by Julie Hyzy
“Worse than Hillary?”
I thought about my estranged sister. How she’d taken off with my fiancé about a year before. They were married now, heaven help them both, and although she hadn’t come running back for a handout lately, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be darkening my doorstep soon. “She’s worse,” I finally said. “Hillary wants your money, yes . . .”
He laughed. “I love a girl who speaks her mind.”
“But Hillary also wants family. She has no one besides you.”
“Besides us.”
“I shudder to think what would happen if she knew there was that possibility . . .” I let the thought hang, then returned to the original subject, leaning forward in my chair. “Besides, the test can’t prove beyond a doubt that we are related. It can only prove the likelihood. What if the results show that we can’t possibly be related?” I asked.
He reached forward to grab my arm. “That’s the thing,” he said, “they won’t.”
“If you’re so certain of the results, then why bother to do it at all?”
“So that no one—not even Hillary—can ever contest my will.”
I froze. “What? No, Bennett. No. You can’t include me. Not even a little bit. That wouldn’t be right.”
He pointed at me. “Your reaction tells me I’m making the right decision.”
I resorted to my “serious” voice. “Bennett, you can’t.”
“Of course, I can. But I understand your concerns. How about this . . .”
I watched him warily. His eyes twinkled, which meant he was up to something.
“You don’t tell me what to do with my will, and I’ll stick around so you won’t have to worry about what’s in it. Deal?”
“Bennett . . .”
“That is as good as you are going to get for the moment.”
I took a deep breath. “You can be exasperating.”
“One of my charms,” he said. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
As I relaxed again, he added, “Think about the blood test. Make an old man happy.” When I opened my mouth to reply, he cut me off. “That’s the last I’ll say of the matter.”
“Okay.”
He grinned. “For now.”
I shot him a warning look that didn’t have the impact I’d hoped for. “Changing the subject,” he began again, “I’d like to meet the young man who was shot. Do you think you could coordinate that? I’d like to convey my sincere apologies.”
“I’m sure that can be arranged.”
“Good.” He stood up. “Let me know when and I’ll make myself available. You know I have so many social conflicts to work around.” He rolled his eyes.
“You keep busier than half the people I know. I’ll bet you’re on your way to some fabulous event right now.”
He gave a short laugh. “Not so fabulous. A boring meeting with my lawyer.” He waved his hand as though shooing a fly. “Routine stuff.”
We parted ways at the Sword Room door. I didn’t want to think about death and inheritance. I also knew that Hillary had been trying in vain to get him to leave the entire estate to her instead of to Emberstowne. She promised on her solemn honor to keep her stepfather’s vision alive. The only person I think she’d actually fooled into believing that she’d follow through was herself.
I wasn’t afraid that Bennett would change the trust, but I knew he had personal effects numbering in the thousands. Maybe he intended to leave me something personal. I shook my head. The idea of a world without Bennett was not one I wanted to contemplate.
While I would be honored to be included, the truth was that we’d only gotten to know one another over the past year. Any overt generosity on his part toward me—without any explanation as to why he thought me worthy of inclusion—could render his entire will suspect. Hillary could weasel in by the tips of her fingers and create doubt, perhaps significant enough to land her a larger share of whatever Bennett intended to leave. That would be the exact opposite of Bennett’s wishes and I couldn’t allow that to happen.
If he insisted on including me, Hillary’s reaction posed a real risk. If I consented to a blood test and it proved Bennett and I were probable blood relatives, what then?
Chapter 14
RONNY TOONEY MET ME OUTSIDE MY BACK door the next morning. I’d called him and requested we meet, so encountering him this time wasn’t a shock. “How’s Bootsie?” he asked when I closed the door and made sure it locked securely.
“She’s doing very well,” I said. “If we had more time, I’d invite you in to see her.”
Tooney’s face registered pleasure. “Things sure have changed from when we first met,” he said. “Are you getting tired of constantly ordering me away?”
“What can I say? You’ve worn me down.”
His pudgy, homely face creased into an expression of great delight. So much so that I couldn’t help myself from saying, “You know, Tooney, you’re a pretty handsome fella when you smile like that. I’ll bet you’re quite the heartbreaker.”
His glee disappeared in a flash and I realized I’d inadvertently struck a nerve. I wanted to apologize, but sensed that would only make things worse.
“What did you want to see me about?” he asked.
Taking his cue to change the subject, I launched into my request. “Remember a few months ago you told me that former employees often donated their old uniforms to the resale shop or sold them on consignment at secondhand stores?”
He nodded, his doughy face somber. “You said you stopped that practice. You told me you now require employees to turn in their uniforms whenever they retire or quit.”
“Exactly right. But that was like closing the stable after the horse ran out. There are still quite a few old uniforms circulating, and from what I understand they’ve become collectible. We inadvertently created a secondary market for Marshfield blazers when we started demanding their return.”
“What do you need from me?”
“You heard that the killer was dressed as a Marshfield employee, right?”
He nodded.
