Grace Takes Off

by Julie Hyzy

  He seemed to be making a genuine effort to change the way he interacted with others. After all he’d gone through in his life, however, it would be a difficult process. I thought about the family’s now-rocky relationship with their father. I thought about Gerard and how that father-son relationship seemed to have been tainted from the start. Such a shame. So much loss. On both sides of the Atlantic.

  My desk phone jangled. Bennett.

  “How are our weary travelers?” I asked when I picked up. “I take it they’re sleeping?”

  Bennett sighed, deeply. “Irena is here by herself. Nico couldn’t make the trip after all. At the last minute, he ran a fever and his doctors wouldn’t allow him to travel, fearing pneumonia. Irena said that she would have preferred to stay home with him while he recuperated, but he’s adamant about getting this matter settled.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “Although . . .”

  “What’s on your mind?”

  I scratched my cheek, thinking. “Does she still plan on confronting Gerard? Signor Pezzati wanted a face-off with his son. Is Irena planning to follow through with that?”

  “She hasn’t indicated otherwise. Why?”

  “Irena told me that she and Gerard stay in contact, despite the fact that the son wants nothing to do with his father. I may be in contact with Gerard later today. I’m wondering if there might be a chance to bring them together.”

  Bennett was silent for a thoughtful moment. “Taking the bull by the horns, eh, Gracie? I see where you’re going with this. You want answers about Pinky and you think that by being a fly on the wall during what’s certain to be an emotional conflict, you may find all you need.”

  “It crossed my mind.”

  “Irena is in one of the guest rooms now. As you predicted, she wanted to see the skull photos immediately. I told her you had them in a safe place. That’s the reason for my call. How soon can you bring them up here?”

  “I’d really hoped to talk with this Gerard before meeting with Irena . . .” I let the thought hang. “I suppose it can’t be helped. I’ll be up there—” My cell phone rang and I glanced at the display. To Bennett I said, “Detective Williamson is calling. Let me see what he wants, and I’ll be up there as soon as I can.”

  I hung up one phone and clicked into the other.

  “Ms. Wheaton,” the detective said. “I have a few questions for you.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “That fellow you talked about in New York with the connection to the Curling Weasels?” It wasn’t a question, though he phrased it like one. “Gerard Pezzati, doing business as Jerry Pezz.”

  “What about him?”

  “You know we’re talking preliminary fact-finding here, don’tcha? It’s not like I can ransack the guy’s office for information.”

  “I understand, Detective. Go on.”

  Before he could answer, I heard the outer office door open and close. Frances was in.

  “I’m coming up empty,” he said.

  “Like he doesn’t exist?”

  “He exists, all right. That’s not in dispute. Thing is, I can’t tie him to our friend Diane, aka Priscilla, the one you know as Pinky. Except for the rock band members, I can’t tie him to any of the other names you gave me, either. You need to keep in mind that when we’ve got an aka like this guy is, it takes a little longer to track all connections. I haven’t given up, but it’s not looking promising.”

  “You couldn’t tie Pinky to any of the members of SlickBlade either, could you?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer. “I mean, beyond them picking her up the night before the flight.”

  “Affirmative. I’m coming up empty. Either they’re telling the truth or someone has gone to a lot of trouble to cover up tracks. You ask me my opinion, the band’s claims ring true. Don’t know what to tell you.”

  I didn’t know whether to be elated or disappointed that Adam’s story hadn’t been shot full of holes.

  “Thanks, Detective,” I said.

  “One more thing. Whatever happened to that flight attendant guy who contacted you? The one you saw hanging around town?”

  “Rudy? I asked him to come visit here at Marshfield. Never heard a word. Why? Were you able to track anything down on him?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning,” he said. “His being a foreigner complicates my investigation, y’understand.”

  I sighed.

  “You have a nice day, ma’am. I’ll be in touch.”

  • • •

  THE MOMENT THEO SHOWED ME INTO BENNETT’S STUDY, IRENA JUMPED TO HER FEET, crossing the room in the time it took me to shift the file folder from my hands to snugging it under one arm. She grasped me by my shoulders and kissed me on both cheeks. “So wonderful to see you again, my friend,” she said with a warm smile. She glanced back toward Bennett, who, gentleman that he was, had also risen to greet me.

  “How was your flight?” I asked.

  Bennett returned to his seat in a wing chair while Irena and I sat together on the adjacent divan. Theo hovered. “May I offer you coffee, Ms. Wheaton? Some other beverage?”

  Neither Bennett nor Irena had any cups or glasses nearby. “No, thank you, Theo.”

  The butler turned to Bennett. “Anything else at this time?”

  “Thank you, no.” Bennett gave a vague wave. “Who comes in for dinner?”

  “That would be Thomas, sir. With you having a guest in residence, I can stay longer today, if you like.”

  “I believe we can muddle through until Thomas gets here.”

  Theo nodded. “Very good, sir.”

  The moment he was gone, I turned to Irena. “How’s your father? I understand he had a relapse.”

