by Julie Hyzy
Frances started to make another snarky comment, but Bennett cut her off. “When does your aunt arrive?”
“Saturday,” I said. “She’s not happy about it.” That was an understatement. I’d enlisted Aunt Belinda’s help. For as long as I’d known her, my mother’s sister—her half sister, actually—had hammered at me nonstop to be kinder to my estranged sister.
Widowed now for many years, Aunt Belinda, retired and living in Florida, had reluctantly agreed to come to Emberstowne to help Liza get settled in. My sister’s legal advocate had strongly suggested that, in order to provide the best chance for success, Liza live with or near a responsible adult. I wanted no part of her. She’d proved herself untrustworthy and disloyal too many times in the past.
But Aunt Belinda and I were the only family Liza had. I suspected she had no friends. At least none willing to assume responsibility for her.
Liza’s advocate had offered my sister a choice: move to Florida with Aunt Belinda or come to Emberstowne, near me. For reasons I could never fathom, Liza had chosen me.
For all her squawking about how poorly I treated Liza, Aunt Belinda hadn’t been keen on my sister moving in with her, either. After a great deal of back-and-forth, however, our bellyaching aunt had reluctantly agreed to a show of support. She would temporarily relocate to Emberstowne to help Liza get settled.
I had no regrets about strong-arming my aunt into this agreement. She’d berated me almost all my life—telling me that I’d been the favored child—that poor Liza never had the opportunities that had been granted me. But I’d lived with my parents and lived with Liza. I knew the truth. Our parents had done everything in their power to help my sister find her way, but she hadn’t been interested in school, family ties, or taking responsibility for her actions.
In order to help Liza achieve her potential, our parents had been through years of therapy, with and without my baby sister. All the while, Aunt Belinda had played Monday-morning quarterback from the sidelines, criticizing Mom and Dad on their parenting skills.
For all her bluster, however, our aunt had rarely visited us while we were growing up. Mom had told me it was because her husband was a skinflint and wouldn’t give her the money to travel. But even after her husband died, Aunt Belinda still didn’t come. She wasn’t there to comfort our mom when our father died. Didn’t come when Mom was diagnosed with cancer. Didn’t visit while she lay dying. Didn’t come to her funeral. Her own sister’s funeral. She’d sent a card and piled on excuses.
I once asked Mom why Aunt Belinda complained so much. She said that it was because their parents had treated them differently. “I was the favored child, exactly the way Belinda thinks you are. Even though you’re the older sister like Belinda is and I’m the younger, it’s true that my parents treated us differently. I don’t know why. I don’t know why Belinda believes that about Liza, but it sticks in her craw.”
In any case, I felt no shame in forcing our aunt to come up here and help with my ex-con sister. Maybe once Aunt Belinda got to know adult Liza, up close and personal, she’d lay off guilt-tripping me.
“I understand Mr. Tooney has found Liza an appropriate place to live,” Bennett said.
I nodded. “It’s a nice apartment within walking distance of Main Street, but far enough from my house to make her think twice before surprising me with a visit. At this point, I’m not sure if Liza knows that she’s rooming with Aunt Belinda.” I shrugged. “But beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose. The sooner my sister straightens herself out, the quicker she can be on her own.”
Frances crossed her arms. “She doesn’t know about you and the Mister, does she? That she’s a Marshfield, too, by blood?”
“Not as far as I’m aware.” I fought the panic in my gut that hit every time I thought about how Liza would react when she discovered I was now co-owner of the Marshfield fortune.
Bennett leaned forward to pat my arm. “Whatever she knows or suspects doesn’t matter. You and I will talk with her as soon as you deem appropriate. We will tell her of our familial relationship while making it clear that the reason you are my partner and heir has little to do with blood ties but everything to do with trust.”
I smiled at him, wishing it would be that easy. Bennett and Frances had interacted with Liza enough to know not to trust her, but I’d lived with her treachery and duplicitousness all my life. If she’d turned her cunning and wily talent toward more productive endeavors—school, a trade, or starting a business, to name a few—she could have been extremely successful in her own right.
As it was, she was penniless, jobless, and homeless, with a federal conviction on her record. Entirely dependent on others for everything in her life, she resented me. Probably even more than I resented her. Once she discovered our relationship to Bennett, she’d want it all. She’d demand it. And she’d do her best to make our lives miserable until we acquiesced.
I gave a sad laugh. “So much for happier subjects.”
Chapter 5
When my office phone rang later that afternoon, Frances shouted, “It’s the bank calling. I bet it’s about poor Virginia,” before I even had a chance to glance at the caller ID myself.
“Thanks, Frances. I’ll let you know,” I said before picking up.
Neal Davenport introduced himself as the bank’s president before moving directly to the reason for his call. “As you may imagine, I was shocked to hear of Virginia’s accident this morning. Everyone at the bank is heartbroken. She was beloved by all her coworkers.”
He’d used the word “accident.” Apparently Rodriguez and Flynn hadn’t floated the homicide idea out to the masses yet. I murmured a nicety or two.