“The police are following down all the leads they can,” I went on, “but I keep remembering how you brought this to my attention months ago. You saw a vulnerability that others missed.”
He brightened. “I did, didn’t I?”
“I’d like you to investigate. Track down this lead.”
“Won’t the detectives run me in for interfering?”
“I’ll talk with Rodriguez,” I said. “He wants me to continue looking at how one of our blazers got into the wrong hands, and you’re the one I trust to get this done.”
You’d have thought I’d given Tooney a million dollars. “I won’t let you down.”
“I know you won’t.”
A flicker of fear crossed his eyes. “Can I . . . that is . . . when I need to report back, would it be all right if I came in person? To Marshfield?”
My heart gave a little tug at his simple request. I’d banished him from the manor after he’d been caught impersonating a cop during Abe’s murder investigation.
“Sure,” I said. “I’ll leave word with Terrence.”
I gave him a rough description of the killer as provided by Mark and the tour director. “It’s not much to go on,” I said, “but it may help if someone remembers someone buying one of those blazers. And when you talk to people, keep in mind that the killer might have a birthmark or tattoo here.” I fingered my own neck in emphasis.
“I’m on it,” he said.
* * *
RATHER THAN PUT MY CELL PHONE ON speaker on my drive to Marshfield, I sat in my driveway and put in a quick call to Rodriguez to remind him about Tooney looking into the matter of the rogue blazer. The detective had encouraged me to follow up on my end, but I wasn’t entirely certain he’d be thrilled to know Tooney was on the case. He surprised me, however, by telling me it was a good plan.
“We can use all the help we can get,” he said. “I’ll be in touch with him today.
We’re following up with anyone who had contact with Ms. Honore before her death, and Mr. Tooney certainly qualifies.”
“That doesn’t sound too promising.” If they had solid leads, they’d be tracking those down, not following up with a private-eye wannabe who’d accidentally crossed paths with Lenore. “Is the task force stalled?”
He heaved another of his deep sighs. “My partner won’t admit it, but we got nothing. Zero. What about Mr. Marshfield? Did you ask him if he had any business appointments that day?”
“I did, and he didn’t.”
“That’s something then. The man with the briefcase may wind up being a suspect after all. But he didn’t resemble the description that the tour guide and the victim gave us. Right now that’s all we’ve got: an average, possibly slim, middle-aged guy. You have thousands of people in and out of the mansion every single day. That description fits probably twenty percent of them.”
“Except for the birthmark or tattoo,” I said.
“The one that no one is really sure exists?” he asked. “The tour guide wasn’t positive, and the victim didn’t even remember seeing it until we asked about it. If it’s there, it’s small and easily hidden. To be frank, our best lead may be the one you gave us.”
“Me?”
“The guy you saw in the lobby of the Oak Tree Hotel. He acted suspicious, right? He’s our best hope for a lead right now.”
My wild suspicion was their best hope? If so, that was terrible news. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“Not your fault.” His voice was resigned.
“Where is Lenore right now?” I asked. “That is, where has she been taken?”
“Autopsy is complete. Her neck was broken, most likely before she was pushed.”
“This killer was ruthless.”
“All that’s left is for us to release the body and she can go home for burial.”
“Who’s taking care of that?” I asked. “Does she have family?”
“Her ex-husband put us in contact with a sister. I talked with her. She’s understandably distraught.” He made a sad noise. “At least we can feel good about that. Lenore will be taken care of by someone who loves her.”
I thought about my sister and how much I would not want her taking care of me. But all I said was, “Yeah.”
“Any updates on your inventory?” he asked. “Has anything else gone missing?”
“We’ve checked and double-checked inventories and believe nothing else has disappeared except the golden horn. I’ve got a call in to our insurance company, and I did have a chance to talk with my friend at the Kane Estate again. She doesn’t have anything further to offer in terms of suspects, but she said she would be willing to talk with you if you ever have questions.”
“Appreciate that, but we don’t see any connection at this point. We will eventually get in touch if there’s reason to. In the meantime, thank her for us, will you?”
I promised I would. “One more thing,” I said. “I plan to allow the DVD filming company to resume as soon as you give me the all clear.”
“Consider it given,” he said. “We’ve catalogued all the samples and photos we require. If we need to come back and revisit the crime scene, I’ll contact you.”
“Fair enough.”
“One more thing, Ms. Wheaton. Do you believe there’s any chance the thefts are tied to the DVD film crew?”
I thought about the people I’d met. Even though I’d harbored suspicions about Donald Lee Runge and Harry Hinton, I didn’t have any reason to suspect they’d actually stolen anything. Neither one closely resembled the killer’s description. “It would be hard for any of the film crew to steal while our security is watching.”
“Don’t they have access to the back areas, and don’t they have knowledge about your security protocols? Either could make things easier for a determined thief.”
“True,” I agreed, “and it’s possible. I just don’t have any proof.”
Rodriguez heaved another deep sigh. “Join the club.”
