Grace Interrupted (17 page)

Frances appraised the office with a skeptical eye. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle everything by yourself while I’m gone? You know I’m not allowed any technology down there. I can’t even carry a cell phone.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to say everything would be fine without her, but the moment I opened my mouth it occurred to me that such a response could be construed as diminishing Frances’s importance.

“That’s why I need to come down there to check in with you from time to time,” I said. “You keep the place running so smoothly, I know I’ll have plenty of questions.”

That had clearly been the right answer. With a little chuff of pride and a squaring of her shoulders, she nodded acknowledgment. “Well, you know where to find me,” she said. And with that she smoothed her skirt and maneuvered her way back out the door.

 

 

THERE WAS, INDEED, PLENTY TO KEEP ME busy throughout the day. Without Frances to run interference I found myself swamped in minutiae. The woman might be a trial on a personal level, but boy, was she good at her job. I’d been taught that no one was indispensable, but to my mind, Frances came pretty darn close. If only we could work on that attitude problem.

I thought about her several times during the day, wondering how she was faring at the encampment and eager to hear if she’d picked up any information worth sharing with Rodriguez and Tank. Fidgety Flynn, the hothead detective of the bunch, seemed to be out of the loop this time around. Thank heavens for small favors. Quick to accuse and reluctant to back down, he injected a volatile element I was happy to avoid.

The outer door to Frances’s office opened and I stood up to greet whoever my visitor might be. By the time I walked around the desk, however, Bennett had already made his way through the anteroom and into my office. As septuagenarians went, Bennett was a strikingly handsome man. Blessed with good genes and the smarts to hire trainers who put him through the paces of a healthy regimen, Bennett could probably take on a man twenty years his junior and win.

“Good afternoon, Gracie. And how is our manor today?”

I gestured toward the wing chairs opposite my desk and took my seat behind it. “Not bad, all things considering,” I said. I told him about Frances’s undercover expedition.

His eyes widened. “Oh ho! Brilliant! That woman can coax gossip out of gargoyles. I swear she knows more about me than I do about myself.”

“She is tenacious.”

“That’s a kind way to put it.”

“When did she start working here?” I asked. “I mean, unless she suffered some major personality shift over the years, I wonder how she originally landed the job.”

“To be honest, I can’t remember. I’ll have to think about that. I’m sure she knew someone who knew someone. Back in those days we didn’t have much of a command structure in place. If you showed up and were willing to work, you were in.”

Pretty much what I’d assumed.

“How is the cat?” he asked.

That startled me speechless for a half a second. “How do you know about the cat?”

He pointed toward Frances’s office.

“And how does she know?” I asked, ever so slightly exasperated. I sighed. Should have anticipated this. “Bootsie is great. Unfortunately, I seem to be allergic.”

His eyes brightened. “You are? How bad?”

“Sniffling, sneezing. My eyes sometimes feel a little puffy in the morning. Nothing I can’t handle.”

He considered this. “I have two cats.”

“I know.” Bennett’s pets stayed up in his living space and most of us on staff rarely saw them.

“What you may not know is that I’m allergic, too. Slightly.”

I leaned forward. “Seriously?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said with a knowing look. “Something else you and I have in common, eh? I wonder what else we’ll discover over time.”

He’d just echoed my very thoughts.

“I don’t know about you,” he continued, “but I don’t cotton to the idea of taking pills every day of my life just because I happen to have pets.”

“Exactly!”

Leaning forward, he asked, “Are you keeping the little rascal?”

“Until I find her real owners,” I said, “although our friend Ronny Tooney may beat me to it.” I explained the man’s eager involvement in Bootsie’s future.

“Just in case you decide to keep her, let me offer you a home remedy,” he said. “It works for me, I’m sure it will for you, too.”

As he explained how he upped his daily intake of water, made certain to wash his hands every time he handled the cats, and cultivated a mind-over-matter attitude, I thought about how much I cared about this man. How much I wanted to please him. Though it was true that he was often out of touch where the real world was concerned, I’d come to understand that here—within Marshfield’s walls—was the only world he’d ever known. As lively as a child, but with a lifetime’s worth of wisdom behind those bright eyes, he was kind, generous, and eager to pull me into the Marshfield fold.

I wanted that, too.

A little voice whispered:
Enough to give up your house, your roommates, your independence?

“Try it,” Bennett was saying. “It will take time. A few weeks at least, but don’t give up. I believe your body will eventually adjust—although you probably will have to blow your nose every morning.”

“I hope you’re right about all that. She’s such a cutie.”

The conversation turned to the new arrival—this time not an animal, but the item Bennett had recently purchased at auction. “You’re going to love it,” he said, his eyes sparkling.

My interest had been piqued from the moment he’d first mentioned it. Now I was practically ready to burst. “What is it?”

“Nope. Not yet. You’ll have to wait.”

I remembered Frances’s pronouncement that if Abe had been here, he’d have been fully informed. Why keep it from me, then? I tried to force Frances’s admonishments out of my mind while maintaining a cheerful air. But I had to ask, “Why the big secret?”

“Well,” he drew out the word, “this is special. Any other time, I would have told you right off the bat.”

“Really?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked rhetorically. “But this time I want to see your face when it comes in. It’s due to arrive tomorrow. I’ll let you know when it gets here and we’ll check it out together.”

Curiosity had me in its tantalizing grip. “Not even a hint?”

“Sorry, Gracie,” he said with a grin, “you’ll just have to wait.”

