Read Online Grace Among Thieves by Julie Hyzy - Free Book Online
Authors: Julie Hyzy
Tags: cozy
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Calling his living space “rooms” was a bit of a misnomer. To describe them that way conjured up images of an elderly man living in a barren walkup with only a hot plate to fix his meals.
Bennett’s living space could easily have housed a family with eight kids, allowing each member to claim a room of his or her own. In addition to his own master bedroom and adjacent sitting room, he had a dining room that comfortably sat twenty, a library, billiard room, study, gourmet kitchen, butler’s room, four full baths, and more miscellaneous guest rooms than he would ever need.
Although I’d visited upstairs often enough, I hadn’t actually seen all of the rooms yet and Bennett hadn’t seemed inclined to grant me access. I suspected the reason for that. Once, early on, I’d been required to assist in getting him safely to his bedroom. His personal space had been crammed with antiquities and collectibles that Bennett obviously valued but which hadn’t yet been catalogued.
Subsequent conversations, coupled with Bennett’s need to bid at every auction he found out about, led me to understand that Bennett was a pack rat. A very upscale hoarder. He certainly had the means to collect anything that caught his fancy. The difference between reality-TV hoarders and Bennett, however, was that he had a team of maids who kept his collection sparkling. No mold and mildew. Just lots of expensive stuff.
I sensed he was embarrassed to have had me see evidence of his overindulgence. Either that or he didn’t want to scare me off with the workload. I had no doubt it would fall to me to catalogue and inventory his entire stash. I welcomed the challenge and had told him so. Maybe one of these days, when we weren’t investigating murders, I’d have time to get to it.
Although we didn’t have a murder on our hands right now, we did have the not-so-small problem of missing items. Terrence had already alerted the local police department and I would probably need to talk with Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn soon myself. One of their colleagues, Tank, who had proven to be a valuable ally, had recently returned home to Michigan. Not for the first time did I wish they’d sent Flynn up north instead.
My cranky assistant was at her desk, as always. Her graying hair was piled high on her head and her glasses low on her nose. The crystal eyeglass chain that wrapped around the back of her neck seemed to have been chosen to coordinate with her lilac-colored twinset. Over time, I’d noticed that Frances favored shades of purple. She raised tadpole eyebrows over a baleful glare when I bounded in. “Good morning, Frances,” I said. “A gorgeous day, isn’t it?”
“How much coffee have you had this morning?”
I ignored that. “I think Corbin got some excellent footage today.”
She sent a pointed stare at the clock on her desk. “Are they gone yet?”
“Packed up and disappeared before the first guest stepped foot on the grounds.”
“I’m surprised the Mister agreed to this idea.”
“I’m not. Marshfield Manor needs to establish its brand. We have one of the most beautiful homes in the world here, and we haven’t even begun to showcase it to its fullest potential. Just you wait,” I said, “you’ll see how this will take off.”
She snorted. “You mean like some of the Mister’s belongings are taking off? You know they’re not growing legs and walking away on their own. Mark my words, bringing all these strangers in and giving them free rein of the house, you’re asking for trouble.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Of course you will.” Her scowl punctuated her sarcasm. Changing subjects, she said, “You’re going to fall on your face, you know.”
Recently my unpleasant assistant had become ever so slightly less so. In fact, on occasion, she’d been almost nice. Which is why I was surprised to have her predicting my downfall again. She hadn’t done that for weeks. I thought she’d finally gotten used to
Bennett’s living space could easily have housed a family with eight kids, allowing each member to claim a room of his or her own. In addition to his own master bedroom and adjacent sitting room, he had a dining room that comfortably sat twenty, a library, billiard room, study, gourmet kitchen, butler’s room, four full baths, and more miscellaneous guest rooms than he would ever need.
Although I’d visited upstairs often enough, I hadn’t actually seen all of the rooms yet and Bennett hadn’t seemed inclined to grant me access. I suspected the reason for that. Once, early on, I’d been required to assist in getting him safely to his bedroom. His personal space had been crammed with antiquities and collectibles that Bennett obviously valued but which hadn’t yet been catalogued.
Subsequent conversations, coupled with Bennett’s need to bid at every auction he found out about, led me to understand that Bennett was a pack rat. A very upscale hoarder. He certainly had the means to collect anything that caught his fancy. The difference between reality-TV hoarders and Bennett, however, was that he had a team of maids who kept his collection sparkling. No mold and mildew. Just lots of expensive stuff.
I sensed he was embarrassed to have had me see evidence of his overindulgence. Either that or he didn’t want to scare me off with the workload. I had no doubt it would fall to me to catalogue and inventory his entire stash. I welcomed the challenge and had told him so. Maybe one of these days, when we weren’t investigating murders, I’d have time to get to it.
Although we didn’t have a murder on our hands right now, we did have the not-so-small problem of missing items. Terrence had already alerted the local police department and I would probably need to talk with Detectives Rodriguez and Flynn soon myself. One of their colleagues, Tank, who had proven to be a valuable ally, had recently returned home to Michigan. Not for the first time did I wish they’d sent Flynn up north instead.
My cranky assistant was at her desk, as always. Her graying hair was piled high on her head and her glasses low on her nose. The crystal eyeglass chain that wrapped around the back of her neck seemed to have been chosen to coordinate with her lilac-colored twinset. Over time, I’d noticed that Frances favored shades of purple. She raised tadpole eyebrows over a baleful glare when I bounded in. “Good morning, Frances,” I said. “A gorgeous day, isn’t it?”
“How much coffee have you had this morning?”
I ignored that. “I think Corbin got some excellent footage today.”
She sent a pointed stare at the clock on her desk. “Are they gone yet?”
“Packed up and disappeared before the first guest stepped foot on the grounds.”
“I’m surprised the Mister agreed to this idea.”
“I’m not. Marshfield Manor needs to establish its brand. We have one of the most beautiful homes in the world here, and we haven’t even begun to showcase it to its fullest potential. Just you wait,” I said, “you’ll see how this will take off.”
She snorted. “You mean like some of the Mister’s belongings are taking off? You know they’re not growing legs and walking away on their own. Mark my words, bringing all these strangers in and giving them free rein of the house, you’re asking for trouble.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Of course you will.” Her scowl punctuated her sarcasm. Changing subjects, she said, “You’re going to fall on your face, you know.”
Recently my unpleasant assistant had become ever so slightly less so. In fact, on occasion, she’d been almost nice. Which is why I was surprised to have her predicting my downfall again. She hadn’t done that for weeks. I thought she’d finally gotten used to
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