Grace to the Finish

by Julie Hyzy

  “May I remind you, sir, of our intent to take this matter to court?” Young said. “Favoring one niece over the other will not play well in the media. We can draw a lawsuit out for a very long time. Is this your best decision for the sunset years of your life?”

  I bit the insides of my cheeks. Hard.

  “You have the power to make all this go away,” Young continued. “If you’ll only be reasonable.”

  Bennett pointed to the agreement in Young’s hands. “That is reasonable. More than reasonable.” He glanced at his watch. “The clock is ticking.”

  Young sighed heavily and made his way over to his briefcase. “I suppose we will see you in court then.”

  Bennett got to his feet. I stood next to him.

  Everyone else got up, too.

  “One more thing,” Bennett said, “before you put that agreement away. Please note that if you insist on filing suit, my attorneys will require Ms. Liza Soames to undergo DNA testing to establish her claim of familial ties.”

  Young shrugged. “Very well.”

  “Why should Liza have to do that?” Aunt Belinda said. “If Grace is Mr. Marshfield’s niece, then so is Liza. Everyone knows that.”

  Bennett turned to me and opened his hand.

  “Not everyone knows that,” I said. “You, for instance.”

  Aunt Belinda began to sputter. “Your mother was Marshfield’s illegitimate child, not me. Or have you forgotten what we talked about?” Her furious glare practically shouted a reminder about my mother’s alleged affair.

  “I haven’t forgotten a thing,” I said. “And I refuse to believe you have, either.”

  Confusion clouded her eyes. Shaking it off, she grabbed Liza’s arm. “Let’s go. These people don’t know what’s good for them.”

  As Young snapped his briefcase shut, I spoke to Liza’s back. “Do you know why Mom and Dad couldn’t give blood to you that time you were in the hospital?”

  She turned to give me a withering glare. “You already told me. We’re different blood types. You and I are different blood types. That’s no big deal.” With a condescending head waggle, she added, “We’ll be testing DNA. That’s a whole different thing, sis. I would have expected you to know that.”

  “DNA tests can reveal a lot,” I said. “Isn’t that right, Aunt Belinda?”

  “You’re talking nonsense, Grace,” Belinda said. “Didn’t I warn you about that?”

  “You really should take Bennett up on his offer,” I said to Liza. “Before time’s up.”

  She gave me a chilly smile. “In your dreams.”

  She was about to turn away again and I should have let her go, but something in me—some reluctance to cut off her last shot at improving her life—tugged at me. Frances, poking me in my side, may have helped, too.

  “Aunt Belinda,” I said, “are you going to tell Liza, or should I?”

  My aunt’s teeth clenched.

  “Let’s go,” Liza said.

  I smiled at her. “See you later, ’cuz.”

  “What is wrong with you?” Aunt Belinda asked.

  “Isn’t it time to stop pretending?” I asked. “Once Uncle Wade died, you could have come forward. Why didn’t you?”

  Liza looked to Aunt Belinda, then to me. “What does Uncle Wade have to do with anything?”

  “Aunt Belinda?” I said. “Don’t you think this is better coming from you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Young tried to interrupt. “I don’t see how this discussion is relevant.”

  Hands fisted, Frances took a step forward. “It’s relevant, all right, buddy.”

  “Good news, Liza,” I said with the biggest smile of the day. “Your fondest wish has come true. We aren’t sisters after all.”

  She fixed me with a deadpan smirk. “This is how you think you’ll get out of sharing your fortune with me? What a joke.”

  “Really? Ask Aunt Belinda why there are no photographs of Mom pregnant with you. Why you and I look so very different.”

  “Nice try,” Liza said. Turning to Young, she added, “We’re done here.”

  “My uncle Wade went to prison for five years for drunk driving. Big family secret, by the way. I just found out myself. During that time, your mother”—I pointed to my aunt—“met someone else and had an affair.”

  “How dare you!” Aunt Belinda shouted.

  “Please, correct me if I’m wrong,” I said. “Tell me what part of this is untrue.”

  Again, she started to sputter.

  “Do you remember Mom’s best friend, Arlene?” I asked.

  Aunt Belinda blanched. Liza muttered, “Sort of.”

  “I talked with her yesterday. She’d been sworn to secrecy, but once I explained all the inconsistencies, she was happy to fill in the blanks. You were born at home by the way, Liza,” I said. “Aunt Belinda paid off the midwife to falsify the birth certificate and name Mom and Dad as your parents.” I turned to Bennett. “What time is it?”