  She gave me a sad smile. “It is very difficult to watch such a vibrant man lose his strength so quickly.” Pointing to a cell phone she’d placed on the low table between us, she asked, “You will not think me rude if I keep this nearby? A nurse is stationed there and will let me know if there are any changes in his condition. Angelo promised updates as well.” She rolled her eyes. “For all his ignorance, he is devoted to my father. I cannot abide the man, yet he is there and I am not. I have no choice but to trust him.”

  Bennett reached forward, giving Irena’s knee an avuncular pat. “Your father is strong. I believe he’ll come through this.”

  Irena’s eyes teared up. “I don’t know what I would do without him. If he were to die, I would have nothing.”

  Hoping to lessen her melancholy by working together on proving that the skull was replaced, I set the file folder on the table. “Then let’s get started.”

  Irena nodded and scooched forward to get a good look at the photos I’d brought upstairs. “I am hoping there has been some mistake and that the skull—one of my father’s prized possessions—has not been stolen.”

  I opened the folder. “You can keep these,” I said as she leaned over the black-and-white prints.

  Bennett tapped a finger on one of them. “If we had the skull here, we’d be able to compare—”

  “But the skull is here,” she said, sitting up. “I brought it along. Father insisted. Let me get it.” She hurried out of the room, talking over her shoulder. “He said that it’s worthless anyway, so what harm was there in my bringing it.”

  When she returned with the skull in hand, she was still talking. I wondered if she’d stopped while she was out of earshot. “Father wanted you to see it for yourself, Mr. Marshfield,” she said, placing it in his lap. “He’s depending on you to sign an affidavit for the insurance company.”

  Bennett hefted the sculpture, examining it head-on before turning it over to check again for the tell-tale mark, explaining what it should look like and where it should be as he did so.

  “Such wonderful adventures you and my father s
hared.”

  “I’m relieved to know this was insured,” he said. A look of longing came across his features. “But the loss of the real skull is beyond tragic. So rare is it that an item is priceless in both monetary and sentimental value.” He blinked away his sadness and returned to the business at hand. “Of course I’ll be happy to do whatever I can to see that your father is reimbursed. I know how much paperwork is ahead of him.”

  Irena grimaced. “Tell me about it. An extremely valuable piece of jewelry went missing several years ago. Father noticed it immediately. He contacted the authorities as well as our insurer. It was horrible. They all swarmed in and treated us like criminals—as though we’d stolen it ourselves.” She shuddered.

  “Was the piece ever recovered?” I asked.

  She shook her head sadly. “We learned our lesson. Ever since then, Father has insisted on a full inventory once a year.”

  “Who’s in charge of the inventory?” I asked.

  “Angelo.” She made a face. “He must be behind this forgery. I can’t imagine how else it could have been accomplished.”

  Bennett placed the skull on the table between us, then leaned back, steepling his fingers in front of his lips. “Angelo didn’t strike me as a world-class collector. If he is responsible for this theft, he must have connections in the industry.”

  “Cesare?” I asked, thinking of the Poirot-looking man we’d met at the Pezzati home. “Could he and Angelo be working together?”

  She gave a very Italian shrug. “I am here only to enlist your help.” She bounced a glance between us. “To ask opinions from both of you.”

  “Whatever we can do,” Bennett said.

  She leaned forward, separating the pictures with the tips of her fingers. “These are the originals, yes?” she asked.

  “No, I have those in my office. Although they’re still in decent shape, we thought it would be best to keep them safe. I made these copies for you. You’re welcome to take them.”

  She nodded, gathering them up and tapping them on the low table, making their edges even. “I assume the insurer will need the originals.”

  Bennett agreed. “We will be happy to turn them over when the time comes.”

  “Thank you both, so very much,” she said. “I’m sure our insurer will be in touch soon. That is all right with you?”

  We assured her that it was.

  “Wonderful. I am heartbroken that this happened to my father, but he is truly fortunate to have such good friends.”

  Her cell phone chirped. She scooped up the device and examined the text message. “My father is resting comfortably,” she said, “but I wish to return home as soon as possible to help care for him. I will leave this evening, as soon as I confirm my plane is ready for the return trip.”

  “Whatever is best for you,” Bennett told her. “But it would be a delight to me if you were able to stay for dinner.”

  She got up and kissed him on one wrinkled cheek. “Of course.”

  Her phone went off again, this time with a ringtone that signaled an incoming call. She took a look at the display and frowned. Tapping the screen, she silenced the device then glanced up at both of us with ill-concealed anger.

  “Something wrong?” Bennett asked.

  “My brother calling. I told him of our father’s illness, yet he still refuses to see him.” She shook her head, fuming. “I will return the call later. Let him wait.”

  “Your father believes Gerard is behind the thefts,” Bennett said.

  She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t know what to think. I prefer to let the authorities sort everything out. And that is what they will do once they have all the evidence.”

  “You don’t intend to confront Gerard the way your father planned to?” I asked.

  “What purpose would that serve? He will deny any responsibility. If he is guilty, he will then know we suspect him. I don’t see any good coming of such a meeting. No. I will go home and take great pains to ensure that my father’s treasures do not disappear out from under my nose again.”

