Grace Cries Uncle (15 page)

“Two phone calls in one day, Gracie?” Bennett asked when he picked up. “What's the occasion?”

I'd called him shortly before I left the house this morning to alert him to Agent McClowery's threat to drop by.

“Eric left here a moment ago.”

Bennett's mood shifted. “Are you all right? What happened? Do you need me to come there?”

“I'm fine and thank you, but I've already talked with Rodriguez. They're after him. The reason I'm calling you is because Eric came here looking for Liza, but then cornered me to ask if Liza had spoken to you.” I waited for that
to sink in. “As far as I know, you and Liza have had only the one conversation in my office. Is that right?”

“That's correct.”

“What's going on? Why would he bring up your name? Are you in danger? Is that why you opted to skip the FAAC this year?” A blip in my brain reminded me that the convention was in full swing. “Isn't that an odd coincidence?” I asked. “Eric shows up the day the convention opens, and this is the first time in years you're not attending?”

“Hold on a minute there, Gracie,” he said in his most authoritative tone. “You're jumping subjects and imagining connections where none exist.”

“Then what's going on? You've been very mysterious lately. Eric bringing up your name makes me nervous.”

“There's no need for you to be nervous, I promise you.”

“Bennett.” My tremulous tone was the product of frustration and cold. “What is going on?”

“Nothing at all. Nothing to worry about.”

It wasn't like Bennett to stonewall me. “Please,” I said.

“Gracie,” he said, “I don't know what to tell you.”

“How about the truth?”

He went silent for far too long. As much as it made my insides scream with impatience, I waited. Finally, he said. “Do you have plans for tomorrow?”

The question took me aback. “Nothing important, why?”

“Come see me tomorrow afternoon. Say around two o'clock. Will you do that?”

“Of course, but what's going on?”

“Leave your sister under Mr. Tooney's care. If he's unavailable, let me know and I'll make other arrangements.”

“Bennett?”

“Tomorrow, Gracie,” he said, and hung up.

“This is beginning to get old,” Liza said Sunday morning when I informed her that I planned to send her over to Tooney's house again. “Don't you lighten up on the weekend? What do you need to do that's so important that I can't come along?”

I wanted to answer: “Practically everything,” but chose instead to deflect. “A meeting at Marshfield. Not everyone is available during the week, so we're required to hold off-hour conferences like this from time to time.”

Playing with the cornflakes in her cereal bowl, she regarded me thoughtfully. “Convenient excuse,” she said before taking a spoonful. “Don't know if I believe you.”

“Doesn't matter what you believe.” I stood at the pantry door, pretending to decide between oatmeal and raisin toast. Rather than silently debating breakfast food choices, however, I was arguing the merits and pitfalls of telling Liza about Eric's visit the day before.

I'd chosen not to say anything to her and had waited until after she'd gone to bed last night to whisper updates to Bruce
and Scott. They'd agreed with me. Letting Liza know that Eric had stopped by would do none of us any good. She'd sworn that she'd left him and had no intention of ever going back, but if there was one thing I could count on from my sister, it's that she rarely told the truth. Sharing the fact that Eric had come looking for her could send her skittering right back into his arms.

I made a face.
That would get her out of my life again, wouldn't it?

“Do you take this much time to pick your food every morning?” Liza asked, snapping me out of my reverie.

“Not usually.” I snagged the raisin bread.

“Where are your roommates?”

“Bruce and Scott took off early today.” I didn't mention that I keenly felt the loss of our trio's Sunday-morning newspaper ritual.

“Seems like they're out more than they're in,” she said. “Is that normal, or is it because of me?”

Chalk one up to Liza's perceptiveness. “There's a lot of extra work to be done with so many people in town for the convention.”

She finished her cereal as I began toasting my bread. “Look,” she said, getting me to turn around. She'd gotten to her feet to carry her bowl to the sink, where she rinsed it and added it to the dishwasher. “I can be taught.”

“Awesome.” I went back to my toast.

“Maybe you'll see that it isn't so terrible having me around.”

However faint, the suggestion of extending her stay made my stomach drop toward my feet. I was glad I had my back turned.

When I didn't respond, she stood next to me. My toast popped just then and I set to buttering it.

“Is it so bad?” she asked. “Having me here?”

