“Did he give a reason? Did he seem upset?”
The boy shrugged. “Beats me. No one tells us anything. But I did see him leaving school last Wednesday at lunchtime. He had a suitcase or something. I was gonna say ‘hello’, but he looked freaked.”
“How?” I pressed.
“I dunno. Just upset. I wasn’t gonna ask.” He scratched his disheveled hair and looked around nervously. “Hey, guys, you hear anything?”
The others paused and listened. The clear-faced boy with brown hair shook his head. “No, genius. You’re just paranoid.”
“Whatever, Scott,” the boy muttered as his face achieved another ruby shade. “We’d better get going. I don’t wanna get caught. Brackish is bound to head back this way soon.”
Scott shoved him. His clear height and weight advantage caused his victim to fall to the ground, hard. While Scott laughed, Michelle leapt into action. She knelt down beside the fallen boy and brushed his blond tresses from his face.
“Are you okay, Bobby?”
The boy, Bobby, glanced up at Scott and shot him a triumphant grin the second Michelle turned away to look at Scott reprovingly. When Michelle glanced down at him again, Bobby stared at the ground beneath him with a troubled expression.
“Yeah, sure.” He wiped grass off his pants. “It just sucks, you know, being short.”
“You have nothing to be ashamed of. You’re young. You probably haven’t hit your growth spurt yet. I’m sure when you do, you’ll tower over these two, just like Richard. It’s just a shame that people who are supposed to be your friends make you feel bad about yourself.” Michelle glared at the other two boys with a look that took even me aback.
The boys stared at the ground with remorse. Although it was clear to me Bobby intended to mess with his friends, Michelle’s earnestness seemed to bring about a sobering revelation to them all.
Scott walked up to Bobby. “Hey, man, sorry ‘bout that.” He extended his hand. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just messing. We cool?”
Bobby shook Scott’s hand. The boys laughed. Rick put his arm around my shoulder. “Listen, guys, you probably should get back to your dorms now. It’s definitely past curfew and Brackish’ll be back this way soon. I guarantee it.” The boys stared at Rick incredulously. “What, did you think you guys invented that nickname? My friends and I were calling him Brackish when you were in diapers.”
The boys stared at Rick a moment longer before turning their attention back to Michelle. Scott took her hands in his. “Thanks again, Lady. No one is gonna believe this. A hot chick saved us from Brackish.”
The other boy pulled out his cell phone. “Let’s get a picture with her!”
Scott punched his arm. “Fat chance, Derek. Unless, uh, would you mind?”
Michelle winked at me. She took the phone from Derek. Holding it out to me, she asked, “Care to do the honors?”
As I reached out to accept it, Rick stopped me. Leaning close to me, he whispered, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Rick crossed his arms. “It’s just, it probably wouldn’t be a good idea if a photo like that was leaked online.”
Michelle, tired of our quiet deliberation over an innocent request, walked over to us. Instead of asking Rick about his reservations, she turned to me. “What’s the problem?”
“Listen, Michelle, I know it seems like an innocent request,” Rick began, “but what do you think Ed is going to say if he finds out? I mean I just don’t see the point in aggravating an already delicate situation.”
Michelle turned the phone over in her small hands as she stared past us. Finally, she glanced at me with a sad look in her gray eyes. She hiked over to the boys and handed Derek his phone back. “I’m sorry. I don’t think it would be a good idea.”
With a collectively dejected look on their faces, the boys nodded and Derek shoved the phone back into his pants pocket. Michelle walked slowly past the statue and toward Ridgeley Hall. It was clear to me that Rick’s suggestion was meant to help both Michelle and his family, but he felt bad about it. Impulsively, I shoved my shoes in Rick’s hands and then I strode up to Derek with my palm outstretched.
“Phone.” He stared at me, startled, but quickly retrieved the phone from his pocket. I opened the camera option and motioned for the boys to stand by Michelle. She stood in the shadows of the large, red-brick class building. They rushed to her side. Michelle looked at the boys, then Rick and finally me. She had a confused look on her face. I winked at her. “Smile!”
