“Mr. Pringle was just introducing himself.” She tried sounding nonchalant, but didn’t quite carry the conviction. Then she tried a small laugh, which just sounded nervous. “I think he’s had a bit too much to drink.”
“I see. Well, that’s Cam for you. Always out for a good time. I saw Nan inside. She says tell you to come in and say hello.”
“I will. Thank you for fetching me the drink.”
“My pleasure. Here, I’ll walk you back in.”
That suited her. Helped alleviate the humiliation and red cheeks Cameron’s self-introduction had caused. They made it inside just as the storm caught up with them, letting loose its rain in a heavy curtain that fell from the sky and blew in through the open doorway, as a waiter rushed to close the door.
Inside, Carolyn Dodson Pringle glared her way. Obviously so. What the heck was wrong with her? She’d been standing right there. She had to have seen what her husband did. Awkwardness twisted Bexley’s stomach into knots. Other people turned to look as she scooted past them through the ballroom. Two women now flanked Carolyn, and Bexley assumed they’d be Sally and Peggy. Great. They’d have news of her encounter with Cameron Pringle spread all over town in less than a day…most likely twisted into something terribly lurid. And not in a way that would enhance Bexley’s reputation. And in the brief second she debated saying something to set the record straight, a waitress rushed over to Carolyn. Ashen-faced, she whispered furiously into Carolyn’s ear. Carolyn’s face quickly lost its menace, while her jaw went slack.
Mr. Lederman, the club’s manager rushed over. “You weren’t supposed to tell her here!”
“Noooo!” Carolyn wailed. “Not Annie! Not my little sister!”
Every face in the Club turned in Carolyn’s direction.
“They found her body out on the polo field.” Carolyn was crying now, mascara streaking down in watery black lines over her powdered cheeks. Her voice shook, gulping in air as she spoke. “Annie’s dead.”
Chapter Two
Vaughn Humphries glanced around the bare walls of the room where he sat at the Grosse Pointe Farms police station. Beige paint peeled off in spots, giving the room an unkempt feel. They were dirty, too, and Vaughn wondered how long it had been since anyone had cleaned them, or painted them, or cared at all about this place. Maybe they didn’t consider it worth the effort. Who would they be trying to impress, after all? A bunch of drunk drivers busted on their way home from some watering hole on the Nautical Mile? Or some teen-age drug users? Shoplifters, or B and E artists from out-of-town maybe? He got it. The purpose of this room wasn’t to make the occupants cooling their heels inside feel comfortable.
“Vaughn Humphries.” Detective Max LeBec read his name from a piece of paper stuffed into a case file. “Age 34. Resident of Grosse Pointe Farms. Member of the Grosse Pointe Country Club, basically, all your life. First a child member of your parents. Later, as a member in your own right. Owner of Humphries Cadillac GMC.”
Vaughn nodded. “That all sounds right.”
“My wife tells me your dealership is the largest in the state.”
“It is. Fourth largest in the country.”
Detective LeBec nodded. “What can you tell me about last night?”
Vaughn shrugged. He didn’t really know Max, but he’d gone to Liggett with his wife, Shirley. Shirley was a vivacious red-head, huge into Motown and physical fitness. She owned one of the yoga studios in the Village, and half the women in Grosse Pointe swore by her…including all three of the Dodson sisters. “I can’t really tell you much,” Vaughn said. “I was at the Summer Soiree at the club with Bexley Hart.”
Max nodded – not looking up – staring instead at his notepad while he jotted something down before adjusting his tie. “Uh-huh. What time did you pick up Miss Hart?”
“Around six-fifteen, six-thirty, I guess. We arrived shortly after the party started.”
“Were you with Miss Hart the entire evening?”
“Of course I was.” Vaughn’s voice rose just a little before he remembered to lower it. “I still believe in dancing with the one I came with.”
