Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) (18 page)

Chapter 23

Bennett dropped by my office shortly before the end of the day. I was on the phone with Ronny Tooney at the time and I gestured to Bennett to sit, letting him know I wouldn’t be long.

Even though I knew that Flynn was looking into where the moonshine had come from that had killed Keay, I didn’t think it would hurt for our would-be private eye to lend a hand as well. Given our recent conversation, I’d been surprised when I’d broached the idea to Flynn and he’d agreed. “Go ahead,” he’d said. “We have limited resources. And those moonshiners can spot a cop a mile away. Tooney might actually have better luck.”

Now, talking with the man on the phone, I reminded him to stay out of trouble. “All we’re looking for is who might have bought the alcohol,” I said. “I’m not interested in shutting the moonshiners down.”

“I’ll bet Flynn would be, though,” Tooney said.

“Be careful, okay?”

He promised he would.

When we hung up, Bennett asked, “So? Big plans this weekend?”

Frances had followed him in and watched me closely as I answered. “Except for figuring out what to do with the secret passage in my house, no, nothing special.”

He smiled. “A young woman like you should be out enjoying herself on her days off.”

“With my house in the state it’s in—half-finished, with people running in and out constantly—I’m better off staying put.”

As he settled himself into one of the wing chairs and indicated for Frances to join us, he asked, “Are the evidence technicians still here?”

“They left about twenty minutes ago,” I told him. Frances nodded. “They took a load of samples from the passageway and, at least according to what Flynn told us, found two unlabeled jars that may have held alcohol.”

“The killer left evidence behind? That seems sloppy.”

“Not if he or she didn’t expect us to find the trapdoor.”

“True enough,” Bennett agreed. “Have you seen where the tunnel ends? You said it opened to the outside. I can’t imagine where.”

I’d been surprised. “You know where the employee entrance is? Not where we pull in, but the underground walkway that leads into the basement?”

He nodded. Frances had gone with me to look, so she already knew all this.

“The drain tile, or whatever it was we walked through, crisscrosses directly above that. They occupy the same underground space at different levels.”

“How did we never hear of this before?”

Earlier, I’d pulled out the floor plans we regularly consulted whenever a structural question came up. They were still on my desk, rolled up on my right. I opened them and indicated the spot where the employee walkway had been constructed.

“I checked back in the records. When this construction was going on, the crew found what they described as an extra-large drain tile—exactly what Flynn and I walked through today. Because they were reluctant to mess with drainage, the decision was made to not attempt to relocate it. They simply dug the walkway a little deeper. Other than that mention, I can find no record of it.”

“My grandfather had to have been aware.”

I nodded. “That would be my assumption.”

“I have a few records of my own. Diaries from my father and grandfather. I’ll have a look and let you know if I come up with anything.”

“I’d appreciate that. It’s a mystery.”

“And we know you can’t let any of those go unsolved, don’t we?” he asked.

“Don’t distract her,” Frances said to Bennett. “You know she can’t resist anything to do with Marshfield history.” She crossed her arms. “But none of that will help us find the murderer. The jars, now maybe that’s a clue.”

“You’re right, Frances,” I said. “But it’s interesting and I’d like to know why the passage is there. What’s key here is knowing who else knew about it.”

“Joyce Swedburg, for one.” Frances beamed. “What did I tell you? I knew she did it. I knew it. Convenient for her to get sick that night, wasn’t it?”

“Flynn did say the attack was personal,” I said.

Bennett chimed in. “And whoever killed Keay clearly planned this well in advance.”

“Serena told us that Dr. Keay told her he was going to meet someone. I wish I knew who that was.”

Frances gave a condescending snort. “If we knew that, we’d have the murder solved by now, wouldn’t we?” She gave Bennett a look that seemed to ask how oblivious I could be sometimes, and went on. “According to Flynn, who questioned Serena a couple more times, the young lady has nothing more to offer. She said that Keay never told her who he was meeting. A dead end. Now, Joyce, on the other hand—she knew about this secret way in. I think she’s worth another look.”

“We know that Joyce studied the plans. We don’t know if she knew about the trapdoor elevator,” I corrected her. “That makes David Cherk a likely suspect as well because he studied the plans before the party, too.”

“He did that because he was presenting here.” She sniffed. “Perfectly acceptable reason.”

“Having a reason to examine the plans doesn’t exonerate Cherk, Frances. In fact, it’s an ideal cover for a crime like this.”

Bennett stood. “Time for me to head back upstairs, but one of the things we need to think about is what David Cherk might have had against Dr. Keay.”

“I don’t know of anything,” Frances said.

Neither did I.

“See?” she said, reading my expression. “It was Joyce. I’ve been right from the very start.”

*   *   *

At home, after the workers left for the day, I changed into yoga pants and a stretched-out T-shirt before heading into the kitchen to make dinner. As I donned an apron and assembled my ingredients for one of my go-to recipes, chicken with mushroom sauce, I jotted on a piece of scrap paper notes that had nothing to do with the menu and everything to do with recent revelations.

All possible suspects made the list: Joyce, David, Serena, plus a couple of the doctors who had been in attendance at the fund-raiser. I considered them all for a moment and then added Todd Pedota’s name. Even though he seemed to have gotten past his anger at Dr. Keay, you never really knew what someone held deep in his heart. People showed you their best selves, and often the truth lay hidden until they were presented with the right moment to act. Perhaps this had been the opportunity for revenge he’d been waiting for. He didn’t seem like a murderer to me, but then again, who did?

I hadn’t intended to think about the murder case tonight—I’d planned to relax my brain and put my feet up. Stepping away from a problem for a while often helped me find answers. But tonight I simply couldn’t quiet my mind. I knew why, of course: the discovery of Marshfield’s secret passage with the hidden elevator. That had certainly widened the net on possible suspects, which was why Joyce and Todd had made it onto my list. I hated to have to admit it, but Frances’s contention that it was Joyce who’d done the deed was beginning to be our best guess.

