by Julie Hyzy
“I’ll take care of that. Is your morning free?” she asked, picking up the phone. “Can you meet them in an hour?”
“I’ll make it a priority to meet them whenever they can get here.” I sent another quick glance at the clock. “It may be too early for them.”
She sat up, poker straight. “Too early to protect the Mister? I think not.”
I stood to return to my office. “I’ll be here.”
“Good,” she said as she dialed. “Let me sort through some business. I have a few other pieces of news you may be interested in hearing, too.”
From the shrewd look in her eye, I deduced she had news of Jack. My stomach did an anticipatory flip-flop, as it usually did when I thought of him, but I tamped down my curiosity, reminding myself that there were bigger issues to deal with at the moment. Truth was, I’d had a great deal of time to think while Bennett and I had been away, and I’d come to a decision of sorts.
I’d no sooner stepped into my office when Frances called to me. “They’ll be here in less than a half hour.”
The woman might annoy most of the staff with her nosiness and dogged determination, but she took care of Bennett. I couldn’t ask for more. “Thanks, Frances.”
Chapter 17
ON THE OTHER END OF THE PHONE, BENNETT didn’t mince words. “I’ll be leaving in twenty minutes. With or without Terrence.”
“Can’t you wait until he shows up? Your board meeting is scheduled for two in the afternoon. Why are you leaving so early?”
“You really have to ask?” he said. “After all that happened, I plan to confront Vandeen Deinhart personally.”
I gasped so hard I nearly choked. “Is that wise?”
“Do you believe me incapable of taking care of myself?”
How to answer such a loaded question? “Of course not.”
“Then why do you insist on assigning a babysitter?”
“Terrence won’t be there to babysit. He’ll be there to keep an eye on things. Someone is out to get you. We need to take precautions.”
“We don’t know that anyone has targeted me. That Pinky may have been telling the truth when she said she was trying to poison the dog.”
“If you believed that, you wouldn’t feel the need to confront Vandeen.”
“My goal is simply to eliminate suspects. I don’t believe for a moment that he’s responsible, but until he’s cleared, we will all waste valuable time investigating him. I will not have my head of security running around on a fool’s mission.”
Bennett was being obstinate and we both knew it. I tried again. “Pinky was up to no good. We can agree on that much, can’t we?”
He muttered a barely audible, begrudging assent.
“I’m convinced she was on a mission.” I heard him take in a breath as though to interrupt. I kept talking before he could argue. “Terrence is objective . . .” And trained, I wanted to add. “It can’t hurt to have him accompany you, right?” Again, I plunged on before he could say anything. “Let him talk with Deinhart while you’re there. Get his take on the guy.”
“Too late. I’ve already scheduled an early meeting with Vandeen. He was reluctant to meet until I told him I was having second thoughts about the merger.”
“Are you?”
“Anyone in his right mind would have second thoughts about working with Vandeen. That’s good enough. I’m set to meet him an hour from now. You know how much I deplore tardiness.”
I did. Rubbing my forehead with my free hand, I wracked my brain for any excuse to stall. Coming up empty, I lifted my head to see Frances in the doorway, holding up a finger. “Hang on,” I said.
“There’s no point in trying—”
“It’s Frances,” I said. “She needs something.”
At the mention of my assistant’s name, Bennett quieted. “Find out what it is. And be quick. I don’t have much time.”
I placed a hand over the mouthpiece and sent her a quizzical look. “What’s up?”
She spoke in a stage whisper. “I got hold of Terrence. He’s on his way.”
I raised my eyes, thanking the heavens for my eavesdropping, busybody assistant. Before I could ask, she said, “He’s five minutes from here.”
I mouthed, “Got it. Thank you,” and returned to my conversation with Bennett. “Terrence will probably be upset, you know.”
“Certainly not.”
“I think he will be. You know he’s had a tough time trying to prove his worth to you.”
“With all the incidents we’ve had here, it’s no wonder.”
I lapsed into a wistful tone. “He was looking forward to going with you today.”
“Don’t feed me lines like that.”
I waited.
He gave a low growl. “I did agree to this yesterday,” he finally said. “How soon can he be here?”
“Five minutes?” I watched a happy gloat brighten Frances’s expression. She gave a self-satisfied nod and returned to her office. I spoke again into the phone. “Why don’t you stop down here before you leave?”
He made an impatient noise, but I could tell I’d won him over. “Trying to make sure I don’t sneak out on my own, are you?”
I laughed. “You know me too well.”
• • •
AFTER CALLING OUR WANNABE PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR, RONNY TOONEY, AND BRINGING him up to speed, I hung up and sent him a quick e-mail. I didn’t know what he might come up with, but from past experience I knew he’d give it his all.
I hit “Send” and sat back, thinking about that. I trusted Tooney, more than I would have ever imagined possible, given the way we’d first met. Who would have predicted him becoming part of the Marshfield family? I shook my head just as Bennett strode in.
“I’m here,” he said, making his way to my desk. “Where’s that security fellow?”
