by Julie Hyzy
“It’s not her birthright.”
Her exaggerated shocked expression intensified. “Seems to me that’s exactly what it is. The way I hear it, you worked here for a few years and your precious boss never changed a word of his will. But right after you got the results proving you were related, he started making changes. That says birthright to me.”
I ran a hand up through my hair. While what she said was absolutely accurate, anyone who knew Bennett and me knew the deeper truth.
“Liza needs to understand that Bennett chose to make me his heir for many reasons. Not simply because we’re uncle and niece.”
She folded her arms, wiggling deeper into her chair. “I always thought our mother was too enamored with the Marshfields. Little did I know that she’d gone off and had an affair with one of them.” She shook her head. “No wonder my sister, your mother”—she glanced up unnecessarily, as though to remind me—“was our mother’s favorite. She was Marshfield’s love child.” She frowned. “Your grandmother hated her husband, by the way. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t,” I said, even though I’d suspected as much.
Belinda pointed hard into her own chest. “My father. She hated him. That’s why she never really liked me. I look just like my dad, you know. Your mother doesn’t, naturally. I should have put that together a long time ago, but I didn’t. I had my suspicions, of course, but never any proof.”
“I’m sorry.” I could only imagine how hard it must have been for both my aunt and my mother to grow up in a family where the husband and wife couldn’t stand each other and where one daughter was favored so much over the other.
“Yeah, you look like you’re sorry. Easy to say when you’re sitting on millions of dollars.”
Inwardly, I winced. Billions, actually.
She grimaced. “Well, I should say, when you expect to inherit those millions of dollars. Obviously, you have to wait until the old guy kicks off before you see any of it. Otherwise, why would you still be working for him?”
I bit back a retort. Though elderly, Bennett hardly deserved to be referred to as “the old guy.” My aunt’s statement epitomized how poorly she understood the situation. I chose not to correct her.
“Back to the matter at hand,” I said. “I would appreciate it if you’d allow me to talk with Liza about all this first. I know that it’s difficult to keep such a big issue under wraps, but I think it would be best for her to hear the news from me and Bennett directly.”
“Too late.”
Startled, I could do no more than repeat. “Too late? What do you mean?”
She shrugged as though it was nothing. “I already told her. Sent her a letter as soon as I found out.”
I found it almost impossible to draw breath. My heart, even, seemed to stop beating. “No, you can’t have.”
The glint in her eyes was both triumphant and fearful. “Why shouldn’t she know? Why shouldn’t she be able to lay claim to half of Marshfield’s money?”
“Because . . .” I fought to calm myself. “Because it is Bennett’s money. Who he shares it with is up to him. She has no claim to it. Neither do I, for that matter. The fact that Bennett has chosen to name me in his will does not mean that he must name Liza. That’s not how it works.”
She twisted her mouth to one side. “I knew you’d be selfish. You’re just like your mother. It’s a good thing I expected this. That’s why I have a meeting set up with an attorney just as soon as Liza gets out.”
Chapter 10
I called Frances on my way back to the office. “Where’s Bennett?” I asked. “No, forget that. Find him and ask him to meet me in my office as soon as possible.” Remembering my manners, I added, “Please.”
“Done,” she said and hung up.
I drove back to the mansion in half the time it usually took, ruminating all the while about my aunt’s disastrous disclosure. Of course she’d told Liza. Of course she had.
I slammed my steering wheel in frustration. I’d acted as conduit between the two for so long that I’d lost sight of the idea of them communicating directly. Liza had played me well in that regard. She’d begged me to handle everything with Aunt Belinda, telling me that it was too hard for her to gain access to the phone while in prison. Too difficult to deal with our aunt’s constant badgering when they finally did connect. Liza swore she hadn’t had any direct communication with our aunt since her incarceration.
What was wrong with me? I’d dropped my guard—again—and been bitten. By both of them this time.
Gripping handfuls of skirt, I took the back stairs two at a time up to our offices. Frances and Bennett turned to face me when I burst through the door.
“She told Liza,” I said.
Out of breath from my sprint to the third floor, flushed from my fury—at myself, truth be told—I threw my body into the open chair next to Bennett’s.
“She told Liza,” I said again.
Neither of them needed further explanation.
“How long has your sister known?” Frances asked.
Tiny beads of sweat gathered at my hairline. Most people would think they were a result of exertion. I knew better. Anger boiled so furiously within me that it needed to blister out as a means of escape.
“She ‘can’t remember.’” Making air quotes, I huffed. “Long enough to hire an attorney, though. The two of them already have an appointment set up.”
Bennett listened without reaction, his hands folded in his lap, his sharp blue gaze steady.
“The Mister doesn’t have to share a penny with anyone he doesn’t want to,” Frances said with the same level of rage I was feeling. “No attorney in his right mind will take on such a frivolous case.”
“You want to bet?” I asked.
Bennett remained quiet. He nodded briefly, looking less concerned than I thought he ought to be.
Frances picked up a pen. “Which attorney are they meeting?” she asked. “I’ll find out what I can about him. Or her.”
