Grace Sees Red

by Julie Hyzy

  Sunset View’s elderly proprietor poked his nose into the doorway of number eight. “If there was any illegal business going on here, I wasn’t aware of it.” He blinked big eyes and tried to peer around Madigan to get a better look. “I run a reputable establishment.” He craned his neck. “Is that woman dead?”

  One of the uniformed cops grabbed the guy’s arm. “Sir, I need to ask you to step back,” he said as he guided him away.

  “This is my hotel,” the old man shouted. “I have every right to be here. And those two women were suspicious from the very start.”

  “Please step back.” The cop took him out of my line of sight. “Until we give the all clear I don’t want you closer than room number five. Understood?”

  He must have complied because I didn’t hear another peep.

  After Frances and I provided statements, we were told we were free to go. “Thank goodness,” I said as we gathered our overnight bags and purses.

  “Finally, I say,” Frances said.

  We’d just stepped out of number seven and were making our way to my car when Tooney pulled in, parking next to the police squad shining its spotlight into number eight’s doorway.

  “Grace,” Tooney said as he raced over to us, “what happened? Are you all right?”

  “Don’t bother asking about me,” Frances said.

  Even in the dim light I could tell Tooney’s face colored. “I’m sorry, Frances. When I asked, I meant both of you.”

  “Of course you did.” She rolled her eyes. To me, she said, “Let’s get out of here. Are you up for driving back to Emberstowne tonight?”

  “I am.” In truth, I couldn’t wait to get back. “But you aren’t staying alone tonight. You’re coming home with me. Don’t even try to argue.”

  She rolled her eyes for good measure, then jerked a thumb at me. “Can you believe her?” she asked Tooney. Frowning, she faced me again. “Have it your way, Miss Bossypants.”

  As we made our way to our cars, Tooney nudged me and whispered, “Nicely done.”

  * * *

  “Can you believe it has been only a week since this whole mess got started?” Bennett asked the following morning.

  Even though it was Sunday—not a regular workday—he, Frances, and I were gathered in my office, sipping coffee, and waiting for Rodriguez and Flynn to make an appearance. Tooney had gotten in touch with them both last night, but apparently Rodriguez had insisted on coming in today to get the full story in person.

  “Only a week?” Frances asked. She clucked her disapproval. “It feels like a lifetime. When I think of how close I came to being incarcerated . . .” She affected a shudder.

  “I spoke with Lily Holland early this morning,” Bennett said. “She assured me that she’s following up to make certain that this matter is expunged from your record and your reputation remains clear, Frances.” He leaned forward, returning his coffee cup to its saucer, then addressed me. “Gracie, my girl, you were in the thick of things again. Despite our best efforts, we can’t seem to keep you out of trouble.”

  “It isn’t just me involved in these situations,” I said. “You’re still recovering from being shot. This time, they were after Frances. I was an afterthought.”

  “But you’re the common denominator,” Frances said. “Ever since you came here, life has gotten dangerous for us all.”

  “What are we to do with you, Gracie?” Bennett asked.

  I was spared answering when a voice hollered from the other room. “Where are our ace detectives?” Rodriguez called.

  I got to my feet as he strode through the door between our offices.

  Flynn followed behind, scowling. “When are you two going to learn to leave police business to the police?” he asked.

  When a third party came through the door, I knew my face gave away my surprise. “Good morning,” he said.

  “Joe? What are you doing here?” Back to using his cane, Joe Bradley followed Flynn. He wore an eager expression, as though he wanted to cross the room far faster than he was able.

  “Detective Rodriguez invited me along. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Sure, because it’s never a party at Marshfield until the coroner shows up,” Flynn said.

  Joe’s brows jumped and Rodriguez slid Flynn a baleful glare. “Good thing you’re not on the welcoming committee, amigo.” He turned to me and winked. “I think my partner hasn’t had his morning coffee yet.”

  “It’s on its way,” I said. “In the meantime, have a seat. And tell us everything you know.”

  As we settled ourselves, coffee and pastries arrived. Flynn was the first to help himself. “You guys always do set out a nice spread,” he said.

  Even though that was probably the friendliest thing the young cop had ever said to us, Frances harrumphed. “Don’t get used to it.”

  Once the servers left, Rodriguez cleared his throat. “We had a nice conversation with the Rosette cops last night, and they were kind enough to provide an update this morning,” he said. “As you know, Dan has been charged with murder. What’s frightening is how easily he could have gotten away with it.”

  “Gotten away with killing Gus, maybe,” I said. “His ultimate goal was to gain control of his father’s money. That was never going to happen. Too bad Gus never shared the provisions of his will with his sons. He might still be alive today.”

  “Very true,” Rodriguez said.

  “That nurse Debbie was a real pro,” Flynn said. “The Rosette cops are looking into her background. There are a couple of unexplained deaths at elder-care homes she may have had a hand in when she worked at those facilities.”

  “How did she get the job at Indwell if she’s been under suspicion in the past?” Bennett asked.