The chicken I’d braised was warming in the oven and the mushroom sauce had almost thickened completely when the doorbell rang.

Bootsie looked up at me as if to say, “Who can it be?” before trotting off to find out.

“Good luck answering the door without opposable thumbs,” I called to her departing figure as I shut off the burners, covered the pan, and wiped my hands on my apron.

At the front door, I peeked out the side window, forgetting that the porch lights were out of commission. The old fixture had been removed in the renovation. A new one had been ordered but hadn’t yet been installed. Even though it wasn’t true dark yet, dusk had begun to settle, and with the shade of the trees blocking ambient light, I couldn’t quite make out who it was on my doorstep. All I could tell was that the person had half turned away.

The heavy wooden door—Hillary hadn’t decided whether to replace or repair this yet—squeaked as I opened it and Adam spun to face me, holding a heavy armload of gorgeous blooms.

I laughed as he handed them to me. “Oh my gosh, what are you doing here?”

He took a step backward, and even in the dim light I could see a hint of doubt flicker in his eyes. “I don’t mean to intrude, and if this isn’t a good time for you, I can go.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” I said. And I was. “I just wasn’t expecting you.” I held the door open. “Come in. Please.”

“You’re sure?”

I turned to give Bootsie a warning glare not to run out, but she’d scampered onto a nearby table to get a better view. “I’m not really dressed for this.” I pushed the door open wider. “But I’d love company and I made dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Starved. I’d planned to take you out, if you were willing.” He sniffed the air. “But it smells great and if you’ve already gone to all that trouble—”

Adam was a big guy. Although not so tall as to be required to duck through doorways, he didn’t leave a lot of clearance. He had bold features, a full head of dark hair, and creased, pockmarked skin. When I’d first met him, he’d sported a chunky diamond stud in one ear, and had been carrying a long black wig. The leader of the rock band SlickBlade, Adam had turned out to be as far from the rocker, partyer stereotype as I could have imagined. I’d learned that during his downtime, his three favorite pursuits were reading, experimenting in the kitchen, and touring historical landmarks. Lately, he’d added a fourth: visiting me here in Emberstowne. A far cry from getting wasted at high-class New York bars with his younger bandmates.

He bent down to pick Bootsie up. “How’s the little sweetheart?” he asked as he stroked under her chin. Her eyes closed and she purred loud enough for me to hear.

“You know,” I said, as we made our way into the kitchen, “you don’t have to bring me flowers when you come to visit.”

He put Bootsie down gently and gave me a shy grin. “They make you smile,” he said. “Every time.”

“Did you ever think that maybe seeing you is what makes me smile?”

He blinked, as though struck by an electrical jolt. “Does it?”

Hope was raw in Adam’s expression. This man had made it clear that he cared for me. I hadn’t found it in me to return his feelings. Not yet.

I took a breath. I’d been about to say, “Yeah, it does,” but my words skidded to a stop as—without warning—Jack’s image popped into my brain. I hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he said with a look on his face that made me wonder if he could read my mind. The bright anticipation in his eyes faded and he worked up a smile. “No pressure.”

“I am very happy to see you,” I said, but we both knew my response was lame and two seconds too late.

What was wrong with me? Why had thoughts of Jack suddenly burst into my consciousness at that moment? I knew better than to try to sort my confusion out while we stood there staring at each other. Whatever I needed to work out, I would do on my own time. Not now, not after Adam had flown in for a surprise visit. The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt this man.

He had very expressive, very dark brows. They’d tightened for a moment, but he relaxed. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “We’ll talk, maybe.” He shrugged as though it made no difference. I knew better. “Or we won’t. Right now let’s enjoy the wonderful dinner you prepared.”

He’d broken the tension between us, yet again. I’d shared some of my relationship history with him, and he’d shared some of his. I didn’t know enough, however, to understand what in his life had given him the patience he consistently demonstrated with me.

Adam peeked under the pan cover and gave the mushroom sauce an appreciative sniff. “Mm-mm,” he said.

“It’s nearly ready,” I said. “I need to warm the green beans.” Pointing to the covered saucepan at the back of the stovetop, I asked, “Would you mind?”

“You have a spare apron?” He held fingers splayed in front of his chest. “I wouldn’t want to mess up this one-of-a-kind outfit.”

I laughed at that. He was wearing a black T-shirt and black jeans. I’d rarely seen him in anything else. “Hey.” I handed him a striped apron, as another thought occurred to me. “Do you have a bag? A suitcase? You are planning to stay, aren’t you?”

Adam’s eyes were wide open windows to his feelings, and for the second time this evening, I watched anticipation dance behind his outwardly calm expression. He tied his apron behind his back and shrugged again. “I didn’t want to presume—”

“I have the spare room all ready for you,” I said quickly, in case he’d mistaken my meaning. “You’re welcome to it. How long can you stay?”

If the mention of the spare room disappointed him in any way, he didn’t let it show. “A couple of days,” he said. “If that’s all right with you. I figured you’ll have to go back to work Monday, and the band is overdue for rehearsal.”

“No commitments this weekend?”

“We had a couple of things lined up, but when my aunt died I canceled them. The guys in the band weren’t too thrilled with me for doing that, but family’s family.”

“How are the other guys?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No. You first. I want to hear all about what’s been happening here.”

As we finished preparing the meal and sat down to eat, I brought him up to speed on everything, providing details I hadn’t had time to explain over the phone or via e-mail.

In the middle of the telling, he said, “Wait,” around a mouthful of chicken. “Let me get this straight: You found two secret passages?”