Grosse Pointe

by Clara Grace Walker

  Gossip around town painted Cameron Pringle as suspect number one, and Max doubted he’d need more than a single interview to either confirm or dispense with those rumors. If Cameron Pringle didn’t pan out, Max already had suspect number two in mind: Vaughn Humphries. Shirley, his wife, told him the scuttlebutt at the yoga studio was that Vaughn’s final falling out with Annie’s sister Eleanor came about because Vaughn had his eye on Annie. Vaughn had also dated Hannah back in their high school days at Liggett, but Hannah had dumped him the summer before he went off to college. Max had no idea how Shirley managed to scrounge up so much gossip. He was just glad people talked to her.

  “Thank you for coming, Mr. Pringle.” Max made eye contact with the man, staring into round brown eyes peering back at him through thick lenses. They reminded Max of a dog’s eyes…warm and soulful. Max imagined that was part of Cam’s appeal, but he saw more in Mr. Pringle’s eyes than the superficial charm. Arrogance was there as well, and a large dose of narcissism. It could be a dangerous combination in a man. One too often put to use manipulating people. But Max didn’t get a vibe of anything more sinister. Just your run-of-the-mill con-man and womanizer. “Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked. “Water? A can of pop?”

  Cameron smiled. “I’d love a Coke if you have one.”

  “Sure.” He nodded at Sarah, standing just outside the door. “Can you bring Mr. Pringle a Coke, please?”

  “No problem.”

  Sarah left and Max went back to staring at Cam. “You knew the murdered girl, Annie Dodson. She was your sister-in-law.”

  Cam nodded. “I’d say that’s common knowledge. Not sure how that merits a private conversation at the police station.”

  “Several people say she was more than just a sister-in-law to you.”

  Cam laughed, shaking his head, but Max saw the truth in Cam’s eyes.

  “That’s bullshit, you know.” Cam darted his gaze around the bare walls of the room. “You know how gossip is in this town. People get bored and need something to talk about.” He shrugged. “But seriously, even if I was going to have an affair – which I’m not saying I would – you can’t possibly believe I’d do it with my wife’s own sister.”

  “So you say.” Max didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

  Sarah came back in then and handed Cam a can of Coke.

  “Thanks, doll.”

  “She’s not your doll,” Max said, staring hard at Cam as Sarah left the room.

  “What?” Puppy dog eyes blinked behind his lenses.

  “I said, she’s not your doll.”

  Cam rolled his eyes. “You know what I meant.”

  “I do, and it was disrespectful.”

  “Whatever.” Cam stared at his pop can, turning it slowly in his hand, seeming relieved to have something else to focus his attention on. He popped the tab, let some of the Coke fizz out, and started drinking, keeping his gaze fixed in front of him.

  Max decided the rumors of an affair between Cameron Pringle and Annie Dodson were probably true and made a mental note to look for definitive proof. “You knew Annie was pregnant at the time of her murder, of course.”

  Cam nodded, but then pulled the can away from his mouth, letting his jaw drop. “No. Really? Carolyn thought maybe Annie might be upset about something…but pregnant? You’re sure?”

  The guy was a terrible liar. “The autopsy confirmed it.”

  “Wow. Any idea who the father is?”

  “I was going to ask you that.”

  Cam shrugged. “My wife might be a better person to ask. Or maybe her sister, Eleanor. But the most likely people to know would be Annie’s friends. She’d tell them before she’d tell anyone else. That much’s for sure.”

  And that much, Max believed. He allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile. In his own way, Cam had just provided a motive for Hannah Ransom’s killing. She might have known who the father of Annie’s baby was…and Cam might have found a need to keep her quiet. “Have you ever cheated on your wife, Mr. Pringle?” He asked the question quietly, just like that…as if he were asking the man what he’d had for breakfast.

  “Of course not! And what does this have to do with Annie’s murder? Or Hannah’s?”

