Grosse Pointe

by Clara Grace Walker

  “Remember?” Nan asked. “I saw the two of you with Josh Rycroft and Darren Crane leaving Starbucks around seven?”

  “Right.”

  Charlotte said it like some minor detail she’d just remembered.

  “You don’t have to answer her questions,” Sally said. She’d come over to the lounge chair with Peggy LeRoux in tow and was taking turns angling her glare at Nan and Charlotte. “She works for the News, remember?”

  Nan pulled down her Ray Bans long enough to glare back at Sally. “Oh, good grief. Stop being a lawyer’s wife for two seconds. I’m not a cop, and she’s not a suspect…that I’m aware of. Besides, I saw her with Hannah that night. And that’s not a question. It’s a fact.”

  “That doesn’t mean she has to answer your questions. Do you really think anyone here is going to talk to you? After you went and called Annie’s killer the Country Club Ripper? Honestly, I know you don’t care anything about your own reputation, going around sleeping with other women’s husbands, but you might consider the rest of the members here. We actually have reputations to uphold.”

  “Oh really?” Bexley asked. She wasn’t about to stand by and watch one of the peas humiliate her best friend. “And what reputation is that? You mean that Stand-By-Your-Man thing you’ve got going on, staying married to a man who sleeps with any woman he can get his hands on? Just so you can spend your summers at the pool?”

  “Why…you!” Sally’s face went about a thousand shades of red, and her mouth dropped open.

  Nan slapped Bexley a high-five, while Peggy tugged Sally off toward their chairs, stopping to wag her finger in Bexley’s direction. “You’re going to regret that.”

  Bexley rolled her eyes. “You don’t know me very well if you think that.”

  Nan laughed, and Peggy said, “Don’t answer her questions, Charlotte McKibbens. I’m warning you.”

  “That’s fine,” Nan said. “I can always write, ‘No comment.’” She turned back to the waitress, who hadn’t moved since whispering in Charlotte’s ear. “Patty, do you know where they found her body?”

  “In the woods beside the polo field. Not too far from where they found Annie.”

  “Patty, shut up or I swear I’ll have you fired,” Sally said.

  “Thanks.” Nan nudged Bexley in the arm. “Let’s go.”

  “Go where?”

  “To see the body. What do you think?”

  Bexley didn’t want to go. She wanted to linger on the pool deck and find out what more Charlotte and the waitress had to say. And what more Sally and Peggy had to say. And find out why Sally was so opposed to Charlotte answering any of Nan’s questions, Nan’s employment as a reporter notwithstanding. She couldn’t possibly be that upset about the Country Club Ripper thing. But Nan was already heading for the gate, and Bexley followed. She started to grab her used towels and half-consumed Sea Breeze, but Nan looked back at her and shook her head. “Don’t worry. We’re only going to check things out. No one’s going to take anything.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” she said. “The odds of someone exchanging their Louis Vuitton for my non-designer handbag do seem rather small.” She waited until they’d left the Summer Village and made it to the parking lot before asking, “Why do we want to see the body?”

  “Because firsthand knowledge is always better than secondhand knowledge.”

  “So you are working on a story.”

  “Of course I’m working on a story. But I’m also insanely curious. Aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes. A little.” It felt almost obscene to admit it…like disrespecting the dead. Nan only laughed, however, and as they crossed the parking lot, climbed into Nan’s car, and started down the dirt road leading into the woods, Bexley found herself admiring her friend’s total acceptance of who she was. Humanity could learn a thing or two from Nancy Elizondo.

  They reached the woods a minute later, after turning down the stretch of road that led to storage sheds and the home reserved for the Club’s manager, and found the woods just beyond blocked off with police cruisers, a fire truck, and ambulance.

  “Kind of late for the ambulance, aren’t they?” Bexley asked, getting out of the car.

  Nan shrugged, crunching across the gravel to the edge of a tree marked with yellow caution tape. “I imagine they need it to transport the body to the morgue.”

  As they moved closer to the tape, dread slowed Bexley’s steps. She’d never seen a dead body before, and a murder victim didn’t seem like the best first glimpse. Nan didn’t share her reluctance, however, and was already ducking under the tape, speaking with an African-American man in a blue button-down and trousers, and smiling.