All four of them smiled and I took a quick photo. I pulled up the photo gallery and confirmed the picture was how I wanted it to be. Satisfied, I tossed Derek his phone. His grin was so wide that I feared he might pull a facial muscle. “Hey, thanks, Lady!”
“Don’t mention it. Come on, guys. We should go.”
Rick, with a dumbstruck look on his face, nodded and walked over to us. He handed me my shoes and I put the heels back on my tender feet, grudgingly. We walked between two class buildings. As we reached the sidewalk, I glanced back to see the boys running toward the dorms.
Rick offered to drive us back but Michelle feared leaving either vehicle unattended overnight, especially her husband’s. We decided Rick would drive back in one vehicle and Michelle and I would follow him in the other. Michelle climbed into the passenger side of the Bentley and started the engine.
It roared to life in approval. She then turned on the radio, providing Rick and me with a private moment thanks to its melodious hum. Rick looked at me.
“Are you mad at me?”
Rick took the lapels of his jacket, which I was still wearing, and buttoned them. He kissed my forehead. “No. I’m not mad.”
“Disappointed?”
“Not in you,” he insisted. He nodded at the car. “And before you ask, I’m not disappointed in her, either. I suggested that to prevent her from suffering any added grief.”
I searched his eyes. “What do you mean by ‘added grief’?”
Rick stared up at the moon. He stood there, silent, for several moments before replying, “I just mean, well, with a highly visible and powerful family, she has to be careful. She’s the wife of Edward Cross, a judge, who will probably run for higher office at some time in the near future. She’s the sister-in-law of a congressman running for senate. Finally, she’s the daughter-in-law of the United States Ambassador to Great Britain. If there’s anyone who has to be conscious of her behavior and its ramifications, it’s Michelle Cross. That’s why I said what I did and why she eventually agreed.”
I considered the implications of his statement. It rang very true to Michelle’s own admission from early that day. While Rick was momentarily upset by my lack of faith in his judgment and willingness to run off without a word, Edward’s reaction to Michelle’s dalliances, despite their innocent nature, would most likely be far worse.
I didn’t even want to imagine how Gatlin Cross would react to his daughter-in-law rushing off in the middle of the night to an all-boys boarding school in search of clues to the whereabouts of a son he preferred not to acknowledge was missing. The more I thought about it, the more I understood why both Rick and even Arthur wished to distance themselves from this family.
“I’m sorry. It’s just, that look on her face got to me. It seems like everyone is so hard on her and tries to keep her from being herself. She’s under such pressure to conform that I wanted to help her have a little fun. Plus, that photo is garbage. No one could even make her out. It’s too dark.”
“What do you mean?”
I grinned mischievously. “Well, let’s just say that I killed two birds with one stone.”
“I don’t follow.”
“That phone’s camera didn’t have a flash,” I explained. “It’s dark out here. All anyone can make out in the picture is that there are three boys standing beside a dark-haired woman in an evening dress. You can’t see Michelle’s face. I made sure of that before
handing the phone back to that kid.”
A smile slowly crept across Rick’s face as he realized what I was saying. He gently took my chin in his hand and pulled me within inches of his face. “You’re pretty clever, you know that?”
“I know. Know what else I know?”
He leaned in closer. The sweet smell of his cologne invaded my senses. “What’s that?”
I winked and replied in my most seductive voice, “It’s getting late and we have a long drive back.”
Rick laughed out loud. It was so rare for him to laugh like that. I felt a warmth radiate inside me that I was able to evoke such an emotion in him. He took my hands in his and kissed them. “You’re right. Let’s go. You’re sure that you can make the drive? We can leave a car here. It’s safe.”
“No, I’m fine. Too much excitement to fall asleep right now.”
He studied me for a few moments before nodding to himself. “All right. Well, follow me, okay? There shouldn’t be too much traffic now, but you never know.”