  He reacted angrily, as Max had expected. He was pushing the right buttons. “What was your wife’s relationship with Hannah Ransom?”

  “My wife didn’t have a relationship with her! Hannah was Annie’s friend. Not mine. Not my wife’s. Maybe you should do a little better research before you start asking people stupid questions.”

  Max said nothing, watching Cam while he sat there and stewed. His face had turned a blotchy shade of red and his teeth had clenched. For a minute or two both men silently eyed each other, Cam showing his rising anger in the deepening color on his cheeks, going from pink to bright red. Finally, he pushed up from the black plastic chair, scraping the metal legs across the linoleum floor. “You know,” he said. “I came in here as a favor to you, to try and help. But if you’re going to continue this line of questioning, you’re going to have to talk to my lawyer.”

  Max remained calm. “If that’s your wish.”

  “It is!” Cam’s body had gone rigid, hands clenched into fists, one of which he opened just long enough to flex it and curl it shut, knuckles turning white. Then he left, swearing under his breath.

  As soon as he was gone, Sarah came back into the interrogation room, frowning. “You think he’s guilty?”

  Max shrugged. “Maybe. And he definitely had carnal knowledge of Annie Dodson. I’m guessing he was the father of her unborn baby too. Bag that can of Coke and get it to the State Police. See if their lab can pull DNA off it and run a paternity test on the fetus. And put a tail on Mr. Pringle. I want to know everywhere he goes, and everyone he sees from this point on.”

  Sarah nodded. “You got it.”

  “Thanks.”

  Max leaned back in his chair, staring at the peeling paint on the wall. A list of suspects was forming in his mind. Cameron Pringle remained at the top of the list, but he wasn’t alone. His wife, Carolyn Dodson Pringle, was looking possible as well. She’d undoubtedly come with attorney attached if he brought her in for questioning. He’d need to do a lot of fact gathering before he sat down to have a chat with her.

  Last on the list was Vaughn Humphries. And if he was the killer, Max suspected he’d be the hardest to prove. Of the three, Vaughn was clearly the most intelligent and the most in control of himself. Max doubted Vaughn Humphries ever said or did anything he didn’t think through a dozen times over. His was a carefully crafted and maintained reputation, one that didn’t come about by accident. But at the end of the day, who was to say what lurked behind all that self-control. Possibly a monster.

  Chapter Nine

  Sophie Durning woke to a clanging noise behind her. She was tied to something hard and flat, like a table or something. Opening her eyes, she tried to make out where she was, but her vision was blurred by swollen eyelids. Someone had hit her…hit her while she was still unconscious. And right now the back of her head felt like her brains were trying to kick-box their way out of it. Her eyes hurt too. And her throat felt raw and as swollen as her eyes. It hurt when she tried to swallow.

  “Hello.” She called out to whoever stood behind her, still trying to figure out what had happened. The last thing she remembered was something hard slamming into the back of her skull as she finished her call to Emma, and unlocked the back door to her house. Like a rock, or a baseball bat. “Is somebody there?”

  Laughter met her question, and she wished she hadn’t asked.

  “Unfortunately for you, the answer to your question is yes.”

  Sophie thought she recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite place it. “Who are you?” she asked. “Do we know each other?”

  When no one answered, fear overwhelmed her pain and confusion. It sucked away her breath, slamming her heart into her chest in a rapid-fire motion. She thought of Annie and Hannah, and the terror that she wo
uld be killed next turned her fear into sheer terror. She couldn’t think anymore…wanted to scream, but couldn’t. She could hardly breathe, or hear herself think…focused only on the clawing need to get away, even if it meant ripping off her hands and feet to get out of the zip ties holding her to the table. “Who are you?” she screamed. “Why won’t you tell me who you are?”

  Breath coming fast, or not coming at all, she just screamed now…loud and primal…full of every emotion clawing at her inside. “Let me go! You crazy psycho! Let me out of here!”

  “There’s no point screaming,” her captor said. “No one can hear you.”

