Grace Under Pressure (6 page)

She was absolutely right. She had anticipated our exact needs. I watched her settle herself back at her desk, squirming into her seat with a self-satisfied grin. We would get along so much better if she could pair her expert efficiency with a smidgen of friendliness, but today wasn’t the best time to suggest that. I read over the transcript she’d prepared. “Thanks,” I said, “this is great.”

She glanced up. “Anything else you need right now?”

“I’ll let you know.”

This time when I closed the door, I crossed the room immediately. Abe’s massive oak desk was set at an angle in the far corner so that the windows were to his left and the fireplace to his right. A coffered ceiling of carved teak provided a mix of beauty and gravitas—the perfect setting for serious curator and directorial work.

Right now, however, instead of appreciating the view or the décor, I needed to find the threat we’d received yesterday afternoon. Since the police hadn’t found the letter Abe intended to show Bennett, it had to be here. Unless, of course, the killer had taken it with him when he fled.

Either way, we now knew the threats were real. Bennett had pooh-poohed that idea, but he had been proven horribly wrong. I stared upward at the ornate ceiling, thinking about Bennett one floor above. I hadn’t seen him since leaving him in the doctor’s care yesterday.

Returning my attention to the desk, I flipped through Abe’s calendar and searched through the papers on his blotter. There were so few, it didn’t take long. No letter. The one that had arrived yesterday wasn’t the first we’d received, so I decided to think like Abe. He would have created a file. And he would have kept it nearby.

Taking a seat in his soft leather chair, I bit my lip. “Sorry, Abe,” I said aloud. “But I need to see what you’ve got here.”

The man was organized. His desk, an antique from America’s colonial era, had relatively small drawers, and in them he had chosen to store items most people keep on top of their desks. Paper clips, tape, stapler, pens. All these were tucked away in neat, sectioned compartments.

I twirled to my left to face the windowed wall. Under the wide sill at the base of the paned glass were filing cabinets that had been custom fitted to utilize the space. These were relatively new and had been designed to accommodate everything from letter- to legal-sized documents. Most of the mansion’s files were stored in the office I shared with Frances, but I imagined Abe kept a great deal here, out of the nosy assistant’s curious reach.

“Good morning, Grace.”

I spun. Bennett Marshfield stood before me, looking as though he hadn’t slept much. While he generally favored pastel blues and khakis, today he wore black slacks and a matching long-sleeved shirt with an open collar. The dark color accentuated the shadows under his eyes.

I stumbled over my return greeting as I stood.

“Frances tells me you’re eager to take over Abe’s position.”

Frances stood in the doorway, gloating.

“I thought it would be helpful to find that letter,” I said. Feeling like a kid caught Web-surfing when she should be doing her homework, my face flushed hot and my words came out fast. “Abe intended to bring you the latest threatening letter. I know he must have had it on him yesterday when he . . . when he came to see you.”

Bennett rubbed his eyebrow. “That letter is long gone. I’m sure of it. Whoever . . . whoever . . .” He worked his jaw. “That letter is gone.”

“Yes,” I began, “but—”

“You young people are always in such a hurry.” His voice was low but emotion trembled behind it as he continued. “Abe hasn’t been gone for twenty-four hours yet. Is it too much to ask that we wait a respectable amount of time before we erase all that he was?”

“I’m not trying to erase anything—”

“Oh no?” Bennett tilted his head toward the office I shared with Frances. She’d remained in the doorway. The better to listen in, I supposed. “I can see no reason for you to be rooting around in here.”

I took a breath, keeping my gaze steady and my voice calm. “Abe was very thorough. You
know
how thorough he was. Even if the original is gone, I’m sure he would have kept a copy.”

I could tell the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He gave a brief nod. More acknowledgment than apology. “You’re right, of course. I should have thought of that.”

“I can help,” I said. “Abe taught me a lot. I can keep things running here the way he would. That is, if you’ll let me.”

Silence hung between us for a long moment. Finally, he nodded. “For now I will expect you to act as liaison between the manor and the police.” This was a directive, not a request. I nodded, and he turned toward the door.

There was a flash of lavender behind him—Frances scurrying back to her desk before he could catch her eavesdropping.

“Before you go . . .” I said. “Could you tell me just a little more about the letters you received before the one yesterday?”

Aiming for one of the office’s red leather chairs, he took a faltering step. Instinctively, I started around the desk to help, but he warned me back with a look. While he had always been the picture of vitality and could have been a poster boy for AARP, today his height made him look gaunt and his black clothing rendered him pale. “Sit,” he said as he settled himself in one of the two wing-back chairs. I sat.

Bennett stared out the mullioned window. “I have a similar view from upstairs.”

Not knowing what else to say, I murmured, “It’s gorgeous.”

He kept his attention on the grounds. “Yes.”

For a moment I was afraid Bennett might break down. He wasn’t just seeing the grounds outside this window, of that I was certain. Abe had been hired here a long time ago, back when he and Bennett were young. From what I’d heard, Abe’s parents worked on the estate, too, so just like Bennett, Abe had grown up here. Losing Abe had to be like losing a best friend.

As Bennett’s eyes grew red and he worked his jaw again, I realized that that was probably exactly what had happened. As an only child of privilege, he may have had friends among the children of his parents’ friends, but here at home, who did he have?

I stared out the window to give Bennett time to compose himself.

No wonder Abe had become the curator-director. Of all positions on staff, this was the most prestigious, the most important. In other countries, such a position is referred to as the “palace manager,” because in addition to maintaining all the museum-quality artifacts, the “palace” must be managed, like a business. Whoever is in charge must be able to wear ten hats and juggle a hundred crises at once.