  He checked his watch. “Ten minutes left.”

  Facing Aunt Belinda, I said, “You begged my parents to take Liza in as their own and then you had the audacity to lie to me and tell me my mother had had an affair?” My voice rose. “How dare you?”

  I watched horrified comprehension wash over Liza as she read the truth on Belinda’s face. “What is happening here?”

  I made a little shooing motion with my hands. “Go ahead,” I said. “You want to take us to court? You’re subject to a DNA test. Good luck with that.”

  “But . . . how? What?” Liza couldn’t get her words out.

  Young stepped between them. “This could all be a ruse to trick you into signing their agreement. Don’t fall for it. Let’s move forward with our lawsuit. Too much is at stake.”

  But Aunt Belinda had covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I didn’t know who she was apologizing to.

  “Why didn’t you come forward after Uncle Wade died?” I asked again. “You and Liza could have had all those years to get to know each other.”

  She reached out to grab her daughter’s arm. “I wanted to tell you.”

  Liza recoiled. “Don’t touch me.” With a glare, she curled her lip at me. “How long have you known?”

  “Just since yesterday,” I said. “Though I had suspicions for a little longer than that. Incidentally,” I added as I pointed to Ted, “one of Mr. Hertel’s associates is taking a statement from Arlene even as we speak. Just making sure to tie up any loose ends for future reference. And my friend Mr. Tooney—you remember him, Liza?—assured me that he’d be happy to dig deeper into this matter if we feel the need.”

  Aunt Belinda pulled her face from her hands. “You,” she said with venom. “You were always the golden child. My poor Liza got the short end of every opportunity.”

  “No,” I said. “She didn’t. But if it helps you to believe that, be my guest.”

  “Less than two minutes remaining,” Bennett said.

  Aunt Belinda squared her shoulders. “Sign the agreement,” she said to Liza.

  “But—”

  “Sign it if you know what’s good for you.” Aunt Belinda motioned to Young to open his briefcase and pull the document back out.

  “You can’t make me sign this,” Liza said. “We can still sue.”

  “And you’ll wind up with nothing,” Aunt Belinda said. “Sign it. At least we’ll have something to live on.”

  “Who said anything about ‘we’?” Liza asked with a snarl in her throat. She turned to Young. “Give me the pen.”

  Chapter 33

  It wasn’t that I chickened out on contacting Joe. It was that I couldn’t decide precisely how to do it. He had office hours until five o’clock, and although I tried several times to come up with a bri
ef yet meaningful text message, all my attempts at wording came out sounding lame. And leaving a voicemail or a message with his receptionist felt wrong.

  Truth was, I realized as I made my way to the parking lot adjacent to Joe’s medical office, even though Flynn had corroborated his story, I wanted Joe to know that I’d been willing to take a leap of faith without it. And I wanted to tell him so in person.

  I found an empty spot in the lot and leaned against the side of my car to wait. It was five minutes to five. I knew better than to expect him to pop out the door at the top of the hour. Patients didn’t suddenly disappear when time was up.

  Medical personnel began drifting out at about five fifteen. A couple of them gave me a curious glance before getting into their cars and driving away. One woman said hello and smiled.

  After the departing staffers dwindled and my car and Joe’s were the only ones left in the lot, I glanced at my phone. Five twenty-seven.

  Maybe I should have called first. What if he planned to catch up on paperwork for the next three hours? I could be in for a long wait.

  I walked a few steps one way then another, considering whether I should text him after all, when movement in the greenery fifteen feet away caught my attention.

  Giant yews lined the eastern edge of the parking lot. A person, or perhaps a large dog, crouched behind one of them. Now that I looked more closely, I could tell it was a man wearing dark pants, a dark jacket, and a baseball cap. In this late afternoon warmth, he had to be uncomfortable.

  I was uncomfortable because it was clear he was watching me.

  I took a few steps closer to confirm my suspicion. Yep. The same man who had been taking photos outside the Granite Building the day Virginia had been killed. The man who’d sat near me when I had lunch with Neal Davenport. The man I’d spotted at the bar when I went to dinner with Joe. I’d been so sure it had been Craig following me all this time that I’d forgotten about my mysterious shadow until now.

  “Come out of there, you,” I called out. “If you think you’re being discreet, you’re failing miserably.”

  While I spoke, I pulled my phone out again and navigated to Rodriguez’s number.

  The man took the long way around the line of yews and emerged at the far left end. I was right. Same guy. He held his phone up at about eye height and made no disguise of taking pictures.

