Part 13 (1/2)
If Rodriguez and Flynn were here I'd want to talk with them. I needed to know more about this great lead they were pursuing. I started to ask, ”Who . . .” but Frances slammed me with a look.
”I said you should come back later. Got that? Later.” I watched an idea spring to her mind. ”Why don't you call me, Lois?” Again she pointed to the door, ushering me out. ”Go back to your office and give me a call.” Frantic nods. ”Okay?”
Hillary appeared in the doorway between Frances's office and mine. ”For goodness' sake, Frances, anybody with half a brain could tell you were faking it.” She bestowed a smile that was as phony as my a.s.sistant's performance. ”Why don't you want Grace talking with me? Have something to hide, do you?”
Frances glared, first at Hillary then at me. There was a difference, however. I detected deep-seated loathing with Hillary. With me it was mere impatience. A silent chide: ”Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?”
”Hillary,” I began. ”How can I help you?”
Frances sent me a baleful look and went back to work, muttering to herself.
Hillary bit the insides of her cheeks as she faced me. ”I don't know why you keep that woman on staff,” she said, talking as though Frances wasn't there. ”She's a menace.”
”I'm not about to discuss Marshfield personnel with you,” I said. Then, because Frances was listening, and because I rarely got the chance to give her kudos, I added, ”Not that it's any of your business, but Frances is a major a.s.set to Bennett's organization. We're lucky to have her.”
It wasn't a lie. Frances was a gossip, a stickler for the old rules, and unpleasant more often than not. But she tackled every one of her responsibilities with unrivaled tenacity. I knew that when I left her in charge-which I'd done on occasion-the manor ran smoothly as long as no major decisions needed to be made. She annoyed most of her colleagues, but not one could claim she didn't do her job well. Despite the fact that her negativity drove me up a wall, I'd reluctantly learned that I could depend on her.
I'd flabbergasted Frances with my declaration, but Hillary continued as if I hadn't said a word. ”You'd better watch yourself,” she said in a low voice. ”I could take your job over in a heartbeat. All I'd have to do is mention the idea to Papa Bennett and,” she snapped her fingers, ”you'd be gone like that.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Talking with Hillary was like walking through a minefield. While there were a number of ways to push her b.u.t.tons on purpose, there were also a million hidden explosions just waiting to happen. I never knew exactly what might set her off.
”Let's start again. What brings you in today?”
”You.” She pointed toward my office. ”Can we talk in there? I prefer not to share my grievances in front of the rank and file.”
I glanced over at Frances, who rolled her eyes. Hillary had come to the manor as a teenager back when Frances had already been working here for a decade or so. There was history between them, none of it pleasant.
”Go ahead,” Frances said. ”There's nothing I care to hear anyway.”
Hillary's voice was strained. ”I don't need your permission.”
”To make a nuisance of yourself? No, you seem to accomplish that feat well enough on your own.”
Hillary didn't shriek, but her gargled exclamation bespoke pure fury. ”I deserve . . . no, I demand your respect. Don't forget, I am Bennett's daughter.”
Frances had been writing while Hillary bellowed. Now she looked up, put her pen down, and smiled. ”Stepdaughter.”
Hillary sucked in a breath, then continued with forced calm, ”We're family. That's all that matters.”
Frances perked up, looking like the cat that ate the canary. She sent me a meaningful glance and for the briefest moment I knew what she was thinking: Frances was one of the few who knew my secret. She was aware of the fact that my grandmother and Bennett's father had been in love. She knew that chances were strong that my mother was an illegitimate child born of that affair. Don't say it, I pleaded silently. Please.
The light in Frances's eyes dimmed ever so slightly. I breathed again.
Frances turned her back to us. ”I have work to do.”
HILLARY SETTLED HERSELF INTO ONE OF THE wing chairs opposite my desk and folded her arms across her chest. ”Who gave you the right to halt the DVD filming?”
”Is that what this is about?”
”I came here to star in the DVD. Papa Bennett all but promised me that I would be part of the filming. Who better to be the face of Marshfield?”
She didn't wait for me to answer. Give her credit for that.
”When I showed up ready to work this morning, I found out that you'd cancelled everything.”
”Postponed,” I corrected. ”Didn't you hear about the woman who was killed here yesterday?”
”Of course I heard,” Hillary said in a snit. ”Who hasn't?”
”Don't you think we can show a little respect . . .”
”The manor isn't open to visitors today. n.o.body's going to know what goes on behind closed doors. And the woman was killed in one of the staff stairways, right? Corbin isn't filming there, so what's the big deal?”
”What's the big deal?” I repeated in disbelief.
”This was a perfect opportunity for you to let the film crew have the run of the place all day.”
”Even you aren't that callous.”
”You blew this one. You had a chance to make things easy for Corbin, for his team . . .”
”For you?”
”Yes, for me. What's wrong with that?”
I wasn't about to debate the subject. ”The DVD team stays out as long as the police are here. I think they'll be packing up soon. It usually . . .” I caught myself. Usually? Did I really know that much about police procedure now that I could spout such proclamations with authority? I began again. ”I think they should be wrapped up today. Maybe tomorrow. The evidence technicians need to be certain they've gotten all they need and the detectives want to make sure they've questioned everyone who was here that day. By the way, is there anything you care to share regarding your whereabouts when Lenore was killed?”
She blinked. ”Absolutely not.”
”Where were you?”
”Does it matter?”
Rather than push one of Hillary's b.u.t.tons to send her flying into a rage, I picked a careful path around the p.r.i.c.kly topic instead. Hillary wasn't a murderer, but that didn't mean she wasn't above lying to protect her own interests.
I trod carefully. ”I know you couldn't have been a witness to the crime because you're a good person and if you had seen anything suspicious you would have reported it to the police immediately.” She relaxed, visibly. I thought about Mark's ”white lie” proclamation, but didn't feel a trace of guilt. I wasn't lying. Hillary wouldn't knowingly withhold evidence in a crime of this magnitude. Would she?
”Of course I would have reported it,” she said. ”I don't like the idea of a murderer in my father's house.”
I wanted to be like Frances and correct her by saying ”stepfather,” but I held my tongue, my eyes on a bigger prize. ”The thing is, if you were anywhere near the stairwell, or even nearby, you may have seen something you don't even recognize as relevant. That's why it's imperative you think back.” I decided to give her an out-an opportunity to amend her claim that she wasn't anywhere in the vicinity of the murder. ”In all the excitement, you may have forgotten where you were at the time.”
She squirmed in her seat, looking so much like an uncomfortable teenager that I had to remind myself she was more than a dozen years older than me. ”I may have,” she said. ”Forgotten, that is.”
”You've been staying here for about a week,” I began in an attempt to guide her memory back to yesterday's events, ”and you'd probably already had lunch . . .”
”Why do you care?”
Because, I wanted to say, if we find out who killed Lenore and injured Mark, we may have our thief on our hands. And if we do, then you, Hillary, will no longer be under suspicion for stealing from your stepfather. What I said was, ”The sooner we get this thing solved, the quicker we can bring the killer to justice. We can't bring Lenore back, but we can make Marshfield Manor safer. For our visitors and for the people who live here.” This last part I delivered with a meaningful look.