Frances appeared in the doorway between our offices. In a singsong voice, she said, “Came in one second after you did, Mr. Marshfield.” She stepped aside to allow Terrence to enter.
“Humph,” Bennett said. Addressing Terrence: “What exactly do you intend to do to keep me safe, young man? Jump in front of a speeding bullet?”
“Don’t say things like that,” I said.
With his hands behind his back and a tranquil expression, Terrence gave off a confident, quietly militaristic air. “I’m hoping that won’t be necessary, sir,” he said. “My goal is to stop anyone who means to do you harm before they have an opportunity to do so.”
Bennett folded his arms. “And I suppose she”—he nodded at me—“told you all sorts of frightening tales of conspiracies and murder plots.”
Terrence slid a glance in my direction, but answered without any trace of humor. “I’ve found Ms. Wheaton’s instincts to be consistently on target.” He waited a beat. “I believe I’ve heard you express a similar sentiment from time to time. Or have I misunderstood?”
Bennett growled again then tapped his watch. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One more thing,” I said. They both turned. “Please, don’t eat or drink anything. Not one thing.”
Understanding crossed Bennett’s features. He gave a brief nod. “Yes, Mom.”
Rodriguez and Flynn’s arrival halted the procession out the door. Frances clomped toward them, her face flushed with anger. I could practically read her mind—how dare they walk in unannounced? “May I help you?” she asked in a voice clearly meant to frost their preserves.
Rodriguez looked like he’d gained a few pounds in the weeks I’d been away. He’d blown past middle-aged spread and looked like he would soon leave portly in the dust. Tucking his chin into a wide, wobbly neck that draped over his collar like soft-serve ice cream on top of a brownie, he stared at Frances. “Yo
u called us, remember? Some sort of emergency?”
Time for me to step in. “I’m glad you’re here, Detectives,” I said. “I’ll bring you up to speed in a minute.”
Flynn had been scowling at Frances and now faced me with fire in his eyes. “What kind of trouble have you gotten into this time?” The younger detective hadn’t changed since I’d seen him last. Wiry, with army-short hair and a tendency to attack first and analyze later, he no longer scared me the way he had when we’d first met. I’d seen a softer side of him recently. While it didn’t change my overall opinion of the man, it did help to summon the patience necessary to deal with his tirades.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” I swept an arm toward the chairs opposite my desk.
As the two detectives made their way across my office, Frances led Bennett and Terrence into hers, where two of Terrence’s staff waited. I braced myself.
“What’s this?” Bennett spun to face me. “It’s bad enough you want me to look like a feeble old man who needs a companion to help him get around. You want me to be seen in public with three of these . . . attendants?”
“They aren’t attendants; they’re bodyguards,” I said.
“I can take care of myself.”
“No one doubts that.” The last thing I wanted was for Bennett to believe I thought less of him in any way. Especially after seeing how old age had affected Nico Pezzati. “Look at Marshfield. Look at all you’ve done to turn this beautiful home into a first-class museum and showplace. Look at all you’ve done for the people of Emberstowne, for your staff, for the people you care about.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know—”
“Then think about those people. All of us who work here. All of us who care about you, who are part of your life. Remember how we lost Abe.” I waited for that to sink in.
Bennett’s shoulders drooped. “They thought he was me,” he said softly.
“No one doubts that you can take care of yourself,” I said. “But these guards—people who work for you—are trained to spot problems before they explode. They’re protecting you, yes, but they’re also protecting everyone here at Marshfield.”
It had taken more effort than I’d anticipated, but Bennett finally seemed convinced. His chin came up and he wagged a finger at his protective contingent. “Let that be a lesson to you boys. Never argue with someone who’s smarter than you are.”
Terrence winked at me as he escorted Bennett out the door. “Tell that to the two detectives in there.”
I hoped Flynn and Rodriguez hadn’t heard Terrence’s remark. Frances had, because she snorted. “Speaking of those two, you want me to bring in coffee or something?”
“That sounds wonderful, Frances,” I said. “And when you bring it in, pull up a chair. I’d like you in on this conversation.”
Again, her tadpole brows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t comment. With a nod of acknowledgment she was gone.
“So . . .” Rodriguez stretched back in the leather chair as I returned to my office and sat behind my desk. “What’s the problem? From what we can tell, you haven’t had a murder here today. Not yet, at least. That’s a step in the right direction.”
“Thanks for that vote of confidence, Detective,” I said, “and you’re right. No murder here today. Unfortunately, however, Bennett and I were involved in a murder on our flight home.”
Rodriguez leaned forward. “Involved?”
Flynn leapt into the conversation. “You’re suspects?”
“Sorry to disappoint. We were mere witnesses. The thing is, although an innocent woman was killed, I believe Bennett was the real target.”
Rodriguez blinked slowly and sat back. “So that’s why there were news cameras camped outside the estate’s front door.”
My voice went high and limp. “There were? I was hoping to keep this under the media’s radar.”
“They were shouting questions I didn’t understand,” he said. “What the heck is a Curling Weasel?”
“They’re a band. Musicians.” Oh, geez. Adam was in deep trouble now.
