by Liliana Hart
Jack snorted out a laugh.
We were standing in the middle of the store, and I looked around, wondering where Vaughn was. It was then I noticed the customers. None of them bothered to hide their curiosity as they stared outright at us. Even the guy behind the counter stared at us with rapt fascination. Jack nodded to each of them and even called hello to a couple of people he knew. It was an ingrained habit built from several years of politics.
I heard Vaughn’s murmured voice as he came down from the second floor. He was talking to a woman in a full-length fur coat and blond hair twisted up like Grace Kelly. Vaughn came from money, and his parents had moved in socialite circles until they’d lost all their money and had to declare bankruptcy. Fortunately, Vaughn’s trust had been untouchable since it had been left to him by his grandmother, but he was much more cautious and careful about money than his parents had been. But he’d still maintained some of those socialite relationships, and I guess they found it interesting that Vaughn had a real job.
I hadn’t seen Vaughn in weeks. We’d texted on occasion, but life had been busy for everyone lately. In all honesty, he’d kind of isolated himself from us after he’d buried his lover last year. He wasn’t the same. He never would be. Just like Marla Jorgenson would never be the same. The people we loved left a mark on us, and when they were taken, especially if they were taken tragically before their time, it scarred the soul of those who remained.
Vaughn looked surprised to see us. The surprise was immediately replaced by a look of concern. He gave the woman he was with a quick smile and excuse, kissed her hand, and came the rest of the way down the stairs.
He walked straight toward us and took each of us by the arm, ushering us to his office. The hushed whispers grew louder behind us before he closed the door.
“Well, if it isn’t my two most infamous friends,” he said, looking the both of us over. “You both look like hell.” He pulled me into a hug and held me there, and I felt my body relax.
“You’re the third good hug I’ve had today,” I said. “I think it’s a record.”
“As long as mine was the best, darling,” he said, kissing my forehead.
Vaughn had the polished looks of someone who belonged in the city. The people in King George were mostly blue collar, even though there was plenty of money to be found from the tobacco farmers in the area. There were times a millionaire and a farmhand could be standing side by side and you couldn’t tell who was who.
But Vaughn always stood out in a crowd. He was as tall as Jack, and he wore his black hair long and usually gathered in a tail at the nape of his neck like it was tonight. His goatee was neatly groomed and he had a diamond stud in each ear. He wore fine woolen pants in charcoal and a three-button vest of the same material. His tie was silk and a shimmering silver, and his shirt was a thin pinstripe that looked like it had silver thread running through it, so it shimmered if the light hit it just right.
If anyone knew how Jack and I were feeling at the moment, it was Vaughn. He’d faced the same kind of scrutiny and gossip when people had found out he was gay. And he’d faced it again when his relationship with the priest at the Episcopal church had come under scrutiny after the man had been murdered by a local hate group.
Vaughn kept his arm around me and looked at Jack. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to hug you or punch you yet.”
“That’s probably fair,” Jack said. “I’ll just stay over here until you figure it out.”
“I’m surprised to see the two of you here,” Vaughn said, looking at me. “Word on the street is that you moved into the funeral home.”
“That part is true,” Jack said. “At least for now.”
Vaughn stroked my hair and then released me, moving to stand in front of the fireplace. He’d picked the drawing room of the old house for his office. There was all the modern convenience of a large desk and integrated technology, but the rest of the room looked as pristine and exact as it had probably been in the early 1900s.
The fire was making my eyes tired, so I moved to the Queen Anne sofa and curled up in the corner.
“Does that mean I’m not the only one who feels left out in knowing that you’ve got a kid?” Vaughn asked.
I could see the hurt in his eyes that Jack hadn’t trusted him enough to tell him.
“No, I knew,” I told him before things could escalate. “That’s not the issue.”
Vaughn looked at me thoughtfully and said, “There are so many issues I don’t even know where to start. And I’m guessing since the tension in the room just skyrocketed a thousand percent that y’all haven’t exactly worked things out, so I’ll back off on that front. All I’m saying is a phone call or text would’ve been nice instead of finding out information the same way as everyone else.”
Jack’s lips quirked in a half smile. “I’ll try to remember that for the next time.”
“Very funny,” Vaughn said. “You’ll be glad to know you’ve raised more money in the past few days than in the last month. Floyd pissed a lot of people off when he printed that story. Everyone thinks he’s playing too dirty, and that was a hit way below the belt. Your family has been here for generations.”
“According to my mother,” Jack said, “you’d think we were being taken over by outsiders and the founders are slowly fading away. It seems like everyone close to me has suffered because of Floyd. My mother was asked to resign her position as the fundraising chair at the country club. She yelled at me this morning about the article and then she burst into tears. Apparently, some woman complained because she thinks my behavior is scandalous. She also thinks that I’m holding King George back from progression. There are a lot of people who want those prisons here.”
