Grace Interrupted (24 page)

“Let me call you back, Lois,” I said quickly. “I’ve got company.”

“Before you go, Grace, let me just share one little tidbit. Mr. Marshfield ordered a special keychain made.”

“For the Packard? I don’t understand.”

“GLW. Your initials. Is he giving the car to you? Some kind of bonus?”

“No,” I said trying to be truthful without actually spilling all the beans, “but he, uh, thinks it’s a good idea for me to use it on-site.”

“Gotcha,” she said, buying it. “Makes sense.”

When I hung up, I turned to the two detectives in front of me, trying to read their expressions. “How is the investigation coming?” I asked.

“We’re getting closer to an arrest,” Tank said. Rodriguez grimaced.

I addressed him. “You don’t agree?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “We’re here as a courtesy call.”

I directed a questioning look at Tank then shifted back to Rodriguez. “What is it you need?”

Tank lifted her hand toward her partner. “Go ahead.”

Rodriguez rubbed his neck, then ran a finger inside his collar, as though to loosen it. “Ms. Wheaton, we know you went out with Jack Embers the other night. On a date. Am I right?”

I sat up, startled. “Am I being investigated?”

He shook his head slowly. “Like I said, this is a courtesy. We just want to make you aware that Jack Embers is a person of interest.”

“In Zachary Kincade’s murder?”

The two exchanged a glance.

“You have evidence?” I asked, hearing my voice go up a few notches.

Another glance. “Nothing we care to share at this point,” Rodriguez said.

“What does that mean?”

Tank again held her hand toward her colleague. “Detective Rodriguez was not part of the Emberstowne force thirteen years ago so no one holds him responsible for any mistakes that were made back then. Nor for any instances of bad judgment.”

My temples throbbed and my vision narrowed. “Your point?”

“Gordon Embers was a high-ranking cop on the Emberstowne force. We think he pulled strings to get his son out of trouble.”

“But . . . but . . .” I realized I was sputtering. “The murder happened in a different town. There’s no way he could have pulled strings with them. Is there?” My question trailed off with such a pathetically hopeful lilt I could have bitten my tongue.

“As you’re no doubt aware, Ms. Wheaton,” Tank began, “Lyle Kincade was a contemptible individual. No one disputes that. His murder saddened no one beyond his immediate family. I think Emberstowne’s finest banded together. They realized that Jack Embers wasn’t a threat to society at large, so they managed to finagle him a get-out-of-jail-free card.” She turned to Rodriguez, who looked like he’d like to be anywhere but with Tank, and added, “That is, until I got here.”

I felt a sharp sinking in my stomach.

“Murder is murder,” she said. “It’s wrong. No matter who does it. No matter what the circumstances. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I nodded dumbly.

They seemed to be waiting for my reaction. “Are you planning to arrest Jack?”

“We’re waiting on some evidence,” she said. “We may be able to tie him to both murders. We suspect the Embers brothers tag-teamed to kill Zachary Kincade. You know what they say about it getting easier each time.”

I couldn’t believe it and I said so. “Did you know,” I said quickly, “that Zachary Kincade was having an affair with one of the re-enactors?”

Their expressions didn’t change.

“She’s married,” I added, “and Zachary told his fiancée that he felt threatened by one of his colleagues. Don’t you think that’s significant?”

“Would this be the
jilted
fiancée?” Tank asked.

“Yes, but just because he left her at the altar doesn’t suggest she’s lying. What reason would she have for doing so?”

“What reason would she have for coming forward now?” she asked. “Except to clear her two girlfriends of any suspicion.”

I was getting nowhere but had to keep trying. “The husband whose wife was having the affair is named Jeff. I didn’t catch the wife’s name. But my assistant, Frances, could get that for you at a moment’s notice.”

Rodriguez slid forward in his chair. “Ms. Wheaton, I hope we haven’t made a mistake by sharing our suspicions with you. I convinced my partner here that you could be trusted. After working with you last time, I came to know you as a fine, upstanding citizen. I hope you’ll keep this information to yourself. At least until we take action.”

My mouth was dry. “When will that be?”

“Soon.”

