Grace Takes Off

by Julie Hyzy

  Even though it was still early, the day was swelteringly hot. You’d never guess it to look at Hillary, whose blonde hair was pulled back in a sleek low ponytail. She wore a navy-and-white-striped sleeveless tank over white cropped pants. She belonged on a yacht, not my dilapidated front porch. I pushed open the screen door to allow her in, making sure Bootsie didn’t make a break for escape. I know I wanted to.

  Hillary smiled as widely as I’d ever seen, making me even more wary. She carried a dish, covered in aluminum foil. “Thank you,” she said, making her way in. “Now that we’re neighbors, I thought I’d stop by and say hello properly.” She handed the dish to me. “Here. I made them myself.”

  I peeled the foil back to reveal a mountain of gorgeous, gooey raspberry bars individually displayed in crisp paper serving cups. “Hillary, you shouldn’t have,” I said. “You’re the new neighbor. I’m supposed to be bringing goodies to your house as a welcome.”

  She waved me off. “Why stand on ceremony?” she said. Very un-Hillary-like. What was she up to?

  I closed the front door and noticed that she’d bent over to cup Bootsie’s face in her hands. The little mongrel was eating up the attention with half-closed eyes and an audible purr. “Look at this sweetheart. I didn’t know you had a cat. Boy or girl?”

  “Girl. Bootsie.”

  Hillary eyed her up and down. “Still a kitten, isn’t she?”

  “You know cats?”

  “Always. Baxter’s my only prince at the moment, but he’s getting up there in age. Almost twelve.”

  I invited her to sit in the parlor while I put the raspberry bars away in the kitchen. To my surprise, she followed me in and pulled out a chair at the table. Okay. Casual it is. I changed my trajectory and placed the dish of sweets between us.

  “Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

  She demurred, folding her hands atop the table and tilting her head in such a way that she was studying me from beneath artfully mascaraed lashes. The coquettish move, if meant to disarm, was utterly lost on me. I dragged out the chair and sat, bringing our gazes level.

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” she said.

  That was an understatement.

  “You said you wanted to be neighborly.” I pointed to the dish of raspberry bars.

  “That’s the main reason, of course.” She gave a quick smile, acknowledging that we both knew she’d come up with an excuse to cover her real agenda.

  Hard as I tried to come up with a possible explanation for her presence at my kitchen table, I couldn’t. I waited, selecting a raspberry bar from the tempting pile. I should pull out plates, I thought, then gave a mental shrug. Each bar had its own pastel cupcake paper. Good enough.

  “I do have one other reason.” Another flash of teeth. “I’d like to ask a teensy favor.”

  My cell phone rang. Was that relief on Hillary’s face? The interruption gave us both breathing space. I didn’t recognize the number, though the area code told me it was a local call. I stood up to answer, making my way toward the front of the house for privacy even though this could turn out to be nothing more than a pesky telemarketer. “Hello?”

  “Is this . . . Miss Grace Wheaton?” The heavy accent and halting English was a giveaway, but to be polite, I let him go on. “This is Rudy.” He hurried to clarify, “The flight attendant from the plane,” as though I wouldn’t be able to put that together. “I am very happy you have seen the message I left for you.”

  “Yes, I did,” I said, speaking slowly. “Although I have to admit I was surprised to hear from you.”

  “I am apologetic if I am intruding.”

  “Not at all,” I said, crossing the dining room and parlor to put some distance between me and Hillary. There was nothing particularly secretive about this phone call, I realized, but I still preferred to keep Hillary’s nose out of my business. I made it to the living room by the front door. “What brings you to Emberstowne?”

  “The authorities required me to remain for several days in the United States and I have not yet secured a return flight assignment.”

  “An impromptu vacation for you, isn’t it?”

  He laughed, but I wasn’t sure he’d understood.

  Which reminded me. “How did you know which car was mine?” I asked. “To leave the note, that is.”

  This time when he laughed I could tell he meant it. “You are well known here. I asked several shopkeepers about you and everyone knew you and recognized your car. I could only think of that.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “You and the elderly gentleman were so kind after our . . . incident on the airplane. You both invited me to visit your beautiful mansion. I intend to do so.”

  “It’s Bennett’s home, not mine, but it’s wonderful that you’re taking time to visit. I know you’ll enjoy it. I’d love for you to tour as my guest.” Thinking fast, I considered ways to arrange to meet him. “If you’re free later today or tomorrow, I’d be happy to escort you.”

  “My apologies. I have already made a plan for today and the next. Will you be available on Monday?”

  “I will. When you get to Marshfield, give them my name. Don’t pay an admission fee. I’ll come down to get you.”

  “You are a most gracious host,” he said, and thanked me for my time.

  “See you Monday,” I said, and hung up.

  I returned to find Hillary bending off the side of her chair, dangling a tiny catnip-filled mouse on a string in front of Bootsie, laughing as the kitten batted at it with her pillowy pink paws.

  “You said something about a favor?” I asked when I returned.

  Enraptured by the cat, she didn’t seem motivated to reveal what it was, so I prompted, “What do you need?”