“Yet another thing my aunt conveniently couldn’t remember,” I said.
“Maybe we need to get your friend Tooney involved,” Frances said. “I bet he could follow her and find out who they’re meeting with.”
Bennett leaned forward. “We’ll find out soon enough,” he said. “No need to meet trouble halfway. Let it find its own way to our doorstep.”
Frustration got the best of me. “But it’s here. Right now. Don’t you think we need to mount a defense? Shouldn’t we call in Marshfield’s lawyers?”
Bennett nodded. “I’ll make them aware, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He leaned forward to pat my hand. “In some ways, I’m almost glad this has happened.”
A noise in my head—the sound of my brain exploding perhaps—drowned out what he said next.
“Can you repeat that?” I asked.
Bennett seemed more amused than annoyed. He patted my hand again. “You are wise and wonderful, Gracie, and you’ve seen far more than your share of criminal activity these past few years, but what you haven’t had to deal with yet are the many lawsuits we face here at Marshfield every day.”
“I’ve worked with you on at least four,” I said. “Maybe five. I think that last one—the man who broke his arm when he jumped off a garden wall—was the only one that went to trial. And then it was dismissed. If I recall correctly, the rest got tossed out on summary judgments.”
“Those are the ones you’ve seen. There were some fairly disagreeable lawsuits we faced before your time. This one, involving your sister, will be good practice for what’s to come. For what you must learn to expect. As the future head of Marshfield Manor, you’ll face the wrath of hundreds—maybe even thousands—of people who despise you simply because you have more than they do. They believe their only recourse is to attack you and the estate and then swoop in and claim the spoils of war.”
<
br /> That was probably the most cynical sentiment I’d ever heard Bennett utter. But he wasn’t finished.
“It’s never-ending, Gracie. The attacks, I mean. They don’t stop. They won’t stop. You’ll cut your teeth on this situation with your sister. With any luck it will be the toughest challenge you’ll face. This certainly won’t be a pleasant experience, but you will learn.”
“How have you stayed so positive,” I asked, “after all these years of constant bombardment?”
“I remind myself that the attacks aren’t personal. That it’s the people in the world who have lost hope in themselves who come at me. I feel sorry for them.” He winced. “Unfortunately this time, it is personal. And that will make it so much harder.”
I nodded.
Frances frowned. “So what do we do?”
As if in answer, the phone rang in my office. Frances glanced at the caller ID from the console at her desk. “Dr. Bradley’s office,” she said as she reached for the receiver. “Are you in?”
I wasn’t ready. “Not now.”
Frances briskly answered the phone, told Joe that I was unavailable, and asked if there was message.
“He said to call him later. But only if you want to,” she said when she hung up. “Hmph. What kind of attitude is that? He expects you to call him. I have half a mind to tell him you had lunch with Neal Davenport this afternoon.”
I waved the air, weary beyond words over this situation with Liza. “Don’t bother. He already knows.”
“Neal Davenport?” Bennett arched a brow. “The banker?”
“All business. I promise,” I said.
“Got it.” He smiled as he stood. “Let’s not get too worried about your sister yet, all right? I’m sure that when you and I have a chance to talk with her, we’ll persuade her to see reason.”
Unconvinced, I got up, too. “I wish I shared your optimism.”
• • •
Before leaving work for the day, I called Scott to ask about progress at the Granite Building. I made a mental note to start thinking of the place as the new Amethyst Cellars. “How’s it going?” I asked when he answered.
“Better than we expected, given the tragic start to our new venture,” he said. “The police gave us the okay to move forward. They’ve removed all the evidence they need and we have full access to the building again. Bruce and I have been here all afternoon, cleaning. And we’re setting up a schedule for fumigation. For the termites.”
“That’s wonderful news. Except for the termites, that is. Do you need any help?”
“Only moral support at this point. We’re taking our time, trying to assess all that needs to be done before we finalize remodeling decisions. We’d love it if you’d stop by. We’ll even bring in dinner if you’re game for fast food tonight.”
“I can’t imagine anything I’d like better,” I said. “I have to drop by the hotel and check on my aunt before I head out, though. Is that okay?”
“Your aunt?” he asked. “I thought she wasn’t due until Saturday.”
“Yeah. Long story. I’ll tell you when I get there.”
“Text when you arrive so we can let you in.”
Frances popped in when I hung up. “I forgot to tell you that Detective Rodriguez called while you were at the hotel. Said he had an update to share but didn’t tell me what it was.”
I dropped my head back to stare at the ceiling. “There’s not a moment to breathe anymore, is there?” I asked rhetorically.
“Why not let the police figure this one out by themselves this time?” she asked. “Except for the fact that you were there when Virginia’s body was found, you really aren’t involved at all.”
“True,” I said, bringing my gaze to meet hers. “Unless, of course, you count the fact that the murder site is where my partners and I intend to open a wine shop and restaurant, and the sooner the murder is solved, the better for business.”
“Weak argument,” she said as she sat down across from me. “The truth is that you can’t let it go, can you?”
