Grace Cries Uncle (21 page)

I kept my expression impassive, but strove to shut the detective up by sheer force of will. Rodriguez and Flynn didn't know about the ruse McClowery and I had concocted. One misstep and Liza would know I'd been lying about why McClowery had been here this morning. Not that she could do anything about it, but still.

“Yeah, we already heard. He left town.” Liza's affected nonchalance didn't fool me. She was digging. “I forgot where Grace said he was going, though . . .”

I could tell that the news of Eric's leaving surprised them both, but Flynn shrugged. “Doesn't matter where he is. At least not as far as we're concerned,” he said. “He's no longer a person of interest in the murder of Emilio Ochoa, a.k.a. Alvin Clark, a.k.a. Tomas Pineda.”

She shot me an “I told you so” look. “I knew Eric was no killer. I can leave now.”

“Not so fast,” I said.

“Why? You were all so worried about Evil Eric coming after me. He's not only skipped town, he's no longer a murder suspect. That means, dear sister, that I'm free to go. I can see and talk with whomever I like. You can't stop me.”

“First of all,” I began, “as long as you're living in my house, I still make the rules.”

“You sound like a cranky parent yelling at a teenager,” Flynn said.

“You're not helping.” Addressing Liza again, I continued, “And unless you've been holding out on me, you don't have the resources to go anywhere else.”

She opened her mouth. I cut her off. “Lastly, as I'm sure our esteemed detectives will tell you, just because Eric isn't the killer doesn't mean you're safe. Whoever killed that fake FBI guy is still at large.” I turned to Rodriguez. “Am I right?”

“Sell it, amiga.”

I stopped short of poking Liza in the chest. “And don't forget, before he was killed, the victim came to see
me
. Which means the killer is fully aware of Eric's connection to
you
. You think he'll believe you know nothing? Or do you think he'll do whatever it takes to squeeze information out of you?”

I waited a beat before holding my hand out toward the door. “Still want to leave?”

She huffed. “Fine. Forget it.” She crossed the room to fling herself back on the couch, resuming her angst-ridden ingénue pose.

Flynn smirked. “She sure acts like a teenager.”

I asked Rodriguez and Flynn to follow me out of the office. “Frances, do you mind?”

My assistant settled her hostile gaze on Liza's recumbent form. “We'll be fine here, don't you worry about a thing.”

“Well?” Flynn asked the moment we were in the corridor. “Tell us.”

We continued down the long hallway of third-floor offices, toward the stairs. Not knowing how much McClowery had shared with these two, I opted to play it safe. “The truth is I don't know whether Eric has left town or not, but—for a lot of very good reasons—we need Liza to believe that he has.”

The two men stopped walking and exchanged a puzzled look. “That's real nice,” Flynn said, “but it doesn't answer my question.”

My turn to be confused. “What are you talking about?”

“The test,” Rodriguez said, impatient as Flynn. “The DNA. Have you found out if you and Mr. Marshfield are related?”

I raised a hand to my forehead. “This morning seems so long ago.” And then I remembered that Bennett was waiting for me upstairs.

“Well?” Flynn prompted, fidgety as ever.

I took a quick breath. “Yes, we're related.”

They congratulated me and offered speculation about how my life would change. “That's not why I did it,” I said. “Knowing Bennett is my uncle is enough. I don't need anything more.”

Flynn lifted his chin toward my office. “I take it
she
doesn't know. Your sister, I mean.”

I felt the familiar flutter of apprehension. “No,” I said. “She doesn't.”

Rodriguez placed a heavy hand on my shoulder. “Maybe the sooner she leaves Emberstowne, the better.”

Theo threw open the door to Bennett's apartment with far less decorum than I'd come to expect from the staid butler. “Miss Grace,” he said, “Mr. Bennett told me the good news.” He grabbed my hand and shook it with vigor. “Best thing to happen here in a very long time.”

“Thank you, Theo.” Touched by his enthusiasm, I wrapped both my hands around his larger one. “I'm so happy to be part of a family again.”

“Mr. Bennett has considered you family for some time.”

