allow Nico to push himself. He’s under a great deal of strain, whether he cares to admit it or not.”
“Would you like me to pull out the photos now?” I asked. “That way you have them at your fingertips when you need them.”
“Certainly not. You’re as big a part of this story as any of us. We’ll arrange to view them all together. Perhaps if I tell them you’re indisposed for a while, they’ll take advantage and get some rest before we get into the real reason for their visit.”
So thoughtful, yet so old-school, Bennett had been raised in a world where one waited for the proper time for such revelations. Nico Pezzati was making a trip across the world to see Bennett’s proof. If it were my treasures we were talking about, I wouldn’t be able to wait, and doubted Irena would, either.
“I’ll look forward to seeing them both.”
“There’s one more thing. Irena says that she had some difficulty with Angelo about coming out here. He didn’t want them to make the trip. I suppose we’ll find out more about that tomorrow.”
“Doesn’t bode well,” I said.
• • •
AS I PREPARED TO LEAVE FOR THE EVENING, my cell phone chimed the arrival of a text. It was Bruce. “Guy here asking for you. Good looking.”
“Who?” I texted back.
“Won’t give a name. Wants to surprise you.”
Adrenaline flashed up, hot and fast. I didn’t like this. Bruce and Scott had met Eric well before he’d run off with my sister, so I knew I was safe on that front. Who could it be? Rudy?
“Italian accent?” I wrote back.
“No. Tall, dark, handsome.”
“Local?”
“Not sure.”
I kept a finger poised, ready to Swype another reply, if only I knew what to say. Bruce and Scott’s wine shop, Amethyst Cellars, would be hopping even though it wasn’t the weekend. There would be lots of people around. Safe enough.
“What’s your gut tell you?” I finally asked.
When I read his reply, I smiled. He’d typed: “Go for it!”
• • •
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, I WALKED INTO AMETHYST CELLARS, BREATHING IN THE FAMILIAR WINE COMMINGLED WITH WOODWORK. The shop, with its busy, happy patrons holding sparkling glasses and socializing amid tasteful displays, always had an energetic, upscale vibe. I felt welcome here, despite the fact that tonight I had no idea who waited for me. I was neither jittery nor eager, but I was curious. Who was this mystery man?
A couple dozen wine-tasters at the counter had their backs turned to the front door and I couldn’t recognize anyone. The chattering crowd appeared to be broken out into groups of twos and fours. I scanned the shop for any lone males, but came up empty.
Scott called me over. “When Bruce told the guy you were on your way, he said he’d be right back, and took off.” He gestured vaguely. “You don’t have any idea who he is?”
“Not a clue. You know everyone I know.” A thought occurred to me. I placed both hands on the countertop and gave Scott a mischievous glare. “It isn’t Jack, is it?”
“Not a chance. We wouldn’t do that to you. Heck, if we knew who this guy was, we would have told you, no matter how much he insisted on surprise.”
A customer waved for Scott’s attention. He started to excuse himself, then stopped, focusing over my shoulder. “Speak about the devil. He’s back,” he said, then, “Whoa.”
I turned, curiosity crashing like cymbals on concrete. The surrounding din of lively, casual conversation faded as my hearing and vision tunneled. “What are you doing here?”
Adam closed the distance between us, not smiling. “I’m sorry, Grace,” he said. “I’ve done something to hurt you. I don’t know what it is, but I’m sorry.”
In his hands he held a bouquet of flowers. Twice, maybe triple the size of the bunch he’d brought me last time. He pushed the blooms into the space between us. Reflexively, I reached for them, then pushed back.
“I asked what you’re doing here.” I did a quick assessment. Plenty of people, potential witnesses. I didn’t sense that Adam would risk anything in such a public environment, and the comfort of the crowd made me bold. “I told you to stay away.” I was furious by his response—which was no response at all, so I went on, “Why did you have Ronny Tooney arrested?”
“You asked me to let him go. We dropped the charges.”
“Why did you pick him up in the first place?” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell me you worked with Gerard Pezzati?”
He held the massive flowers I’d refused to accept. “You asked me that on the phone. What is Jerry to you? Why do you care if I work with him?” Gesturing as he spoke, he wound up banging the bouquet against the back of a gentleman sipping white wine. The guy turned to give Adam a furious glance, noted that we were in the midst of an argument, and took a cautious step away.
We were creating a spectacle. Not exactly conducive to business, and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt Scott and Bruce. “Can we take this outside?” I asked. Warning bells sounded, but it was early enough in the evening. Light enough outside. Lots of people. How much trouble could I get into on the tourist-crammed streets of Emberstowne?