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Sophie screamed anyway. She was crying now…huge tears rolling down her cheeks, but she was barely aware of it. All she wanted was to get out of the damn plastic ties pinning her to the table, to get away from this crazy person. “What did I ever do to you?”

  “I’d love to explain it to you. Really, I would. I think you deserve to know. Unfortunately, I have to be somewhere very soon. Which, I suppose, is good news for you. I don’t have time to have any fun with you. I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you quickly.”

  Sophie lost all rational thought then, terror sinking into despair. And as she saw the giant knife blade striking down at her, she knew she was going to die here.

  Chapter Ten

  The Prestige 630 motor yacht cut across Lake St. Clair doing fifteen knots, though it was capable of twenty-four. Bexley sat on the fly bridge, watching waves spill out from the bow as the sixty-two-and-a-half foot boat skimmed the water. Wind cut across her face, whipping her hair sideways in front of her eyes. She tried pushing it out of the way, but seconds later, it was covering her face again, and she gave up.

  Beside her, Vaughn guided the craft back toward the Grosse Pointe Yacht Club, where he kept it moored. Occasionally, he’d look her way and smile, but mostly he stared straight ahead, and Bexley couldn’t help wonder what he was thinking. Was he angry she’d stopped him from taking things further? He hadn’t said much since they’d broken their bodies apart, and it was easy to imagine all sorts of things in her head.

  “The Old Club was nice,” she said. “But I think it’s funny that you belong to so many clubs. If I’m keeping score correctly, it’s three.” She went on to list them. “GPCC.” By which she meant the Grosse Pointe Country Club, having just learned the acronym they commonly went by. “The Yacht Club and the Old Club.”

  “Actually, it’s four.” Looking at her now, he winked. “I also belong to the DAC. I’ll take you there for dinner one night.”

  “The DAC?”

  “The Detroit Athletic Club.”

  “Because golf, tennis, swimming, and the fitness center at GPCC aren’t enough?”

  He laughed. “You forgot about the paddle tennis courts.”

  “Right. All that, plus paddle tennis isn’t enough?”

  “It’s more about having business opportunities,” he said. “Access to different groups of people to socialize and do business with.”

  “Well, people do seem to love you wherever you go.”

  Looking at her again, he smiled. “I hope that includes you.”

  Bexley didn’t answer. She’d been burned before. Twice, in fact, and she wasn’t pouring her heart out to him until she knew he wasn’t going to crush it.

  He gave her a probing stare. “Not going to say anything?”

  She grinned, liking the way she’d left him to guess at it. Then she said, “I really loved being anchored offshore for a while.”

  They’d found a secluded spot off Harsen’s Island, away from the noise and marine traffic near the Old Club, and they’d kissed and groped each other on the sofa in the salon. Vaughn had wanted to take things into the master stateroom, but she’d resisted, telling herself repeatedly this was only date number four. But God, how she’d wanted to give in.

  Vaughn’s boat was less than a year old, and it had that new smell about it, the same kind that cars had when you drove them off the lot. And there, in the salon, on the powder blue sofa, with the brand new smell, she’d gone as far with him as she dared…feeling the taut muscles of his body and the stubble of his mouth while he’d kissed her…tasting his peppermint breath mints and aware of the steady rise in the crotch of his linen pants. Everything about it had been wonderful…their bodies locked together, swaying to the motion of the waves and urgent building of tension.

  Once they could take the torment no longer, they’d broken apart, had a drink, and then lay together in each other’s arms for almost an hour longer…not daring to engage in the heavy petting that had taken them so close to the brink…unable to bear a second breaking apart without the satisfaction they both wanted to occur first.

  Life felt like bliss in that small span of time, and Bexley found herself thinking of Valerie Jameson – of all people – thinking of the life Valerie used to have and had lost. Bexley could almost understand Valerie’s desperation to reclaim what had once been hers.