Max, keeping his voice calm, slicked fingers through the tight dark curls cut short on his head. “I wasn’t making insinuations about your character, Mr. Humphries. I’m just doing my job and finding out the facts. So you were with Bexley Hart the entire evening? You never left her side for any reason?”
“Probably a few times to use the restroom, and once to go out to the parking lot and call my mother. She wasn’t feeling well that evening.”
Max nodded. “What time did you make the phone call?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere around nine, or nine-thirty, I guess.”
“And how long did the phone call last?”
“Just a few minutes.”
“And then you went right back to Miss Hart?”
“No, and then I walked around the golf course for a little while.”
“Why’d you do that?”
“I had a lot on my mind.” Vaughn’s voice pitched a little, and he cursed himself for it. The entire conversation with his mother came flooding back. Word for awful word.
“I can’t believe you took that Bexley Hart woman to our Summer Soiree,” his mother had said. “I told you five months ago, when you first brought her up, she wasn’t the kind of woman who would make a suitable life partner.”
“Mom, how can you say that? You’ve never even met her.”
“I don’t need to meet her. She’s a farm girl from Texas. You come from totally different backgrounds…different social standings…different financial status. She has no idea how things work in our world.”
“Really, Mom. Do you have to sound so elitist? You make it sound as though simple things like place settings can’t be learned.”
“Vaughn Clifford Mortimer Humphries, don’t you take that tone with me. Our family has maintained our place in the social register for generations, and I can assure you, it is not just about table settings.”
He’d sighed, letting the remark pass, knowing it was pointless to offer debate. “This isn’t like when I dated Sophie or Emma,” he’d said. “I feel a real attraction to Bexley. It’s something special.”
“Oh, Vaughn. There is so much more to marriage than just physical attraction. Those things fade. You need someone you share things in common with and someone who’s on equal footing financially. Otherwise, you’ll always wonder what she really sees in you.”
“Look, Mom, I love you, and I want to make you happy, but—”
“And I love you, too. You know I’ve never blamed you or held you responsible for your father’s death.”
It was the conversation ender. Because, of course, she did blame him. And he’d always blamed himself. He’d been driving, getting in some nighttime driving practice. The other driver had been drunk and on the wrong side of the road. Everyone told him it wasn’t his fault. Not his mother, but everyone else. Judith Humphries, consumed with grief, had asked – right at the funeral, right in front of every assembled mourner – why he hadn’t seen the car sooner? Why hadn’t he swerved sooner? How could he possibly have not seen the tree they crashed into when he did swerve?
The whole awful scene had played out in his mind every day since he was 16. And it didn’t matter how many times he told himself that the driver crossed the line only seconds before he swerved, or that there were no good outcomes when your only options were a head-on crash, or the trunk of a tree. His guilt would never go away. He’d killed his father, and left his mother with two children to finish raising on her own. Eighteen years later, and he was still trying to make it up to her, and put back together the shattered pieces of his reputation.
“Go ahead, and have your fun with this girl,” his mother had said then, cutting into his thoughts. “Get her out of your system, and then get married to someone suitable, and give me some grandchildren to carry on our good family name.”
“What was it you had on your mind?” Max asked, pus
hing away the cobwebs of memory Vaughn had been stuck in.
“I’m a little confused about my attraction to Bexley,” he said. “I was trying to sort things out.”
“I see.” Still looking at his notes, Max allowed the hint of a smile to curl his mouth. “And how well did you know the murdered girl? Annie Dodson?”
“Pretty well, unfortunately. As you may know, I dated her sister Eleanor on-and-off for about the past decade before finally ending things for good last year.”
“Because you preferred Annie?”
Vaughn nearly lost it then. Nearly. But he remembered to pause and take a deep breath before answering. “I see you’ve been listening to Eleanor’s gossip.”
Max, finally looking up, stared him in the eye. “I’m simply asking you a question, Mr. Humphries.”
