"Did you ever hear that old song?" he asked, not looking at me. Rather, his gaze wandered over the expansive grounds and garden as though he were seeing them for the first time.

"Which one?"

"'Too Much, Too Little, Too Late'?"

"I've heard it."

He finally turned to face me. "I'm sorry, Grace. I haven't been fair to you. And I'm sorry it's taken me this long to realize it."

His face was tight with emotion. This was difficult for him.

Oddly enough, it was difficult for me to hear.

He'd taken two strides toward my desk when I broke eye contact. "It's okay. Let's just put everything behind us," I said.

Stopping short, he said, "You're shutting me out. Because I shut you out."

"I'm not," I lied.

"I hurt you."

"You didn't." Another lie.

"Now you want to hurt me."

I did.

I looked over at him again. "Why are we even talking about this? We're both adults. Let's agree to be friends and move on."

He worked his jaw. "I messed up. Badly. For that I apologize. I know you'll tell me it wasn't all my fault, and you'd be right. It wasn't all my fault." He focused on the ceiling. "I wish I could go back thirteen years and prevent it from happening but I can't." Looking at me again, he said, "I can't start over, but I can start anew."

I was confused. "Start what?"

"Putting my life together. I've let circ.u.mstances dictate my direction for too long." He got a wistful look on his face. "Far too long."

I didn't know what to say. What came out was a very lame, "I wish you the best of luck."

Still at least six feet from my desk, he raised his chin. "How is the relationship with Mark going?"

"Very well. And how is yours with Becke?"

He closed the distance all the way now, and perched his fingertips on my desk. "There is no relationship with Becke."

"I've heard differently."

"Then you've heard that we've gone out a couple of times. I've been polite. Much like you would be in the same situation. She wanted to get together, so we did. For old times' sake, she said. In the interest of honesty, I'll admit she's made it clear she would like to pursue a romantic relationship." He stared with a penetrating gaze. "But I don't. Becke abandoned me when I needed her most. That doesn't bode well for a long-term relationship, does it?"

"No," I admitted, "it doesn't."

"You, on the other hand, stuck with me, stuck with Davey, stuck with my family, throughout the entire ordeal."

"An ordeal I inadvertently set into motion."

"No, you didn't." He said it with such vehemence I leaned back. "It was a ticking bomb. All it needed was a spark to light the fuse. You had nothing to do with that."

If Jack's little speech had come a week earlier, I might not have even given Mark a second look. "Thank you for saying that," I said, sincerely. "It means a lot."

He rubbed his hands down the sides of his khaki shorts. "There's one more thing. I told you that business has picked up, right?" He waited for me to nod. "I'm now doing well enough on my own to be able to give up my work here at Marshfield."

"What? We depend on you." He couldn't do this, could he? "Why? Aren't we a major client? Won't that hurt you?"

"Marshfield is a major client. My biggest client, in fact, and yes, losing your business will make things difficult for a while. But for years I've known that the only reason Bennett kept me on was because he wanted to give me a hand when I was down. I will be grateful to him forever, but it's time I let him choose a landscaper who better serves the mansion's needs."

"No, no," I said. "It's not like you're a charity case. You've done amazing things here at Marshfield."

"And I've learned a lot while I was at it. Truth is, I'd like to go back to school. Finish that degree like I always planned. Take hold of my life in a way I never believed I could. I know you, of all people, must understand that."

I nodded.

"Consider this my two weeks' notice. I'll be happy to come up with a list of qualified landscape consultants you may want to consider."

"That would be nice," I said dumbly. Bennett was going to be horribly disappointed.

He turned to leave. Before he opened the door, he turned. "Giving up the Marshfield account will hurt. But it'll hurt a lot less than watching you in a relationship with someone else."

Chapter 24.

WHEN THE DOOR CLOSED BEHIND HIM, I SAT and dropped my head into my hands. I'd worked hard to repress my feelings for Jack and I'd been successful enough to almost believe I was over him. This apology or confession or whatever it was set me off my axis and I needed to get my head together before it burst.

I reminded myself that work was the greatest panacea for heartbreak, so I pulled up last week's timesheets, vowing to bury myself in my to-do list and not come up for air until I heard from Mark again.

Instead I stared down at the numbers and names in front of me, unable to figure out what anything meant. "Thanks a lot, Jack," I said to myself.

As I did so, there was another knock at my door.

This time Frances didn't enter, Bennett did. Behind him, Jack's younger brother, Davey, followed, carrying a sheaf of papers.