  “Here we are,” Vaughn said, slowing the boat before entering the no-wake zone and the entrance into the Yacht Club marina. Standing, Bexley stretched and yawned. “I’ll get the ropes.”

  “For someone who grew up on a farm in Texas, you make a good first mate.”

  “Well, for someone who grew up in the north, you make a great southern gent.”

  He smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “That’s how it was meant.”

  Conversation was easy between them. Everything was, and like flipping on a light switch, feelings turned on inside her…warm and glowing and happening all at once…like that’s all there was to it. Vaughn Humphries was shattering the lock she kept on her heart. It scared her…and left her feeling exhilarated. Like tasting forbidden fruit. As she stood there, feeling something like unreasonable euphoria wash over her, she knew Vaughn Humphries could be dangerous.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  “Everything’s perfect.” She grabbed the ropes, hopping off onto the dock as Vaughn cut the engine. By the time he climbed down from the bridge, she had the fenders in place and the boat secured to the dock.

  Checking his watch, Vaughn said, “It’s a shame we don’t have more time before Nan’s dinner party tonight. I’m ready to give you up yet.”

  It’s only date number four, Bexley reminded herself, and gave him a smile. “Don’t worry. I suspect you’ll survive for a few hours without me. I told Nan I’d help her set up.”

  “I don’t want to survive without you.” He smiled when he said it, but didn’t sound convincing. More likely, he sounded like he was holding back, and she wondered why. And again, the warning bells went off…the ones she worked so hard to ignore. There were things he wasn’t telling her. She felt sure of it. And those things could have a very big impact on her life.

  “You flatter me,” she said, more to lighten her own nerves than anything. “Still, I think you’ll manage.”

  She let it go at that, thinking how strange that she could dive from euphoria to unease with a single comment. Vaughn was getting to her. She was falling too hard, too fast, and seemed unable to stop it. It wasn’t Vaughn she was worried about, but the impending heartache if things didn’t pan out. Telling herself that, she felt a little better. She really needed to keep fear from sabotaging her happiness.

  Nan Elizondo had a nice home on Lincoln, in the City. On the block between St. Paul and Grosse Pointe Boulevard, where the homes were large and stately. According to Nan, it was a “good” block, but Lincoln was only an average street. “What do you mean by that?” Bexley asked, helping Nan set the table.

  “You know, it’s a good block, because it’s closer to the water, with larger homes and lots, but it’s not like I’m living on Lakeshore or Provencal, or even Kenwood or Cloverly.”

  She said it like it should all make sense, but it didn’t. There wasn’t a single block or street anywhere in Mineral Springs, Texas, that was considered better or worse than
another one. Some houses were, but that was about it. Back home, you were either in town, or out in the country, and that was the end of it.

  It was a warm night, even for mid-July, and Nan had a tall fan placed at the edge of the patio, blowing a breeze across the length of it. They were set up to eat at a wooden table under strings of tiny lights, done in the shape of rosebuds that twinkled pink and red and yellow. Nan had hired the Cabbage Patch Café to cater the dinner, and brought in a pair of bartenders from the country club to moonlight for the evening.

  Bexley had been the first guest to arrive, mostly because she’d volunteered to help Nan make sure everything looked perfect. Which it did.

  Nan had the bartender make them champagne spritzers garnished with maraschino cherries, and halfway through their drinks, Vaughn arrived.

  “Howdy.” He smiled in her direction, heading for the bar. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  “Really?” Her hand went instinctively to her hair, which she’d curled into loose waves, and then she smoothed her hand down the white flared skirt of her dress. “Thanks.”

  “Yes, really. And I should be thanking you…for giving me something so lovely to look at.”

  “Well, you know, it’s my pleasure.”

  “Hey, Nan, I saw Gabe at Rustics last night,” Vaughn said. “He said to tell you he’d be a little late getting here. Said Sophie’s shift at the bar doesn’t end until six, and she needs to go home and get cleaned up first.”