Whitehouse Chef 04 - Grace Under Pressure Page 11

  “He strikes me as more of a nuisance than a danger.”

  “Quite the nuisance,” Frances agreed. “Turns out Melissa and Rosa might have talked to Tooney the night of the murder. They thought he was a real cop, too.”

  “At least the real police talked with them both later.”

  “Speaking of detectives,” my assistant continued, “you think that young buck, Flynn, is married?”

  “No idea.”

  “He might be a good catch.”

  Why Frances was so interested in my personal life was beyond me. Or maybe she was just one of those people who couldn’t keep her nose out of other people’s business. “He’s not my type.”

  “Not you. I meant Melissa, the housekeeper. She could use a stand-up man in her life. That Flynn’s a cutie.”

  In my opinion Flynn was a pompous ass. “I thought Melissa was married.”

  “Pheh. I think they’re separated. After that husband of hers pulled his stunt, I think she had enough and kicked him out.”

  “What stunt?”

  In her element, Frances beamed. “About a year ago the husband told Melissa she could quit work so they could start a family. You never saw a girl so happy. We threw her a going-away party. Next thing you know, boom. She’s working back here again.”

  Despite my better instincts, I asked, “What happened?”

  “He changed his mind.” Frances’s eyes brightened. “I think he took off, leaving her without a job or any money. So she came back to work here. Melissa doesn’t talk about him anymore. Doesn’t smile much anymore either. Used to be all she could talk about was her Samuel, but after she started working back here again, she went mum. Poor kid.”

  I thought about Liza running off. And Eric not so far behind. “Yeah, well there’s a lot of that going around,” I said.

  “Sad,” Frances agreed, not having any clue what I meant. “And Rosa’s story is even worse. Her granddaughter got into some big trouble doing drugs. The granddaughter has been hitting Rosa up for money right and left. It’s getting ugly. But you know what the worst part is?”

  I’d reached my gossip limit for the day. “I’d better get in touch with Bennett to let him know about the new letter,” I said. “Some other time.”

  She made a noise of disgust and started for her office. “Used to be around here people appreciated me,” she said.

  I ignored that and lifted the phone.

  Chapter 13

  BENNETT ARRIVED IN MY OFFICE ABOUT TEN minutes later, accompanied by two security officers, who waited in the anteroom with Frances. I shut the door.

  I didn’t know exactly what to expect from Bennett when I showed him the newest letter, but what I hadn’t anticipated were the swift tears that filled his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, instinctively pulling the copy toward me. “I just thought you should be kept informed.”

  He swallowed noisily, his nose reddening. He averted his eyes to stare out the window but I could tell he wasn’t seeing anything. When he blinked, tears streamed freely down his weathered cheeks. “No,” he whispered, “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  For several minutes there were no sounds in the room except for the rush of the air in the vents and the ticking of the mantel clock. I watched the secondhand step around the face, each soft thck an urge for me to say something, anything, to ease Bennett’s pain. But there was nothing anyone could do.

  I cleared my throat.

  As though reminded of my presence, Bennett turned to face me. He wiped his eyes, not trying to hide it. “I should have paid,” he said. “Maybe if I had, Abe would still be here.”

  “Criminals don’t operate by the same rules you and I do,” I said. “There’s no predicting that.”

  Watery blue eyes met mine with skepticism. Truth was, as much as I believed it would have been wrong to pay this extortion, I also assumed that the killer would not have broken into the mansion if the money had been paid.

  “You’re new,” Bennett said. “You don’t know this town like I do.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, thought better of it, and listened instead.

  “People knew that Abe and I were friends. Good friends. He and his family have been with my family for generations. When my wives died, Abe was there for me. When his wife died, it was I who held his hand and walked him through the arrangements. We grew up together. Became men together.” Bennett’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Abe used to joke that he would take a bullet for me.” The tears sprang again to his eyes. “And now he has.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that.

  Bennett continued, “Whoever killed Abe knew how much it would kill me. I don’t believe this was an accident. I believe whoever did this meant to do so. They meant to make me suffer.”

  “You’re assuming it’s someone from Emberstowne?” I asked gently.

  He blinked at me in annoyance. “Who else could it be?”

  “The way things are these days,” I said, keeping my voice low, “it could be anyone angry because you have so much and they have so little. The mansion is featured in documentaries and magazines all over the country. You’re an international celebrity. Everyone knows who you are.”

  “And see where that’s gotten me.” The irritation in his eyes lessened, but only slightly. “With a target on my back and the backs of my dearest friends.”

  “The detectives will be going over this newest letter,” I said in an effort to return to the matter at hand. “I have a feeling this one holds the answers.”

  Again the skepticism. “You’re so young.”

  “Look,” I said, turning the sheet sideways so we could both read it. “It refers to ‘we’ and it claims you ‘owe’ them.”

  Bennett seemed unimpressed but let me continue.

  “Maybe,” I broached the subject as benignly as I could, “this is related to your testimony against T. Randall Taft.”

  Bennett reacted as though the thought had never occurred to him. “No,” he said, but the denial in his voice wavered. His gaze roved the room, seeking answers in its corners. “Randall would never . . .”