“Did you know she was nearing retirement?” Davenport asked.
“I did,” I said. “My roomma—er—business partners, Bruce and Scott, mentioned that. She’d worked at the bank for thirty-eight years, I understand.”
“Started as a teller and worked her way up to senior vice president. She had quite a knack for business.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“You didn’t get to know her?” he asked. “I thought you were one of the Granite Building’s new owners. Virginia handled that transaction herself.”
“Right, with Bruce and Scott,” I said. “I’m the silent partner.”
“Oh,” he said in a way that led me to believe this came as news. “Hmm.”
“Is there something I can help you with? In addition to offering my condolences, that is?”
He cough-laughed. “Looks like I jumped the gun here. I’d heard your name associated with the sale of the Granite Building and future plans to expand the Amethyst Cellars wine shop, and I made an erroneous assumption.”
Frances hovered in the doorway, straining to listen in. I waved her into one of the chairs across from me.
“That’s fine,” I said to Davenport. “Do you need my roomma—er—Bruce’s or Scott’s contact information?” I’d have to get used to referring to them as partners rather than roommates. At least where business transactions were concerned.
“No, no. I have all that here.” He cough-laughed again. “I suppose I just wanted the chance to talk with you a little bit,” he said. “With the sudden change in your circumstances—with Mr. Marshfield, I mean—I’d been hoping to find a reason to connect.”
I didn’t know how to respond to that.
Didn’t matter. He kept talking. “I’d like to invite you to reach out if you ever needed assistance or financial advice. If there are any banking needs you have that aren’t being serviced . . .”
Davenport continued, providing even more reasons to explain why he wanted to talk with me.
I decided to put him out of his misery and attempt a little fact-finding for myself. “I do have a question for you.”
“Anything.” I could practically hear his relief whoosh over the phone.
“How
long ago did your bank take possession of the old Granite Building?”
“Oh. Hmm,” he said again. “I would have to look that up to be sure because the foreclosure took place before I started working here. I want to say it’s been more than five years. Maybe even as long as ten.”
I thought about the evidence Rodriguez and Flynn had found suggesting a squatter had been living there.
“Other than Virginia, how many people from your bank had access to the Granite Building?” I asked.
Frances nodded approval.
“I couldn’t say for sure. But I can certainly find out for you, if you think that’s important information.”
I not only was known in Emberstowne as being Bennett’s niece, I’d also established myself as something of an amateur sleuth. Still, I didn’t want to give Davenport the impression I was digging, or to tip the homicide detectives’ hands before they were ready.
“Just curious,” I said.
“I’ll find that out for you,” he said. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
Before I could form an answer, he jumped in to continue. “I’d be happy to schedule a meeting, either here at the bank, or out of the office. We could go for coffee and discuss whatever questions you may have. About the Granite Building or even about your financial needs.”
Frances could hear every word. Her brows leaped upward and she smirked. Pointing at the phone, she nodded vigorously.
“Sure, that sounds great,” I said, trying to boost my halfhearted tone.
We settled on lunch the following day.
“Just what I need,” I said to Frances when I hung up. “Another financial guru who wants to get his paws on Bennett’s fortune.”
“Your fortune,” Frances corrected. “And I don’t think he’s as interested in establishing a new account as he is in establishing a little one-on-one with you.”
“No, he’s a gold digger. For sure. Didn’t you hear him asking about my financial needs?”
“Merely an excuse,” she said. “He’s interested in you.”
“You got all that from eavesdropping on my phone call?” I pointed to the instrument on my desk. “I know you have superhuman powers, Frances, but I think this one is beyond your reach.”
She shook her head, very slowly.
“Then why did you encourage me to meet with him? I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” I tried not to think about Joe Bradley.
“And do you have some swamp land to sell me, too?” she asked with a snort. “Doctor-boy isn’t moving fast enough, if you ask me.”
So much for keeping that issue under Frances’s radar.
“It can’t hurt for you to spread your wings a little bit,” she said. “See what else—who else—is out there. So you go for lunch with this banker guy. What’s the worst that can happen? You find out that he really is only interested in your bottom line. That I’m wrong about his intentions.” One end of her mouth curled up. “But I’m not.”
• • •
Bruce, Scott, and I had kept in touch, updating each other on the situation throughout the day, so when I returned home that evening, we didn’t have a lot of new information to share.
“I did talk with Rodriguez again,” I said as we sat down to dinner in the kitchen. Scott had whipped up one of his easy weeknight favorites: huevos rancheros. I dug into the cilantro-sprinkled egg, cheese, and bean combination, making sure to spear some avocado before popping the delectable forkful into my mouth.
“To tell him you plan to meet with Davenport?” Bruce asked.
I nodded and made affirmative noises. “And to ask if they found the guy who was snapping pictures outside.”
“Did they?”
“Mm-mm.” I shook my head as I chewed. “Wow. This is wonderful.”
“Thanks,” Scott said. “What did he say about the blank credit cards?”
