It wasn’t like anyone came to visit them in their houses anyway. Lexi’s parents were the most antisocial people she knew. They attended exactly three functions each year: the country club annual fundraising dinner-dance, the Christmas fête, and the party for her grandparent’s anniversary. Otherwise, they were either on the golf course or on the boat. Or in one of the four houses.
Who were these people and how could they possibly be her parents? Lexi was nothing like them. She wanted to be at a party from the moment she woke until the very small hours of the morning when she finally fell into bed, which was usually not alone. She’d had an allowance from them for years, but it wasn’t even close to what she needed. “You should get a job, Lexi,” her father had said. Of course she could. She’d been sent off to the elite Dana Hall School, then to Brown University, so she certainly had the connections if not exactly the grades. She’d even made the attempt once, but when the offer came through they said she could only take off two weeks for vacation time. Two weeks? She had laughed out loud. That was ridiculous. The summer season was only getting started in two weeks. What would she do then, go back to work while everyone else had gin & tonics at the club? No, thank you.
Lexi smiled at Clark Davenport-Jones as he came out of the bathroom. She stood up and let the sheet cascade to the floor. “Clark, darling,” she whispered, “You know you don’t mean that. And if you do,” she pouted, “You could at least leave me a little something so that I could buy myself a present until you can see me again? Something that you might like very much?”
Clark unriveted his eyes from her golden skin for long enough to reach for his wallet. He pulled out an American Express card and handed it to her. She giggled and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck and pushing him back on the bed.
Clark left Lexi’s Boston apartment an hour later wondering how his life had become so complicated. He thought he loved Lydia. She was so different. He had met her at the country club. She had been a waitress there and was always kind to him. No one was ever kind to him unless they wanted something, but she never seemed to want anything. Did she love him? He wasn’t completely sure. She was so reserved. Certainly she had married him, but what did that ever have to do with love?
Lexi didn’t love him; that was certain. She loved his money. And she loved having a good time, which included having him in her bed. It had to stop. He knew that. If he did truly love Lydia, it certainly had to stop. As he drove in the bright sunshine with the convertible top down to his new home in Maine on the tony Prouts Neck, he contemplated the various ways to end his relationship with Lexi. The easiest would be to terminate the credit card he’d just given her. Not only would she be embarrassed, she’d get the message immediately. The problem there, however, was that she would undoubtedly create a scene somewhere, somehow, and the truth would come out to Lydia that he hadn’t been completely faithful to her, either while they were engaged or after they were married. No, he would have to talk with Lexi. And pay her off. He knew that ultimately it was the only way to permanently end the liaison.
Clark thought about Lydia. He would never have to pay off someone like her. She was so sweet, so pure. Why hadn’t he ended it with Lexi earlier? The image of the sheet sliding down her body, the blonde hair curving over her shoulders flashed into his mind. Yes, he knew why. And he was a fool.
He steered the navy BMW into the drive of the new house. He instantly felt a wave of relief. It was their house. Not his parents’, not Lexi’s, not anyone’s but his and Lydia’s. He could relax. He could do what he wanted, say what he wanted. He and Lydia were so often of a like mind that many times he didn’t even need to speak. She seemed to know what he was thinking before he did.
Lydia was incredibly smart. She should have gone on in school to become some sort of professor or lawyer or doctor but he knew that her family expectations had prevented that. It was odd how the people that she came from often said that they wanted someone to achieve, but felt threatened when it actually happened. They wanted Lydia to better herself and make something of her life certainly, but to truly move beyond what everyone else had become, to find great success, was unacceptable. They simply wouldn’t allow it. When that happened you weren’t a source of pride in family discussions, you were the one that was “too good” for everyone else. You were ostracized. Of course, Lydia had been ostracized anyway because she had committed the other mortal sin of “marrying up.” That was even worse. It was the quick road to success and no one could stand for that. Clark felt sorry for her.
#
Lydia looked out the window and saw the BMW pull into the driveway. She took a deep breath, steeling herself to play the part. Lydia knew that Clark believed she was so shy, so innocent. In some ways, she was certainly. In other ways, she had no problem taking advantage. She knew what it was like to go without, to never have enough.
She also knew about Lexi. Clark didn’t realize this, but Lydia was no fool. She had seen the two of them at her engagement party and even at her wedding reception. Clark had explained that Lexi was a former girlfriend. “From a lifetime ago,” he had said, but Lydia knew he was still living that life. She hated him for it. But she had to pretend, at least for a while longer.
Lydia was half way to her goal of a quarter of a million dollars. It wasn’t a fortune, certainly, but it was enough to buy her a decent place to live and to get started on a new career. Plus, she knew that if she got greedy, people would begin to suspect. ‘Keep it small,’ she thought. ‘Get just enough for what you need, then you can move on.’ Yes, it was enough.
Life is the art of drawing
without an eraser.
― John W. Gardner
CHAPTER 4
“Ross, you can’t be serious!” Amelia Davenport-Jones stared at her husband. “You know she only married him for his money!”
Ross looked away wondering, not for the first time, what he had ever seen in her. He slowly turned back, “Not unlike yourself?”