  Flynn shook his head. “She was never tied to any of these deaths. Not officially. It’s only now, after the incident at Indwell, that the Rosette police are having those other places take a closer look at Debbie’s involvement.”

  “It may turn out that she’s innocent, but Flynn and I suspect she was one of those angel of mercy types. Dan claims that Debbie assured him this would work because she’d done it before.”

  “Angel of mercy?” Flynn snorted. “More like vulture of mercy.”

  “Once the two of you”—Rodriguez pointed to me and Frances in turn—“came up with the brilliant idea of testing the syringe caps for DNA, Debbie was never getting off scot-free. She just didn’t know it yet.”

  “Thanks to Joe and his observation about the heparin lock, we knew to focus on the nursing staff,” I said. He nodded acknowledgment. “That helped immensely.”

  “And seeing them together at the restaurant,” Frances said. “Well, I didn’t see them personally. But when Grace hustled me out of there, I knew something was up.”

  “The thing is,” Rodriguez said, “they could have gotten away with murder if it hadn’t been for that other nurse sounding the alarm. That was the one variable Dan and Debbie hadn’t counted on.”

  “Why did she leave one syringe cap?” I asked. “She had to know it was there.”

  “According to Dan, she didn’t realize it was missing until she put the empties back in Percy’s room. She intended to go back for it after Gus was declared dead and taken away. She intended to replace Percy’s empties at a later date as well. She never expected anyone to notice the irregularities so quickly.”

  “Yeah, if it weren’t for Santiago, Gus’s death may not have raised an eyebrow,” Flynn said. “It’s a good thing he caused the ruckus, otherwise those two murderers would’ve skated.”

  “What are you saying? We should be grateful to Santiago for getting the police to arrest me?” Frances puffed herself up. “I’d like to hear you say that if you were in my shoes.”

  “No one is happy that you had to go through all that,” Rodriguez said soothingly. “But because of your inv
olvement—and Grace’s—justice prevailed. You should be very proud of how you handled yourself throughout this ordeal. If it weren’t for you, this crime may have never been detected, let alone solved.”

  “Hmph,” she said, but I could tell she was pleased.

  Chapter 38

  Eager to resume the lesson Bennett had initiated more than a week ago, I met him in his study, as agreed, immediately after work Friday afternoon. “I’m finally caught up with everything I ignored last week,” I said. “And I can’t help thinking about what you were going to show me before Frances’s phone call threw our lives into a tizzy.”

  Bennett glanced at his watch. “It’s after five o’clock on a weekend night,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be out on a hot date instead of spending time with your old uncle this evening?”

  I laid a hand on his arm as we made our way to the second-level dead-end corridor that had perplexed me last time we were there. “My evening is completely free, and I’m absolutely delighted to be spending it with you.”

  He patted my hand. “I worry about you, Gracie. I worry you spend too much time here and not enough time enjoying life.”

  “If we could manage a few months without a murder investigation, that would help,” I said. “But . . .”

  He turned to me.

  “If you must know,” I said with a grin, “I do have plans tomorrow night. With a young man.”

  “A date?” He arched one white brow. “Anyone I know?”

  “An honest-to-goodness date. The first one in a long time. And yes, you’ve met him.”

  Bennett made a small noise that I took as approval. “I hope you and Dr. Bradley have a wonderful time.”

  I stopped to face him. “How did you know?”

  Bennett tucked my hand deeper into the crook of his arm and resumed walking. “I can tell by the way he looks at you.”

  “Really?” I found myself warmed by the thought.

  Bennett smiled down at me. “Really.”

  When we got to the fawn-colored corridor with the skinny window far to my left and the wide one to my right, I ran my hand across the long, curved wall between them, shaking my head.

  “I can’t figure it out,” I said. “You’ve hinted that there’s a secret space around here, but I can’t imagine how that can be, not with a two-story library just on the other side.”

  “You worked so hard to help Frances,” Bennett said with an indulgent smile, “it isn’t fair to make you work to uncover any more. I give.”

  Amused, I watched as he pivoted and made his way to the oak stairway leading up to the next level. Placing his left hand atop the acorn-shaped finial that topped the staircase’s handrail, he smiled. “Observe,” he said.

  Using both hands now, he twisted the acorn counterclockwise.

  There came a soft click, followed by a gentle rumbling that sounded a lot like wood moving smoothly along a ball-bearing base. As though someone nearby was opening a heavy pocket door.

  Bennett pointed behind me. “Take a look.”

  I turned.

  The fawn-colored wall was opening, moving from my right to my left. There wasn’t a secret door or a hidden panel that popped open; the entire curved wall was sliding sideways. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth fall open as the area beyond the moving façade was revealed.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  Bennett remained silent as I stepped closer to examine the unusual space. The wall had disappeared—exactly the way a pocket door might, except on a much larger scale—allowing us access to a narrow ribbon of walkway that followed the same curvature of the missing wall and the second floor of the library behind it. A skinny stairway led up to my left.

  I pointed. “May I?”

  “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

  I crept slowly up the stairs. There were about a dozen. “Stone,” I remarked as Bennett followed. “These have been here for a long time.”