  Everything would be okay, Bexley told herself. They probably wouldn’t let them see the murdered girl anyway.

  As she caught up to Nan, a mass of people had begun to gather around the edge of trees. Bexley scooted past a group of them, making her way to Nan and the man she was speaking with. He was tall, with a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and tight dark curls that he wore cut close to his head. He was dressed sharp in a light blue dress shirt – starched and pressed –navy blue dress slacks, and a gold tie. He managed not to perspire, despite the heat of the day, and used a comfortable body language with Nan, as though they knew each other. Nan smiled when Bexley reached them.

  “Bexley, this is Detective LeBec. Also known as Max.”

  Bexley shook his hand. “Bexley Hart. Nice to meet you.”

  “The interior designer?” He shook her hand, studying her as he did so. “You did the dining room at the Junior League show house, right? That was classy. My wife loved it. She’s been bugging me to have you re-do our place ever since.”

  “I’d be happy to. I don’t have a business card with me, but I trust Nan can give you the details.”

  “Bexley…is that a family name?” he asked.

  “It is.” His mind was as sharp as his clothes. Most people didn’t get that right away, and asked instead how her parents had come up with such an unusual name. “Bexley was Grandmama’s maiden name. Mama was a Pierson, and that’s what she named one of my brothers. I’m guessing I’m the first Bexley you’ve ever met.”

  “You are at that. But I like it. My wife and I are thinking of starting a family soon, and we’ve been bouncing around baby names. You wouldn’t mind if I toss that one into the mix, would you?”

  “Please do. I’d be honored to share my given name with your future daughter.”

  “Well, good. Don’t be surprised if nine months from now, there’s another little Bexley in town.”

  He smiled then, putting Bexley at ease. He seemed nice. Not rough and cynical, or hard-boiled, the way cops were portrayed on TV, but just…normal.

  “Nan tells me you were at the party here with Vaughn Humphries,” he said.

  “That’s right.”

  “What time did the two of you arrive?”

  “About six-thirty. Six-forty-five, maybe.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pulled a small notepad and pen from his shirt pocket and started writing. “And what time did he pick you up?”

  “I don’t know. About fifteen minutes before that, I guess.” Unease inched its way along her spine. “However long it takes to drive from my place in the Park to here.”

  “Were the two of you together the entire time during the party?”

  “Yes. Well, except for the odd trip to the restroom. Then when he went to get me a drink.” She shuddered. “When that creep Cameron Pringle tried to make a move on me.”

  “Was that all?”

  “Yes. Just that, and when Vaughn went out to the parking lot to call his mother.”

  “I see.”

  Detective LeBec didn’t ask why Vaughn had gone to the parking to make his call. He must’ve already known about the cell phone policy at the club…like she was the only person in Grosse Pointe who hadn’t. “Is that all you need to know?” she asked.

  Again, he nodded, not saying anything, just staring at the pen and
notepad he held in his hand, and Bexley couldn’t help but wonder why he was asking. “I never met Annie Dodson,” she offered. “I’m afraid I can’t be of much help.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Nan broke the tension with a laugh, playfully slugging Max in the arm. “I think we can all rule Bexley out as a suspect.”

  “I already have,” he said, smiling when he said.

  Still, Bexley couldn’t get past the dread his questions had provoked or the surreal feeling she had, knowing not too far away, a young woman’s murdered body was being dealt with.

  “Any thoughts on why both bodies were dumped at the club?” Nan asked.

  Max just smiled…a thin smile that said he and Nan were wondering the same thing. “If you have any theories on that, you be sure and let me know.” Then turning to Bexley, he said, “I hear Vaughn’s quite the catch.”

  “Well…” She had no idea what to say.

  “He certainly is a catch,” said a tall, thin woman with curly red hair and plain features walking up behind her. Valerie Jameson. Valerie was nice enough, but one thing Bexley knew from working for her; Valerie liked to gossip. A lot.

  Valerie squeezed in between Bexley and Max, peering over the tape to the trees beyond. “Bexley, you didn’t tell me you were dating Vaughn.”