I agreed and we kissed again before climbing into the vehicles. As soon as my seatbelt was fastened and the car was in reverse, Michelle turned the radio down. “Everything okay?”
I focused on the rearview mirror, making sure no cars were behind me before backing up slowly. Rick was already waiting near the exit of the parking lot when I put the car back in drive. I realized that Michelle was still waiting for a response.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I followed Rick as he turned left and drove down the empty, silent street. Since Crowell Academy was located on a hill outside of Middletown, I maintained a safe distance from Rick’s vehicle as we crept along the road. Less than twenty minutes later, we were back on I-95 North. Although she initially tried to stay awake and keep me company, Michelle fell asleep less than an hour into the drive.
I used the time to reflect on the article about Francine Harris and the threatening message written across it. Neither Rick nor Michelle had any idea who Francine Harris was. If she had been someone Arthur was intimately involved with, those closest to him were unaware of her very existence. I wondered if this was one of the women William had referred to earlier that day.
I also found it curious that the article specifically mentioned her physical disability. During this day and age, if one mentions anything personal about another, that individual is liable to the most severe and costly lawsuit imaginable. The white lights of passing vehicles illuminated the darkness like an inconsistent, hypnotic rhythm.
As I drove along, I thought about the pictures of Arthur in his youth. He appeared to be a happy child. It was curious that Rick referred to Arthur as “troubled.” Whatever troubles he may have had, he seemed to overcome them well enough to become a respected professor who cared enough to want to give back to the institution that made him the man he had become. Despite the threatening message on the obituary, nothing seemed to point to foul play.
Chapter 10
It was a quarter to two when Charlie waved us through the wrought-iron gates. The great house was silent and it appeared all the lights were off. I pulled Edward’s car up next to Stuart’s and turned off the engine. In the passenger seat, Michelle slept soundly.
Thanks to my college roommate, Katie, I have seen what I look like asleep and suffice it to say, it is not a pretty sight. Michelle, however, somehow managed to look gorgeous even while asleep. When I nudged her arm, she opened her eyes slightly.
Blinking, she yawned, “Where are we?”
“Home,” I replied, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Well, your in-laws’ home anyway.”
She ran her fingers through her silky hair, sighing. “What time is it?”
“Almost two.” Rick walked around the car and opened my door. “Thanks.”
He offered his hand and helped me out of the vehicle. My legs were stiff. “Don’t mention it.” He glanced back at the mansion. “I guess everyone’s asleep. Do you have a key?”
Michelle had climbed out of the car and opened the door to the back seat. She found her designer handbag and grabbing it, closed the car door again. Still yawning, she pointed to the car keys in my hand. “The small, silver one next to Eddie’s car key.”
I handed the keys to Rick. After grabbing my purse, I followed Rick up the steep steps to the ornate, front door. He unlocked it and pushed it open, slowly. We tiptoed inside and Michelle and I waited by the stairs as Rick locked the door. While standing there, I looked around. In the distance, I noticed a small ray of light reflecting off the well-polished wooden floor. Michelle followed my gaze.
“Someone must be up.” She yawned.
“I haven’t been this tired since my last semester of college.” Rick sighed, stretching.
Although I was exhausted, my curiosity about the light outweighed my exhaustion. “You guys go. I’m wondering who’s still awake.”
Michelle walked to the stairs. “Normally, I’d go with you, but I’m beat.”
“Good night. And thanks. For everything.”
She stood on the bottom step and grinned. “Not a problem. Thank you for everything. I haven’t had this much fun since my last trip home.”
She said good night and headed up the stairs, her heels echoing in the distance. I glanced at Rick. “You can go, too, if you’d like. I’m good.”
Rick raised an eyebrow. “The last time I left you alone, you raced off to Connecticut without a cell phone. I think I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“If you insist.” He offered a dubious look before laughing. “What’s so funny?”