  We were about thirty feet apart now. Too far for him to grab me. Nonetheless, I positioned myself behind Joe’s car in case I needed cover. Holding up my phone, I wiggled it for emphasis. “Tell me why you’re following me and you’d better make it good; otherwise I’m calling the police.”

  “I’m not following you, honey,” he said. “I’m following him.” He gestured with his elbow.

  I turned to see Joe coming up behind me. No cane today. “Grace?” he said. “What are you doing here?” He pointed at the man snapping pictures. “Who’s that?”

  “I came to see you,” I said before turning back to the man. “Who are you?”

  He pulled a business card out of his pocket and tossed it toward us. It fluttered and fell to the ground. I left it there.

  “I believe you met my associate, Yolanda,” he said. Hoisting the phone again, he aimed. “Say cheese,” he said, and clicked. “The two of you get a little closer, okay? You know, snuggle up a bit?” He lowered the phone long enough for me to see his smug grin. “I get paid big bucks to deliver results. I want to keep this gravy train running full speed.”

  “Get out of here,” Joe said. “Get away from me.”

  “You can’t keep me off public property,” he said.

  “This is private property,” Joe said as he advanced on him. “You want to argue the point?”

  The man smirked. He made his way to a section of the lot that faced the street and stepped over the concrete divider onto the sidewalk. “Better?” He lifted the phone again and squeezed off more shots. “Come on, smile for the camera.”

  “I’m sorry, Grace,” Joe said. “Is this the guy you saw at dinner the other night?”

  Nodding, I came around the car to join him. The two of us were careful to maintain a respectable distance while the man at the sidewalk grabbed more photos and jeered.

  “That’s him all right,” I said with a rueful laugh. “All this time I thought he was following me.” I gave a sad laugh. “I sure sound full of myself, don’t I?”

  “Not at all, Grace. Completely understandable.”

  Joe turned to face the guy. Grinning hard through gritted teeth, he pointed to himself. “This a big enough smile for you?” Turning back to me, he sobered. “I have no idea how long this will keep up. Until the divorce is final, at least.”

  I waved and smiled at the would-be photographer. “Which is my best side? This,” I asked, turning to my right, “or this?” I turned to my left.

  The guy must not have enjoyed our attention. He pocketed the phone.

  Joe rested a hand on the hood of his car. “You came here to see . . . me?” he asked.

  “I did.” I smiled. “I knew where to find you.”

  He started toward me, then stopped himself, tilting his head toward the man at the sidewalk. “Are you willing to put up with this guy shadowing us for a little while?”

  “This guy and his partner, Yolanda,” I said.

  “Yes, Yolanda,” he said. “How could I forget?” He took a half step closer, his eyes bright and warm. “You know I’d like to kiss you right now,” he whispered.

  “You know I want you to,” I whispered back.

  “Hey, you two. A little louder. I can’t hear from this distance.”

  We both glanced back at the investigator. Still watching us, he ran the back of his hand against his forehead and shifted his weight.

  Joe turned to me. “What do you say? Are you free for dinner? Or drinks?”

  “How about both?” I said with a smile.

  “We could probably give him the slip, but that would just play into his game, wouldn’t it?”

  “It would.” I shrugged. “If he intends to be our chaperone, why not invite him along?”

  Joe laughed as he dug out his remote and unlocked the car. “We’re going to grab dinner now,” he shouted to the man.

  The guy jerked in surprise. “Smart aleck,” he shouted back.

  “Not kidding,” Joe said. “Feel free to join us. Not at the same table, though. You’re on your own for that.” Turning to me again, Joe said, “Where do you want to go?”

  “Hugo’s?”

  He gave me a wink and shouted again. “Better get moving, buddy. We’re leaving now. Stay close. I’ll try not to lose you.”

  Still looking skeptical, the man trotted over to a compact car parked on the side street. “You better not,” he shouted back.

  “This ought to be interesting,” I said.

  “Interesting.” Joe shook his head. “That’s one word for it, I guess. I’m just sorry to drag you into my troubles.”

  “Nope.” I squinted in the direction of the investigator, who was squeezing behind the wheel of his small car. “No dragging involved. I’m here because I want to be.” I met Joe’s eyes. “We’ll face this together.”

  He drew in a sharp breath. “Thank you.” He swallowed hard, then cleared his throat. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Me too,” I said as I opened the passenger door. “Let’s go.”

  What’s next on

  your reading list?

  Discover your next

  great read!

  * * *

  Get personalized book picks and up-to-date news about this author.

  Sign up now.