With a skeptical look, Rodriguez pulled out his notebook and pen and perched them atop his ample midsection. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning.”
When I finished, Rodriguez’s gaze was more alert and Flynn’s slightly more relaxed. Exactly the responses I’d expected. It was clear that they both believed me, with Rodriguez now eager to jump into action, and Flynn less willing to point the finger of blame.
Frances rejoined us, bearing treats. Aromatic wisps twisted into the air above the bright coffee mugs, tantalizing us with cheerful caffeine as she set them before us, one by one. Sad to say that the two officers had been in my office enough times that we didn’t even need to ask them how they took their brew. Frances had included a plate of cookies and a mug for herself. She grabbed that last, cupped it in two hands, and lowered herself into a nearby chair. Flynn sent her a glare of disdain then looked over as though he expected me to toss her out.
“Thank you, Frances,” I said. “We’re all up to date now.”
The younger detective fidgeted as he refocused on the matter at hand. “You’re trying to tell me that the altercation on the airplane happened because Bennett Marshfield was targeted, but you don’t know by whom and you don’t know why.”
“There are only two possibilities I can come up with.” I knew how odd my guesses would sound to these men, and I hesitated.
“We’re listening,” Flynn said, his eyes bulging with impatience. He hadn’t touched his coffee, yet as usual, he was the jitteriest of the bunch.
I talked about Bennett’s concerns with regard to Vandeen Deinhart and I told them about the board meeting today. Rodriguez nodded. “If Deinhart was behind the original attempt, he won’t try anything today. Not while the press is sniffing around Mr. Marshfield.” He continued to scribble notes. “When will this sale between the businesses go through?”
“They’re supposed to settle that question this afternoon.”
Rodriguez frowned. “We’ll work under the assumption that it’s soon. What’s this other possibility you mentioned?”
I bit my lip then plunged on. “There was this skull . . .”
Flynn practically shot out of his chair, sloshing his coffee. “A human skull?”
I mentally smacked myself in the head for giving him such an opening. “Let me start again. When we were in Italy, we visited a friend who showed us a piece of art. An extremely valuable piece—a skull sculpture.”
Flynn’s free hand loosened its grip on the chair’s arm, and he regarded me skeptically. I went on to explain how Bennett had tagged the skull as a fake, but how his friend Nico Pezzati apparently was unaware that his priceless treasure had been replaced by a phony.
“What did Pezzati do when Mr. Marshfield pointed out the counterfeit?” Rodriguez asked.
“He didn’t,” I said. “But we’re afraid Bennett’s reaction might have been noticed.”
“Who was in the group when this happened?” Rodriguez asked, jotting notes again.
I listed everyone: Signor Pezzati; his daughter, Irena; Angelo, the personal assistant; and Cesare Sartori, the art dealer. I’d made a copy of the little man’s business card and handed it to Flynn, who stared at it with contempt. For a flash of a moment, I saw what he might have looked like as a little boy. I wondered what had soured him so badly on life.
“What’s this Angelo’s last name?” Rodriguez asked.
I didn’t know.
Frances sat just outside our little triangle, watching our interplay with impatient eyes. “I’m sure I could find out for you if you need it.”
Rodriguez rolled his tongue around in his mouth, like he was rearranging a meatball—a pretty tasty one, from the looks of it. He finished by smacking his lips. “Let’s hold off
on that. You said yourself that Mr. Marshfield didn’t make any accusations. And the thief who stole the original skull—if it really was stolen—might not have even been present when you were there.”
“But—”
The older detective wagged his head. “It’s too thin. This business problem on the other hand”—he went back to slogging his tongue around in his cheek—“that we can look into.”
“I realize that a theft that occurred in Italy is out of your jurisdiction—”
Flynn barked a laugh. “I’ll say.”
“But what if—”
A slow smile broke over Rodriguez’s soft features. “You can’t help yourself, can you Ms. Wheaton? Planning to help investigate, are you?”
I didn’t answer.
Frances sniffed. “Seems to me she’s had more success finding murderers than you two have. I think you ought to listen to her.”
“That’s the problem, y’old busybody. Nobody asked you to think.”
“Whoa.” I stood, pointing a finger at Flynn. “That was uncalled for.”
Rodriguez reached over—a futile attempt to calm Flynn down. But the younger man wasn’t paying attention. With hot anger shooting out in almost visible sparks, he stood, too. “The two of you have been our biggest problem. If you’d stay out of our way and let us do our jobs—”
“Then what?” I asked. “If we left you unchecked, our murder rate would skyrocket.”
Flynn’s face went white, then red. Without looking at Rodriguez, he said, “We’re done here. Good luck keeping your boss safe,” and stormed out of the room.
Rodriguez heaved a deep sigh as he stood to leave. “I apologize for my young colleague.”
I waved his attempt away, ashamed of myself for letting my anger show. “My fault. I shouldn’t have allowed it to escalate.”
Frances, who’d thrown the verbal jab that had started this skirmish, stood with her arms folded across her chest, looking smug. I knew better than to expect any apologies from her.
Chapter 18