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better. None of this was making sense. “Who organized this? Why don’t I know about it?”
    Bennett patted my arm. “No need for you to worry. It’s a small affair, probably no more than a hundred people or so.”
    â€œThat’s not small.” Thinking quickly, I asked, “Did Frances help you put this together?” My assistant was usually the first to know everything that was going on. I’d be furious if she’d kept this from me, but relieved to know that Bennett’s plans were in good hands.
    â€œWe’re keeping it quiet,” Bennett said. “So, no. She does not.”
    I jumped on the word. “
We?
Who’s we?”
    That seemed to unnerve him. “Allow me to rephrase.” Sitting up straighter, he met my eyes. “I didn’t tell you about this because it has nothing to do with regular Marshfield business. This is simply a whim. I’m hosting a few of the . . .shall we say . . . higher-rollers at Marshfield for an intimate get-together at the conclusion of the FAAC event. When I use the term
we
, I mean that I’ve been in contact with the organizers.”
    As curator and manager of the estate, I was in charge of all events, big or small, that took place in the house. “I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t have brought me in on this, Bennett. You had to have had a reason.”
    He pulled his lips in, stopping himself from answering.
    I was hurt to have been excluded. “You obviously don’t want me there,” I said. “I guess I’d like to know why.”
    Leaning forward, he placed a hand on my forearm. “No, no, Gracie. I’ve made a mess of this. I simply didn’t want to bother you with organizing another big event.”
    Now it was a big event. A moment ago it was an intimate get-together. “What aren’t you telling me, Bennett?”
    Tooney piped in. “Is there a particular antique you were hoping to pick up from one of these people?” he asked. “Is that why you’re inviting some of them to your home? So you can negotiate with them privately?”
    The sudden shift in Bennett’s expression told me that Tooney had hit a nerve.
    Flustered, he waved his hands. “It’s nothing.” He again picked up his napkin and ran it between his fingers. “Like I told you. A whim.”
    â€œBennett,” I said, keeping my voice low, “you know that you can tell me anything. I’ll keep your confidence. We both will. Why all the secrecy?”
    He regained his composure and said, “Today is our day for celebrating.” Taking a final sip of his Champagne, he signaled for the check. “Let’s drop the FAAC topic for now. All will be explained, though probably not for a while. You’ll have to trust me on this one, Gracie.”

Chapter 5

    In what had of late become a Sunday morning ritual, my roommates and I sat around the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.
    Scott always reached for the business section first while Bruce snagged the front page and I grabbed travel. After devouring those, we moved to other sections as we shuffled through the entire edition, exchanging, sharing, and occasionally commenting on interesting tidbits as we came across them.
    Bootsie settled onto the back windowsill, staring out, blinking with drowsy contentment.
    Scott folded down the front of the paper. “You think Bennett will make a formal announcement once the DNA results are in? I mean, do you think he intends to make your relationship public?”
    â€œI hope not.” I tamped down a tickle of unease. “He’s agreed to keep it to our circle of confidantes for now.”
    â€œA circle that keeps growing,” Bruce reminded me. “Seriously, Grace, who
doesn’t
know about the DNA testing?”
    I shifted in my seat. “You think I’m fooling myself believing that we can keep this quiet,