I stood. Judging from the twin looks of sorrow on both their faces, they'd heard the news. "Jack just left," I said. "He told me."

They exchanged a look of puzzlement. "Told you what?" Bennett asked.

I gestured for them both to sit, but neither did. What was up with that today?

"He told me that he's giving up Marshfield. His business is booming and he thinks we would be better off with another landscape architect."

Davey's head dropped back, as if in defeat. "I'd like to wring his neck."

Bennett's expression hadn't changed. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said without emotion. I would have expected more of a reaction. "But that's not why we're here."

I was at the breaking point, yet I could tell that I was in for another blow. "Just tell me. Whatever it is. I can handle it. I've handled enough already."

Bennett looked almost as grim as he had when Abe died. Davey shuffled in place, his gaze flicking between me, Bennett, and the papers in his hands, looking like he'd rather be anywhere but here.

"Have a seat, Grace," Bennett said. It worried me that he didn't call me Gracie.

"I'd rather stand."

Bennett held a hand out toward the younger man. "As you know, Davey has been helping me with my technical needs. I've come late to the information age, and he's been a willing and able mentor."

"I know." All I could think was that I'd done something terribly, horribly wrong.

Bennett lifted his chin. "I won't blame you if you're angry-"

"Bennett, please. Tell me."

Finally, his eyes softened. "I'm very sorry. Very sorry." He turned to Davey, who had been shifting his papers from one hand to the other. "Go ahead."

Davey swallowed. "Mr. Marshfield asked me to run a background check on Mark Ellroy."

I looked to Bennett, who refused to meet my gaze. Suddenly light-headed, I sat. "This isn't good news, is it?"

Davey shuffled in place again. "Mark Ellroy told you the truth about a lot of things. He's a jeweler in Denver, and his parents died a few years ago, but he lied about one important fact."

I stared down at the blotter on my desk, knowing exactly what was coming next.

"His wife didn't die. She's . . . still alive."

The deep breath I tried to take came in with a shudder. I didn't look up. I swallowed past a lump of sandpaper several times before I managed to say, "Thank you for telling me."

"Gracie?" Bennett asked.

"I'd like to be alone now, if you don't mind."

Bennett hedged.

"Please," I said.

"Very well. I'm here if you need me."

He and Davey started to leave, but as they reached the door, I called, "Wait." They turned. "Have you shared this with anyone else? Anyone at all?"

They said they hadn't.

I looked at Davey. "Not even Jack?"

"Not even Jack," he said.

I blew out a pained breath. "Thank you for that. Please don't mention this to anyone. Not yet, at least."

The door closed behind them with a sad, final, click.

Mark, for all his declarations of truthfulness, was a liar after all.

My head hurt. My heart hurt. I felt stupid and used and ready to explode.

I wanted to vent, wanted to scream at Davey and Bennett for delivering the news. Even more for pitying me. I knew deep down that these two people were part of my life and-despite their unsolicited involvement-had done me a favor I couldn't yet appreciate. The logical part of my brain recognized that they'd saved me from bigger mistakes ahead. But the pain was unbearable.

I thought about Eric and now about Mark. What was wrong with me? What drew me consistently toward losers? I was angry, full of rage so profound it took up residence in every inch of my being. I didn't trust myself to talk to anyone right now, so I picked up the phone and waited for Frances to answer.

"Please hold all calls and all visits," I said, adding, "no matter who it is."

Frances didn't question me. She probably knew why I was asking, knew the whole sordid mess. "Sure thing."

I stared out the window.

Could this day get any worse?

FRANCES KNOCKED AT MY DOOR AN HOUR later. "I'm sorry to disturb you," she said.

I looked up at the clock surprised to see that it was already after five. I'd lost the entire afternoon feeling sorry for myself. "Shouldn't you be heading home?"

"Soon."

She watched me carefully as she crossed the room. "I took care of all your calls, like you asked. No visitors."

"Thank you." Politeness came automatically.

"I decided to intercept your e-mails," she said, fingers fidgeting in front of her waist. I often asked Frances to handle my e-mails for me. What about it was making her nervous this time?

"Something important?"

"I think you need to read one of them," she said, indicating my monitor with her eyes. "From your friend at the Kane Estate. Nadia. She thinks she has a match."

I wouldn't say I was elated-how could I be after such a day?-but the idea that Nadia might have recognized the killer from the photos I'd sent was truly the only good news I'd received recently. "Thank you," I said sincerely.

But Frances was shaking her head.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I accessed my inbox.