Grace Cries Uncle Read Online Free PDF

Marshfield.” He spoke with a Southern drawl. Texas, I thought. “How you been keeping yourself, old man?”
    Bennett blinked, then glanced to me before smiling and greeting the interloper. Though he projected warmth, I sensed wariness on Bennett’s part. “I’m doing very well, thank you, Neal. How are you?”
    Neal’s “Couldn’t be better” reply came across as perfunctory, almost absentminded. With a quick glance, he appraised Tooney and me. His curiosity was unmistakable as he waited for Bennett to make introductions.
    â€œAre you in town for the convention?” Bennett asked.
    â€œOf course. What else?” Neal studied Bennett. “Heard some rumors. Thought I’d get here early to see what’s what.”
    â€œI hope you enjoy your stay in Emberstowne.” Bennett started to move away. “Good to see you again.”
    The dismissal clearly stung. Neal’s bushy brows came together. “Thought I’d stop by your estate one of these days. You wouldn’t have a problem with an old friend coming to call?”
    Bennett seemed uncomfortable for a moment but regained his composure as politeness won the day. “I would be delighted to have you visit Marshfield. I’ll instruct the staff to roll out the red carpet.”
    Neal tipped an imaginary hat brim. “I’m hoping to steal a little bit of your time, Bennett.” He winked. “Satisfy my curiosity about a few things.”
    Bennett worked his mouth as though searching for the right words. “You are always welcome at Marshfield.”
    When we moved off again, trailing the maître d’, who had waited patiently to seat us, I whispered to Bennett, “Who was that?”
    He waved away my question as though it was of no importance. “Neal Coddington. If you wouldn’t mind, please let the front desk know not to charge him an entrance fee. I’d never hear the end of it.”
    â€œDo you want them to alert you when Mr. Coddington arrives so you can greet him personally?”
    Bennett slid a glance sideways as he leaned down to whisper, “Absolutely not.”
    Within moments we were seated at a quiet table overlooking snow-covered Emberstowne. “This is beautiful, Bennett,” I said.
    Octave took up the eighth floor of one of the city’s office buildings and was known for its outstanding French cuisine as well as its impeccable service. Paneled walls, cozy antiques, fresh baguettes, and Edith Piaf’s softly warbling voice surrounded us with tranquil bliss.
    â€œYou’ve dined here before?” he asked.
    â€œFirst time.”
    Tooney opened the large leather-bound menu and made eye contact with us both over its edge. “Same here,” he said. Leaning my way, he asked, “How do I know what I’m ordering?”
    â€œGracie can help you there,” Bennett said. “She was masterful at translating when we were in Europe last year.”
    â€œHardly masterful,” I gently corrected him. “But I think I can decode the menu. What do you like?”
    Bennett ordered Champagne and when the waiter asked if we were celebrating anything special, said, “Yes, we are, indeed. Life is good and it’s made even better when surrounded by family and friends.”
    â€œThe best reason of all to celebrate,” the waiter said.
    He returned with a vintage that probably cost more than my salary for a week, offering the label to Bennett for approval before popping the bottle open and pouring.
    Tooney placed a meaty hand over the top of his flute. “None for me, thanks. I’m driving.”
    â€œCommendable, Mr. Tooney. But won’t you take enough in your glass for a toast?”
    He agreed, and the moment the waiter was gone, Bennett lifted his glass. “I owe you both for my well-being and my happiness. Until the two of you entered my life, I was a lonely old man who had nothing better to do than