“Gracie, is that you?” Bennett called from deep within the apartment.

“I'll be right there,” I said.

“I don't mean to detain you, Miss Grace,” Theo said.

“Good news is fun to share.” I patted him on the forearm. “But I suppose I ought to get in there.”

Theo's pale eyes widened with emphasis. “He's antsy today, no question about it. I think the quicker you talk with him the sooner he'll settle down.”

“Thanks.”

He winked. “Welcome home.”

Bennett was pacing his study when I walked in. Much homier than his office, bookshelves lined three walls of this room. The center of the eastern wall featured a carved oak panel that had been set between shelves. A secret room lay behind that panel, and one of these days I hoped Bennett would make good on his promise to allow me to dig through the dusty treasures that had been secreted there.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

He stood behind the room's low-backed persimmon sofa and I got the impression I'd stopped him mid-pace. “I wanted quiet time today. I wanted to spend time with you, talking about the future. I have plans, Gracie. Lots of plans. I want your input before moving forward.”

“We have plenty of time for that now.”

Bennett didn't smile the way I'd expected him to. “Close the door, please.”

I obliged. He pointed toward the paisley wing chair that sat perpendicular to the couch. I sat.

“I trust Theo completely, but it's best to keep tonight's details to ourselves.” Bennett began marching back and forth across the room. “We don't have a lot of time.” Holding up two fingers, he shook them as though chiding me with the peace symbol. “McClowery wants to go over everything again.”

“I'm sorry I'm late.”

“No, no, Gracie. It's not your fault. It's that I'd hoped to have my plans in place before this whatever-you-want-to-call-it tonight. Stakeout? Sting? Whatever it is, occurs.”

I got to my feet and went over to him, preventing further pacing. “What do you mean ‘plans in place before tonight'? This isn't the first time you've said such a thing. What aren't you telling me?”

Although he smiled down at me, I recognized anxiety behind his eyes. “I don't like to leave things unfinished. Not that I have any real safety concerns, mind you,” he added,
reacting to my expression. “But after all the harrowing experiences you and I have lived through these past few years, I no longer take safety for granted. I told my attorneys to have everything prepared ahead of time. Once we had the proof in hand I wanted it to be easy. Sign, witness, done.”

“Bennett, there's no need for changes.”

“I know you feel that way, but ownership of Marshfield has always remained with family. I'm not about to break tradition now.”

“You're afraid of not making it through tonight, aren't you?” Before he could answer, I said, “Call it off, then. No artifact, not even this jeweled key, is worth it.”

His eyes were sad. “I'll be fine, Gracie. Again, it's merely unfinished business that's troubling me. I'm unsettled until I know everything is under control. The attorneys should have had everything ready to go, but . . .”

“It's because of Liza, isn't it?”

“She will need to be told. Better we face the consequences together, on our terms, than to have her discover the truth on her own. My attorneys believe it's in my best interests to come up with specific provisions excluding Liza before changing my will to leave the bulk of my estate to you.”

“No, Bennett, no.”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “It's my fortune. I'm allowed to do with it as I please.”

“I'm not comfortable—”

“I know that. Which is why I'm determined to make it through this evening without a scratch. I intend for you to learn everything so that you become comfortable by the time I am no longer here.”

“Please don't talk like that.”

He seemed about to reassure me yet again when there was a knock at the door. “Come,” he called.

“Another wrinkle in tonight's plan.” McClowery pushed his way in and stopped short, his surprise evident. “Glad to
find you here, Grace. The matter I wanted to discuss involves you both.”

“Have a seat,” Bennett said.

McClowery lowered himself into the wing chair as Bennett and I sat on the sofa. “My team is set up. We've tapped into your closed-circuit system to maintain surveillance this evening.”

Without waiting for our acknowledgment, he went on. “As you know, Bennett, you'll wear a hidden microphone so we can monitor all your conversations.”

“I don't understand,” I said. “Why is that necessary? Don't you intend to apprehend Eric the moment he shows up?”