  She thought about Valerie dating Vaughn three years ago, and wondered if she resented Bexley for dating him now. And then she thought about what a tremendous gossip Valerie was. If the entire town didn’t know by now, they soon would. “Hi, Val. And yes, we started dating a little over a week ago.”

  “Vaughn’s crazy about Bexley,” Nan said. “Trust me. This is the start of something glorious.”

  “I see.” Valerie smirked, like she figured Bexley was just a passing fancy, with her sights set way too high. Then, motioning toward the woods, she said, “Linwood and I used to fool around out there, before we got divorced.”

  Great, Bexley thought. There was a thought she wouldn’t be able to un-imagine. “That might be TMI, Val.”

  “Oh. Is it?” Valerie looked surprised, her mousy brown eyes getting wide. “I didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable. You mean you’ve never done anything adventurous like that?”

  “Well, I, uh….” Answering Valerie’s question would probably just give her fresh gossip to spread around. Gossip that would undoubtedly make its way back to Cameron Pringle somehow, and just encourage him to continue behaving like a jerk. “That’s kind of personal.”

  “Is it?” Valerie blinked, looking totally innocent, as if the thought of discussing one’s intimate life was something you did with everyone. “Really? You don’t think you could see you and Vaughn getting all frisky any place other than the bedroom?”

  Bexley’s mouth dropped open while she tried desperately to figure out a way to change the subject. “We’ve only had three dates.”

  “C’mon.” Nan nudged Bexley, pulling her away from Valerie, and back toward her car.

  “Thanks,” Bexley said once they were out of earshot. “You sure she’s not a lawyer? I suddenly felt like I was on the witness stand.”

  “I’m sure Valerie Jameson isn’t anything other than a gossip and a gold digger.”

  “Well, she certainly is a gossip, bless her heart. Anyway, I appreciate you giving up your chance to see the body so that I could escape her creepy stare.”

  Nan laughed. Jumping into her car, waiting for Bexley to get in, and driving farther up the dirt road, she said, “I’m not giving up anything. Max says they’re bringing the body out through the back end of the woods to the golf course trail and circling around through the storage sheds to avoid the crowds.”

  They passed by the gawkers, cruising down the dirt road before making a sharp turn toward the large buildings housing furniture, lawn equipment, and other miscellaneous items. An ambulance and two police cruisers blocked off the space between the two buildings. Nan parked, grabbed her camera from the glove box, got out of the car, and made her way to the flashing lights, rushing to the length of yellow tape blocking access to the area beyond. A uniformed officer stood guard there, but Nan said something to him and he lifted the caution tape to let her through. By then Bexley had caught up to her.

  “Who’s she?” the cop asked.

  “My photographer. Max asked me to have her get some extra shots of the body. Something for him to use as back-up, I guess.” She ducked between the two police cars, handing the fancy Nikon to Bexley, as though she’d know what to do with it.

  Bexley opened her mouth but then shut it, realizing Nan had no intention of letting her take pictures. A short distance from the far end of the buildings, medical personnel were just zipping up the body bag, brought out on a stretcher from a paved golf trail a few yards away.

  “Hold up!” Nan called out to them, pointing at Bexley and the camera. “Sergeant LeBec asked me to get some extra shots of the body.”

  The paramedic squatting beside the stretcher shrugged and unzipped the bag. “Have at it.”

  As he opened the plastic sides of the bag, Bexley’s stomach dropped. Bruises covered what had once been a young woman’s face. Purple-hued swelling shut the right eye completely and to a lesser extent, the left eye. Dried blood smeared down from the nostrils over puffy lips. Nan didn’t say anything, not even to express shock. She snatched the Nikon from Bexley and went to snapping pictures.

  Bexley found it difficult to take her gaze away from the battered face, but eventually she did. And that’s when she saw the bruising around the dead girl’s throat and the stab wounds in her breasts. “Someone must have hated her to have destroyed her face that way. It seems so personal.”

  “You’d make a good cop,” a male voice said.

  Startled, Bexley spun around, coming face-to-face once more with Max LeBec. Somehow, he’d managed to move noiselessly over the patch of dirt, coming up behind her without making a sound. “Uh…thank you,” Bexley said.