  “They’re part of the original plans,” he said.

  At the top of the steps, a narrow doorway. “No lock?” I asked.

  “Anyone who’s gotten this far deserves to be here,” he said with a smile.

  I opened the door, crossed the threshold, and drew in a gasp of delight.

  That we were above the library wasn’t a surprise. That there was this space, this glorious, sun-filled, second library—one that offered a 360-degree view of Marshfield Manor property—was.

  “Breathtaking,” I said as I took a tentative step toward the nearest bookcase. “The library ceiling is directly below us. Is it safe to walk?”

  “Perfectly safe,” he said. “Marshfields have traversed this floor many times over the decades.”

  “But the mural on the ceiling below,” I said. “Won’t a lot of foot traffic disturb the plaster behind it? Won’t it crack?”

  “I don’t anticipate a great deal of foot traffic up here, do you?”

  I laughed. “Good point.”

  Unfurnished, the oval room was wide open and bare, except for the books. They occupied every shelf of the waist-high bookcases that lined the room’s perimeter.

  “This is amazing,” I said as I reached for the nearest volume. Less than two seconds later, my mouth dropped open for the second time that day. “Audubon’s Birds of America?”

  Bennett nodded.

  I scanned the shelves again. “These books,” I said, finding it difficult to form words. “These are all first editions?”

  “Mostly,” he said. “I keep a few sentimental favorites up here, too. Some of those aren’t quite so valuable.”

  “But,” I said, “but you have hundreds of first editions downstairs. All over the mansion.”

  He seemed amused by my flustered response. “But these are the ones I treasure most. I knew this space existed, but it had gone largely unused for decades. Back in the early 1990s, I brought in experts on book preservation to advise me on temperature, humidity, and other important considerations for preserving paper. With their help, I had it converted to what you see now. I call it the Library Annex. Or Annex, for short.”

  “This is beyond belief.”

  “I take it you approve?”

  I carefully placed the Audubon book back where I’d found it. “How could I not?”

  Bennett allowed me to explore the Annex for the next hour or so. Finally, I admitted that it was too much to take in at once and we headed back down to his study.

  “When can we visit the Annex again?” I asked.

  Bennett shook his head. “Gracie, when will you learn? This home is yours now. Every inch of it. Come and go as you please.”

  “You are too generous,” I said.

  He reached an arm around my shoulders and hugged me tight. “No, I’m family.”

  * * *

  After dinner, Bennett and I returned to his study to chat.

  “You heard that Frances has decided to bring Percy to Emberstowne to live?” Bennett asked.

  “She told me,” I said. “I quote: ‘Well, since everybody in town now knows what went on at Indwell, there’s no point in hiding him anymore.’ She’s hoping to hire a part-time caregiver next week.”

  Bennett sat back. “I knew she wanted him out of Indwell as soon as possible. I didn’t realize she was moving that quickly.”

  “There’s still a question of where he’ll live. That’s up in the air. She thinks it’s improper for him to move in with her if they’re not married.”

  “Plus, her house is not wheelchair-accessible.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “And then there’s Kyle.”

  Bennett raised his eyebrows. “How does he figure into this?”

  “Apparently, this incident at Indwell gave Kyle the leverage he needed to convince his parents that he ought to be allowed to live on his own. With a caregiver, of course. He and Percy get
along well enough. They want to try rooming together out here.”

  “I give them credit,” he said.

  “As do I.”

  “Speaking of roommates, I know that you’re moving forward on the purchase of the Granite Building. Any news in that arena?”

  I nodded. “Barring any surprise from the building inspectors, we should be able to close on the property within thirty days.”

  “Bruce and Scott must be so relieved.”

  “And excited. I am, too. This is a whole new adventure for all of us,” I said. “And Gus’s friend Anton has agreed to work with us when we’re ready to expand.”

  “That’s wonderful news.”

  I inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “Life is good right now,” I said. “Let’s hope things stay quiet for a little while.”

  “For a long while.”

  Bennett had barely gotten the sentiment out when my cell phone rang.

  “It’s Bruce,” I said, then answered. “We were just talking about you.”

  “I hate to bother you while you’re busy with Bennett,” he said haltingly, “but this involves him, too.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Bennett sat forward and I instinctively tightened my grip on the phone.

  “Nothing yet,” Bruce said, “But . . .”

  He let the thought trail off for too long.

  “What is it, Bruce? What’s going on?”

  “The phone rang here at home,” he said. “It was your aunt Belinda so we didn’t answer. But she left a message.”

  I sucked in a breath as my heart rate ratcheted into high gear. “What is it?” I asked. “What did she say?”

  “It’s about your sister,” he said. “Liza’s being released.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  New York Times bestselling author Julie Hyzy writes the White House Chef Mysteries and the Manor House Mysteries for Berkley Prime Crime, and has won both the Anthony and Barry awards for her work. A native Chicagoan, she thoroughly enjoys researching her books, especially when traveling to exciting new places is involved. Visit her books online at juliehyzy.com, facebook.com/Julie.Hyzy, and twitter.com/JulieHyzy.