“It's an adjustment,” I said, veering away from the topic of prolonging her time in Emberstowne. “You and I have never gotten along the way sisters should. That makes it harder.”

“I can change,” she said.

Was that desperation I detected? Or another attempt to play me? “No one is asking you to change, Liza.”

Her face dropped like I'd slapped her. “Excuse me; you've been trying to get me to be like you since we were little.”

Pressing my two buttered toast sides together, I sliced them on a diagonal. “When we were kids, yeah. You're probably right. Whenever I perceived you were making a mistake, I corrected you.”

“And you still do that today.”

Facing her, I shook the butter knife from side to side. “No. I stopped a long time ago. Remember when Mom and Dad found out that you'd been stealing money from the people you babysat for? And drinking their liquor?”

“Only after the kids were in bed.”

“Seriously? You still think that's a defense?”

“None of the kids ever got hurt.”

“You got lucky.” I put the knife down. “My point is that Mom and Dad came to me and asked me to have a talk with you. A heart-to-heart. They were crazy with worry and had tried reasoning, punishment, threats. Nothing worked. Your transgressions kept escalating.”

“You did talk to me.”

“Only after I told Mom and Dad that I'd been trying, all along. That I'd given up and couldn't do it anymore.” Showdown time here. “Yeah, I talked with you, but if you recall, I didn't ask you to change. What I told you was that I wouldn't tolerate your bad behavior any longer. That until you made the decision to show consideration to the people in your life who cared about you, I was done.”

She scratched the back of her head and looked away. She remembered, all right. “I thought that was just another way of telling me how to behave.”

“Nope.” I picked up my plate of toast and set it on the table while I poured coffee. “I was telling you that I can't control your behavior. I can only control mine. And my choice is to let you deal with your troubles yourself.”

I sat. Liza sat across from me. “Then why am I here?” she asked. “You're letting me stay with you and you've even made arrangements for my safety. How is this making me deal with trouble myself?”

“Fair question.” I chomped toast as I contemplated how to phrase what I wanted to say. Using my pinkie as a pointer, I continued, “I've provided you nothing more than a place to stay and a semblance of security. You may have noticed that, other than urging you to tell the truth, I haven't offered advice on what to do, where to go, how to live. Nor will I.”

Her brows came together as though this was a fresh realization.

Talking around a mouthful of cinnamon and raisins, I went on. “That said, house rules are not to be trifled with. If you want to stay here, you won't step a toe over the line.” I finished chewing and swallowed. “Do anything to hurt me, my roommates, Bennett, Bootsie, or anyone at Marshfield, and you're outta here. It's that simple.”

*   *   *

Bennett's apartment sat one floor above our offices. I made it there five minutes before two. Despite the fact that he'd encouraged me to let myself in whenever I liked, this part of the mansion was Bennett's home and I never felt right barging in unannounced.

When Bennett answered the door himself, I was taken aback. “Where's Theo?” I asked, referring to the butler who was most often on duty. “Does he have the day off?”

Bennett offered a perfunctory smile. “Indeed.”

“What's wrong?” In the space of time it took him to allow me in, I couldn't help but notice that the lines bracketing his eyes and mouth seemed to have etched deeper since I'd seen him last.

“You'll know in a minute.” He took both my shoulders in his hands and faced me straight on. “I'm sorry, Gracie.”

Every ounce of energy in my body puddled to my feet
while every neuron in my brain fired with awareness that something terrible had happened. “Are you all right? You aren't ill, are you?”

With a sad smile, he released my shoulders, pulling me into a hug. “You are my rock, child.” His voice rumbled in his chest. “You do me good.”

I stepped back, confused. “Tell me what's going on.” Another thought bounced up. “The DNA results?” I could hear the disbelief in my words. “They came back negative.”

“My poor girl, I'm making this worse on you. No, the DNA results haven't come in yet.” He pulled my hand into the crook of his arm. “There is much to explain. Fortunately, there is someone here who can do it far better than I. He's waiting in my office.”

“But Theo isn't here,” I said. Bennett allowing a person to remain unsupervised in his private rooms was unthinkable.

“I made an exception.”

“Who is it?”

He didn't answer, but I didn't have long to wait. At the door to his office, he motioned for me to go first.

The man seated at Bennett's desk with his back to me, rose to his feet.

