Grace to the Finish

by Julie Hyzy

  I chewed on that as I ate my turkey sandwich.

  “The building went into foreclosure about seven years ago,” he said between bites. “I know you wanted that information.”

  “Thanks.” Not that there was much to do with it. “And Virginia was in charge of the building the entire time?”

  “As far as I know, yes. She worked with the utility companies to maintain it at the barest minimum. Heat, electricity, water, et cetera. She said that we needed to keep the lights on so that the building would be ready to show if an interested buyer ever materialized.” He smiled at me. “And now someone has.”

  “My partners mentioned that the bank was initially reluctant to sell, though. Why is that?”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “We’ve always been eager to get that monster off our books.”

  “Bruce and Scott were told that your corporate office wanted to open a new location there. To consolidate a couple of branches.”

  “That’s news to me,” he said.

  I detected nothing that suggested Neal was lying. He seemed genuinely puzzled. “I was thrilled when your partners made an offer to buy the place.”

  “I think they’d originally hoped to rent.”

  He shook his head as he nabbed a few kettle chips. “Banks are happy to liquidate our assets, not to get into the landlord business.”

  “Makes sense,” I said.

  “Speaking of banking,” he said, and I wondered what other subjects he thought we’d covered, “I want you to know that I would be happy to serve as a personal adviser if you ever have need of one. I have extensive experience and worked as an investment adviser before I came to Emberstowne.”

  “That seems like a significant change,” I said. Knowing what I did about investment advisers and bankers, Neal Davenport likely lost a big chunk of income with that shift.

  “Yes, it was.” He wiped his mouth again and sat back. “It is.” He gave another engaging smile. “I was a hedge fund manager during the market crash in oh-eight.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “That doesn’t begin to describe it.” He stared away. “I had corporate clients screaming at me morning and night. Worse, I had individual clients weeping in my office. Most of the time, I wept along with them. I’d let them down.” He pulled in his lips and took in a sharp breath before turning to me. “Long story short, I realized I couldn’t do the job anymore. Every piece of advice I’d given these people had made perfect sense when I advised them. But then the bottom fell out.”

  “I take it you lost money, too.”

  “Of course. I’d invested in the very same things I’d recommended to my clients. It was the worst time in my life. I felt responsible.” He tried to smile but it fell flat. “I was responsible.”

  “But the market came back,” I said. “Later.”

  He nodded. “But I no longer had the stomach for it.” He leaned forward. “I couldn’t stand the fact that ‘poof’”—he lifted both hands and extended his fingers in emphasis—“people’s lives could be ruined so completely.”

  I didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry.”

  “Switching to banking made sense.” He hesitated for a moment before continuing. “To me, that is. My wife didn’t agree. She’s an attorney, by the way. She thought I was running scared—which I suppose I was—and she didn’t like the idea of being married to a mere bank president when she’d said ‘I do’ to a high-powered hedge fund manager.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said again.

  “So am I.” He flashed a quick smile. “But she has the right to the life she wants just as I have a right to the life I want. She hasn’t spoken to me since the divorce was final. I suppose the fact that we never had kids makes the break easier on both of us.”

  No kids. I’d have to let Frances know.

  A couple of other tables had been seated while he was talking. Deb had come by to clear away our plates. Neal wore a sheepish expression. “I didn’t mean for this lunch to turn into the story of my life. I was hoping to learn more about you. But there you have it. How I came to Emberstowne.”

  That sounded a lot like an invitation to share a similar summary of my life. I pondered my response. As I lifted my napkin to pat my lips, my attention was caught by Deb leading another couple in. I sucked in a quick breath of surprise. Not because the red-haired woman behind Deb was such a stunner, but because Joe Bradley—leaning heavily on his cane—followed behind.

  Blood rushed to my face as surprise and dismay quickened my heartbeat. I averted my gaze. Now I knew why he hadn’t answered his phone. Was he on a date with this gorgeous woman? More to the point: Was it any of my business? He could simply be conducting a business lunch the same way I was.

  “How about you?” Neal asked when I was slow to reply. “Word is you’re single, but are you seeing anyone?” A moment later, he seemed to notice my sudden discomfort. “I’m sorry. Have I talked too much about myself?”

  “No, it’s fine.” In the few seconds that had transpired since I’d spotted Joe, the logical part of my brain advised me that saying a quick hello now could help avoid an awkward situation later. I dropped my napkin onto the table and pointed vaguely. “Give me a second. I just saw someone I know.”

  By the time I started to rise, however, Joe had turned away and—to the extent that he could, considering that his cane usage impeded his progress—was now hurrying his companion back out. Deb followed behind looking puzzled.

  So he’d spotted me, too.

  I blew out a breath as I sat back down. “Sorry. I must have been mistaken.”

  Neal wisely didn’t press for details. Resting his elbows on the table, he folded his hands in front of his chin. “How about I slow down a little bit,” he said. “What else did you need to know about Virginia?”

  Chapter 9

  “And?” Frances asked the moment I returned to the office. “How did it go? Was he a dreamboat?”