 

 

I ASKED LOIS TO HANDLE THE OFFICE FOR ME. I needed to act quickly—to do something—although I didn’t know exactly what. As I moved, I planned. Frances needed to understand how imperative it was we come up with something to redirect the finger of guilt away from the Embers brothers.

Forgoing the company van, I raced to the basement, where I hurried through the tunnel that led to underground staff parking and my own car. It would be faster and no one would pay me any mind.

What strange need to protect Jack propelled me? I mean, if truth be told, after the debacle that was my oh-so-brief engagement to Eric, it could be argued that my character-judging abilities could stand some improvement. But I knew deep in my heart that Jack was not guilty of killing Lyle Kincade and I believed both he and Davey were innocent of killing Zachary. What a terrible mess all this was, and no one except Bennett, Frances, and I seemed willing to seek out the truth.

What a peculiar team we made.

The re-enactment was open to the public for another hour or so. I hurried down the small hill and eased my way in. Although the area was as crowded as ever, with tourists milling around and re-enactors going about their 1800-era lives, I spotted Frances right away. Holding her skirt so she wouldn’t trip, she was hurrying across the center of camp from the Confederate to the Union side, shouting over her shoulder to a man following her at a quick clip. Wearing Confederate gray, he was at least sixty years old, hatless, with a trim gray beard and a gut that hung over his belt. At least, I assumed there was a belt under that bouncing mound. Still, he kept up with Frances and that was saying something.

As I drew closer I heard her shout, “How many times must I tell you, Mr. Hennessey, that I am not the least bit interested in helping you clean your weapon.”

Not slowing his pace, he threw back his head and laughed. “But it’s a very special weapon, Frannie honey. The best you’ll ever see. Come on, sweetheart. You and I are meant for one another. I had a dream last night and you were in it. Want to hear what happened?”

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Frances!”

She turned immediately, her face brightening when she spotted me standing there. Well, wasn’t that a first? She veered in my direction, taking time to glare at the man in her wake. “That’s my boss,” she said, pointing. “Now get away from me before she kicks your backside out of here.”

He stopped long enough to grin and wave. “Nice to meet you, miss. See you later, Frannie,” he called and blew her a kiss.

Coming up to stand next to me, she shuddered. “That man.”

“Your suitor, I take it?”

She made a noise of disgust as she watched him leave. “He’d hit on a tree if he thought it would bear fruit.” Turning to me, she asked, “What brings you down here?”

Now that I was here, I wasn’t sure where to begin. “Have you heard anything more about this affair Zachary was having? Anything at all? About the husband? Do you think he could be the murderer?”

She studied me before she answered. “What happened?”

As much as I wanted to protect Jack and Davey, I’d promised the detectives I wouldn’t talk about their visit. It killed me to say, “Nothing really, just that it’s coming close to a week since the murder and I think the detectives are getting restless.”

Scrutinizing me, Frances nodded. “The Embers boys are in big trouble, aren’t they?”

Surprise must have shown on my face because she added, “No, I’m not psychic and I don’t have a microphone in your office, but from the look on your face and from talking with Gordon”—she waved a hand toward the Confederate camp—“it’s not hard to put two and two together.”

“Gordon Embers? Jack’s father? He’s here?”

“He came to check on Davey. I guess the kid has been getting into this re-enactment more than anyone expected. The Confederate group didn’t know Zachary Kincade all that well, and they don’t have any idea about Davey’s possible involvement, so he’s been spending time there. From what I can tell, he’s fitting in.
Tsk.
”

“You don’t approve?”

Her brows came together. “Just the opposite. It’s the first time I’ve seen the boy happy since I’ve met him. But if the cops come and arrest him—even if he’s innocent—it’s going to ruin everything for him.”

Compassion from Frances? That was a new side to my assistant I hadn’t anticipated. “What about his dad?” I asked. “You said he’s here?”

“I saw him a few minutes ago.” She looked around, searching.

Mr. Hennessey spotted her and waved an exuberant hello. “Don’t forget about me,” he yelled.

Brushing the air violently as she might a killer fly, she repeated her noise of disgust and continued our conversation. “Gordon Embers is a strong-minded man,” she said, “and he’s fiercely protective of his sons.”

