by Julie Hyzy
Cat-green eyes shifted from entreating to calculating in the space of a blink. “Oh, how wonderful,” she exclaimed, her tone rapturous. “I am absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance.”
She held a giant coat draped over one arm. I hoped the fur was faux. Wearing shiny black boots that came up to her knees and an emerald-green clingy dress that skimmed her legs mid-thigh, she was both thin enough and tall enough to be a model. She certainly carried herself with a model’s bearing and confidence. Her skin was the color of hand cream, with such pale brows and lashes that I knew her hair color was natural. Or at least had been, once upon a time. She wore almost no makeup except for the lipstick. The bright stain in her otherwise colorless face made her mouth look bigger, wider, and more hostile than it probably should have.
Still beaming, she pumped my hand. “My name is Phyllis Forgue. I’ve known Bennett for years. Years.” Bringing her face closer to mine, she asked, “And who might you be?”
“My name is Grace Wheaton,” I said, extricating my hand from her exuberant grasp. “Very nice to meet you.”
“I understand—again from a tiny bit of eavesdropping I hope you can forgive—that you run Bennett’s estate? How extraordinary. How long have you worked with that devious man?”
Devious? “I’m sorry,” I said, “how is it you know Bennett?”
With a look that communicated pity rather than disappointment, she said, “Oh dear, it seems Bennett hasn’t mentioned me to you.” A fat designer purse hung at her elbow alongside the furry coat, but she lifted that hand to cover her lips, affecting a mischievous grin. “How embarrassing to have to explain.”
Scott, who had been called across the room, veered behind Phyllis Forgue to face me, waggling his brows and rolling his eyes. Next to me, Bruce gave a throaty chuckle.
“Is there anything I can get for you?” he asked Phyllis in an effort to derail what was shaping up to be a disagreeable conversation.
“Not now.” In answering Bruce, she raised her hand high, making a chattering motion with her fingers. “The girl over there has been helping me. I’ll get back to her shortly.”
Thus dismissed, Bruce shrugged, mouthing “Sorry” as he left.
“Bennett will attend the FAAC opening ceremonies, I presume,” Phyllis said, far more loudly than was necessary. “I do so enjoy spending time with Bennett. He’s a natural. So intelligent. With an eye for quality, if you know what I mean?”
“You were about to tell me how you know him,” I reminded her.
Running her long, eggplant-painted fingernails along the side of her neck, she huffed. “Well, of course we know one another from our years attending FAAC.” She shook her head as though I was a clod. “He and I always vie for the same objets d’art,” she said, adopting a French accent. “It’s as though we are one brain. One person. Uncanny how it happens. We always find ourselves competing to own one particular piece. Every single time.”
“Uncanny,” I repeated.
“Yes!” She poked one of those eggplant nails against my shoulder and pushed. It hurt. More than a little. “You have that exactly right.”
I desperately wanted to tell this woman that Bennett had no intention of attending the FAAC this year if only for the pleasure of watching her react. Be nice, I told myself.
I thought about the item Bennett had hoped to procure. Could this Phyllis Forgue be after it, too?
“And what is it this time?” I asked.
She blinked, confused.
“What item are you and Bennett vying for this time?”
“Oh.” The question took her by surprise, though I couldn’t imagine how. Recovering, she placed an index finger across her lips. “I’m not saying. It’s a secret.”
“Not even a hint?” I asked. “Come on.” I pretended to look around the room for spies. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Blinking those giant green eyes, she shook her head, very slowly. “You tell me what Bennett is looking for this time; I’ll let you know if you’re right.” She lifted her chin, grinning. “I’ll bet you have a clue.”
If I did, I wouldn’t be trying to pry it out of you. I smiled, keeping it light. “I’m afraid we are at an impasse,” I said, winking. “Confidential, you understand.”
Undaunted, she shuffled closer. “I would dearly love to connect with my old friend before he’s swept into the maelstrom of fake camaraderie that lies at the heart of FAAC.” She tossed her long red waves back, then ran her fingers up along her hairline. “Can you arrange that for me? I’d be most grateful. He and I have much to discuss. I’m open tomorrow. Say around two?”
“I can’t answer that without clearing it with him first. Do you have a business card?”
The cinnamon lips twisted inward as she attempted to hide her disappointment. “Of course,” she said. Digging one out of her purse, she proffered it, all smiles again. “An hour. Not even,” she said, tapping her phone number. “Call me.”
“Nice to meet you,” I said again, promising nothing.
She hefted her coat and purse, pushed up another smile, then returned to the tasting bar, where she’d already identified six bottles for purchase. From the looks of things, she intended to add more.
Scott made his way back over to me, a lock of his blond hair falling forward as he leaned in to whisper, “I’d love for Emberstowne to host the FAAC every January.”
“I’ll bet you would. But hey, the reason I stopped by was to ask if you and Bruce have had a chance to talk with Liza?”
“Not at all. She was closed in her room when we got home last night and apparently still asleep this morning when we left. What’s going on? Why is she back?”
“I wish I knew,” I said. “She says she left Eric.”
“She did?”