He didn’t see it coming. She slapped him full on the cheek. Years of swinging a golf club had given her an impressive amount of muscle even if she was over sixty. He glared at her, then went into the kitchen, rummaged through the freezer, and pulled out a bag of peas which he held to his face. He supposed he had deserved it, almost. Her family had nearly as much as his, but he had added nicely to the sum as an equine vet specializing in thoroughbreds. He’d made an excellent career for himself with the horses and, better yet, it had given him excuses to stay away from his wife with increasing regularity.
Ross liked Lydia. Maybe she had married Clark for his money, but did that matter? If they were happy and got along well, that was the only point. Lydia seemed supportive and so smart. And maybe she’d make something of him, which was more than Ross and Amelia had been able to do with their son. Ross wanted to promote that as much as he could. He had tried to get Clark interested in his work with the horses. For one summer, when Clark was about sixteen years old, Ross had brought him along on nearly all of his calls. But by August, Ross learned that his son had not used his newfound knowledge for any sort of career, but instead to bet on the horses. Which he still managed to do poorly.
Ross shook his head slightly, a difficult maneuver while holding a bag of peas to the side of it. Clark took after his mother and that was all. Ross found himself taking more pride in the horses than in his own son. He wondered if that was really so unusual.
Amelia ran her hand under the cold tap water in the bathroom. She really shouldn't have slapped him like that. They were never physical with each other. In that way or any other, for that matter. She couldn’t remember the last time they had been even remotely close to intimate. Maybe he had taken a lover? She snorted at the thought.
Turning off the tap she dried her hand, then went into the bedroom to change. Today she was planning to have lunch with the director of the Maine Museum of Art, Dr. Chambers. She had read that Dulcinea Chambers had inherited a large sum of money from the former board chairma
n who had been killed recently in a very hushed-up situation. Of course Amelia knew all of the details, but she kept that to herself. What she wanted to know now was whether the museum was interested in selling a certain work to the Davenport-Jones collection. Her lust for buying art was nearly insatiable, which was why she hoped that a quick, quiet sale would keep the price low. She pulled out a seersucker skirt from her closet and tugged it on.
#
Dulcie was not looking forward to lunch. She found herself having a love-hate relationship with her job. Most of it was love, but this aspect, dealing with people like Amelia Davenport-Jones, certainly was not. “Why don’t these people just send a check and be done with it?” she said out loud. “Why do they always want to have lunch?”
Rachel giggled. Dulcie glanced up quickly. She hadn’t noticed her assistant standing in the doorway. “Excited about eating out today?” she grinned. Dulcie let out a low groan. “You could always pretend to be sick. I could call her and beg off for you,” Rachel suggested.
“No, no. Thank you, but no. I have to get it over with. Rachel, it’s the schmoozing that I hate, not the eating. Although why is it always at some posh place, or worse yet The Club as they always say? Why can’t we just go to the Jade Palace and have the blue-flaming pu-pu platter?”
Rachel burst out laughing. “Can you imagine Amelia Davenport-Jones eating mystery meat on a stick? I’d actually pay good money to see that!”
“Thanks Rachel. I’ll savor that image in my head today to keep my spirits up. Do you need me for something?”
Rachel shook her head, her brown curls springing out from her attempt to contain them in a bright green headband. “Not really. Just wondered what your schedule was. Want me to call you a cab for the lunch date?”
Dulcie shook her head. “I think I’d rather walk, even if it is hot out. We’re meeting just beyond Dan’s boat and I want to talk to him if he’s around.”
Rachel nodded and disappeared. Dulcie followed her out of the office door and wandered the main gallery for a few moments. The museum was cool and quiet. Although they always needed the income from ticket sales, Dulcie was happy when the museum had few visitors. She stood in front of her favorite work, a watercolor of Winslow Homer’s done in Bermuda. She was always amazed by the color and simplicity. It made her feel calm and happy.
“Dr. Chambers?”
Dulcie jumped and whirled around. A hand on her arm steadied her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to startle you.” Detective Nicholas Black held her arm for a brief moment longer than necessary, then let go. “I just wanted to return your phone.” He was taller than Dulcie remembered. Or maybe it was just that she was wearing flats today rather than her typical mid-height heels.
“Oh! Thank you!” Dulcie found herself slightly breathless. “That’s nice of you. And thanks for being so quick with it. Did you find anything useful?”
Was she poking fun at him? Nick couldn’t tell. “No, we didn’t. And I didn’t really expect that we would. But my supervisor would have been all over me if I hadn’t followed procedure.”
“I understand completely,” said Dulcie. “Are there any leads though? I’m still trying to remember how I know that woman. I have seen her before, I just can’t think where.”
“It’ll come to you, I’m sure.” He shifted back and forth nervously for a moment, then said, “Would you like to go have lunch and talk about the case a little? It might jog your memory.”
Dulcie laughed. “You have no idea how much I’d love to, but unfortunately I’m following procedure as well today. I’m meeting a potential donor for lunch. Amelia Davenport-Jones. Do you know of her?”
