by Julie Hyzy
“Everything is okay,” Scott said. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
The more he waited to tell me the reason for his call, the more alarm built in my twitching chest. “What’s going on?”
“Do you remember that woman you met here the other night? Phyllis Forgue?”
“What’s up with her?”
Scott told me he was in the back room, but still kept his voice extra quiet. “She’s here again. She’s been every day since she met you. We’re thrilled because she buys wine every time, but it’s obvious she’s waiting for someone.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing the word out. “I’m not understanding.”
Scott grew even quieter. “We think she’s waiting for you.”
“Why?”
“Call it a sixth sense, or whatever you want, but you’ve gotten me and Bruce to pay closer attention when something doesn’t feel right,” Scott said. “She spends time tasting and talking with the staff but always turns the topic to Marshfield and Bennett. And you. Especially you.”
“It’s not like she and I connected personally.”
“Exactly. She seems disproportionately interested in your work with Bennett. Not to mention disappointed that she hasn’t run into him at the FAAC convention yet.”
“Nor is she likely to,” I said. “But she’ll see Bennett at the reception tomorrow night.”
“Are you sure she was invited?”
I thought about how often Bennett had hedged on details recently. But ever since I’d been brought in on the FBI initiative, I’d assumed I was fully informed. “To the best of my knowledge, she was. I’ll check on that.”
“Thanks, Grace. I know this sounds like no big deal. But Bruce and I both think it’s curious that this woman in town for the FAAC is spending so much time away from the convention to hang around us, talking about you.”
“I’m glad you told me.” I glanced out the windows. A soft snow was beginning to fall. “Is she still there?”
“She just pointed out three more wines she wants to sample. I assume she’s sticking around for a while.”
“I’ll swing by now and have a chat with her. Maybe I can find out what’s really going on.”
“We don’t mean to pull you away from work,” he said.
“Your vague sense that something’s wrong is good enough for me.” Before he could answer, I continued, “Plus, I have news to share. I’ll be there in about twenty.”
When we hung up I called Bennett. “You mentioned Phyllis Forgue was invited to tomorrow night’s reception.”
“That’s right,” he said.
“Is there any reason why she’d keep that fact under wraps?” I explained Scott’s phone call. “I’m going there now.”
Bennett’s voice was a growl. “I’m not certain that’s a wise decision, Gracie,” he said. “Is Frances within earshot?”
I knew the answer without looking up. “Most definitely.”
“Then I won’t expand. I will say this much: Remember that the item I’m seeking is also being sought by others. Others who may be willing to harm innocent people to obtain it.”
“I know that.”
Frances had moved closer to my desk, but not close enough to hear Bennett’s end of the conversation.
“If Phyllis Forgue is part of this chase . . .”
“I’m sure she isn’t.”
“Gracie.” His voice was a warning.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon,” I said, mindful of Frances’s intense scrutiny. “And even though I’ve tried very hard to stay busy, I can’t concentrate. I’m worried, worked up, and nervous about the DNA results. I’m taking the afternoon off, if that’s all right with you.”
Another growl from his side of the phone. “It seems you won’t be talked out of this errand.” Not a question. So I didn’t answer.
What I did say was, “Just to be clear: You can’t think of any reason why Ms. Forgue wouldn’t brag about having an invitation to your event?”
“No.”
“Would it be all right if I ask if she plans to attend?” I smiled innocently at Frances. “You know, to help confirm head count.”
I could practically hear the aggravation I was causing him.
“Like I said,” I continued, “it’s the middle of the afternoon. I’ll pop in and out. No problem. Unless there’s a specific reason why I shouldn’t bring it up. I mean, I know you confirmed her invitation the other day . . .”
Boy, it was tough to communicate with Frances hovering. What I wanted to ask was whether or not the FBI would have a problem with my interacting with Phyllis Forgue.
“Go ahead. But please be careful. Will you do that for me?”
“Of course.”
When we hung up, Frances glared. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I’ll find out. Count on it.”
* * *
Phyllis Forgue’s pale face lit up when I stepped into Amethyst Cellars. I waved hello and unzipped my coat as she crossed the room to greet me.
“Grace! I was hoping to run into you again.”
“Very nice to see you, Phyllis.” I feigned surprise. “But why are you here? I would have expected you to be at the FAAC.”
“Oh that,” she said, flipping a dismissive hand. “The convention is so much less interesting without Bennett to chat with. How is he? Why haven’t we seen him? The convention is nearly over and he hasn’t made an appearance yet.”
She didn’t wait for me to answer. “His assistant called me to let me know that he wouldn’t be able to meet with me, but didn’t explain why. At that point I still believed I’d see the old devil at the FAAC, so I didn’t press the issue. Now I wish I would have.”
“Well,” I said, trying to come up with a vague enough response, “we’ve been very busy at Marshfield lately.”
Her fair brows came together. “His assistant wasn’t forthcoming with information, let me tell you. A very brusque man. I don’t understand why Bennett keeps an employee like that.”
I’d put money on the “assistant” being Agent McClowery. For lack of anything better, I said, “Bennett is a patient man.”