“Our aunt Belinda called last night, frantic because Eric called her, looking for Liza,” I said, keeping the update as succinct as I could. “When Aunt Belinda asked if I’d heard from Liza, I didn’t tell her Liza was sitting in front of me.”
Scott affected an exaggerated gasp. “You lied?”
“I deflected,” I said. “But the fact remains that I’m uncomfortable with my sister in the house, and having to dance around the truth isn’t helping my state of mind.”
Bruce accompanied another patron to the cash register and began ringing him up next to us.
“One more thing,” I said to Scott. “I’ve talked with Tooney and asked him to help me keep an eye on Liza.”
“Is that necessary?” Scott asked.
“I’ve had too many run-ins with Liza to expect anything but trouble when she shows up.”
“More to the point, will she cooperate?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? It’s the best idea I can come up with.”
“There’s not much more you can do,” he agreed. “But if you need anything, just ask.”
Bruce leaned sideways. “Or even hint broadly. We’ve got your back, Grace. You know that.”
“I do. And I appreciate it.”
Chapter 16
When I got home, I hung up my coat and said hello to Bootsie, who seemed unusually eager to snuggle. Walking from the kitchen into the dining room, I called out, “Liza? You here?”
“Yeah,” she replied from the front of the house.
From her raspy reply, I got the feeling my shout had woken her. Still holding Bootsie, I continued through the parlor and crossed the front foyer to find my sister in the living room. She was sprawled across the long sofa in front of the television, whose volume was so low I had to step in front of it to see what she was watching.
“Six o’clock news,” I said. “Anything of interest happening in the world?”
She boosted herself into a sitting position and ran her fingers through her disheveled hair.
“Six o’clock?” she repeated. Stretching her arms as she clenched
her eyes, she yawned then blinked and regarded the window quizzically. “At night or in the morning?”
She was wearing the same yoga pants and T-shirt I’d given her last night before bed. “Have you been sleeping all day?”
Rubbing her ear, she stared up at me. “That thing.” She pointed at Bootsie. “That thing kept waking me up.”
“I told you to close your bedroom door.”
“I don’t mean last night. I meant during the day, here.” She patted the sofa cushions on either side with her palms. “That cat wouldn’t leave me alone. It tried to sit on my chest. I’ve got hair all over me.” To emphasize her point, Liza spread her fingers and wiped at the front of her shirt.
“I don’t see any hair. Are you sneezing? Sniffling?”
That stopped her, mid-wipe. “Huh,” she said. “No.”
I shrugged. “One thing I forgot to do yesterday was show you how to work the burglar alarm.”
She blinked again, as though willing herself awake. “You have an alarm system?”
“When you’re more alert, I’ll show you how it works.” I made a mental note to remember to change the security code the moment she moved out. “If you ever leave the house, I’d like you to set it.”
She grumbled something about how I was able to afford such a thing.
When I started back for the kitchen, she padded behind me in stockinged feet. “You don’t have much to eat here.”
I half-turned. “There’s plenty. We have leftovers from last night. Not to mention vegetables in the bin and basics in the pantry.” Bootsie had been nuzzling against my fingers, hinting for a head rub. I accommodated her and pointed with my chin. “Did you even look?”
“Of course I did.” Her tone was defensive. “I was looking for, you know, easy things like frozen dinners I could heat up in the microwave. I had to eat cold cereal.”
“Poor baby,” I said. “Why didn’t you have the leftover ratatouille? I’m sure the boys didn’t finish it up.”
She looked away. “Meh. I hope you have something better planned for tonight.”
As much as I wanted to suggest that she was perfectly capable of making dinner for herself—if not for us all—I held my tongue. Once she began contributing to the household she moved from guest to roommate. I didn’t want her to get that comfortable.
“I hope pork tenderloin meets with your approval,” I said, “but before I get started, two more things.”
By this time, we’d returned to the kitchen and I’d let Bootsie scamper away. She knew her dinner was coming soon and that I’d need both hands to get it for her.
“What’s that?” Liza asked.
“Aunt Belinda mentioned your phone was out of order. What’s up with that?”
My sister looked away. “Got behind on the bills. They canceled my service.”
“Do you still have the phone?”
She shook her head. “I had to sell it for money to get here.”
The situation was worse than I’d feared. At this rate, Liza might be staying with us for months rather than days.
“What’s the second thing?” she asked.
“I have a friend I’d like you to meet. His name is Ronny Tooney.”
“Boyfriend?” she asked with a spark of interest. “I thought you said you weren’t involved with anyone.”
“A friend,” I repeated, scribbling Tooney’s number on a piece of paper and handing it to her. “I’ll arrange for you to meet in person in the next day or so. If you need help while I’m out, though, that’s who to call.”
She gave the paper a cursory glance, then studied me. “Seems weird. Why would I need anyone’s help while you’re gone?”
“Who knows, Liza? If there’s one thing I’ve learned to expect from you, it’s the unexpected. I intend to be prepared for anything.”
* * *
The next morning I called Bennett from my office. After he answered and we covered a few basics, I said, “I ran into Phyllis Forgue last night at Amethyst Cellars.”