“No one with half a brain,” Vaughn said, scoffing. “No one who wants to raise their children here or have a decent quality of life. This place is still mostly pure bloods. There are people in this county who are descendants of the founding fathers. The people pouring money into a moron like Floyd Parker are outsiders, and they’re trying to sow discord and distract you from the endgame. And it’s working. Look at the two of you. You’re not even living in the same house. Your mother can’t focus on campaign duties because she’s been asked to step down from a position she’s always taken pride in, and everyone who is close to you has been offered something sweet to switch loyalties so the contract for those prisons can be awarded. You need to get your head out of your ass and focus.”
“They offered you money?” I asked Vaughn, sitting up straighter.
“They offered me 10 percent of a billion-dollar contract,” he said, smiling. “I already have money, but that’s a lot of money. You have to assume if they’ve approached me, then they’ve approached a lot of people who might be more than happy to take a fraction of that amount.”
I swallowed, an uneasy feeling sweeping over me. Could we trust no one?
“I can’t control what people do,” Jack said. I heard the anger in his voice and was surprised by it. Jack rarely got angry. And when he was angry, he rarely showed it. “Politics is dirty. It’s always been dirty. And it’s driven by money. And money leads to power. There are few people in this country who can’t be bought or who will do the right thing out of principle. I can feel them breathing down my neck every day, waiting to move in like a disease.”
Jack’s fist clenched and he got back to his feet. “Knowing that doesn’t make me want to serve and protect. It makes me want to gather my family and escape to a place where no one will ever find us. You think I haven’t had better job offers? Been asked to run for higher political offices? Of course I have. But I’m here, because here is what matters.”
“It’s going to be okay, Jack,” Vaughn said. “The people here do appreciate you, even if they don’t always show it. And I think, despite a few bad seeds sprinkled throughout, you might be surprised how many tell Floyd and those fancy investors to shove it.”
“Can we do damage control at this point?” I asked. “The election is i
n four days.”
“I actually think we’re in good shape,” Vaughn said. “And if what I’ve heard through the grapevine is true, then it’s even better. Please tell me Floyd Parker really did turn himself in for a hit-and-run.”
“He’s up to something,” I told Vaughn. “He didn’t do it out of the goodness of his heart.”
“I’ll see if I can find out anything,” he said. “I’m going to talk to your mother and my mother and we’re going to rally. If anyone can get blood flowing again it’s them.”
“As nice as this is,” Jack said, “we actually didn’t come for a campaign meeting or couple’s therapy.”
“Well, you sure as hell need some,” Vaughn said. “Consider this an added bonus. Why’d you come?”
“You haven’t heard the identity of the victim from the hit-and-run this morning?” Jack asked. “The grapevine must be slipping.”
“We’ve got a lot going on,” he said. “And no. All talk of that stopped the second Floyd turned himself in. I heard he hit a guy on his bike out on 36. That’s a bad stretch of road for biking. I’ve ridden it several times.”
“If it’s a bad stretch then why do you ride it?” I asked.
“Because it’s the bad stretches that can be the most fun,” he said, showing his teeth when he smiled. “That’s what real cyclists crave.” And then it was like the lightbulb finally switched on. “A real cyclist. It was someone from our club?”
“Brett Jorgenson,” Jack said.
“Oh, man,” Vaughn said, dropping down onto the other end of the sofa. “His wife is about to have a baby.”
“We just came from there,” I said.
Vaughn shook his head. “I don’t know how you both do what you do. Doesn’t it get depressing giving that kind of news to people all the time?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “It really does.”
“So what do you need from me?” Vaughn asked. “Because of my amazing powers of deductive reasoning, I’m going to assume that maybe Floyd didn’t have anything to do with Brett’s death, and you’re still trying to figure out who really killed him.”
“With skills like that, you should be a cop,” Jack said.
“God, no,” Vaughn said. “And be a glutton for punishment? I’ll leave that to you.”
“Brett was murdered,” I said, finally making the declaration out loud. “But it wasn’t because of Floyd. I found lethal doses of amphetamines in his system. He had a massive heart attack as a result. I’ve never seen any heart damaged like his was.”
Vaughn nodded. “Those hills would do it,” he said. “I’m guessing you want to know if there’s anyone in the group with a drug problem.”
“That would be a good start,” Jack said.
“I don’t know of anyone,” Vaughn said, “But it’s mostly a social club. I don’t really know anyone well enough to have that kind of information. There’s certainly plenty of people in there who could afford a drug habit. It’s an expensive sport.”
“When was the last time you saw Brett?” Jack asked.
“At the ride last night,” Vaughn said. “We ride three nights a week plus Saturday mornings. One Saturday a month we’ll do a hundred-mile ride. Brett didn’t ride with us on Mondays because he’s in New York, but he always did the rest of the rides. And I know he rode every morning too.”
“You ride a hundred miles on a bicycle?” I asked, thinking of what the glutes must feel like after that long in the saddle, and squeezing my legs together subconsciously.
“You get used to it,” Vaughn said. “A few of the guys and I meet up with clubs all over the world in Italy every year and we ride a hundred miles a day until we get to Switzerland. Of course, when you have views like that it’s a little different than riding through King George. I’ve tried to get you to come.”