We made our way to the middle of the longer of the two bars in the wine shop, where she’d left her tasting notes. Amethyst Cellars was quiet at the moment. Two small groups—one at the far end of this bar, one group at the other—were participating in tastings. No one paid us any attention.
I had no reason to be there, really. I didn’t suspect Phyllis Forgue of anything worse than narcissism. The only reason I’d made the effort to talk with her was because I trusted my roommates. I couldn’t dismiss their worries.
“Phyllis,” I began, doing my best to adopt a conspiratorial air, “you are planning on attending Bennett’s reception tomorrow night, aren’t you?”
In a heartbeat she shifted from eager to manic. “I certainly am,” she whispered. “Everyone is talking about it, but I think the fewer people who know, the better.” She winked.
“I understand,” I said, as though I did. “Last time we met you mentioned a specific item you were interested in acquiring. Have you had any luck?”
She glanced about the room, taking in the busy wine tasters to ensure no one listened in. “There’s a rumor floating around this year that Bennett has—shall we say—loosened up a little?”
She’d phrased it as a question, but I had no idea how to answer.
“Go on,” I said.
“You don’t deny it?”
Playing along until I had a better idea of her point, I fixed my expression and said, “I can neither confirm nor deny.”
She pursed and released her lips in rapid succession so many times that her signature cinnamon tint began to smear. After another wary glance around the room, her green cat eyes bore down on me. “Bennett has always been Mr. Clean when
it comes to provenance. He won’t touch—won’t even look—at a piece unless its ownership history is well-documented and pristine.”
Phyllis wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. “Recently, however . . .” She smeared her lips together again. “The high-rollers are talking about how Bennett has his eye on a certain piece. That this item is so important to him and he desires it so much that he doesn’t care how he gets it.”
Perspiration gathered at my neckline. “Phyllis,” I said, “it seems we have a great deal to discuss.” I removed my coat, buying myself time to play this moment correctly. Did Phyllis have the jeweled key? Was she the mysterious black market collector the FBI had been after all these years?
I detected a faint sheen above her sparse brows. She dragged her fingernails against her cheek, clearly impatient for me to continue. I think she was holding her breath.
“You do know that Bennett and I work together extremely closely,” I said.
She nodded.
“Good. Then am I to understand you are in possession of this elusive item?”
“Hypothetically,” she began, “if I were able to produce it, would Bennett be willing to meet with me? Alone, I mean?”
The last thing the FBI would approve—the last thing I would want—would be for Bennett to meet with anyone alone. I raised an eyebrow, serving up the best look of skepticism I could muster. “Maybe we need to confirm that we’re talking about the same item, first.”
The light in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly. She ran long fingers through her red waves. “Word is, the reason why Bennett hasn’t made an appearance at the FAAC this year is because he’s waiting for the item to come to him.”
I made a so-so motion with my head, encouraging her to keep talking.
“That’s why he’s hosting this reception, isn’t it? So that he can complete the transaction on his home turf?”
Choosing my words carefully, I said, “You have to admit it would be safer that way. For all parties.”
She stared out the condensation-fogged windows for a moment as though considering her next move.
“The item?” I prompted. “Do you have it?”
Her green eyes snapped back into focus, lasering on me. “Lovely seeing you again, Grace.” She spun her heavy coat around her shoulders, hitched her purse into the crook of her elbow, and started for the door. Over her shoulder she called, “Please tell Bennett that I look forward to meeting with him tomorrow night.”
“What was that all about?” Bruce asked when she was gone.
I shook my head, unsure of what had happened. Phyllis had never confirmed that she was in possession of the jeweled key. And yet, would she have? Given the item’s history and value, it wouldn’t make sense to make such a risky admission in the middle of a wine shop to someone she’d met only once.
An assistant took over tasting duties for Scott, freeing him to sidle up in time to hear me answer. “I’m glad you called me down here. I can’t say I know much more than I did, but Phyllis Forgue is definitely worth watching.”
Scott grinned. “Glad to hear it. We felt a little embarrassed making the call. We don’t want to be paranoid, but something wasn’t right.”
Quick to change the subject before they pressed for details I couldn’t provide, I said, “I have another, entirely selfish, reason for skipping out of work to come see you. Bennett stopped by my office this morning.” I drew a deep breath. “The test results are in.”
The two of them chorused in unison, “And?” exactly the way Frances and I had.
“Bennett didn’t ask. He wants to have the great unveiling tomorrow morning at Marshfield. With friends, family, and lawyers in attendance, of course.”
Bruce wore a lopsided grin. “He seems pretty certain of the results. Are you sure he hasn’t gotten a sneak peek?”
“Bennett wouldn’t fib. Not about this.”
“Does he seem nervous at all?” Scott asked.
“A little.”
“Will you call us as soon as you find out?”
“Are you kidding?” I asked. “I want you both to be there. Bennett set the meeting up for seven in the morning. I thought that was early enough for you to still make it here before the shop opens.”
The two of them whooped so loudly everyone in the place turned to stare. “Sorry,” Scott said to the small crowd.