LATER THAT AFTERNOON WHEN I KNEW THE Living History would be open to the public, I called down to maintenance to request a ride to the site. Except for the manor’s shuttles, vans transporting staff members to and fro, and of course, Bennett’s cars, we tried our best to keep motor vehicles out of our guests’ sight. The idea was to encourage visitors to experience the manor as its first guests had experienced it, back in the day when horses and buggies were the only real means of transportation. I supposed in many ways we at Marshfield weren’t all that dissimilar from the Civil War groupies. We wanted people to let go of the real world for a little while—to be transported from the craziness of the twenty-first century. To play pretend.

When one of Marshfield’s white minivans pulled up at the back door, I was surprised to find Davey at the wheel. The enormous bandage had been replaced by a much smaller, flesh-colored strip across the center of his nose. “How did you get roped into this job?” I asked as I climbed into the passenger seat and rolled down the window. Too beautiful a day to keep the weather out.

He shrugged. “Guess the rest of the gardening staff doesn’t want me around.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” I said. He put the van into drive and I asked, “No other passengers?”

He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “No.” A young man of few words, he shook his head as he pulled out. We cleared the ornamental iron gate that separated the manor house from the rest of its expansive grounds. He had his right hand draped over the wheel, his left elbow perched on the open window. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” he said.

“Do what?”

“Always try to cheer me up. I’m not blind or just feeling sorry for myself. I know that I’m doing a decent job on whatever projects Jack assigns, but the guys I’m working with?” He extended his fingers in emphasis, the heel of his hand guiding the car as he explained, “They’re convinced I killed that Civil War dude. You can see it in their faces and they all try to steer clear of me.” Keeping his eyes on the road, he gripped the wheel again, hard. “Can’t really blame them, I guess. I’m bad news.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

“Jack talked to the head of maintenance so maybe I could get some other training. Maybe learn a new skill or something. The guy in charge was cool about it.” Still not looking at me, he added, “I can’t keep a job myself. If it wasn’t for Jack . . . ’Course, look at the job the guy gave me. No contact with visitors, hardly any contact with staff.” His mouth twisted downward and he gave another unhappy laugh. “Let’s keep everybody safe from the lunatic.”

I started to argue, but that would just be me trying to cheer him up again. Instead I took a different approach. “How is it,” I asked, “living with Jack?”

For the first time he turned to look at me. “Why? You thinking about moving in with him?”

“No. No. I was just making conversation.”

He’d returned his attention to the road but glanced at me again. “You’re blushing. You like him, don’t you?”

“Does it matter?”

“If you wanted to move in with Jack, I’d find somewhere else to live.”

“I’m not looking to move in with Jack,” I said, exasperated. “We haven’t even gone out on a date yet.”

“Yeah, I know. Sorry. I shouldn’t tease you.” The hint of a smile curved his lips. “To answer your question, living with Jack is all right, I guess. He’s clean. He cooks, too. That’s cool.”

So far, this was more than Davey had ever said to me at one time. I had a feeling he wasn’t finished.

“Jack’s a good brother. He sure cuts me a lot of slack. I don’t know if I’d be that nice to somebody like me. I’m trouble. But he still always looks out for me. Sometimes too much, and it bugs me. But I can’t really blame him for that. I’ve sure given him plenty of reason to worry.”

We were silent for a long moment as the van eased up a small rise in the road and passed beneath a canopy of tall maples, giving us a brief respite from the sun.

“I need to find my way,” he said quietly. “It’s tough.”

We were silent again. “I hear you,” I said finally. “I’m still finding
my
way.”

“You?” He turned to me in disbelief. “You’re the boss here.”

“ So?”

“They wouldn’t have hired you for your job if you didn’t know what you were doing.”

Davey must not have heard the circumstances behind my promotion. “I’ve got news for you,” I said, “a lot of people don’t know what they’re doing. Some of us just hide it better than others. But I’ve learned a lot about myself these past few months.” Taking a deep breath of the crisp air, I added, “Something about this place brings out the best in me.”

“You’ve got everybody fooled then. You come across like Wonder Woman.”

“Yeah, right.” I had no idea why I felt comfortable opening up to Davey, but I plunged on. “The truth is, I’m just struggling to be the person everybody thinks I already am.” I gave a low laugh, though this was anything but funny. It was truth as bare-bones as it could be. “I often feel as though I’m living two lives. One is the façade that everyone sees, and the other is trying desperately to make that façade come true.” I sighed. “That probably doesn’t make any sense.”

Still facing forward, he gave a brief nod. “Makes more sense than you know. I feel like that, too.” A moment later he added, “Jack’s probably the best person on the planet. He’s good, you know? Genuine.”

“He doesn’t face the same struggles?”

“Jack went through a lot when . . .” Davey took a breath. “He went through a lot last time. I can’t even imagine . . .” He let the thought trail off just as we reached the encampment. I wanted to hear more, but Davey’s expression darkened. “He turned his life around though; wish I could do the same.”

“You were so young when everything happened. Last time, I mean.”

Davey’s eyes clouded. “Not young enough.”

I wondered what he meant by that but before I could press him, Davey had put the van in park and shut it off. “I’m going in there, too,” he said by way of explanation. “I want to see what it’s all about. Sounds kind of interesting.”

The killer always returns to the scene of the crime
. The thought popped in, unbidden. “Oh, sure,” I replied blandly, taken aback by his pronouncement. I didn’t know how to broach the next delicate question. If he thought his coworkers suspected him, he was in for far more scrutiny from the re-enactors who had all heard about the skirmish the day of Zachary’s death. “But aren’t you afraid . . .”