“Hello again, Ms. Wheaton,” Agent McClowery said.

I stopped. My hand snapped up in a “wait a minute,” move. I turned to Bennett. “Why all the secrecy? Why are you sorry?” I asked, referring to his bewildering apology from moments earlier. To McClowery, I said, “Is there more we need to discuss without my sister around?”

McClowery and Bennett exchanged a look I didn't understand. “Your questions are reasonable and I intend to answer them,” the agent said. “I have a few questions for you, first, if you don't mind.”

When I hesitated, Bennett touched my arm.

“Sure,” I said.

McClowery's soft words held an ominous chill. “Please, have a seat.”

We settled ourselves—Bennett behind his desk, McClowery and I across from him. Bennett's office, unlike his other private rooms and the rest of the mansion, offered little personality. A handsome space, decorated with law books and antique furniture and a handful of Bennett's art treasures, it provided no insight into the man's soul. Bennett liked it that way.

McClowery began. “Mr. Marshfield assured us, from the start, that you could be trusted with highly confidential information.”

“From the start?” I repeated, directing the question to Bennett. “This isn't the first time you've met Agent McClowery?”

Bennett kept his hands folded on his desk, index fingers extended. He shook his head and used his pointing digits to direct my attention back to the FBI agent.

“Mr. Marshfield wanted us to include you in our discussions, but in situations like these—where secrecy is critical to an investigation—the Bureau prefers to release information on a need-to-know basis. When Mr. Marshfield informed us of your phone call warning him about Eric, we agreed it was time to bring you in.”

He took his time, waiting for me to acknowledge his statement before continuing. “Mr. Marshfield's confidence in your trustworthiness, and my own impressions of your character from our interactions, have influenced my decision to bring you into our investigation at this time.

“I need your assurances that you will keep this conversation confidential and that you will share what we will disclose to you today with no one, especially your sister.”

“I won't say a word. Of course not.” The promise came out automatically, though my mental focus was elsewhere. Bennett had been working with the FBI? “How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“The investigation itself has been under way for a very long time,” he said. “More than a decade. Mr. Marshfield's involvement, however, is relatively recent.” He turned to
Bennett. “We've been working together for about how long? Three weeks?”

“Five,” Bennett said.

I fought to keep my stricken reaction to myself. I failed. “How does this involve Eric?” I asked McClowery. “You came looking for him, right? That couldn't have been a ruse to assess me because . . . that other man, the one who was murdered, came looking for Eric, too.” I could hear shock in my fast, furious questions. “Is my sister involved in this? She must be, it's too much of a coincidence.” Taking a breath, I finally managed the central question: “What is this all about?”

McClowery reached into a satchel he'd propped against his chair. He dug out a letter-sized photograph and placed it in front of me on Bennett's desk.

“Have you ever seen this?” The agent's square-nailed thick fingers pushed the sheet closer to me. He said, “Take your time,” but I could tell he was assessing my reaction.

“I've never seen anything like this before.” The item in the picture, photographed next to a metric ruler for scale, appeared to be about the size of a box of facial tissues, standing on end.

McClowery kept silent.

“Is this gold? Are these”—I pointed—“precious stones?”

With two solid lengths of gold that twisted like the double-helix of DNA, the piece was structured like the hereditary material, but its resemblance ended there. The space between the edges was solid, littered with whorls of sparkling jewels. I couldn't imagine what purpose this thing served, or what it was meant to represent.

“Yes, and yes,” McClowery said. “Can you guess the worth of a piece like that?”

I laughed, forgetting the tension in the room for a moment. “Are you kidding? Without more information, I'd be guessing.”

“Fair to say, however, that it could be considered valuable?”

I nodded. “Very.”

“You know the conflict surrounding the Temple of Sree Padmanabhaswamy, I assume.”

“I do,” I said. “When the temple's vaults were opened and vast treasures uncovered, the royal family of India, the government, and the public argued over ownership.” I pointed. “Is this from that temple?”

“No.” He gave me a sly smile. “Let me tell you another story, one you may not have heard.”

I caught Bennett watching me. His sorrowful demeanor had broken and eager delight shone through. He leaned forward, eyes glittering with anticipation.

“Not far from the Indian temple, and by not far I mean on the same continent—”

I cough-laughed. “Asia covers a whole lot of area.”