McClowery leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “As this event is open to all FAAC attendees, it's very possible that Eric Soames will show up tonight intending to negotiate the sale of the jeweled key to Bennett, personally. That would be optimal.”

But. I was waiting for the “but.”

“But Soames isn't stupid. A more likely scenario would be for him to use an intermediary for this initial contact with Mr. Marshfield.”

“Someone like Nina Buchman?” I asked.

McClowery nodded. “Or another associate we aren't aware of. If Nina Buchman shows up here tonight, you'd recognize her?”

“Definitely.”

“Good.”

“You used the words
initial contact
,” I said.

“Eric Soames will probably send an emissary to connect with Mr. Marshfield and then negotiate a price as well as a time and place for the exchange,” he said. “We're guessing, but are fairly confident, that Eric will want to complete the transaction fast. Perhaps even later tonight, after the event.”

“Wait,” I said. “Do you intend for Bennett to meet with criminals? Alone?”

“We hope to bring our investigation to a satisfactory conclusion before any such meeting takes place.” McClowery's cold delivery held no compassion. “Mr. Marshfield has been advised of the risks. He has agreed to cooperate.”

I wanted to slap the dead-eyed stare off the agent's flat face. “Did you forget that someone out there already killed a man to get this jeweled key? How can you put Bennett in danger like this?”

“Again, Ms. Wheaton, we hope it won't come to that.”

“You hope,” I repeated.

“We will be right there. Mr. Soames won't get away.”

Flynn's recent warning echoed in my brain.
What good will that do if you're already dead?

Reading my thoughts, perhaps, Bennett patted my knee. “It will be okay, Gracie,” he said. “Let's get back to the plan. You mentioned a wrinkle, Agent McClowery?”

The FBI man gave a quick nod, clearly relieved by the change of topic. “As you are both aware, our agency's goal is not so much to apprehend Eric Soames as it is to use Soames's testimony to bring down Mr. X.”

“And to recover the jeweled key,” Bennett reminded him.

“That is, of course, an important objective,” McClowery said, “but the FBI's focus is to uncover the outfit responsible for its theft in the first place. This organization is, if you will, the engine that powers thousands of such thefts and subsequent black market sales every year.”

“Thousands?” I asked.

“I had no idea, either,” Bennett said, “until Agent McClowery first approached me about working with the FBI.”

McClowery looked at his watch and began speaking more quickly. “Not every theft is as notorious as this one. Not every item so valuable. That's why tonight's setup is of the utmost importance. Back to the change in our plan. It's very possible that the ringleader Soames was working for will make an appearance here tonight.”

Despite the fact that I was still processing anger at the
FBI's willingness to put Bennett's life at risk, I asked, “Why would he do that?”

“Our intelligence suggests that the head of the black market organization is an avid collector in his or her own right. Mr. X would blend in perfectly at tonight's affair, whereas one of the boss's hired guns would not.”

“You've mentioned that before,” Bennett said. “I don't understand what's changed.”

“What's different now is our wild card.” To me, he said, “I'm talking about your sister, Liza.”

“I don't understand.”

“We want her present at the reception tonight,” he said.

“What are you, nuts?” I asked.

“Liza will not be made aware that the FBI is in attendance. She will merely be told—by you—that because Eric has left town and because security is tight at Marshfield, there's no reason to keep her locked away all evening.”

He sat up straight, as though that explained everything.

I shook my head. “What possible reason could you have to want Liza there?”

“By now, whoever hired Eric Soames knows who Liza is. Allowing your sister to mingle among potential targets tonight gives us the opportunity to observe who approaches her and how she interacts with them.”

“You want to use my sister as bait.”

“She will never be in any danger.” He blinked those flat eyes. “But essentially, yes.”

“You don't understand my sister,” I said. “She swore she knew none of Eric's business partners, but then admitted to recognizing Nina Buchman. My sister is a liar.”

The two men waited for me to continue.

“What if she really
does
know the person who hired Eric? Or what if she recognizes the person Eric sends? Then what?”

McClowery's dead eyes finally glinted with life. “Even better.”