Chapter 29
BRUCE HEADED
US OFF AT THE DOOR. “IS EVERYTHING OKAY, GRACE?”
“We’ll be right outside,” I said. “I don’t want to disturb your guests.” Shooting a malevolent look at Adam, I added, “Keep an eye on me though, okay?”
Adam exploded when we got outside. “What was that all about?” He threw his arms out in frustration, the blooms in his left hand bouncing brightly, as though shaken by his anger.
Two large men sauntered up behind him. They looked like the kind of guys who play bouncers in movies. Built like Mack trucks, they wore dark T-shirts stretched to bursting against ham-sized pecs over black jeans that were too tight to be comfortable. I pointed, less confident than I’d been a moment ago. “Bodyguards?” I asked. “Plan to rough me up the way you did Tooney?”
Adam rubbed his forehead with his free hand, muttering. “I don’t know why I don’t throw these stupid flowers on the street and walk away from this nutty place.” He turned to the two men flanking him. “Go find something to do,” he said.
They exchanged a look but didn’t argue.
“You try to tell me that SlickBlade is no big deal, yet you show up here with bodyguards,” I said, pointing toward the departing figures. “We share a flight together with a killer that your band brought on board, and you tell me you have no idea who she was. Now I find out that you’re in cahoots with Gerard Pezzati.” I fisted my hip. “What else are you hiding?”
“‘In cahoots’?” As he mocked my words, his lip curled. I got the impression he was tamping down a smile. The jerk. “Did you really say that?”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“What I want to know is why you care so much about my business dealings with Jerry Pezz. That’s what I call him, by the way. It wasn’t until your friend—what’s his name?—Tooney—showed up that I remembered Pezz is a shortened version of Pezzati. I’ve been working with the guy for years. To me, he’s Pezz.”
“Convenient.”
He raised the flowers, as though to make a point, belatedly realizing what he was doing. “This is stupid,” he said. He turned and scanned the immediate area. A fortyish woman, walking alone, was about to pass us. She carried a reusable grocery bag down by her side and seemed lost in thought. He intercepted her, smiled, and handed the astonished woman the bouquet. “A beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers.”
I watched confusion, pleasure, and suspicion cloud the woman’s face, but before she could even thank him, he stormed back over to me. “Where was I?” he asked.
The woman must have read the situation. She gave a resigned shrug and continued on her way, a smile playing about her lips. I hoped she wasn’t on Frances’s team.
“You were about to profess your innocence, no doubt,” I said with sharp sarcasm.
He ran both hands up and through his hair. “What does Jerry have to do with you?” he asked in exasperation. “Why would I even think to tell you that I know him? Did you expect me to provide you a list of every person I’ve ever met in my entire life? You didn’t seem all that interested in me; why would you care about my association with Pezz?”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me about your association with Gerard Pezzati? After all, I told you that—” I stopped as gears began to turn, making clunky connections in my head. I straightened, in delayed realization. “No, I didn’t tell you,” I said softly. Almost to myself. “Did I?”
Adam didn’t answer. He pulled in his bottom lip and chewed on it. He crossed his arms and regarded me with narrowed eyes. “What am I missing?” he finally asked.
I held up a hand, asking him to wait, then covered my eyes as I tried to replay our interactions on board the plane, in the waiting room afterward, even when Adam had come to visit. I’d never mentioned the Pezzati family. To Detective Williamson, yes, but that was in my debriefing. Private. When Bennett and I had talked about the Pezzatis, it had been quietly, away from the others.
I raised my head, meeting Adam’s watchful eyes. He was waiting for me to explain. I brought my hand to my mouth. “You didn’t know about our visit to Nico Pezzati’s villa in Florence, did you?”
He shook his head slowly, hands spread. “Who is Nico?”
I took a deep breath. Gerard Pezzati must have taken advantage of Adam and SlickBlade without their knowledge. I still couldn’t figure out how the younger Pezzati had engineered Pinky’s place on board the plane, but it was becoming evident that Adam had had nothing to do with it. “I owe you an apology.”
“That’s the best thing I’ve heard since I got here.”
We needed to talk. Not standing here in the middle of a busy sidewalk, either. My guard still wasn’t dropped enough for me to invite him back to my house. “Let’s hit Hugo’s,” I said. “Your friend Jerry Pezz may have used you.”
He gave me a patently unconvinced look, but didn’t argue.