He didn’t say anything after that, just continued looking Vaughn in the eye, and after a few moments longer, Vaughn said, “Look, I’m well aware of the gossip Eleanor spread around town after I broke things off the last – and final — time. But I never fooled around with Annie Dodson. I never hit on her. I never looked inappropriately at her. I never even had lustful thoughts about her. And I may be one of the few men in town who can say that.”
“Annie was a pretty young woman,” Max said.
It was true. Annie stood five-foot-nine, was thin with big blue eyes, enough of a chest to look appealing without appearing top-heavy, and long blonde hair that fell straight to her waist. Had she been inclined to something more than partying and having a good time, she might have had a career as a model.
“No answer?” Max asked.
Vaughn shrugged. “Was there a question in there?”
“I suppose not. But here’s a question for you. Why not follow up your denial of an affair with Annie with your version of why you ended things with Eleanor?”
“Because unlike Eleanor, I don’t care to garner a reputation as a gossip.”
“This is a police interview, Mr. Humphries. It’s not considered gossip if you give me information in connection with a murder. I’m sure your concerns about your reputation are unwarranted.”
Again, Vaughn took a breath, pushing away his irritation. “My reasons for ending things with Eleanor have nothing to do with Annie Dodson or her murder. I terminated my relationship with Eleanor almost a year ago, and Eleanor knows my reasons for doing so. And as for my concerns regarding my reputation, I find them valid. A reputation takes a lifetime to build, and only a few minutes to destroy.”
“I’m sure you’re right about that.” Max paused, looking between his notepad and Vaughn. He wrote something down before saying, “You’re a hard one to read, Mr. Humphries.”
Vaughn sat back in the chair. It was a short, straight-backed piece of furniture made of hard plastic, and it was uncomfortable as hell. It went well with the room, he thought. “I share my thoughts when I think there might be value in doing so. Unlike today’s social- media-obsessed society, I do not find it necessary to share every thought I have with the public. Privacy, I’m afraid, has become sadly undervalued nowadays, and what could be more private than a person’s own thoughts?”
Max nodded. “You have a point, I suppose.” He wrote something down on his notepad, and then asked, “Were you in love with Eleanor Dodson? Or are you still?”
“No,” Vaughn said. “Definitely not now, and probably not ever, really.”
“But you dated her on-and-off for most of the last ten years?”
“We grew up together. Our families are close, and it was always assumed Eleanor and I would make it official and join the families in matrimony. I grew up listening to my mother talk about our marriage like it was a foregone conclusion. I never really questioned that assumption for a long time. It seemed like it was expected of me.”
“But you never actually did it.”
“No.” Vaughn took a breath, wondering what Detective LeBec was trying to find out, other than a bunch of salacious gossip. “I was waiting for my feelings to confirm what our families had always thought, had always hoped for, before making a proposal. When I finally realized that was never going to happen, that my feelings for Eleanor just didn’t rise to the level of a life-long commitment, I ended things.” Pausing, he added, “I’m sorry she took it so badly. I tried to be a gentleman about things.”
“Valerie Jameson says you’re big on being a gentleman. Would you say that’s a fair characterization?” Max had gone back to staring at his notes, but he looked up long enough to ask the question.
“Is there something wrong with that?” Vaughn asked, neither waiting for an answer, nor expecting one. “I think it’s a shame more people these days aren’t concerned with being a lady, or a gentleman, or valuing their reputations. I’m sure our world would be a much better place, and there’d be fewer things to worry about, like young women being needlessly murdered, if people did place more value on such things.”
“Perhaps,” Max said. He cleared his throat, rising from his chair now and walking to the door connecting the interview room to the noisy office of the police station just outside. “That’ll be all for now, Mr. Humphries. Thank you for stopping by.”
“My pleasure,” Vaughn said, but he didn’t really mean it. The entire experience had been anything but a pleasure, and it irked him to no end to know how Eleanor might spin this if she ever got word of it. The only upside was knowing she would probably be sitting in that hard plastic chair, in that dirty beige room soon enough herself…being Annie’s sister and all.
