by Julie Hyzy
“My cover was blown, which is why—we believe—Eric took off. He needed to find a new buyer. At this point, I can accomplish more with my credentials than I can working undercover.” For the first time since I’d walked in, McClowery smiled. “Well, except for at our first meeting.”
“And I chased you off.” I saw no need to apologize again. “What about the fake FBI agent? Who was he?”
“Eric’s disappearance upset Mr. X. He sent Emilio Ochoa here to find Eric. Or, more accurately, find him, kill him, and bring back the missing pieces of the jeweled key.”
“Then who killed Ochoa?”
McClowery shook his head. “We still don’t have the answer to that.”
Chapter 25
“You were gone a long time,” Liza said when I retrieved her from Tooney’s care. “That had to be some meeting.”
“It was.”
As we headed up the stairs from the basement, she fingered her hair. “I don’t like stumbling through that passageway. It’s dark. And dirty.”
I didn’t bother answering. My mind was still on my conversation with Bennett and Agent McClowery. I wanted desperately to sit Liza down and grill her with questions until I was satisfied that she had no knowledge of the jeweled key, but there was no way to do so without breaking confidence.
“That Frederick,” she began again when we were back in the kitchen, “what does he do for a living?”
“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “He helped Hillary establish her business and seems to have had a good influence on her. I’m not entirely certain whether he’s a small-time venture capitalist or a life coach.”
“Hmm.”
Her tone snapped me out of my musings. “Why do you ask?”
“Just curious. Nothing wrong with that.”
“You asked me about him before.”
“Did I?” Giving an indifferent shrug, she pointed upward. “I’m heading up for a shower. That walk underground makes me feel gritty.”
* * *
Liza spent the rest of the day following me around, making small talk. It wasn’t in my sister’s nature to prattle on without purpose, but I didn’t detect any ulterior motive to her chatter. She helped prepare dinner and didn’t disappear when it was time to clean up. For the first time since her arrival, I didn’t loathe every moment of our time together.
Dinner was over, the kitchen cleaned, and—at least for me—it was time to relax until Bruce and Scott got home. I pulled out the book I hadn’t finished and got a roaring fire started in the parlor. Liza, surprisingly, picked up a book instead of watching television.
When I got up from my favorite wing chair to add a log to the blaze, she asked, “So why haven’t you kicked me out?”
I was crouched on the floor. She was seated in the wing chair that matched mine, watching me with a patently curious look on her face.
“I thought we covered this.” I poked at the new log, wedging it into the thick of the flames.
“Then pretend I’m dense. What’s really going on? I don’t for a minute believe that your sudden meeting today didn’t have something to do with my being here. You’ve been way too cagey since you got back home.”
I pushed myself up and returned to my seat.
Liza didn’t wait for me to answer. “Are you working behind the scenes on a plan to kick me out? You’re not talking with Aunt Belinda, are you? She hounds me relentlessly. I couldn’t bear to live with that woman.”
Bootsie crept into the room and after a few seconds’ hesitation, bounded into my lap.
“Have you called her?” I pointed to the prepaid cell phone that poked out from Liza’s purse on the floor next to her chair. “Aunt Belinda?”
“Are you kidding? If she knew I was here, she’d have a conniption fit that you didn’t tell her. I’m protecting you, you understand.”
“You’re such a giver that way.”
“What’s really going on?” she asked again. “You know I can tell when you’re lying so don’t even try.”
“No lies,” I said. But no reason to share the whole truth. “You’re here, you’re afraid of Eric.” I held up two fingers. “You have nowhere to go and, whether we like it or not, we’re sisters.” Four fingers straight up, I extended my thumb. “Last and most important, the fact that the murder victim came here looking for Eric right before you showed up convinces me that you’re in deeper trouble than you realize. You may annoy the heck out of me, but I’m not about to throw you into the arms of a killer.”
“You think Eric did it, don’t you?”
“It’s crossed my mind.” I waited a beat. “What do you think?”
Her eyes reddened as she stared into the fire. “Eric wouldn’t hurt me.”
With no sound but the urgent crackle of the flames and Bootsie’s gentle breathing, I took a chance. “Then what does he want from you, Liza?”
She met my eyes. “I don’t know,” she said. “I knew he was hiding things from me, but I didn’t pay attention. I was . . .” She stared away again. “My mind was on what I thought was important.”
“Liza?” I asked, keeping it quiet, “What aren’t you telling me?”
She shook herself and coughed up a smile. “Nothing. Nothing important, at least. It’s done.”
* * *
The next morning, Frances met me when I walked in. She stood a few feet inside the door to her office, tadpole brows arched over her half-glasses and thick arms folded across her chest. “Well, well, well,” she said, alerting me to her level of pique, “thought you’d pull one over on me, did you?”
I shrugged out of my coat and took my time hanging it on our office rack. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”
Her sensibly shod foot beat a breakneck rhythm against the floor. “When were you going to tell me that the Mister invited you to attend his soiree tomorrow night?” At the word soiree, her chubby fingers untucked themselves from their tight elbow nests, flying high to pantomime air quotes. “Last I heard, you and I were to stay away from this one. Let the Mister have his ‘secrets.’”