There were no open tables at Hugo’s, so we settled ourselves at the bar with a draft beer for him and a glass of malbec for me. “Gerard Pezzati,” I said in a low voice, “is the estranged son of Nico Pezzati, formerly of the United States, but now living in Italy.”
Adam took a long drink of his beer, wiping a bit of the foam mustache before answering. “Jerry mentioned some family issues. He doesn’t talk about it much. I get the feeling he’s been hurt pretty badly.”
“The way I hear it, it’s the other way around. Did you ever ask how he got started? Why he refuses to talk to his father?”
“Doesn’t sound like the Jerry I know, but it’s none of my business.”
“Could he be scamming you?”
Adam threw back his head to laugh. “You don’t know Jerry at all, do you?”
I didn’t answer.
He covered his mouth with his hand, and consulted the clock on his cell phone. “I know he had some family thing to go to tonight. Kid’s dance recital or something. I don’t want to bug him.”
“Family?” I asked. “Kids?”
“Yeah,” Adam said with a glint in his eye. “I think maybe you’ve got the wrong guy. You think maybe there are two Gerard Pezzatis out there? Stranger things have happened.”
My brain whirled, making me dizzy. And it wasn’t from the three sips of wine I’d had. “It can’t be. Gerard Pezzati turned his back on his father years ago. He hasn’t even tried to contact the man for fourteen years.”
“Tell you what,” Adam said, “Let’s clear this up once and for all. Let’s meet tomorrow—you and I—and I’ll put you on the phone with Jerry. He can tell you if he’s the guy you’re looking for. If he is, you can ask him whatever’s on your mind. If he’s not—well, I guess that means you and I have a chance to be friends then, don’t we?”
I studied his face for signs of duplicity. Couldn’t find any. I’d been fooled by an attractive face before, however, and I wasn’t about to walk into a trap, no matter how unlikely such a prospect seemed. “Meet you tomorrow?” I repeated slowly, wary again now. “Where?”
He’d lifted his glass, but stopped it halfway to his lips. “My suggestion makes you nervous. Am I still so frightening to you?”
I wasn’t about to explain the reason for my caution. Too much had gone on in recent months to naively accept whatever strangers swore was true.
“I have a meeting tomorrow,” I said, making it up on the spot. “Can I call you in the morning to arrange a time and place? Would that work?”
“Done.” He took a swig of his beer.
With our agreement sealed, he relaxed, visibly. His smile was genuine, his body language open. “Interestingly enough,” I said, “I’m meeting with Gerard’s father and sister tomorrow. They’re visiting Marshfield.”
His brows came together. “What are the chances of that?” he asked rhetorically. A moment later, he thrust his chin up, eyes taking on a calculating air. “That’s a pretty big coincidence, is it?”
I s
ipped my wine and didn’t answer.
• • •
“WHAT HAPPENED?”
“Who was that guy?”
“Why were you arguing with him?”
Bruce’s and Scott’s questions made it through the back door and into our kitchen before they did.
Bootsie dove off my lap and bounded to greet them as I stood. “Busy night at the shop, huh? Sorry for causing a scene.”
Scott waved off my apology. “You provided entertainment. Those flowers he came in with were stunning.” He looked around the room. “Where are they?”
“Gave them away.”
I explained over our evening snack. Today it was cheese, strawberries, and chocolate. A perfectly sweet ending to a day laced with sour notes.
“What do you hope to accomplish by talking with this Gerard?” Bruce asked.
“At a minimum, I hope to ensure we’ve got the right Pezzati.”
Bruce shuddered. “Wouldn’t that be a mess if you didn’t?”
“I don’t want to think about it,” I said. “Assuming we do have the right man, I think I’ll learn a lot by talking with him. He’s far enough away that he can’t hurt me, so a little poking and prodding won’t get me into trouble this time. I have no idea what kind of link I expect to find between him and Pinky, but I know it’s there.”
“Be careful, Grace.” Bruce said.
“I always am.”
Scott wagged a finger. “And we’ve all seen where that gets you.”
Chapter 30
THE NEXT MORNING, I SAT AT MY DESK, thinking about how disappointed Frances would be when she found out I intended to talk with the elusive Gerard Pezzati on the phone. Our short-lived plans to visit New York City had evaporated with Adam’s suggestion.
I’d gotten in early this morning to get a jump on what promised to be a hectic day, but I took a moment to stare out my windows at the gardens below. Jack had been instrumental in bringing the grounds to the exquisite level they now were. Too bad he hadn’t devoted that level of attention to his personal relationships.
