Grace Cries Uncle (14 page)

I led him into the parlor, raising my voice to be heard in the kitchen. “It's all right, Liza.”

McClowery remained standing until my sister emerged. The expression on her face was at once both relieved and freshly alarmed. Having Liza here provided a roller coaster of emotional thrills for us all.

“Liza, this is Agent McClowery. I told you he would be visiting tonight.”

She sauntered into the room, in full sassy-Liza mode. “But you didn't tell me how handsome he was.”

Agent McClowery's impassive expression didn't change with Liza's exaggerated attempt to disarm.

“Please have a seat,” I said. “Can I get you a drink?”

His overcoat was unfastened, but he didn't remove it. “No, thank you.” He pulled out a notebook and pen and remained standing.

“I want to apologize for kicking you off my front porch the other evening.”

He offered a quick smile. “Your local law enforcement
explained. Given the circumstances, your reaction was understandable.”

Liza had curled up in my favorite chair again, feet tucked beneath her bottom. She'd adopted the waifish, damsel-in-confusion air she relied on when confronted with real-life issues she didn't care to handle.

“That said,” McClowery continued, “now that you know my intentions are aboveboard, perhaps you'd be more inclined to share information on Eric Soames's whereabouts.”

“When I ran you off last time, I thought you were a killer. That's why I went on and on about how I'd been engaged to Eric—so you'd understand that I had no connection with him anymore.”

“Are you telling me none of that is true?”

I rubbed my forehead. “No, you misunderstand. I was—unfortunately—engaged to the man. Though I don't have any idea where Eric is right now, you're welcome to question someone who might.” I extended my arm to indicate Liza, but I doubt he missed her slack-jawed reaction.

Not knowing how much background Rodriguez and Flynn had chosen to provide, I went on to explain. “Remember me mentioning that Eric threw me over for someone else?” I didn't wait for him to respond. “Here she is. My sister. She's in a far better position to help you than I am.”

I got the impression that there wasn't much that took McClowery by surprise. This did. One eyebrow jerked upward. He settled it back almost immediately.

Liza ignored him, fixing her considerable hostility on me as she unfolded her legs and sat up straight. “Grace is right.” She blinked rapidly, as though fighting tears. “He is a monster. That's why I left him.” Her hate-gaze at me morphed into a soft and vulnerable stare directed toward the FBI agent. “That's why I'm here. My big sister took me in, thank goodness. Otherwise I don't know where I would have gone.”

McClowery waited for her to finish. “Where is Eric Soames now?”

In a move worthy of Scarlett O'Hara, she draped fingers at her throat and said, “Why, how would I know?”

“She believes he's nearby,” I said. “Don't you, Liza? Or have you changed your story from fifteen minutes ago?”

“My sister exaggerates,” Liza said.

Before she could continue, I beat her to it. “Moments before you arrived, Agent McClowery, a woman showed up at my front door. In fact, when you rang, I thought she'd returned. She gave me the name Nina Buchman.”

McClowery didn't express interest in my words but he wrote down everything I said.

“Liza and this Buchman woman recognized each other. Liza said that Eric worked with her,” I continued, giving him the highlights of our conversation, and adding details about Nina Buchman's initial visit to the house.

During my explanation, McClowery flicked occasional glances at Liza, who kept her arms folded and stared at the floor.

“Why would Eric Soames follow you all the way back to Emberstowne?”

At that she glanced up, bright challenge in her eyes. “I broke his heart. Is that so impossible to believe?”

McClowery didn't comment. “Did you take anything from him when you left? Could he be after you to retrieve something?”

“Absolutely not,” she said. “I used the last of my money for my train ticket here. I didn't take a penny that didn't belong to me.”

“What about valuables other than cash? Anything at all?”

“Valuables? Eric? Are you kidding?” Liza let loose with a full-on snort. “Grace will tell you: I arrived here with all my worldly possessions packed into a purse.” She indicated its size with her hands. “I'm stuck borrowing what I can from her. And as you can see from the way the two of us are built, that ain't much.”