“Oh, that,” I said. How did this woman always get the scoop so accurately and so quickly? I had to believe she was still in the dark about the FBI’s involvement, but we were talking Frances here. I couldn’t be too sure.
“Yes, that.” The shoe kept up its frenetic pace. “Thought you’d sneak that past without me noticing, did you?”
“Not at all,” I said. “You didn’t give me a chance. I just walked in, remember? I would have told you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I talked with the Mister this morning when I first came in.”
“Oh, so he told you?” That surprised me. “You see? No big secret.”
“He did not.” Frances’s dark brows jumped with each word.
“Then I don’t understand. How did you find out?”
She led me around her desk and pointed to her computer monitor. “Look at that.”
An open e-mail took up the screen. I skimmed. It was a message from Bennett to Terrence, Marshfield’s head of security, confirming that I had been added to tomorrow evening’s list of expected guests.
“But . . .” I said, pointing, “you’re not on this e-mail string. How did you get it?”
She waggled her head. “It was sent to me.”
I double-checked the header. “No, it wasn’t. This was sent directly from Bennett to Terrence.” Now I folded my arms. “Explain.”
She pursed her lips. “Davey helped the Mister get comfortable with e-mail.”
“I know that. It doesn’t explain this.”
Again the head waggle of discomfort. “I thought it would be good if I helped the Mister out when I could. The Mister had Davey set things up so that whenever he sent something, it would automatically send a duplicate copy to me.”
“Are you tellin
g me that you’ve read every single one of Bennett’s e-mails? For the past—what?—two years?”
She lifted one shoulder in a “so what?” move.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Why should I?” Her back rigid with indignation, she clamped her fists into her hips.
“Because . . .” Having to explain the magnitude of this impropriety rendered me speechless. “Where to start?” I finally sputtered, “Your actions are unethical, dishonorable, immoral.”
“Throw a few more of those fancy words at me, why don’t you?” she said. “You know as well as I do that my job here is to protect the Mister. If keeping tabs on his e-mails helps me do that, so be it.”
Making a mental note to talk with Davey to ensure Frances’s access was curtailed, I shifted gears. How much did Frances know about Bennett’s involvement with Agent McClowery? I couldn’t very well come out and ask.
Adopting a brisk, businesslike attitude, I wiggled the fingers of one hand in a “give it to me” gesture. “What else?”
Her pupils were pinpoint sharp. “What do you mean? What else is there?”
“I’m asking you what else you know about Bennett’s business that you shouldn’t.” I held up a finger, stopping myself. “Wait, let me rephrase that because I know you believe there is nothing you shouldn’t be aware of. What else have you learned lately from reading Bennett’s e-mail?”
Her cheek twitched. “After the way you attacked me just now, I should keep you guessing.”
She was toying with me. Expecting me to explode. And I was close. With one arm across my body propping up the other arm’s elbow, I kept one hand snug against my mouth in an effort to keep myself reined in. She took her sweet time deigning to answer me. I couldn’t tell if it was because she knew about the FBI’s interests or if there was some other bombshell about to drop.
“The stress of having your sister living with you is affecting your mood and that’s why you’re so confrontational with me.”
The slow delivery was excruciating. Struggling to keep my impatience in check, I bit the tip of my thumb.
“You feel powerless to control your sister, so you’re taking it out on me. That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked.
I strained for calm, reminding myself that Frances always cooperated better when she believed she held the upper hand. “My sister’s presence has been affecting a lot of my decisions,” I said. “Thank you for your concern. Back to Bennett’s e-mails. I need to know everything you’ve uncovered, whether or not you think it’s important.”
She watched me closely. “Is there anything in particular?”
Teeth working my lower lip, I gave her a “whatever” look. “You never know what’s important until you see it.”
“As it happens,” she said, “the Mister doesn’t send a lot of e-mail messages. He’s old-fashioned and prefers to pick up the phone. I think the only reason he sent this one instead of calling is because Terrence e-mailed him a couple of days ago, requesting an update.”
“You get copies of every e-mail Bennett receives, too?”
“Pheh,” she said. “Who would want to sift through someone else’s junk mail? If there’s something interesting I need to know, it’ll be underneath when the Mister responds.”
“You haven’t answered my question. What else have you learned?”
She twisted her mouth to one side. “That’s it. The only one. I told you that the Mister doesn’t send very many. This was the first e-mail he’d sent in about a week. Nothing interesting in the prior ones.” Frances seemed disappointed to be unable to offer a juicy scoop. “It’s not that the Mister isn’t savvy enough to navigate e-mail. He simply doesn’t care to.”
“Okay, good.” My entire body relaxed and my fists unclenched.
She folded her arms again. “What’s on your mind? You’re about as tense as I’ve ever seen you.” The foot started tapping again. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“It all comes back to my sister.” I managed a self-conscious laugh. “You remember how much she wanted to talk with Bennett and how we wouldn’t allow that? I was afraid she’d attempt an end-run around me.”