I was about to say something, but she interrupted.

“There he is.” She pointed, then called, “Gordon!”

He looked around before spotting Frances. I immediately saw the family resemblance.
So this is what Jack will look like in thirty years,
I thought. Carrying about forty extra pounds, Jack’s father was extremely handsome with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair. He made his way over, a questioning look on his face.

“Gordon,” Frances said when he joined us, “this is Grace Wheaton, the . . .” She stumbled over the words, “. . . the new curator. Since Abe died.”

“Yes,” he said, shaking my hand. He had a firm grip and alert, wary eyes. “I’ve heard your name a lot lately. I’m sorry if my boy Davey is causing you any trouble.”

“Not at all,” I said, “he’s great.”

He seemed surprised by my answer. “I came out here to convince him to come home. The last thing he needs is to be hanging around a place where people suspect him of murder.” Gordon wagged his head. “Shame how scandals taint the innocent.”

“Davey’s going home with you, then?”

“Unfortunately not,” he said, looking around. “He told me he wants to stick around a little longer. I guess one of the Union guys loaned him some equipment and a uniform and now he’s hooked in this playacting.”

I turned to Frances. “I thought you said Davey was on the Confederate side.”

“From what I understand there’s a lot of interaction between teams when they’re not battling. They all converge in that sutlers’ area and around the campfire at night.”

“Ah, that’s right,” I said, remembering. “Pierpont mentioned that, too.”

“Pierpont has been helping Davey learn more about the whole re-enacting business.”

“Seriously?”

She nodded. “That man is relentless about signing new people up. He keeps telling me how much I’d enjoy being a part of the group on a permanent basis. The man is a fanatic.”

“I got that impression,” I said.

Gordon had been listening in. “Who is this guy you’re talking about?”

I explained that Rob Pierpont was the top man on the Union side and that he was soon to be replaced by Jim Florian. I didn’t mention anything about Zachary Kincade, nor about how he had been vying for the general’s position.

“And you say he’s been taking Davey under his wing?” he asked Frances.

She placed a hand on his arm. “Davey seems to be enjoying himself here,” she said. “Maybe you should just let him be.”

He yanked his arm away as though burned. “I want to meet this guy for myself,” he said. “I don’t want some weird costumed idiot talking Davey into doing something stupid.”

“Charming man,” I said when he left.

“Apples don’t fall far from their trees,” Frances said. “Gordon has always been a hothead.” She traced a line along the side of her face, mimicking Jack’s scar. “Remember the fight I told you about.”

I was about to repeat my concern about Frances keeping an open mind, when Jim Florian ambled over. “What brings you down today?” he asked, tipping his hat.

Too much negativity in one day had worn me out. I didn’t have the wherewithal to come up with an excuse that made sense. “Just visiting Frances.”

Addressing my assistant, he said, “Sorry to hear old Hennessey has been bugging you. He’s a character, that one.” Chuckling, he added, “I hope that won’t keep you from joining up. Pierpont says you’re thinking about it.”

From the set of her mouth, I could tell Frances was annoyed. “Not if I have to deal with the likes of him I won’t.”

“Maybe you have a husband who might be interested in re-enacting? If so, you should bring him down here. That would slow Hennessey down, I’m sure.”

Frances scowled and changed the subject. “The election is Saturday isn’t it? How does it feel to be taking over as the new general?”

Florian looked away. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I might not be taking over after all.”

“What happened?” I asked.

Squinting into the distance, Florian said, “I told you how I like things to be authentic, you know, not farby. I think it takes away from the experience when you have re-enactors cooking on propane grills or walking around with a handful of Oreo cookies. Just not real, you know?”

I thought about how
none
of this was real, but kept my mouth shut.

“We talked before that times are changing and people want their little luxuries,” he said with a sigh. “Pierpont and I instituted some stringent guidelines in the months leading up to this event. Rules were supposed to get even tighter for the Gettysburg battle. But that makes sense. Gettysburg is our main event.” Florian gazed out over the group. “Some of the people are chafing at the new guidelines.”