“He e-mailed me a picture of one of the cards they found beneath Virginia so I have it for my records. He said that he and Flynn have already started talking to bank personnel, but they’re coming up empty. If I want to mention it to Davenport, it’s fine with him.”
“If Frances is right,” Bruce said, “you should probably stop calling him by his surname. That’s not very romantic.”
“Please. I haven’t even met him yet.” I dug into my dinner again. “Don’t you two start matching me up with strangers now.”
“What’s going on with Joe Bradley?” Scott asked.
I shrugged. “Who knows? He and I seemed close to arranging a date, but we got interrupted.”
Bruce waved his fork. “Always an excuse.”
I gave them both a wry smile. “We’re in the middle of a death investigation, remember?”
Scott made a show of looking around. “Where’s your phone?” he asked. “He may be trying to text you right now.”
“I’m not the president of the United States. I don’t need to keep my phone by my side every moment of the day.” I’d left it upstairs when I’d changed clothes. “But you’re right. I’ll go get it after dinner.”
We talked awhile longer about our plans for resurrecting Amethyst Cellars. While the Granite Building would be cordoned off for another couple of days until the detectives cleared it, Rodriguez had assured us that—unless new information regarding Virginia’s case came to light—it was unlikely we’d be delayed much longer than that.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m very happy we aren’t facing huge delays,” Bruce said as we finished up. “But I can’t help feeling guilty about it.”
I knew what my roommates were going through. “And yet changing our plans won’t do Virginia any good. Not now.”
“But it still feels wrong,” Scott said. “We get to keep moving forward. Virginia doesn’t.”
“Remember how she fought us on buying the building at first?” Bruce asked. “It’s almost like this is her final stake in keeping us from moving forward.”
“Wait, I thought you told me she was a dream to work with.”
“She was. Later,” Scott said. “But at first, not so much. I thought it was us.” Scott pointed to himself and Bruce. “You know. Unwilling to help because she didn’t care for ‘our lifestyle.’ But she was warm otherwise. We eventually gave up trying to figure out why she didn’t want us to buy the building.”
“Was there a defect? Some problem she was afraid you’d discover?” I asked.
“That’s why we brought in Cynthia Quinn, the inspector.” Bruce made a funny face. “You don’t think Virginia’s hesitation to sell could have had anything to do with her death, do you?”
Scott shook his head. “I don’t see how it could have. She eventually came around when she realized we were serious. That is,” he said as he pointed to me, “once she realized we had the financial backing.”
“What makes you think that, Bruce?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his dark blond hair. “I don’t know,” he said with a puzzled look. “Maybe we’ve been hanging around you long enough to start seeing clues. Even where none exist. What if there was something about the building that she didn’t want us to find out?”
Scott sat up straighter. “Or a treasure hidden there that she didn’t want us to find.”
“Now you both are sounding too much like me.” I picked up my empty plate to rinse it off in the sink.
The front doorbell rang.
The three of us exchanged a glance. “I’ll get it,” Scott said.
“Are you guys expecting anyone?” I asked.
Bruce started to clean up the rest of the table. “Nope.”
A few seconds later, Scott returned with Bronson Tooney behind him. “Guess who’s coming to dinner?” he said with a grin.
Tooney’s cheeks reddened. “I don’t mean to bother you, but I saw all your lights on and thought you might wan
t to hear what I found out about Virginia Frisbie.”
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
The big man shook his head. “But that’s okay. You guys are done. I won’t be long.”
“Have a seat,” Scott said. “I’ve got plenty, and the three of us are all ears.”
Chapter 6
“What’s interesting about Virginia Frisbie,” Tooney said once we were settled around the table, “is that she was the only bank officer with regular access to the Granite Building.”
“Why is that important?” Scott asked. “The place was vacant for a number of years. I can’t imagine the bank needing more than one employee to keep an eye on it.”
Tooney had taken the opportunity to shovel a tall pile of eggs, beans, and tortilla into his mouth while Scott spoke. As he chewed, he pointed his fork for emphasis and a delicate string of orange-white cheese whipped around the utensil’s tines.
“First of all,” Tooney said after he swallowed, “it makes her a target. She had a habit of visiting the Granite Building at least once a week to ensure that nothing was amiss: no broken water pipes, no smashed windows, no rodent infestations.”
“Eeyoo,” I said.
Tooney waved his cheese-strung fork again. “Even though Virginia varied the days of the week when she took her tour of the building, she usually visited there immediately after the bank closed at night. A person with intent to do her harm may have waited for her to show up.”
“But the detectives speculate that she walked in on a thief, surprising him,” I said.
Tooney resumed eating.
“Unless there was no thief,” Scott said, picking up on the flaw in the argument. “What if the killer took those items from the dusty table to make it look like a robbery? What if the killer had it in for Virginia the whole time?”
“But she was such a lovely woman,” Bruce said. “Why would anyone want to kill her?”
“Who knows?” I asked. “Maybe she led a secret life as a criminal.”