As he left the building and climbed into his Mercedes, he couldn’t help but make the comparison between Eleanor and Bexley, and how his mother had been right about physical attraction being insufficient for a lasting relationship. Ellie was beautiful, but Vaughn’s physical desire for her hadn’t lasted very long. He felt cold when he was with her. With Bexley, he felt alive inside. He felt like he could never get enough of her. Those big blue eyes. That long, chestnut-colored hair. And those curves. Good God, he could barely remember the rules of social decorum when he was around her. Hell, he hadn’t stopped thinking about making love to her since the day they’d met.
It was hard wanting her…knowing his mother would never approve of the relationship, and probably the most it would ever be was a glorious affair. But want her he did. From the moment they’d met, he’d thought of nothing but those lovely locks of hair skimming down over her shoulders, and those blue eyes that seemed deeper and more mysterious than all of the Great Lakes combined. He remembered the way they sparkled like diamonds when she smiled.
When he spoke to other women now, he remembered Bexley’s voice, with that sweet southern twang, and how other women didn’t sound quite that lovely. He could hear her laugh, like a melodious song that reminded him of wind chimes singing in the breeze. And he thought about the way she carried herself…so unpretentious, and yet graceful. Yes, he wanted Bexley Hart. Badly. And he imagined the last thing Bexley Hart would be inclined to do was jump into the sack with a murder suspect. He didn’t need her finding out he’d been interviewed by the police, or hearing Eleanor’s putrid gossip. Anything that might give her the wrong idea about him. He’d have to make sure that didn’t happen.
Chapter Three
It was a quiet afternoon at Grosse Pointe Farms Pier Park. At 10 a.m., the beach was deserted, though the promise of another hot day meant that wouldn’t last long. Bexley dug her toes into warm sand at the edge of the beach blanket she shared with Vaughn. In front of them, she watched waves tossing the waters of Lake St. Clair before rippling to shore. Further out, midway between the beach and the Canadian shore, an oil freighter chugged along, going so slowly it seemed not to move at all, save the change in its position whenever she looked away; and then looked back again after some time at passed.
“It’s going to be another hot day,” she said.
Vaughn nodded, smoothing sun block on her back. “Best get this on you before you burn.”
She sucked at making small talk. If
she were Nan, she’d have found something more interesting to talk about than the weather. “That freighter’s not a sight you get to see in Texas,” she said.
Again, Vaughn nodded. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t be. I guess growing up here you take for granted how magnificent large ships can be.”
She watched the ship a while longer, surprised to see how far up the lake it had progressed since passing Belle Isle. “I’ve never been on a boat,” she said.
Vaughn gave her an incredulous look, and she felt suddenly like a hick. He was only four years older than she, but had what seemed like a lifetime’s more experience. He’d been educated in private schools, Ivy League colleges, and spent summers in Europe the way most folks went for a drive in the country. The differences between them left her feeling wary.
“You’ve really never been on a boat?” he asked. “They do have lakes in Texas, don’t they?”
“Yes, of course.” The defensive rise to her voice only added to her discomfort. She really should have thought of a better topic of conversation. “I used to go swimming in Lake Waco all the time. The Brazos River too. I’ve just never been on a boat.”
Vaughn took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We’ll have to remedy that.”
“How do you propose to do that?” she asked. “Do you have some boat you care to take me on?”
“Well, there’s always my boat.” He grinned when he said it. “Of course, that will require you agreeing to a third date with me.”
Her butterflies melted away to nothing, and she did the math quickly in her head. The Summer Soiree: date one. This early morning picnic: date number two. Going for a ride on his boat would be date number three. A third date would be two dates closer to the fifth…the magical number of dates Mama and Grandmama always said she had to wait. She wanted him badly now, and she wondered if the wait was killing him as much as it was her. “I think I could agree to date number three,” she said. “Especially if it means I get to go on a boat.”
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