He brushed my hair off my left shoulder. “Only you would race off on an adventure in an evening gown.” I glanced down at my outfit and blushed. “If I were those guys and saw two women running around campus on a Saturday night, I think I’d have probably asked for photographic evidence, too.”
“Ha-ha, right. But they weren’t interested in me.”
“Then they were blind.” He led me down the long hallway. We walked past the ballroom and several other rooms before stopping in front of a half-closed door. Rick rapped his large knuckles against it.
“Come in,” a deep voice called, wearily. Rick pushed the door open. I found myself entering a room with rich mahogany walls and floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
In a corner of the room, Ambassador Gatlin Cross sat in a burgundy-leather chair. In his right hand was half a glass of scotch. He turned the glass around in a circular motion before taking a long drink. His appearance startled me. His silvery, blond hair was disheveled and there were deep circles beneath his eyes. It appeared as if he aged dramatically from the time we last saw him at the country club, only a few hours earlier. “”Hello, Richard, Miss James.” He stood up, drained the glass, and walked to a well-stocked bar. “May I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” Rick replied, eyeing him cautiously.
The ambassador coughed and placed the glass on the bar. Grabbing the nearest bottle and pouring the dark liquid in his glass, he muttered, “Well, I sure as hell need one.”
At this, Rick strode up to the bar and grabbed the filled glass as the ambassador reached for it. The older man’s face turned a bright shade of red and his temples began to pulsate as he desperately reached for the drink. “Give me that before I blacken your other eye, you impudent sod!”
Rick seemed unfazed by this and backed up, glass in hand. “What’s going on, sir?”
The ambassador swung and missed. It became apparent he had been drinking heavily and it seemed to have impacted both his judgment and his balance. He fell to the floor and landed on his knees. Gripping them in agony, he shut his eyes and cried out.
Finally, the ambassador exhaled in short, choppy breaths and muttered, “He’s dead.”
Rick’s eyes widened then narrowed. He swallowed hard and tentatively leaned closer to the large man, still on the floor and holding his knees. “What? Who? Arthur?”
No longer aware of our presence, Mr. Cross let out a silent sob. He covered his face in his massi
ve hands.
Rick dropped the glass. It exploded as it hit the floor, sending wet shards everywhere. Although Rick was a tall man with an almost perfect physique, even at six-foot-three, he was smaller than the ambassador. Somehow, he managed to grab the ambassador’s shoulders and pull the older man to his feet.
Rick led him over the puddle of scotch, bits of glass cracking beneath their shoes as they walked. He helped the ambassador into the armchair. I glanced nervously between the two men. Neither was aware of my presence. The desperate look on Rick’s face bothered me. Behind his usual, cool exterior, I saw panic flicker like a flame desperately fighting against the constant wind.
He knelt in front of the leather chair and braced himself by holding the right armrest. “Can you hear me? Mr. Cross!” Finally, the man’s gaze met Rick’s. “What’s going on?”
Drops of perspiration blotted his tan forehead, despite the cool air blowing in from the numerous vents in the large room. “I need a drink,” was all he managed to croak.
A frustrated scowl crossed Rick’s face, distorting his gorgeous features. He balled his right hand into a fist and slammed it down on the chair’s armrest, causing both the chair and the ambassador to shake. “Damn it, sir, talk to me! You said, oh God, I hope I misheard you. What did you say? What’s going on?”
“He—he’s dead.” He doubled over in the chair and covered his face again. “It’s all my fault.”
Rick staggered backwards. He fell onto the leather couch across from the ambassador’s chair. I rushed over to him, taking his limp hand in mine. He, too, stared into space as the truth of the statement filled his mind. A heavy silence fell upon the room, smothering us, its occupants, with this macabre revelation.
Despite my never having met Arthur, I felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. My mind returned to the menacing letter. Had its author made good on the threat? If the Cross family let me investigate right away, could this have been prevented? And if he had any concern for his son at all, why did Mr. Cross waste time at the Vineyard? As I replayed the ambassador’s remarks over in my mind, I realized how little the grief-stricken man had revealed.
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