  I said nothing.

  “It’s too terrible to contemplate,” he said. Answers were apparently not to be found in our surroundings, and he clenched his eyes. “Randall understands why I turned him in. He must.”

  I silently wondered how a man as sophisticated as Bennett could be so naïve. Bennett had been the instrument of Taft’s ruin. People killed one another over matters more trivial than this every day.

  “Look at the timing,” I said. “These letters started arriving fairly soon after Taft was indicted. I don’t think we can discount him as a suspect. I’m pretty sure the detectives consider him a person of interest.”

  “Can’t be.” Bennett shook his head with effort. “No.”

  I focused on him. “How are you?” I asked. “I know this has been hard. How are you holding up?”

  He jerked a thumb at the door. “I wish they’d release the damn babysitters. I’m not an invalid, you know. I can’t even walk around without company. Two of them. Night and day. The only time they leave me alone is when I’m asleep in my bed and only because I insist. A man needs his privacy,” he said in a way that dared me to contradict.

  “You have to understand . . .”

  “No,” he said, vehemence overtaking his voice. “Everyone else needs to understand. I am Bennett Marshfield. I own this home. Why should I suffer under the rules of those who work for me? Shouldn’t I be the one making the rules here? Do you all believe I’m incapable of handling myself?”

  If the intruder who killed Abe had outdistanced our landscape consultant, Jack Embers, I ventured to guess that he was in good enough physical condition to overpower Bennett. Instead of voicing that opinion, I said, “No one is suggesting you’re incapable. But we are worried for your safety. For our collective safety. You are clearly a target. If we’re able to make it known that you’re protected, then we all benefit. No one will attempt
to get in with guards surrounding you. And that makes it safer for everyone here.”

  He gave grudging acknowledgment.

  I decided to broach the swindling subject once more. “Let’s talk about Taft. I just want to understand how he got away with his money scheme for as long as he did.”

  Bennett faced me straight on and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. “I’ll tell you why he was able to get away with it—because people are greedy. It’s the truly blessed man who can be content with what he has and who isn’t always longing for that elusive ‘something more.’”

  I thought about the wealth that surrounded me every moment I spent at Marshfield Manor. I thought about my leaky roof, and the back fence, which needed shoring up. I thought about the myriad of things I needed and the luxuries I did without.

  “You’re that blessed man,” I said, thinking about how little he knew of the desperation others experienced throughout their lives. He lasered a glare at me, but I plunged on. It was ridiculous for him to pontificate about the nature of greed from his comfortable perch in the crown of luxury. “You have everything you’ve ever wanted.”

  “Did I know you were this impertinent when I hired you?”

  “I’m only suggesting that maybe that’s why you were able to see Taft’s scheme for what it was. You don’t need his help to get rich.”

  He leaned back ever so slightly. “True. Randall and I go way back. He was always taking the shortcut, always trying to compare himself with me. But for what purpose? I’m not bragging when I say that my family owned a thousand times what his family did. That’s just how it was. It never bothered me and I couldn’t understand why it bothered him. But it did.”

  “Maybe that’s why Taft tried to entice you into investing with him.”

  Bennett nodded slowly. “I asked him for a prospectus and for a few other key items. And he provided what he had, poor bastard.” He looked up at me. “Why would he do that?”

  “Maybe he hoped you would lose everything? Maybe he hoped to bring you down with the rest of his clients when the house of cards collapsed.”

  “No,” Bennett said. “I believe Randall was tired of the charade. He wanted to be caught and he expected me to turn him in. That’s why I know Randall can’t be behind Abe’s killing. No matter how much he lost for himself or for his clients, Randall would never hold me personally responsible. And even if he did, he and I go back too far for him to try to harm me or my staff.”

  I thought that little speech spoke less to Taft’s loyalty and more to Bennett’s naïveté.

  We’d stayed on this subject too long. Bennett started to rise, but I hadn’t had half of my questions addressed. I stopped him with, “Did you hear about our find this morning?”

  Lowering himself back into the seat, his eyes twinkled. The first glimmer of interest I’d seen from him all day. “What do you mean by ‘find’?”

  I told him about the Raphael Soyer painting we’d just had restored. “But before we can truly celebrate, we’ll have to wait for final authentication.”

  “That portrait of my dad used to hang in his sitting room. I always wondered what happened to it.” He smiled then—warm, real happiness bringing life to his face. “Keep me updated.”

  I promised I would.

  When I tried veering the subject back to Taft, Bennett pushed himself out of his chair. Clearly, this was a signal for me to cease and desist. But there were too many unanswered questions and I believed Bennett held the key to some of their answers. I stood, too.

  “If you don’t think Taft had anything to do with Abe . . .” I began.

  “I don’t.”

  “Then who do you think is after you?” I pointed at the copy of the most recent letter on my desk. “Who else is out there who might believe you owe him something?”

  “If I had any idea, I would tell you, and the detectives.” Bennett turned away, but stopped just before the door. “Everyone wants a part of me. Everyone wants assurances that they will be provided for when I die. But I’ve set it up so that no one person will profit from my demise. You haven’t asked, but you will eventually. And I will tell you now what I have told everyone else: Upon my death, this estate becomes the property of Emberstowne. With its income and the trust account I’ve set up, there should be plenty of money to keep the estate running indefinitely. No one wants me dead, because as long as I’m alive, I retain the power to change my will.” He laughed, but without humor. “It’s almost like having an insurance policy.”