Liza's face began to glow as she talked. Her teeth
clenched and she fisted both hands. I wondered what had gone on between her and Eric that had inspired this level of animosity.

Unmoved by my sister's outburst, McClowery kept writing. When he finished, he looked up. “Tell me about Eric Soames's business dealings.”

“He's a master at running a business into the ground,” she said. “He has no aptitude, nor enough savvy, to run anything besides his mouth. Oh, he's good at selling you on an idea, believe me. Career con artists could take lessons from the guy. But when it comes to real work, he's gone. Won't lift a finger. All he wants to do is talk.”

McClowery rubbed his nose, waiting, watching. “Let me rephrase. Tell me about people that Eric Soames dealt with. Names of those he interacted with.”

She sat back. “I don't know any of them.”

“Them?” McClowery repeated. “More than one, then? Who were they?”

“I told you. I don't know.”

“Names?”

“I just said, I don't know.”

McClowery worked his jaw. “Descriptions, then. Tell me what they looked like.”

“I never saw any of them.”

McClowery's eyebrow twitched enough for me to recognize skepticism.

“Come on, Liza,” I said. “You clearly recognized Nina Buchman. Who else is there?”

McClowery's steady observation of Liza broke long enough for him to turn to me, and for the second time tonight I got the impression I'd surprised him.

“Here's the truth,” Liza said, appealing to both of us. “I did see that woman once or twice, but that's it. She's the only one. Eric told me he had a big deal coming his way, bigger than I could ever imagine.”

McClowery remained silent. I watched, trying to determine if Liza was lying.

“He promised this big windfall,” Liza went on. “He's been promising it for about a year.”

McClowery wrote that down. “Since when, exactly? What month?”

“I don't remember,” she said dismissively. “All I know is that he promised this time would be different. He promised to make us wealthy and told me it was a sure thing.”

“Who else was in on it?” McClowery asked.

Liza ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. “Eric worked with a lot of people. He told me it was better if I never met them.” After a quick beat, she added, “I swear that's the truth.”

“You never met any of Eric Soames's associates?” McClowery asked. “Not even socially?”

Liza shook her head. “Eric wasn't much for going out. He was always on his computer.”

“I understand,” McClowery said softly, then gave the smallest grin, showing dimples. “But you strike me as a woman who doesn't enjoy being left in the dark. Weren't you curious? Even a little?”

“Of course I was curious,” Liza said, but without the snarl.

Pen poised, McClowery waited.

“Okay, I followed him. But only once.”

Keeping his voice modulated, his gaze sympathetic, McClowery asked, “What did you see?”

“Eric and that woman. They met a man at a coffee shop.”

“What did they talk about?”

Liza shrugged. “I could never get close enough to hear. When the three parted company, I followed Eric and Nina. I was afraid they were . . . that Eric was . . .” She pulled her cheeks in. “I never saw the other guy again.”

“You know his name?”

“No.”

McClowery nodded. “Description?”

“I don't know. He was sitting, so I don't know if he was tall or short. He was good-looking.” With a contemptuous glance at me, she added, “Better-looking than Eric, that's for sure.”

“Age?”

Another shrug. “Older than me. Forty, maybe?”

“Build?”

“Average.”

The questions went on for a few moments longer until it became clear to me, and apparently to McClowery, that Liza's description wouldn't do much to narrow the field.

He turned to me. “Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn tell me that you work at Marshfield Manor.”

He hadn't phrased it as a question, but I felt the need to answer. “That's correct.”

“Is there anyone at Marshfield who can vouch for your character?”

“Vouch for my character?” I spit out the words. “Apparently whatever Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn told you is casting me in a bad light.”

“Not at all,” he said. “But I prefer to be thorough.”

“Why are you investigating me?” I asked.

He offered the faintest smile. “Again, I'm thorough.”

“What
are
you investigating, anyway?” I asked.