“You don’t think I would have told you if the Mister had been e-mailing with her?”
I worked to sell the story I was fabricating on the fly. “Think about it, Frances. She doesn’t have a computer. She would’ve had to hack into mine and use my account. Messages would’ve looked like they came from me.”
Frances’s pursed lips twisted to the other side of her face. I wasn’t sure she was buying it completely, but she gave grudging acceptance. “She’s a wily one.”
“I’ve done my best to keep her out of trouble, but you never know.”
Behind me, the door to Frances’s office opened, and Bennett strode in. “Good morning,” he said, his voice booming with such good cheer that I wondered if there had been a break in the jeweled key investigation. “Am I interrupting an important discussion?”
“An enlightening one, I’d say.” Ignoring Frances’s laser-eyed warning, I let Bennett know about my assistant’s access to his sent e-mails.
He curled a finger in front of his lips and I watched as he ran through a silent, mental checklist. Nodding, he gave me a meaningful look. “No harm done,” he said.
“Good. I’ll talk with Davey and get that changed.”
Frances grimaced. “I don’t see why it’s such a big deal.”
Bennett recognized her hurt feelings. He took her hand and patted it. “You’ve seen nothing that I wouldn’t have been willing to share in person.” He spoke to Frances, but I knew his words were directed to me. My relief was complete.
Frances was not so easily mollified. “What about confirming Grace’s invitation to your fancy reception here tomorrow night? It was bad enough when we were both left out. Now it seems I’m the only one who isn’t worthy.”
“That’s not it at all,” Bennett said. He didn’t explain further. I was glad, because Frances could sniff out a lie in no time. I’d barely skated by with my lame excuse about Liza accessing my computer. “Let’s switch to a far more critical subject.”
Had Frances been a Martian from a ’60s TV show, her antennae would have sprung to attention at Bennett’s use of the word critical.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Bennett lifted his chin. “The DNA results are in. From both labs.”
“And?” Frances shouted. Or maybe it was me.
Bennett’s mood was upbeat, yet guarded. A little jittery. Not happy enough for me to believe that we’d gotten the outcome we’d hoped for. Not disappointed enough if our expectations had been crushed. He seemed nervous. I know I was.
“I’ve invited representatives from both labs to present their findings to us here. Tomorrow.”
Frances went speechless, but only for a moment. “You didn’t ask?”
He shook his head. “I wanted us to hear the news together. I want you to be there, Frances. And Hillary, and whoever else we deem worthy.” Stressing the same word that Frances had used moments earlier, he winked. “Tomorrow’s news could be life-changing. Let us give this momentous occasion the respect it deserves.”
I folded my hands in front of my face, inexplicably glad to have one more day to not know the truth. I wanted to be related to Bennett by blood. I wanted to be his family. I’d allowed myself to believe it could be true. Tomorrow’s news could destroy that possibility forever.
“Here, you say?” Frances asked. “What time?”
“Early. Before the doors open for tours. I’d like everyone here by seven. When planning began for tomorrow evening’s reception, I didn’t know the results would be in. Tomorrow, it seems, will be exceptionally busy. I’d like to know the truth before . . .” He faltered. “Before the day gets away from us.”
My stomach clenched. Bennet
t wanted to know the truth—wanted everyone to know the truth—before the FBI confrontation tomorrow night. Fear clawed its way into my chest.
“Why before the reception, Bennett?” I asked. “Is there something you aren’t telling me? Are you expecting problems tomorrow night?” What a stupid question, I thought, even as the words rushed out my mouth. Of course there would be danger. While the FBI would be present at the event, so might the killer.
“Problems?” he asked with a laugh and a penetrating look to remind me not to arouse Frances’s curiosity more than we already had. “Don’t be silly, Grace. I’m expecting tomorrow evening’s event to be boring and bland.”
Too late. Frances arched a brow. “Then why host?” she asked. “Particularly if you’ve made it a point to avoid the FAAC.”
“It is expected of me.” The finality in his tone was impossible to ignore.
“What about that item you talked about?” she persisted. “Or rather, that you wouldn’t talk about? The mysterious item you hoped to obtain? Any news on that?” Before he could answer, she lifted her chin. “Or is that the real reason for this reception? You hope to close the deal and you don’t want me to know about it?”
Bennett raised his hands in supplication. “You found me out, Frances. I should have known not to try to hide the truth from you.”
It was clear she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or truthful. “Hmph,” she grunted. “That better mean you’re planning a surprise for me.”
Chapter 26
When my desk phone jangled, I jumped, noticing, belatedly that Frances stood in the doorway.
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Your caller ID isn’t working? How should I know?”
“It’s Amethyst Cellars,” I said, puzzled.
“Must be important.”
Scott was on the other end. “We don’t like to bother you at work, Grace, but we have a weird situation here.”
Visions of Liza having slunk out from under Tooney’s care made me grip the plastic handset tighter. “What happened?”