  She sat up, allowing Bootsie to grab the play mouse with her teeth. A moment later, the kitten was batting it around the wood floor, chasing and pouncing as she bounded around the room. Hillary fingered one of her glittery silver earrings. The triple hoops’ gentle jangling made the room’s silence more profound. She kept playing with the metal, weighing her words, it seemed.

  Buying her time and giving in to temptation, I took a bite of the dessert and exclaimed over its deliciousness. I wasn’t lying.

  She nodded her thanks, eventually finding her voice. “Papa Bennett hired me.”

  This was news. I ran my tongue over my front teeth, where sticky fruit and streusel had decided to take up residence. “To do what?”

  The wounded look on Hillary’s face was not put on. I had no idea what I’d done to offend her. Her tone was almost pitiful when she asked, “Did you forget that I’m an interior designer?”

  “Of course not,” I said, scrambling to repair whatever damage I’d inadvertently caused. I might not like the woman, but I didn’t want to hurt her. “It’s just that we recently renovated several of the mansion’s rooms. There aren’t any due for rehab soon. None that I know of,” I amended quickly. Bennett was generous and believed in second chances. Thirds, fourths, and fifths, even. In Hillary’s case, they were probably in the double digits by now. “What rooms will you be focusing on?”

  She fingered the earring so forcefully I was afraid she might rip it off. “That’s just it. He didn’t hire me to work at Marshfield.”

  My gut understood before my brain did. The raspberry bar did a perfect little backflip in my stomach. The words came out before I could stop them. “Then where?”

  She had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Here.” With her elbows on the table, she lifted her hands to the air and wiggled her fingers. “Your house.”

  Bootsie leapt into my lap at that moment, allowing me a precious second to compose myself. I stroked her face, thinking about how Bennett and I had discussed renovations here. Heaven knew the place needed it. If my neighbors were pri
vy to this conversation right now, they’d burst into spontaneous applause.

  I struggled for composure. “I don’t know about that,” I said.

  Now that the truth was out, her words came fast, furious, and filled with the Hillary-level confidence I was used to. “Listen, I can’t start right away. I have another client to work with first.”

  I shook my head. “You misunderstand. I don’t know that I’m ready for any renovations. Not yet.”

  She was not to be dissuaded. “I told Papa Bennett that you would be my first priority, but then this other project popped up.” Leaning forward, she spoke in a confidential whisper even though the only one in earshot was Bootsie, “Honestly, I think Papa Bennett believed I would never land a client of my own. But I did. And there’s no way I’m going to let this man down. He’s very special. My first real client—wealthy and handsome,” she said with a squeak in her voice. “That’s why your project will have to wait.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “I understand this comes as a surprise. I also know that you haven’t had a chance to see my work in person. I can change things around here.” She gave the house a cursory glance and I got the feeling she was working hard at trying not to wrinkle her nose. “You’ll love my ideas. I guarantee it.”

  “Hillary.” The gravity in my tone must have caught her attention because she blinked. “I know the place needs work. The outside alone has years of updating ahead of it. The inside, however”—I paused to look around—“is comfortable. We may not have the best, the newest, or the shiniest of décor, but it’s home.”

  She started to speak, but I talked right over her. “Believe me, I appreciate what you and Bennett are trying to do.” That was a bit of a stretch. “After this first one, I’ll bet you’ll gain so many new clients that you won’t even have time for this project.” I said a quick prayer that that would prove true. “This isn’t a good idea, Hillary.”

  She’d leaned back as I talked, not looking angry or disappointed in the least. I got the impression she was letting me have my say. In my passionate argument, I’d stopped petting Bootsie, and the kitten nosed my hand, hungry for more attention. I scratched behind her ears.

  “Papa Bennett told me that my first job here was to focus on the outside.” The corners of her pert little mouth curled up. “Interiors to come later. And”—she rolled her eyes—“he made me promise to listen to whatever you had to say.”

  “You’re an interior designer,” was the only thing I could think of.

  “That doesn’t mean I don’t have what it takes to change your haunted mansion into a Painted Lady.”

  “This is hardly a haunted mansion.”

  Hillary made a face. “Whatever. The thing is, I can make a difference and I intend to. Unless, of course, you forbid me from helping you. Papa Bennett warned me that might be the case.”

  I heaved a deep sigh.

  Hillary folded her arms across the table and leaned forward. “Bennett cares about you. A lot. It’s obvious you care about him, too. Maybe he hired me because he wants to give my business a good start.” She made a so-so motion with her head. “Forget the maybe. That is why he’s doing it. Doesn’t matter. I need the business and I have every intention of making doubters eat their words. Here’s the thing,” she went on, “he’s doing this to help me, yes, but he’s doing this for himself, too. Everyone in Emberstowne knows where you work. Don’t you think it’s embarrassing that the woman who manages Marshfield lives in a house that’s in such a state of disrepair?”

  I felt a paradigm shift. Months ago, I’d consented to Bennett’s offer of help when the roof needed work, and I’d accepted assistance graciously on a few other matters of upkeep, but when it came to changes that were less necessary for living and more desirable for appearances, I’d rebuffed his offers.