  “You’re welcome. And I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He tossed a pointed look at Nan. “I said look at the body, not photograph it. And no tag-alongs.”

  “Sorry.” Nan held her hands up in front of her, grinning.

  “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t know you told her that.” Bexley backed away from the body. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong.”

  Max laughed, pushing long fingers through curly dark hair. “I’m sure it wasn’t your idea. You look like you’re about to lose your lunch.”

  Nan laughed too, grabbing Bexley by the arm and guiding her back toward the dirt road. “You know me too well, Max. Nothing but a little trouble maker.”

  As they left the area and ducked back under the caution tape, Nan shook her head. “I could have bought Cam as Annie’s killer, but I don’t see him suddenly going on a murderous rampage.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No. He might have killed Annie in a fit of rage, but he’s much too wimpy to murder anyone on purpose. And the way Hannah was beaten, that just doesn’t seem like his style.”

  “Her face was awful.” Bexley wished she’d never seen it.

  They reached the road where Nan had parked and climbed back in her car. Nan stared off into space while she started her car. “Funny, Valerie Jameson being there.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  “She lives in the Shores. And there’s no way someone brought her as a guest to the club. I wonder what the odds are she was just passing by?”

  “Was Hannah a friend of hers?”

  “Hardly. She’s probably secretly doing back flips that Hannah’s dead. Annie too. Linwood cheated on her with both of them before they got a divorce.”

  “Sounds like Annie and Hannah were both lacking a bit in morals.” Bexley paused. “Not that they should be killed for it though.”

  “No. It does mean, however, there are plenty of people in town who aren’t exactly viewing their deaths as a great loss to humanity.” Nan reached the parking lot
to the Summer Village, re-parked her car, and they stepped back out onto the hot asphalt.

  Bexley walked slowly to the pool, noting Peggy and Sally had gone. And they weren’t the only ones who’d left. The pool deck was nearly empty. Despite the heat of the day, Bexley felt cold inside, like something evil had reached out and touched her. Overhead, the clouds that had been gathering all day had turned dark. Wind picked up now, gusting across the umbrellas, flapping their green canvas tops, squeaking their thick metal poles as they rocked in their concrete bases. A large crack of thunder rumbled across the sky, followed a second later by the piercing blow of a whistle.

  Nan heaved a sigh. “Looks like our adventure’s over for the day.”

  Bexley nodded. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

  They grabbed the rest of their belongings and made their way back to the parking lot. Bexley hugged Nan good-bye, watching her drive off in her shiny black Mercedes, then stood beside her car, heat radiating off the asphalt. She waited until the clouds opened up and the rain poured down before climbing into her vehicle, only then realizing that she was crying. Moving from Texas to Grosse Pointe, she had been so excited, like her life was about to turn into a fairy tale. Instead she felt like she’d stepped into the pages of a horror novel.

  Chapter Eight

  The Grosse Pointe Farms police station was connected to the city offices in a Tudor style building, tucked into a quiet side street, surrounded by large, comfortable homes. Its residential design allowed the building to blend into the neighborhood, and not ruin the aesthetically pleasing environment residents paid so handsomely for. Max LeBec rarely had occasion to use the interrogation room at the station. Crime in Grosse Pointe of the sort that necessitated interrogating suspects wasn’t a common occurrence. Murder even less so. Two murders in less than two weeks was probably a first. Probably a serial killer too. Max let out a long breath. This was supposed to be an easy gig.

  As Sarah Federowski, an officer on the force, seated Cameron Pringle in a black plastic chair on the other side of the small, wooden table, Max thought of all the books he’d read and all the movies and television shows he’d seen that dealt with serial killers. A psychiatric profile of the killer, prepared by some expert in the field of forensic psychology, seemed to play supreme importance in fictitious accounts of serial crime. And, indeed, the State Police had already called in someone who was busy working up a profile of the Country Club Ripper. But Max LeBec had always trusted his gut. He’d had a knack for reading people ever since he was a kid and learned to predict his father’s violent outbursts as a means of survival.