“Sorry,” he said, not looking sorry at all, “I'm not at liberty to discuss it. And who did you say I could speak with at Marshfield regarding your service there?”

I had half a mind to sic Frances on him, but thought better of it. “Bennett Marshfield,” I said, spelling the first name as the agent wrote it down.

“He's a member of the family that owns the estate?” McClowery asked.

How an agent from the FBI could be involved in an investigation in Emberstowne and not know who Bennett was boggled my brain. “Yes. He's the last surviving descendent.”
I almost tripped on my words, thinking about the DNA test and how its results might change the official family tree. “He lives on the property. I report directly to him.”

“Thank you.” He nodded to me and then to my sister. “Good night.”

“You'll have to make an appointment to talk with Bennett,” I said.

McClowery had the blankest eyes I'd ever encountered. “No, I won't.”

I had a slew of errands to run Saturday and the thought of dragging Liza along as I puttered from the cleaners to the library to the grocery store, with a stop at Amethyst Cellars to visit with Bruce and Scott, made me weary. Not to mention that taking her out in public with a killer on the loose made me worry.

There had been far too many people looking for Eric, far too many odd occurrences, and one too many murders recently for me to leave Liza home by herself, so I texted Tooney and asked if she could hang at his house for a few hours. He replied that it would be fine.

“Sending me off to daycare again, are you?” Liza said as she entered the underground passage. “This must be what it's like to have a baby, right? Can't go anywhere without making sure it will be safe.” Patting her purse, she added, “At least I have my trusty cell phone, in case my sitter tries to take improper liberties.”

“He won't.”

“Bet you can't wait until I'm out of here.”

I sensed Liza's visit was far from over. “The important thing is for you to stay safe.”

“That's my big sis. Always taking care of me,” she said, but with muted sarcasm. She ducked into the tunnel, then turned. “This time, Grace, I swear, I'm going to make everything right.”

“I'm sure you will. Telling that agent about the guy you saw was a good first step. If you remember anything else—”

“That's not what I mean,” she said. “I'm going to pay you back for all this. And then I won't ever owe you anything. We'll be even.”

“I'm not keeping score, Liza.”

Her mouth turned downward so sharply I thought she might cry. “That's because you're not the one who always comes up short.”

With that, she spun and hurried away, swallowed seconds later by the darkness. I waited at the entrance until Tooney texted me that she'd arrived. I closed the iron door and headed back upstairs.

Bootsie greeted me at the landing, clambering at my legs until I lifted her up and cuddled her close. She purred deeply. I brought her to my face so we were nose to nose. “It's only temporary,” I said. “I hope.”

*   *   *

I grabbed the shoulder of my car's passenger seat, twisting to see behind as I prepared to back out of my driveway. My rear tires had barely made it to the sidewalk when movement in my peripheral vision made me stop.

A man on my porch peered into my front window. I threw my car into Park, pulled the keys out, and opened the door.

Hunched, with his hands cupped around his face, the man jumped back when Bootsie leapt onto the sill. In the space of the four seconds it took me to get out of the car I decided it couldn't be McClowery. The guy on my porch, now knocking on the window in a manner that suggested
impatience, wasn't nearly as tall as the FBI agent. He wore a dark jacket, blue jeans, and a baseball cap.

When I slammed the car door, he spun.

Three thoughts bombarded me at once, freezing me in place: I should have anticipated this; I
had
anticipated this, but never imagined experiencing such a visceral reaction; and, in what world had I ever found him attractive?

“Eric?” I remained standing on the far side of my car, one hand propped on the roof. I hoped it read as casual. In truth, I needed a moment to steady my nerves. Not only was I experiencing a turbulent roil of surprise, the sight of him brought forth a rush of memories. Whatever good times we'd had together had been eclipsed by the pain he'd delivered when he left me for my sister. That I was overjoyed with the eventual outcome was beside the point. Seeing him again, after all that had transpired, was a shock to the system.

“Grace!” he said with more enthusiasm than he had a right to. “You're home. I thought I'd have to come back.”