I shook my head, embarrassed to admit it. “I can’t. You and I have been intimately involved in so many investigations that it feels wrong to turn away from this one. Plus, Rodriguez and Flynn have practically invited us in.”
“Correction.” She pursed her lips. “Invited you in.”
“We’re a team, Frances,” I said. “And they know it.”
She blinked twice. Her face brightened. One second later, she scowled again. “They’d better.”
• • •
My second visit with Aunt Belinda turned out to be blessedly brief. Once she understood that I’d arranged for everything to be paid for—including room service—she shooed me off, insisting she was exhausted from her long day of travel. I didn’t argue. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up to the new Amethyst Cellars.
Back before gentrification had hit this part of town, giving us our lovely, tourist-friendly Main Street and surrounding quaint shops, this location had been the site of a successful manufacturing company. I had no idea how many workers had been employed here when the Granite Building had housed a busy glass factory, but there was a sizable paved parking lot immediately adjacent to the building’s south wall. Perfect for future customers eager to wine and dine.
I parked next to Bruce’s car and prepared to get out, thinking about the oddity of granite versus glass. According to town history, the building had been named well before the glass company moved in, but the original moniker had stuck. I hoped my roommates would have better luck in getting the town to recognize it as Amethyst Cellars, reborn.
Movement in the alley behind the building caught my eye when I stepped out of my car. Definitely human-sized. My first thought was that it was either Bruce or Scott taking trash out to the Dumpster.
“Hello?” I called.
A breeze kicked up, making my hair twist around my face. I brushed it back. “Hello, who’s there?”
No answer.
The next closest building to my left across the wide lot was a low-rise brick structure that housed a coffee and pastry shop, open mornings only. No one there. There was nothing across the alley except a tall, prefabricated concrete wall that had been constructed as a barrier between the unattractive backs of these buildings and the leafy family park beyond.
Even though it would stay light out for another couple of hours, I wasn’t about to investigate the stranger in the alleyway by myself.
Acting quickly, I dialed Scott. “Hey, I’m in the parking lot,” I said very quietly. “Can you and Bruce make some noise outside the building’s rear door? Make it sound as though you’re coming out. I have a hunch.”
“What kind of hunch?”
“I’ll explain in a bit. After you make your ruckus, meet me here, okay?”
“You got it, Grace.”
I dropped my phone into my purse and dug quickly for cash.
“Hey,” I called again, this time louder. “You look like you could use some money. I’ve got ten dollars here, if you want it.”
This time I heard a little scuffling.
I reopened my driver’s-side door as a precautionary move in case I needed to leap back inside in a hurry.
“Ten dollars. All yours,” I shouted. “All you have to do is talk with me for a couple of minutes. I promise not to hurt you.”
A screeching creak drowned out my last words as Bruce and Scott pushed the heavy metal back door open. Banging and clanging—hard objects being moved and dropped—followed. A second later, my roommates’ voices over the din.
The shadowy figure I’d spotted earlier slunk around the building’s corner. Keeping low to the ground as though to make himself invisible, he stared at me. More accurately, he stared at the money I held aloft.
Filthy, except for around his wide eyes, he had brown, matted hair, a braided beard, an
d a fearful expression. Wearing a dirty coat that had once been either beige or light gray, he seemed to be torn, deciding whether to run or to take his chances with the stranger waving a ten-dollar bill in the air.
“I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to call the police.” Well, not right away, at least. A lot would depend on what happened next.
Bruce and Scott completed their noisy ministrations and came around the back of the building moving resolutely until they spotted the man crouching against the wall. They stopped at once, taking only a moment to comprehend the situation.
The man twisted his head frantically between me and my roommates. He was frighteningly skinny—bony-faced with deep-set eyes. From the dull gray streaking his hair and beard, I guessed him to be in his sixties, maybe even a little bit older.
“I’ll make it twenty,” I said. “A few minutes of your time. I promise.”
Bruce took a tentative step forward. “We’re not angry with you. We just want to talk,” he said as he arced slowly around to take up a position between me and Scott, while giving the man a wide berth. Bruce held his hands up, as though in surrender.
“Yeah, we were about to order dinner, in fact,” Scott said. “Would you like us to get you something? Are you hungry?”
Surrounded now, with his back to the wall and the three of us evenly spaced before him, he crouched lower.
I took a small step forward. “We know you’ve been living here,” I said softly. “And we know you must be worried now that the building has been sold. You’re scared, aren’t you?”
The tip of his tongue poked out. Bright pink and possibly the only clean spot on the poor man’s body, it slid over his crusty lower lip. His brows were wiry, so thick as to almost obscure his dark eyes. “You’re the ones that bought the building?” he asked.
I gestured to include Bruce and Scott. “We did,” Bruce said.
“And you want me out of here, pronto. Is that it?”
“We’d like to talk with you first.” Even though I knew we may have cornered Virginia’s killer, I doubted that this terrified, weak-looking creature could have done the deed. This guy didn’t have the body weight for that kind of leverage.