  I thought of his commentary about the blessed man who never wanted for anything. Bennett was not that man after all.

  “I plan to do some digging of my own,” I said.

  Hand on the doorknob, he turned. “Do you, now? Don’t you have confidence in our detective friends?”

  “I think they’re inexperienced in situations this serious.”

  “And you believe you can do better?”

  “No, of course not,” I said with a little asperity. “But I do believe I have the capacity to help.”

  One corner of Bennett’s mouth curled upward. “Update me as needed,” he said. “But do be careful.” He shuddered and the lightness of his mood flashed away. Pulling open the door, he said softly, “I wish I could have been there for Abe.”

  As he left, I realized I’d forgotten to remind him about those keys he’d mentioned. I was curious as to how much access he planned to grant me with regard to the private rooms.

  Frances didn’t waste any time. The moment Bennett and his escorts were gone, she swung into my office. “Did the Mister say anything about you taking over Abe’s office?”

  “How is the mansion operating today?” I asked, ignoring her. “Are we caught up with all the complaints from yesterday?”

  “All but that Geraldine woman. She’s relentless.”

  “You predicted she’d turn up again.”

  Frances smiled at the implied compliment. “Bit quicker than I expected. Now she’s threatening to sue us for emotional aggravation.”

  “What? That’s nuts.”

  “She’s nuts.”

  “What will it take to make her go away?”

  Frances’s mouth dropped open. “You’re not going to give in to her?”

  “We’re in the middle of the worst crisis this place has ever experienced. We need to focus on that first. The last thing we need is some crazy guest initiating a frivolous lawsuit. We pride ourselves on keeping our guests happy.” I held up my hand to stave off Frances’s objections. “So, again, what will it take to make her go away?”

  Wiggling her shoulders in a way that made her displeasure clear, Frances said, “She wants to come back and stay here for free.”

  “Fine,” I said. “She can have her free night.”

  “She wants two.”

  “Two?”

  Frances nodded. “And she wants to stay on the concierge floor.”

  “This woman really is a piece of work, isn’t she?”

  “Told you.”

  I sat up. “Give me her number.”

  Chapter 14

  PASTING A SMILE ON MY FACE, WHICH I HOPED would be conveyed over the phone line, I prepared to do polite battle with the avaricious Geraldine. I was confident I could turn this situation into a positive—and was eager to have a go at her.

  Unfortunately, her phone went directly to voicemail. After debating the wisdom of leaving a message, I simply said, “This is Grace Wheaton from Marshfield Manor. I’m sorry to have missed you. I’ll call back again soon.” I didn’t invite her to return the call. Better I should choose when to make contact.

  Thwarted from getting that small task done, I consulted my to-do list. This list was often all that came between me and certifiable insanity. Keeping the mansion running smoothly was paramount. And with that mandate, I knew I had to put the kibosh on any more intrusions by Ronny Tooney.

  Tooney was more nuisance than threat. But I didn’t like the idea of the guy skulking around here, able to drif
t in and out without anyone noticing.

  I opened the door, catching Frances in the middle of a personal phone call. I held up a hand. “Let me know when you’re done,” I said, about to start back into my office.

  She said, “Gotta go,” into the phone, and hung up. “Sorry.”

  Sorry? From Frances? “No problem,” I said. “I just wanted to ask what you know about Ronny Tooney.”

  “Never met the man,” she said. “But I think he’s related to somebody on staff.” She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Yvonne, maybe. Can’t remember. Want me to find out?”

  “Absolutely.” If someone on the inside had helped Tooney gain access to the house, I needed to know about it. “And while we’re at it, can we get a list of everyone Taft swindled?”

  “Why do you want that?”

  “The timing is just too coincidental. All these threats, Abe’s murder, they all came on the heels of Taft’s indictment. I want to learn more about the guy and I figure I might find clues in his client list.” I pointed to her telephone. “I’ll bet Bennett’s attorneys can get their hands on a copy.”

  Her eyes lit up as she reached for the phone. “Not a bad idea.”

  JACK EMBERS WAS PUSHING AN AMPTY WHEEL-BARROW across one of the garden paths when I stopped him. Although he’d claimed to be “playing in the dirt” last time we met, I assumed that as a consultant, he would be more involved in management than in actually participating in the physical labor. Interesting. “Hey,” I called to him.

  The day still held a wet chill. I should have brought my sweater with me. When I shivered, Jack raised an eyebrow. He was dirty, clad in a sweat-stained gray T-shirt and green shorts. His legs were long, lean, and shiny with perspiration.

  “So?” he asked, “Caught the guy yet?”

  “No, but I almost caught that fake detective.” I told him about chasing Ronny Tooney down the stairs, then losing him in the crowd when he turned the corner. “Have you seen him again anywhere?”

  Jack worked his jaw, staring at some middle distance. “No, but if I do, there will be hell to pay.”