  “You should have come along, Frances,” I said lightly. “He was charming and self-deprecating. He seems like a great guy.”

  She followed me into my office. “When are you seeing him again?”

  “What do you mean?” Feigning innocence, I shook my head. “Wasn’t I auditioning him for you?”

  She made an impertinent noise. “Can’t you be serious for once?”

  “Are you kidding me?” I found myself more annoyed by the question than I ought to be. “I haven’t been anything but serious these past few years.” As the words tumbled from my mouth, I realized their truth. I hadn’t quite thought about my life in those terms before. “When we aren’t investigating a murder, I’m dealing with my sister. Or helping friends stay out of bankruptcy. Or working with Bennett’s financial guru to master Marshfield family business.”

  I waved the air. “Okay, that one I don’t mind so much.”

  She sat down without invitation. “What happened?”

  I lowered myself into my desk chair. “Nothing terrible. As I said, Neal is a nice guy.”

  She gave an encouraging nod.

  “Better looking in person than in his picture, believe it or not.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” I faced the window and frowned. “I had a nice time with him. And yes, I definitely got the impression that he’d be interested in seeing me socially.”

  He’d suggested meeting for lunch again next week, in fact, though I didn’t mention that to Frances. I also chose not to mention that I’d tentatively agreed. “Sure,” I’d said to him. “I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.” Part of me wondered if I was willing to see Neal again because I was actually attracted to him or if Joe’s unexpected appearance and hasty departure was fueling my need for an ego boost.

  “And?” she asked.

  “Nothing set, but I haven’t closed the door.”

  “Hm
ph,” she said right on cue. “You talk about always being serious. Why don’t you stop worrying if a guy is the right one and just get out and enjoy yourself once in a while?”

  About to dismiss her, I stopped myself. “Good point, Frances.”

  Her tadpole brows shot upward.

  “Don’t act so surprised. You know I take your advice more often than I let on.”

  “’Bout time you admitted to that.”

  My office phone rang and I glanced at the caller ID.

  “It’s the hotel’s front desk,” I said.

  Although the staff in charge of the Marshfield Inn, our on-site resort, technically reported to me, the hotel was so efficiently run that I rarely needed to involve myself in their day-to-day activities.

  “Double-checking Saturday?” Frances asked.

  “Probably.” I picked up the phone. Aunt Belinda was due to arrive Saturday. I’d arranged for her to stay at the Marshfield Inn until Liza was released. No doubt the front desk was calling to confirm preparations.

  Ranielle’s voice came through cheerful, if slightly strained. “Good afternoon, Ms. Wheaton,” she said. “I’m sorry to bother you, but we have a situation here that requires your assistance.”

  “Oh?” I sat up straighter. Frances did the same. She leaned forward, eager to listen in.

  “A Belinda Zicker is here, attempting to check in but—”

  “Wait. She’s there now? She isn’t supposed to arrive until Saturday.”

  Ranielle’s relief whooshed across the phone line. “That’s what our records indicate. Yes, she’s here at the desk. Fortunately, we have rooms available and we’re happy to get her settled. But we needed to check with you. And she seems particularly eager to speak with you in person.”

  That sounded a lot like polite-speak. Aunt Belinda must be getting ornery.

  “I’ll be right there,” I said. “And I’m sorry for any confusion.”

  “These things happen,” she said before we hung up.

  Frances had clearly heard both sides of the conversation. “Tell me if you need any help.”

  I nodded as I got to my feet and grabbed my purse. “And so it begins.”

  • • •

  Even though it had been at least twenty-five years since I’d seen Aunt Belinda, I recognized her at once. Back then she’d been petite, yet willowy, with shoulder-length brown hair. A very pretty woman, except for her ever-present scowl.

  Now, all these years later, she seemed so much shorter. Her long, dark mane had been replaced by a messy cap of white.

  “Aunt Belinda,” I called out to her. “So wonderful to see you.”

  As I drew closer, I realized she not only was shorter, but looked so much older than I’d expected, too. Her eyelids drooped heavily, her skin was oatmeal colored, and there were deep groove lines around her mouth. She wore burgundy sweatpants, scuffed white cross-trainers, a hot pink sweatshirt with patches of shiny embroidery, and a grimace that warped me back to childhood.

  In the seconds it took me to cross the lobby’s marble floor, she raked me over with sharp scrutiny. “Grace?” She fairly barked my name. “Well, you’ve sure grown up.”

  I gave her an abbreviated hug. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said even though I wasn’t sure that’s how it had been meant.

  Aunt Belinda had been talking with one of Ranielle’s assistants, a young man who gave a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning away to assist another guest. My aunt had piled her purse, giant tote bag, and rumpled jacket onto the front desk. At her feet was a rolling suitcase the size of my bathtub. I resisted the temptation to comment. The more she brought meant the longer she could stay. When it came to corralling my sister, I was happy to have our aunt here for as long as possible.

  “These people don’t have my reservation,” she growled. And with Aunt Belinda, it was most definitely a growl. “What kind of place do you run here, anyway? I thought you said these people were professionals.”