I strove to personify self-assurance. The woodpecker-speed pulse pounding in my ears and the sparkles of contempt clouding my vision had other ideas.
Keep calm
, I told myself.
Oh yeah, and remember to breathe.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

He loped down the front stairs, his head tilted to one side, his grin widening with every step. The baseball cap sported an impolite phrase emblazoned in orange. Sallow and thin, Eric was far less handsome than I remembered, his beard both new and spotty, bringing to mind a dog with the mange. “You look wonderful, Grace. It's great to see you again. Really.”

Had I initially been drawn to him because, like Liza, he had the ability to turn on the charm at a moment's notice? I'd never met anyone so talented at faking sincerity. I'd grown up with Liza; maybe that relationship had imprinted itself on me so strongly that I'd subconsciously sought out a similar personality—and found Eric.

Mentally shaking off the psychological analysis, I repeated myself. “What are you doing here?”

When he made a move to come around the front of the car, I was struck with the horrifying notion he intended to give me a hug.

My hand shot up like a stop sign, halting him in his tracks. “Don't even think about it.” He gave me a sheepish “can't blame a guy for trying” look, which I ignored. “You didn't answer my question.”

“Come on, Grace. No hard feelings.” He did his best to look abashed, hanging his head and even going so far as to kick a nonexistent pebble. “I thought by now you would have, you know, gotten over me.”

The laugh that bubbled out of me satisfied my soul far more than any words could have. “Yeah, who'd a thunk?” I asked, deadpan.

He shifted his weight, watching with enough of a guarded expression that I knew my sarcasm had hit its mark.

“And now, for the third and final time: Why are you here? And where's my sister?”

My tagged-on inquiry seemed to throw him. But only for a second. “Ha ha, Grace.” He pistol-pointed at me. “Good one.”

An awkward silence filled the cold air between us. I let it stretch.

Stomping his feet, he pulled his bare hands up to his face and blew on them. “Now that you're home, maybe I can come in and we can talk?”

“I'm on my way out.” I half hoped that admission would tempt him to try breaking in. My alarm would bring the cops running. Maybe McClowery, too.

He jerked his chin toward the house. “Is Liza home?”

“She's gone.” It wasn't a lie. Not really.

“What do you mean?” He took a panicked step forward. “Where did she go?”

“Your friend Nina showed up and Liza got spooked.” I shrugged to convey that my sister's departure was no big loss. “Why, exactly, did you follow her here? And why is she suddenly so afraid of you?”

Eric's Windbreaker offered feeble protection from the cold. His jeans were frayed and floppy. Incongruously, he wore black wing-tips, albeit scuffed ones. Warming his hands with his breath again, he shot a longing look at my house. “Can't we talk about this inside?”

When I pulled out my cell phone, he stepped backward. “Are you calling Liza?”

“I'm calling the police.” I punched Rodriguez's number in and poised my finger above the lime-green telephone icon. “Answer my questions or I'll turn you in.”

“For what?” His bluster was beginning to slip. “What would the police want with me?”

“Isn't that a fun question?” I asked. “Why don't you tell me?”

“Has anyone else been here?” he asked. “I mean, looking for me?”

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

“How about you answer me, first. Why are you after Liza?”

“She left me,” he said. “She didn't tell you?”

“Traveling across the country to get away from someone is a big deal. Having that person follow you across the country—with a sidekick of the opposite sex—makes me very curious. Now, let's try this again.” Speaking very slowly, I repeated my question. “Why did you follow her here?”

“I screwed up.” His regretful, abashed, rejected-suitor persona returned to the stage. “I messed things up and I hurt her. I can't live without her.” His voice trembled. “I need her back.”

“Okay. What else?”

“There isn't anything else.”

I wiggled the phone. “Don't lie to me.”

Comprehension dawned on him—a little late, but with sufficient force to get him to drop the beleaguered husband act. “You're different, Grace. What happened?”

I remained silent.