“I need to head home and make a few other arrangements before tomorrow,” I said.
Bruce ran a hand across his chin. “Liza?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Liza.”
Chapter 27
Once home, I texted Tooney to let him know I’d be visiting via the underground passage. He and Liza met me in his basement. When I’d first come down here, while Todd Pedota still owned the house, there had been stale water puddles on the concrete floor and an overwhelming aroma of mildew. The first thing Hillary had done when she began her remodeling was clean the house from top to bottom, starting with this basement. Today, with updated light fixtures, scrubbed clean floors, and a fresh coat of white paint on the walls, the place smelled brand-new.
Tooney’s relief was impossible to miss. “You’re home early.”
“Couple of glitches at work today,” I said.
Liza’s eyes sparked with mischief. “Do I have to go home already, Mommy? But I’m having so much fun here playing with Ronny.” She tilted her head, resting it against Tooney’s arm. He stepped away.
“Bronson,” I corrected her. “Remember?”
“Oh, I like calling him Ronny. It’s such a cute name for such a cute playmate.” She wiggled her nose at Tooney, the gleam in her eyes turning hard when she faced me. “I can’t think of anything I’d rather do all day than sit in this dump and wait for you to come home.”
“Poor baby,” I said. “Listen, Tooney—er—Bronson . . .”
“Grace, please.” A corner of his mouth curled up, but I could tell he was weary and the effort taxed him. “Call me Tooney. You always have and I’ve kinda gotten used to it.”
I smiled. “Thanks. What I was about to ask is if you have a couple of minutes to talk?”
With an uneasy glance at Liza, he pointed a thick finger into his chest. “Me? By myself?”
Answering his unasked question about how to conduct a private conversation while maintaining watch over my sister, I said, “Let’s go back to my house. Liza, you can find something to do upstairs for a few minutes, can’t you?”
“Another meeting I’m not privy to?” She worked her jaw from side to side. “A girl could develop a persecution complex around here.”
“Grace, is that you?”
The pointy heels of Hillary’s boots clunked the bare wood as she made her way down the steps. Frederick, a smiling, spectacled lump of a man, followed her, raising his hand in greeting.
“Hillary,” I said. “I’m glad you’re here. Do you have a few minutes?” I gestured vaguely in the direction of my house.
Liza perched a hand on her hip. “Are you inviting them to your secret meeting, too?”
Bennett’s stepdaughter either wasn’t paying attention to Liza’s complaints or had another matter on her mind. “Yes, I do have a few minutes,” she said with emphasis. “You and I need to talk.”
It suddenly seemed foolish to have five people traipse through the passageway only to ensure Liza’s seclusion, but I couldn’t trust her upstairs in Tooney’s house alone. Who knew what sort of mischief my sister might get herself into?
“Hey.” I remembered that I’d reset my burglar alarm when I’d first gotten home. Liza didn’t know about the secondary alarm—the one that sounded here at Tooney’s if anyone entered or left my house without disarming the system. “I have an idea, Liza. You keep complaining that I don’t trust you. Here’s your chance to prove yourself. Go on back to my house. When I’m finished here, I’ll join you.”<
br />
“What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” I lied, counting on the fact that my sister wouldn’t think to check the burglar alarm’s status. “In fact, we’ll go upstairs now to talk. If you’d prefer to wait down here for me, that’s fine, too.”
Liza studied me for a moment. “Fine. I could use a shower,” she said. A moment later, she’d ducked into the passageway and was gone.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said.
Tooney frowned at the iron door. “You sure this is a wise move?”
Hillary’s cheeks were bright pink. She looked ready to explode before we made it up the stairs.
“I set the alarm,” I told Tooney.
“Ah,” he said. “Then yes, let’s go up in case we need to chase after her.”
Clearly fuming, Hillary managed to hold her tongue until we were gathered in the kitchen. “That sister of yours.” Spittle formed at the corners of her mouth. She wiped it away. “How dare she? How dare she?”
“What happened?” I asked, taken aback by her sudden vehemence.
“Who does that girl think she is?”
Frederick, standing close to Hillary, tucked her hand into his arm and patted it while whispering words only she could hear. Hillary’s sputtering diminished but her eyes continued to blaze.
“Uh . . .” Tooney stretched his chin. “Your, uh, sister . . .”
Frederick shot me an apologetic look. “She doesn’t mean any harm. Not really.”
I wasn’t sure if he referred to Liza or Hillary. “Who are you talking about?”
Hillary stifled an exasperated scream, but only barely. “He means your sister, but he’s wrong.” Turning to Frederick, she said, “I’m sorry but this time I know I’m right. I’ve been that girl—and let me assure you she knows precisely what she’s doing.”
“It doesn’t matter though, does it?” Frederick asked Hillary, very quietly.
“What doesn’t matter?” I was beginning to guess.
Tooney tried again. “Your sister seems to . . . uh . . . be, um . . . attracted to . . .”
Hillary faced Frederick. “Are you certain you aren’t tempted? Are you sure? She’s so young. With a killer bod. She’s at least ten years younger than I am.”