  Of course my eyesore house was an embarrassment to Bennett. Why hadn’t I realized that myself? I held my head in my hands, resisting the urge to rub my eyes, which would only exacerbate my cat allergies.

  Bootsie, forgotten again, bounded off my lap and disappeared around the corner.

  Numb, I reached for the only lifeline I had left. “You say you have another client you need to work with first?”

  Hillary bounced in her seat, surprised and clearly pleased. “You won’t be sorry. I promise.”

  I already was.

  Chapter 25

  FRANCES MARCHED INTO MY OFFICE MONDAY morning. “You’re in early,” she said.

  Why did every sentence out of her mouth always come out sounding like an accusation? I looked up. “Nothing gets by you, Frances.”

  “The Mister wants to see you,” she said with a glint in her eye.

  I put down my pen to ask her about that when the phone rang. I answered.

  “Good morning, Gracie,” Bennett said. “I need to talk with you as soon as possible. Do you have a few minutes now?”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “I have a matter to discuss with you, too.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  Frances had been listening in, the corners of her downturned mouth curling ever so slightly into a self-satisfied smile.

  I stared up at her. “I was here before you this morning. The phone in your office hasn’t made a peep. How in the world did you know?”

  The twisty lip curls deepened. “I have my ways.”

  • • •

  BENNETT SETTLED HIMSELF AT MY DESK while I shut the door between my office and Frances’s. “This will be a private discussion, I take it?” he asked.

  “Hillary came to visit.” I perched my backside on the edge of my desk and folded my arms. “You hired her to work on my home?”

  Bennett didn’t flinch. “We’ve talked about this. You agreed to let me help.”

  “But . . . Hillary?”

  “Two birds with one stone, eh?” When I didn’t smile, he leaned forward and fixed me with a bright blue stare. “We won’t let her run roughshod over you. You get the final say on all matters regarding your home.”

  I didn’t budge.

  “Time to come clean.” He drew in a quick breath through his nose. “Here’s what you don’t know: I’ve cut her off.” Reacting to my startled look, he went on, “I’d been providing her a generous allowance over the years. Hillary’s never had to work a day in her life.” The way his jaw set and the crinkles around his eyes deepened, I knew this was hard for him to admit. “I should have been a stronger parent when she was young. I was afraid of her, truth be told. She wasn’t my blood and I believed I had no rights in raising her.” He sat back and flung his fingers to the air. “Yet, here I am, watching her blow fortune after fortune with nothing to show for it.” He shook his head. “They say it’s never too late to learn. It took me too long, but I finally did. That’s why I cut her off.”

  “Completely?”

  He hedged. “I agreed to buy her a home as long as it was here in Emberstowne. The rest is up to her.”

  “So that’s why she moved back.”

  “Maybe it isn’t too late for her to learn, too.”

  I digested all this. “I had no idea.”

  “Hillary made me promise to keep it quiet until she settled in. Her pride is hurt.”

  That explained a lot. Always the gentleman, Bennett sought to help us both at once. Little did he know how much his stepdaughter’s very presence grated on my every nerve. I thanked heaven that Hillary had snagged a client on her own. That bought me a little time, at least. “We’ll put off this discussion for now,” I said. Personal matters safely off the table, I opened the door between my office and Frances’s to make it easier for my assistant to eavesdrop. “What did you want to talk with me about?”

  “Two things.”

  I sat at my desk and waited for him to continue.

  “First, and
I believe this will come as no surprise to you, the pilot who flew us out to Europe, the one you so aptly nicknamed ‘Milquetoast’ has been cleared of all assault charges.”

  “What happened?”

  “A case of mistaken identity. The charter company called me personally to let me know the details. Shortly after we departed on our fateful flight home, the pilot was released. All charges dropped.”

  “Isn’t that convenient?”

  Bennett met my gaze. “I thought so as well. The charter company is bending over backward to assure me that they screen all their pilots and staff extraordinarily well and that this situation was not their fault.” Hands on his lap, he lifted his fingers as though to say, “What can you do?”

  “What was the second thing?” I asked.

  “Nico.” Bennett got right down to business. “I wasn’t able to get in touch with him until yesterday,” he said. “He’s fighting chest congestion and is hoping it doesn’t give way to pneumonia.” Bennett’s face clouded. “It’s tough getting old. We’re not as resilient as we’d like to believe. For Nico to be fighting health problems while he’s chasing down thieves . . .”

  “You told him about the skull, I take it.”

  “I had to. Nico is understandably distraught to think the skull may have been stolen. He’s beside himself.”

  “I can only imagine,” I said. “What does he plan to do about it?”

  “That’s the thing.” Bennett crossed one long leg over the other, leaning back. Intertwining his fingers atop his silver-white hair, he pursed his lips and squinted up toward the ceiling. While his posture remained ramrod straight, his thoughtful, relaxed position was new. He looked different, younger. For one brief moment, he no longer seemed a septuagenarian billionaire; he looked like a thirty-something businessman, problem-solving a particularly confounding challenge.

  I waited.

  Drawing a deep breath through flared nostrils, Bennett lowered his gaze to meet mine. “He wants to come here. To see the photos for himself.”