He hesitated, weighing his options, eyeing my phone as though it held the solution he sought. A stalemate on my driveway—not quite the efficient morning I had planned.

Rubbing his neck bristle, he finally broke the protracted silence. “Here it is, okay? Liza has information. Information that I don't want shared with anyone. And I mean anyone. I'm in a bind here—I'm in trouble.”

“Go on.”

“Liza is mad right now. I . . .” He waved a hand in the air. “I really hurt her. I didn't realize how much until after she'd left me.”

“So you're here to apologize?” I couldn't help my skepticism.

He squared his shoulders spoiling for a fight. He hadn't expected me to push back, and it was almost painful to watch his brain switch gears and reassess strategy. How had I ever considered this guy anything beyond a conniving hustler?

“No, Grace,” he said, dropping all pretense. “I'm not here to apologize. I'm here to convince Liza not to talk with anyone about anything.”

“That's real specific.”

“You don't want to know.”

I'd suspected Liza of withholding information from the moment she'd shown up at Marshfield. While vindication bolstered my ego, it didn't resolve the problems at hand.

“Pretend I do want to know.”

He pulled his mouth into a tight line. I couldn't tell if it was a calculated move to buy time or an effort to warm up his lips. “Liza hasn't spoken with your boss, Bennett Marshfield, has she?”

“What does Bennett have to do with any of this?”

“Has she?”

“I refuse to answer,” I said, “unless you tell me what this has to do with Bennett.”

His hands came up, shaking violently, as though throttling an invisible opponent. “Don't you get it? This could be life-and-death for me. Who has Liza talked to?”

Suave and in control when he'd first arrived, he'd now lost himself in a high frenzy I couldn't understand.

In crazed distress, he took another step forward. “Who has she talked to, Grace?”

I was tired of playing this game. “Good question,” I said, hitting the Talk button. “Let's see if the police know.”

His eyes flashed, wide and frightened. Slapping at my hand to dislodge the phone, he shouted, “No, no, no.”

I held tight, racing around the back of my car as the call connected.

“Where are you staying, Eric?” I asked. “I'm sure they'll want to know.”

The anger in his expression was murderous. Could Eric have killed the fake Fed? Fear and awareness kicked in with a high-powered jolt. Eric was capable, all right. At this moment, I had no doubt.

“Rodriguez?” I battled a tremor in my voice. “Eric Soames is here, on my driveway.”

By the time I'd gotten the words out, Eric had turned and fled. “He took off west on Granville,” I said above Rodriguez's exclamation. “He'll be gone by the time you get here.”

“What is he wearing?”

I told him, then listened while Rodriguez directed activity on his end. I heard him issue a BOLO, or Be on the Lookout, for a man matching Eric's description. When he returned to me, he said, “We'll do our best to nab him before he disappears again.”

I took in my surroundings. “I don't see any unfamiliar vehicles on the street. I'm guessing he didn't drive here. Too bad. We could have set up a stakeout around his car.”

“Good thinking, but yeah, too bad. Did you talk with him?”

“At length,” I said, then recapped our conversation.

“Sounds like Liza could put her husband behind bars if she has a mind to. Spouses aren't
required
to testify against each other, but that doesn't mean they can't. If your sister is ticked off enough, she could probably inflict real damage.”

“And if he killed your victim, that Ochoa guy, what's to stop him from killing Liza to keep her quiet?”

“My thoughts exactly.”

The wind kicked up, whipping my hair across my face. “You're at the station on a Saturday?” I asked. “Aren't you supposed to take it easy for a while?”

“Open homicide investigation. No rest until we close it. Back to your sister for a minute. Eric knows she's here, obviously.”

“I told him she left,” I said, and then remembered to explain about Nina Buchman's visit the night before. I was beginning to forget who I'd told what. “No idea if Eric believed me.”

“We'll proceed as though we expect him to return. I'll have uniforms keep an eye on your house until we get answers.”

As soon as we hung up, I dialed another number and stomped my feet to keep warm. I'd dressed for the weather, but cold began to seep in.