Of course Nick knew of her, but he could not tell Dulcie. Not yet. His parents and the Davenport-Joneses had been friends in Boston. They still were. But he didn’t have anything to do with them now. He had been effectively cut off since turning his back on a lucrative career in law, and instead choosing a life of detective work. His family could not forgive him for taking on what they considered to be such a low occupation and not following tradition in the family firm. “Yes, I’ve heard of her,” he replied.
“I’m not sure who hasn’t!” said Dulcie. “This is one of the least enjoyable parts of my job. Fundraising, that is. But it’s necessary. I have to put up with it and play the game.”
“I know that well,” said Nick. He’d forgotten how shiny her dark hair was, especially under the soft museum lights.
“I’m going to try to get together with my brother later this afternoon on his boat. I’m hoping to catch him on my way to lunch and see if he’s free. He’s good at jarring my memory. Want to meet us there?”
Yes, a third party would be a good idea, thought Nick. “That’s perfect. Can you give me a call with the time?” He nodded toward her phone, now in her hand.
“Yes, I will. And now I have to go. Hopefully, I’ll see you later!” She smiled and left the gallery.
Nick stood frozen for a moment. “Hopefully,” he breathed to himself.
I invent nothing.
I rediscover.
― Auguste Rodin
CHAPTER 5
Nick slid his legs under the safety rope along the edge of the yacht and dangled his feet over the clear water. He could see a crab scuttling along below him, and the seaweed swayed gently back and forth in the light waves. ‘Good thing I'm wearing lace-up shoes,’ he thought. ‘I'd lose anything else in the drink for sure.’
"Beer?" asked Dan behind him.
"Yes, please!" Nick reached back and took the bottle that Dan held out. He jerked the cap off and swigged with one quick motion. The icy cold beer bubbled down his throat. He wiped his mouth and grinned at Dan. "Thanks. Needed it."
Dan sat on the edge of the boat beside him with his own bottle. "Tough case?"
"Yep. I'm stumped. I really wish Dulcie could remember who that woman is. We're coming up empty. Nothing on dental records so far. DNA testing is taking forever. No one in the local dive shops knows anybody that's been in recently who seems to fit her description."
"Well, that's what Dulcie wants to do right now. Dredge through the memory banks with me. That is, if she ever gets here." He looked up the dock behind them just to see her rounding the corner. "Ah, and speak of the devil."
Nick spun around quickly. Dan smiled to himself. ‘Yup,’ he thought. ‘He's still interested.’
Dulcie waved. ‘They're getting on well,’ she thought, seeing them chatting over beer. As she climbed on board she looked at them both with mock awe. "What, no one will jump up and immediately assist a lady with a cold one?"
Nick had already begun to get up but Dan stopped him. Dan cleared his throat. "First of all, Nick is a guest so he wouldn't have to. Secondly, you’re my sister and you know where the fridge is." He held up his bottle in a mock toast. Dulcie flipped her hair over her shoulder, feigning annoyance.
When she came back she sat down with them, beside Nick. She tried to twist the cap off the bottle but it wouldn't budge. "Could you please get this for me, Officer?" She batted her eyelashes.
Dan snorted. "On so many levels that's just bad, Dulcie. You see, he's a Detective, not an Officer. Also, I've never seen you not get a beer cap off, and finally… well, I can't even think of anything else right now but I'm sure I'll come up with something. Oh, I know! You're horrible at flirting!"
Dulcie ignored him and accepted the open bottle back with a smile. "Thank you, sir," she said to Nick. ‘And that was fun!’ she thought to herself.
"So, have you come up with any ideas?" said Nick. "Any vague memories?"
"Not really. I know I've seen her. But I also know that it hasn't been recently. She's from a long while ago I think. I just wish I could place her. The problem is, I've been too busy lately and I can't let my mind just drift. I think that's the only way I'll figure it out."
"What have you been working on?" asked Dan.
"Lots of fundraising. Which I loathe, as you know. Too much schmoozing. For once I'd like to just
sit down with someone who's completely loaded and talk intelligently about art. Instead it's a who's who of the turnout at the last fundraiser or the caterers for the next. Although today, I did have kind of a different meeting."
"How so?" asked Nick.
"Well, you said that you know of the Davenport-Jones family? They summer up here. They've been collectors for quite a while. Amelia Davenport-Jones got in touch last week and asked me to lunch. I thought it would be the usual, but turns out she's interested in buying something from the museum."
"That seems strange. Would you sell anything?" asked Dan.
"Ordinarily, no, but she's done her homework. We did put a piece on auction about a year ago but then withdrew it the day before. The board had second thoughts. But with the museum's heating system needing upgrades now before the winter, they might reconsider for the right price. Nothing glamorous about raising cash for building maintenance, so no cocktail parties. I have to say, selling something is my favorite kind of fundraising. It lets us cull the collection, which is healthy, brings in cash, and there's no schmoozing involved. Everybody is happy. Especially me!" She smiled.
Dan was quiet for a few moments, looking into the water. "I know that name." He thought for another minute. "Hey, didn't Lydia Hully marry Clark Davenport-Jones recently? Remember her? I just saw her name on the class list for the reunion."
From the Murky Deep Page 3