“Yes, I’m sure the taxpaying citizens want me to take a month off every year to ride my bike through the Alps,” Jack said dryly. “Of course, come Tuesday I might have plenty of time to take it up again.”
“Get real,” Vaughn said, rolling his eyes. “There’s no way in hell you’ll lose this election. You’ve got to change your attitude. People here like to talk, but they’re not stupid. Floyd has burned too many bridges over the years.”
“He’s also got a lot of friends who don’t exactly care about doing things on the up-and-up,” Jack said. “We just finished investigating John Donnelly’s murder, and we discovered a whole network of people Floyd has in his pocket.”
“So what?” Vaughn said. “Donnelly is dead, so that’s a vote you don’t have to worry about.”
I laughed out loud and shook my head. “That’s so wrong.”
Vaughn smiled unrepentantly. “Just telling the truth.”
“If we could stay on topic,” Jack said. “Can you give us a list of everyone on the ride last night?”
“Sure,” Vaughn said. “We only have about twenty riders that are dedicated enough to make all the group rides. Sometimes we’ll do an open call for surrounding counties to join us if they want. Everything is done from our social media page. But last night we only had fifteen. Our numbers drop some this time of year when the weather is iffy and it gets dark so early.
“We have a different meeting place for each day we ride. On Saturdays we meet here at the store, since it’s a longer route. We meet at six in the morning and then mostly stick to the perimeter of the county, or at least where there’s nice paved roads. Monday nights we meet at six thirty at Mike Dunne’s furniture store over in Newcastle. You remember him, Jack?”
Jack nodded. “Vaguely.”
“On Wednesday night we meet at the Methodist Church in Nottingham and on Thursday nights we meet at Brett’s house. Same time each night of the week.”
“Wait, you meet at Brett’s house?” Jack asked. “That’s where you met last night?”
“Yeah,” Vaughn said. “We only had fifteen show up last night. We picked Brett’s house because it’s exactly twenty miles to the square and twenty miles back. I arrived about six fifteen and we hit the road at six thirty. We made it back just before nine.”
“It seems like you’d have to have a lot of organization for these rides,” I said. “Routes, roads, traffic, time of day…”
“It takes some work,” Vaughn agreed. “But we have a pretty consistent schedule now. Old Dominion is a club for more experienced riders, so we don’t really have to deal with the newbies. We ride with lights on our bikes and helmets for night rides, but we stay in a group and keep pace.”
“The hardest thing to figure out is going to be how he got the amphetamines in his system,” I said. “If we can figure out the how I think we can get the who.”
“The easiest way would be to drop them in his water bottles,” Vaughn said.
“But how would that happen if he filled the water bottles up before he left for his ride?” I asked. “Unless someone put it in before he added the water. But the number of people who’d have access to his bottles is minimal.”
Vaughn was smart and quick. “You’re looking at Marla,” he said. “But I can tell you there’s no way she would or could do something like this. She’s as sweet as they come. And she’s been through it. Brett shared some of their history when we went out a couple of times for dinner. But there’s really any number of people who’d have access.”
“How?” I asked.
“Every rider on the team has habits and superstitions,” Vaughn said. “I prep my gear and bike the same way each time. I like to think it brings me good luck. But when I do it the same way each time it also makes sure I’ve got everything I need when I’m out in the middle of nowhere. Brett was always ready to ride. He rode every morning like clockwork and then he did the three club rides per week, so I’ve watched how he preps. He immediately gets his bike and gear set up for the next ride as soon as he gets in from the ride he’s on.”
Jack nodded, understanding exactly where Vaughn was coming from.
“What?” I asked. “What am I
missing?”
“When Brett got in from the ride last night, the first thing he did was put his bike on the wall in his garage, put his shoes on the rack, and refill his water bottles and put them back in the holders on the bike. He’s got all his supplies there in the garage. If I want to get some extra miles in, I’ll leave from here on my bike and ride out to his place on Thursdays before the official ride starts.”
“You’re all crazy,” I said, shaking my head.
“It’s an addiction,” Vaughn said grinning. “It’s the closest thing to flying without actually being in the air.”
“That’s what Marla said,” I told him. “One addiction replaces another.”
Vaughn nodded. “I agree. But what I was getting at was that when I’d get to his house on the bike he’d let me replenish there. He’s got a filter on the sink out there, so I’d fill up my bottles, and he’s got a cabinet full of GU gels and electrolyte tabs. But I’m telling you every time I’ve ever ridden with Brett his habits are the same. He always preps his bike, replenishes his zipper pouches, and refills his bottles immediately for the next ride.”
“So anyone could have dropped the amphetamines in his bottles before they left for the night,” Jack said.
Vaughn nodded. “I’ll make you a list of everyone who rode last night.”
“Were you the last to leave?” Jack asked.
“There were a few people who hung back after I took off,” he said. “Last night was one of the nights I biked in, so I caught a ride back here to the store with Adam Taylor. I loaded my bike on his Jeep and we left a few minutes before nine.”
“Would there have been a moment when someone could’ve slipped the drugs in the bottles?” I asked.