  Reminding myself I was no longer a youngster and that correcting another adult wasn’t “talking back,” I said, “They are professionals, and the Marshfield Inn is one of the finest hotels you’ll ever encounter. The reason they don’t have your reservation is because you weren’t due to arrive until Saturday.”

  “No.” She gave a vehement shake of her head. “You told me to be here today.”

  I drew in a sharp breath. If Aunt Belinda and I had corresponded via e-mail, I’d have a paper trail with all the dates spelled out in pixel and white. Unfortunately, my aunt claimed to not like computers. Everything we’d discussed had been over the phone.

  “Today’s Tuesday,” I said.

  “I know that.”

  “Last time we spoke, we talked about when you were arriving.” I kept my tone light. “You mentioned not wanting to miss your senior lunch on Wednesday, remember?”

  Awareness flashed in her eyes. She remembered saying that, all right. A split second later, she grimaced again, this time letting me know she planned to hold tight to her original assertion, no matter what. “I heard you say Tuesday. That’s why I’m here. And nobody seems to know what to do with me.”

  I glanced up to see Ranielle waiting to speak with us. “I’m happy to get your aunt settled.”

  Ranielle speedily, but very politely, walked my aunt through the welcome process. She handed her a tiny folded packet. “Your keys. I’ve given you two. If you require more, please let me know. Your room number is written inside.”

  Aunt Belinda harrumphed. For the briefest second she reminded me of Frances, and it made me realize how much more I preferred spending time with my acerbic assistant than with my aunt.

  “You’re going to help me get settled, right?” she asked me. “There are a few things I need to clear up with you.”

  “Of course,” I said as I handed my aunt’s luggage to one of the porters. He disappeared around the corner with it as she grabbed her purse. I hoisted her tote bag and coat, then directed her toward the elevators.

  “That bellboy isn’t getting a tip from me,” she said. “Doesn’t take much effort to manage a rolling suitcase.”

  I said nothing.

  We rode to her floor without speaking. The tension rising off her made the silence as vivid as a scream.

  I took a good deal of pleasure from her gasp of surprise when we stepped into her room. On the side of the hotel that offered sweeping views of the estate grounds, it featured a sitting room, bedroom, and luxury bath. Although it wasn’t the largest suite we offered, it was spacious and airy, decorated in yellow, soft white, and gold, with royal purple accents.

  She ran her hand along the bedspread, ivory with gold glints. “Look at the size of this thing.”

  After dropping her tote onto the gold velvet sofa, I hung up her coat in the wide closet. “I didn’t know what you preferred, so I opted for king sized. I hope that’s all right.”

  From the look on her face, I knew it was. I waited as she took a slow tour around the room, checking out the view, the desk, the lighting, and finally the bathroom. “This place is fit for a queen,” she said.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  The bellboy arrived with my aunt’s case. I tipped him, thanked him, and closed the door when he left.

  My aunt stood between the hallway and the bathroom. Wagging a finger, she said, “Don’t think that all these fancy trappings will make me less angry with you. Marshfield. Of course. I should have known. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

  “As I said before,” I said as I held up both hands, “I was waiting to tell you in person.”

  Crossing the room again, she took a seat in one of the wing chairs by the window. “Sit down, girl. You and I need to have an important chat.”

  I pointed vaguely toward the door. “I really ought to get back to work.”

  “Tha
t’s exactly what I want to talk with you about.” She indicated the chair across from her. “Is Bennett Marshfield such a tightwad that he still makes you work full time? Isn’t he willing to share his fortune with you now—you being family and all? That isn’t right.”

  When Aunt Belinda had found out about my blood relation to Bennett, she’d been furious. Not because I was now the apparent heir to his estate, but because she’d hadn’t heard it from me.

  I decided that now was as good a time as any to clear the air. I sat. “The situation is a lot more complicated than it looks to the outside.”

  “What’s complicated is why you kept all this a secret. I’ve known you since you were born. I used to change your diapers, young lady. I’ve practically been a second mother to you and your sister. This is the thanks I get?”

  My aunt had never been like a second mother to me. Or to Liza, for that matter.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” I said. “I thought the news would be better delivered in person.”

  “You’re lucky I found out on my own. Otherwise I would never have agreed to come.” She waved an index finger in emphasis. “Here, I mean. With you all busy with your ‘job’”—she made air quotes—“I knew your poor sister would be left alone. She deserves better.”

  Belinda had delivered that final line with enough of a pointed look that I decided now was the best time to raise an important topic.

  “I think it would be best,” I began carefully, “if I told Liza about my relationship with Bennett myself.”

  Belinda’s expression morphed from wary to shocked. “You weren’t planning to tell her at all, were you?”

  “I definitely intend to make her aware,” I said. “But Bennett and I want to approach her together. For a lot of reasons.” None of which were my aunt’s business.

  “Oh, you planned that, did you?” She shook her head. “I see what you’re doing. You want to keep your sister from sharing in your windfall. You want to keep it all for yourself. You want to deny your sister her birthright.”