Grace Against the Clock (A Manor House Mystery) Read Free Page A

device signaled a text.
    Joyce, Frances, and Bennett looked up. “David Cherk is here,” I announced as I pulled up my walkie-talkie to alert Terrence to show the man in. Right on time.
    “Oh dear.” Joyce held a palm up to her powdered cheek. “That man gives me the creeps. He has odd opinions about the strangest things. So precise and peculiar.” She shook her head and
tsk
ed loudly.
    I understood where Joyce was coming from, though we could do without the theatrics. David Cherk wasn’t the sort of person I’d choose to hang out with in my free time, but Joyce’s comment still rankled.
    With three skinny, black-clad assistants in tow, Cherk descended into our midst. The first time I’d met him, I’d been convinced that he purposely sucked in his cheeks. After a few minutes of conversation, however, I’d come to understand that his skeletal look wasn’t an affectation. Right now, as he smiled in greeting, I marveled at how mirth could appear so cold.
    “Good afternoon, everyone,” he said to us in his sharp, starchy voice. “Are we all ready for the breathtaking presentation I have planned for tomorrow night?” He gave an exultant sigh as he clasped his long-fingered hands together in front of his chest. “So few of our citizens make time to visit the historical office to learn about our town and experience my artistry. I intend to give them a hint as to what they’re missing.”
    Joyce inhaled deeply through her nose, making her nostrils clamp shut with effort. “David, darling.” Grasping his shoulders, she air-kissed him next to both cheeks. “So delightful to be working with you on this project. I can’t wait to see what you have in store. I would love to stay now and hear all about your little plans, but I’m needed elsewhere.”
    Cherk blinked, clearly as surprised as I was.
    “My understanding was that we were supposed to finalize everything during this meeting,” I said to her.
    “And things are finalized. Everything is lovely, dear. See you tomorrow.”
    “But the whole reason we set this up—”
    “Other commitments. You understand.” She raised her hands helplessly. “You’re so capable, Grace. I’m not the least bit worried.” She ignored Frances, walking past her to rest both hands on Bennett’s arm. “Save me a dance tomorrow evening, my precious man. Will you?”
    Bennett shot me the briefest glance. Ever the gentleman, he clapped a hand over one of hers. “Of course.”
    Dr. Keay returned from the bathrooms, looking confused by the recent arrivals.
    “Time to go, Leland,” Joyce said.
    “Did I miss something?”
    Joyce shot him an icy glare. “Don’t you always?”

Chapter 2
    The moment Joyce Swedburg and Leland Keay departed, Cherk strode over and nodded toward the door. “That woman. She’d like nothing better than to see me fall on my face.”
    “Then why would she have engaged your talents for the benefit?” I asked.
    Cherk’s dark, sunken eyes, his ever-present five-o’clock shadow, and the curling twist of shellacked, dark hair over a deep widow’s peak made him look like an evil minion from a 1950s horror film.
    “Joyce Swedburg has no choice. She’s a moth—a social, parasitic moth who lives a delusional life, believing herself a butterfly—and she’s stuck with me for this event because I’m the best this town has to offer. She gets her show, I get exposure. But we are trapped dealing with each other for the duration. Let me assure you: Neither one of us is turning cartwheels with joy.”
    Surprised by his venom, I went momentarily speechless.
    David, however, had more to say. “Joyce Swedburg is convinced I possess the soul of an automaton, rather than that of an artist.” He grimaced in her wake. “The woman is an ignorant fool.”
    Bennett stepped forward. “I’m certain your exhibit will be well received,” he said, “and then Ms. Swedburg will be more than happy to brag that she had faith in you from the start.” To me, he added,