* * *
FRANCES LOOKED UP WHEN I WALKED IN. SHE held up her left wrist. “You’re late.”
“Are you keeping tabs on me now?”
With a huff, she slammed a palm onto her desk. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you could have gotten into?”
“What happened?”
She glared. “Nothing. That’s exactly my point.”
I raised my hands. “I give up. What are you talking about?”
“You arrive every morning at the same time. Give or take ten minutes. You’re very predictable, as you should be. If you’re going to be late, you call and tell me. Today you’re late and you haven’t called in. We’re all well aware of your tendency to get into trouble, and I don’t like it one bit.”
I glanced at the clock. My talk with Tooney and subsequent phone call with Rodriguez had set me back about a half hour. I suddenly understood. Frances had been worried—about me. After our little adventure together a few weeks ago, we’d been getting along a great deal better, but this was unprecedented. “I apologize, Frances,” I said. “I didn’t realize the time.”
“You need to do better,” she said again with a huff. “What happens if you get into trouble again? It will fall to me to contact the police. How am I supposed to know whether you’re running late or a killer is holding you hostage?”
“Let me bring you up to date.” I told her about my plan involving Ronny Tooney, and I let her know that, unfortunately, the police weren’t coming up with any solid leads.
“They should bring that woman back,” she said. “Tank. The detective from Michigan. She was good.”
“I’ve thought the same thing, myself.”
“Hmph,” she said, returning to work on whatever project she’d begun.
I took that as a cue that our conversation had ended, but as I reached the doorway to my office she spoke again. “If they were smart, they’d put the three of us in charge of this mess. We’d have it cleared up in a hurry.”
With one hand on the jamb, I turned. “The three of us?”
“You, me, and that Tank,” she said with a shrug. “Who else?”
* * *
I CALLED CORBIN TO MAKE ARRANGEMENTS for resuming filming the next morning. “Thank heavens,” Corbin said. “My crew was going stir crazy at that hotel.”
A little light sparked in my brain. “While I have you on the phone,” I began, “do you have anyone on staff who looks like this?” I went on to describe the man I encountered in the Oak Tree lobby.
“Doesn’t sound like any of the crew,” he said, “but if I find that any of my guys has shaved his head recently, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate it,” I said.
“Will you be around for the filming again?”
“As much as I’d love to, with everything that’s happened recently, I need to be in my office as much as possible. But don’t worry. Our head of security, Terrence Carr, will be with you and his team will help make sure everything goes smoothly.”
“I understand,” he said. “But you ought to know that Mr. Marshfield is quite insistent about you being part of the project.”
As soon as I’d hung up the phone, Frances appeared in the doorway. “He’s on his way out, you know,” she said.
“Who is?”
“Carr. Ever since he got here, we’ve been having nothing but murders.”
I thought about how Bennett and I had had the same conversation. “The same could be said about me.”
“You, at least, have had a hand in solving the crimes. What has Terrence done? Nothing, to my mind.” She seemed to be waiting for me to say something further. When I didn’t respond, she said, “Thought you’d want to know. The Mister is none too pleased.”
A few hours later, my cell phone rang. I glanced at the display before answering, not recognizing the phone number. “Grace Wheaton,” I said.
“Yes, hello,” the male voice said, “I’m calling to register a complaint
.”
Even as I wondered how on earth a guest could have gotten my personal number, I asked, “How may I help you?”
“The accommodations here at the Marshfield Hotel are much too luxurious. Everything is far too pleasant. If I stay here another day I won’t ever be able to return to my ordinary life in Colorado.”
I’d recognized Mark’s voice by the time he’d gotten halfway through his spiel and decided to play along. “I’m sorry to hear that. What on earth were we thinking when we put you there? I’ll make arrangements to have you returned to the Oak Tree at once.”
He began to laugh, as did I. “No thanks,” he said, “I think I can tough it out a little longer.”
“How are things going?” I asked, hoping for an update on the investigation.
“Your friend Detective Flynn had me visit the police station to look at some mug shots.”
“And?”
“Nothing. I can’t say that I’m able to describe the killer perfectly, but I have no doubt that I’d recognize the guy if I ever saw him again.”
“I hope you don’t.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Is everything else going well?” I asked. “Anything you need?”
“Now that you ask, there is something . . .”
My heart fluttered a little faster. “Sure, what is it?”
“I’d love to have dinner with you,” he said, quickly adding, “and just so you don’t think of me as some kind of loser who takes advantage of others’ generosity, I’d like to find a great little spot in town where the magical Marshfield credit card won’t work and where I get the chance to take a lady out. I was hoping you’d be free tonight.”
I felt myself blush and thanked heaven he couldn’t see it. What was with me, anyway? “That sounds wonderful. What time?”
“There is one small glitch,” he said.
I was about to ask what that was, but then remembered. “You don’t have a car.”
“Bingo.”
“I’ll pick you up then. What time?”
We settled on seven o’clock. “I’ll make reservations,” he said. “Any suggestions as to where?”