He repeated the name. “Why does that name sound familiar? Do I know her?”
“She seems to know you. In fact, she seemed to want everyone within hearing distance to know what close friends you two are.”
“Phyllis Forgue,” he said again as though trying to conjure up an image from the feel of the words on his tongue. “Oh, wait. Is she a tall, striking woman, lots of red hair, convinced that every eye in the place is on her?”
“That’s the one.”
“She does command attention. She would be so much more attractive if she didn’t flaunt how fascinating she finds herself.”
I giggled even though I shouldn’t. “Perfect summation.”
“You didn’t tell her that I won’t be attending the FAAC this year?”
“Of course not. But I get the impression she’ll be crushed when you don’t show.”
He made a noise of impatience. “Unfortunately, she’s one of those expected to attend Tuesday night’s reception here.”
“And she didn’t mention it?” I asked. “She strikes me as the type to wave an invitation in the air for everyone to admire.”
“We’ve sent notice to key players in an effort to generate buzz, but have made it clear that the party is open to all FAAC attendees.” He seemed eager to change the subject. “Phyllis Forgue is one of the many reasons why I’ve chosen to skip the event this year.”
“She wants to meet with you privately. Today, in fact. I promised I’d call her to let her know. I assume you’re busy?”
He didn’t answer immediately. “Let me handle that one,” he finally said. “What’s her number?”
I gave it to him. “Are you sure? I’d be happy to take care of this for you.”
Again he hesitated. “No need, Gracie. I’m perfectly capable. Thank you.”
When we hung up, I stared at the phone for a long moment. It wasn’t like Bennett to hedge. What was going on?
* * *
Rodriguez and Flynn showed up late in the afternoon. Their unanticipated appearance seemed to throw Frances for a loop. “They want to see you,” she said without ceremony. “How many times do these two need to stop by?”
Flynn rolled his eyes as he loped across the room and sat down across from me.
Still at the door, Rodriguez addressed my assistant. “My apologies,” he said to her, though I caught the hint of amusement in his eyes. “This is a matter of some urgency.”
“It better be,” Frances said.
“As much as we enjoy the delicious coffee and cookies you always provide for us, I’m afraid we don’t have time to spare today.”
That perked her up. Following Rodriguez in, she took her usual spot on the couch.
“It’s about the victim,” Flynn began. “We uncovered a little more information. We found out why he was in Emberstowne. He was looking for someone.”
“My sister?” The words leapt from my mouth before I could think twice.
Rodriguez must have read the alarm on my face. He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes. “She worries you that much?”
“I’m jumpy, I admit. Let’s start again. The fake Fed was looking for someone, got it.” I pulled in a deep breath. “Do you know who?”
Flynn consulted his notebook. “We have the guy’s name but it doesn’t mean anything to us. He’s not a resident of Emberstowne. He lives in California, but started out in New York.”
“California again,” I said.
“Yeah,” Flynn said. “We can’t figure out what this guy’s tie to Emberstowne is, and since the victim visited your house, we decided to check with you. Does the name Eric Soames mean anything?”
“Eric? He was looking for Eric?”
Frances knew precisely who Eric Soames was. Her posture rigid, her expression gloriously shocked, she stared at me, openmouthe
d.
“You know him?” An accusation rather than a question. Typical Flynn.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He’s my sister’s husband.”
Rodriguez gave an extended grunt of surprise. “There’s a twist I didn’t see coming.”
I wanted to remind him that I’d suggested Liza’s appearance in Emberstowne might have been connected with the victim’s visit to my house.
“Did you ask your sister about this man?” Rodriguez asked. “Give her both names we came up with?”
“I did,” I said. “She didn’t recognize either one.”
“Eh,” Rodriguez said without skepticism. “He might have other aliases we haven’t uncovered.”
“What did this fake Fed, the victim, want with Eric?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet,” Rodriguez answered. “That’s part of what we’re trying to find out. We had no idea why he came to Emberstowne, but the tie to your sister explains a lot.”
Flynn had been studying me closely. “Have you seen him?”
“Eric?” I asked. “No. My sister thinks he may come after her, though. She left him last week.”
Flynn started to ask another question but Rodriguez cut him off. “Miz Wheaton, we don’t understand what’s going on here yet, and we’re relying on you to help us put these pieces together.”
I gave a brief nod.
“How well do you know Eric Soames?” Flynn asked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Frances press her hands down on the tops of her knees as though fighting to stop herself from leaping into the conversation. It was clearly taking every ounce of restraint for her to keep from spilling the juicy story.
“I . . .” Putting it into words myself, however, was difficult. I faltered. Flynn’s left leg bounced an exasperated rhythm. Rodriguez waited patiently. My two-heartbeat hesitation bothered me more than sharing the truth.
“Eric and I were engaged at one point.” There. Done. It was out. Lifting my hands in a motion that I hoped suggested c’est la vie, but probably conveyed helplessness, I said, “Though seeing as he took off with my sister while I was busy settling my mom’s estate, I think I can honestly say that I didn’t know him very well at all.”