Although Abe took care of Marshfield Manor to the best of his ability, there was no doubt he had not kept up with new and better efficiencies. As a result, the place had developed a patina of neglect. From what I understood, Bennett had initially fought the idea of bringing on someone new—he preferred to promote from within. A great concept, except for the fact that most of those qualified to take over the position at Marshfield were near retirement age themselves.

Bennett’s anger at seeing me invade Abe’s space made sense. I understood how important it was to him to keep things static—for now. But I wanted this job. I wanted it more than anything else in my life.

Even Eric? My brain taunted me with the question and the sudden, unbidden memory of his departure made me frown.

“What are you thinking about?” Bennett asked.

I gave a wry smile and a vague reply. “It’s a day for sad memories, I guess.”

He seemed to understand my reluctance to share. Straightening his shoulders, he asked, “What did you want to know about the other letters?”

“You don’t happen to have copies, do you?”

He shook his head.

“I’m sure I’ll find them here somewhere,” I began. “Do you remember when they started?”

“No. When Abe showed me the first one, I laughed. Told him to throw it away. Just silliness, I was sure. People are always trying to get something from me.” He ran his gaze around the room, as though seeing it through new eyes. “I suppose I don’t blame them.” His voice grew soft. “They believe I have so much more than they do.”

Frances was probably having a hard time hearing our conversation. I liked that thought.

Keeping Bennett on topic, I asked if they had taken the letters to the police.

“I told Abe not to,” he said, swallowing. “Maybe if I had—”

“It’s possible the letters have nothing to do with . . .” Why was it that none of us could say the actual words? “Nothing to do with what happened yesterday. We may find that the letters were just silliness and whoever . . . whoever broke in yesterday was completely uninvolved with that.”

He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t agree. It was as though he’d aged a decade overnight. Pain lined his face, deepening his scowl. “What the hell happened to our security? I thought we were improving that.”

I nodded. This wasn’t the time to argue, but I couldn’t throw Carr under the bus either. “That’s one of the projects we’ve been working on,” I said. “Terrence Carr has been implementing excellent changes . . .”

Bennett’s eyes glittered. “But he didn’t protect Abe, did he?”

“Installing a new system is a huge undertaking. With such an enormous expense, we want to make the right decision . . .”

“A big expense?” Anger nearly propelled Bennett out of his chair. “Do you think there is any expense I would refuse to protect my people?”

I held my hands up and spoke very quietly. “Of course not. But no one could have anticipated this.”

Bennett nodded absently. “A big expense,” he said again. “That’s why Abe argued against upgrading our security. He said we were adequately covered, adequately staffed. I believed him.” His voice trailed off and I waited. “We were wrong about that.”

“Honestly, we don’t know who was behind all this,” I said. “But I think figuring out the timeline will help. And finding the old letters.” Not for the first time, I wished I’d been brought in on this issue from the start.

Bennett made a so-so motion with his head. “Maybe.”

He turned to face the window again, the blue of his eyes aglow with memories. I hated to interrupt him, but it didn’t take long for him to snap back to reality. “I’m sorry,” he said, getting to his feet. “You go ahead and do what needs to be done.” Was it my imagination or was he relieved to be able to rely on me? “If you need anything from me, I’m right upstairs.”

I stood when he did, reluctant to broach the next topic—but it had to be done. “Abe told me he had direct contact with you. Anything I needed, I went through him. Since that’s no longer an option, how can I best get in touch with you?”

He twisted his lips and turned toward the fireplace, his face a mask. I couldn’t read him. Was my question so out of line? Staff members had been forbidden to contact Bennett Marshfield without routing through Abe. While the master of the castle possessed a walkie-talkie to monitor the premises as desired, we were never to contact him without permission. Abe had made that clear.

If Abe had done nothing else, he had insulated Bennett. Asking to breach that chasm was a big deal and I knew it. It was as though I was asking for Bennett’s de facto permission to completely take over where Abe had left off.

Dragging his attention back to the question, Bennett sized me up. Again. He rattled off his phone extension. “You will have questions. You may call as needed.” He licked his lips. Buying time—coming to a decision. Finally, he added, “I will provide you a set of keys. These will grant you access to some private areas. We will discuss the keys’ usage at a later date.”

His face crumpled and he stared out the window for a long moment to compose himself. “I haven’t thanked you,” he finally said, “for all you did for me last night.”

“I was glad to help.”

Without making eye contact, he gave a curt nod and headed for the door.

I wanted to press him, to ask about his involvement in the Taft scandal, but this was not the right moment. To bring up the pain of his swindling friend’s legal troubles would be to kick a man when he was down.

As Bennett made it through the doorway, he addressed my assistant. “How’s the eavesdropping business today, Frances? Learn anything new?”

FRANCES APPEARED IN THE DOORWAY THE moment the outer door closed. “Do I still call you Grace, or are you going to insist on Ms. Wheaton now?” I was still in Abe’s office, trying to think of where he might have kept the threatening letters.

“Grace will be fine.”

Frances had one thick fist jammed into her hip, while the other hand waved about, making a jingling sound as the dozen brass bracelets encircling her wrist jockeyed for position. “You sure don’t waste time.”

I ignored the bait. “Do you know where Abe kept those letters?” No need to pretend she hadn’t overheard.

“ ’Bout time you asked me.” Pivoting, she marched back into our shared office. I followed her to a tall filing cabinet on my side of the room. She wagged her head as she spoke. “Of course he asked me to file them. Abe understood I keep tabs on everything that goes on around here. I knew exactly where to put them.”