  Chapter 31

  I’D SILENCED MY PHONE BEFORE HEADING UPSTAIRS. NOW, ON MY WAY BACK TO MY OFFICE, I checked it for messages, discovering a missed call. The number was one I didn’t recognize; it had a New York area code. Whoever it was had tried to call twice in the past five minutes.

  Calls from out of state weren’t unusual, but I was surprised that whoever had attempted to reach me hadn’t left a voicemail. The fact that they’d tried again me told me it wasn’t a wrong number.

  I shrugged it off. As I took the turn and started down the final flight of steps, my phone rang. I wasn’t surprised to see the same unfamiliar number. Time to find out what was so important. I clicked to connect. “Grace Wheaton.”

  “Thank goodness. This is Jerry Pezz. You know me as Gerard Pezzati.”

  I stopped my downward descent. “I thought—”

  “Yes, Adam was supposed to meet with you this morning. I know. But this can’t wait. I need to speak with you.”

  The staircase wound up above me to the skylight in the roof. It spiraled down to the sub-basement below. I got an eerie sense of being closed in. Of changes made without my knowledge. Or my consent.

  “He gave you my phone number?”

  “Could you meet with me? Wherever you want.”

  “Not a chance,” I said with flash fury. Then, remembering the call Irena had refused, I added, “Irena should be calling you back soon. You have a lot to discuss with your sister.”

  “They’ve arrived? They’re at Marshfield?” I couldn’t decide whether the surprise in his voice was anxious or smug. “Will you allow me to come visit? I must see them. Please,” he said. “I need to see my father.”

  “He isn’t—”

  “I know he doesn’t want to see me. But I can’t be this close and not make an attempt. I’ll try calling Irena again. I’ll beg to meet with them. If she agrees, will you allow me to come to your office? From what Adam tells me, you view me as some kind of ogre. I promise you, I’m simply a man who hopes to reconnect with his father before it’s too late.”

  I bit my lower lip. Let Irena break the news to him that his father wasn’t here. “Fine,” I said, thinking that I’d be sure to have security nearby if Irena allowed the meeting. “But only if your sister says it’s all right.”

  The moment we hung up, I thought to tell Irena about this latest wrinkle, but anger had me dialing Adam’s number instead. No answer. Smart man. He must have known I’d ream him out. I’d agreed to talk with Gerard Pezzati, not welcome him as a guest of Marshfield. Too many unanswered questions. Too much at stake.

  I pulled up my walkie-talkie and connected to security. Terrence was out of the building, answering a situation at the inn, so I left a message with the dispatcher. “I’m starting to feel the walls caving in,” I told her. “I’d like him to keep a close eye on things.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Wheaton. There’s a problem with one of the walls?”

  I sighed. So much for sharing gut-level concerns. “There’s nothing wrong,” I said. “Not yet. I’m simply trying to keep ahead of trouble. Can you ask him to stay extra alert?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Frances stood up when I walked into her office. “Your friend Adam called here. He apologized profusely but swears he had no choice.” The look on Frances’s face told me exactly what she thought of that story. “Apparently he shared your contact information with Gerard Pezzati.”

  I held up my cell phone. “Just heard from him. Pushy guy.”

  She harrumphed. “So much for our trip to New York.” Pointing toward my office, she said, “You missed a call a moment ago. I was on my phone and couldn’t pick up.”

  “Did you check caller ID to see who it was?”

  She pursed her lips. “What
do you think?”

  “And?”

  “No name. A number I didn’t recognize.”

  I returned to my desk and prepared to get started on reports that had piled up of late. Less than ten minutes later, I heard noise from the outer office. Frances had a visitor. There was a low murmur of conversation. Frances sounded ever so huffy as she came around the doorway and marched up to my desk.

  I pointed to her office, mouthing a silent question, “Who?”

  She gave an indignant head waggle. “You could have told me, you know.”

  I’d already gotten up and was making my way to the door when she grabbed my arm. “This wing ought to have better security. Any bozo can come in and ask for one of us and get escorted right up. We should put a stop to that. Doris brought this one.”

  She was right about the security issue; I made a mental note. “Who’s here?” I asked again, this time aloud.

  Frances made a smacking motion with her mouth as though she couldn’t be bothered to answer the question. “See for yourself.”

  I didn’t recognize the man standing next to Frances’s desk. Mid-forties, tall and lean, he had a full head of dark hair worn long enough for it to curl a bit below his ears. Perfect teeth practically gleamed as he worked up a smile and moved forward to shake my hand. His eyes were familiar. Dark and tight with worry.

  “Grace Wheaton?” He didn’t wait for acknowledgment. “Jerry Pezz. But you’ll know me as Gerard Pezzati. I know you’re not happy to see me, but please hear me out.”

  In that instant I juggled all sorts of reactions: shock at the man’s unannounced appearance, frustration at my ill-preparedness because Frances hadn’t given me the courtesy of a heads-up, and panic. Could I be facing the very person who had engineered the attack on Bennett?

  I relied on good manners to carry me through my discomposure. “I’m pleased to meet you,” I said, ignoring Frances’s hmmph of annoyance. She made her way to her chair and sat down hard. “After our brief discussion on the phone, I must confess I’m surprised—”