Fidelity

by Aleatha Romig

“I know you can do this.”

  I took a deep breath, filling my senses with his woodsy cologne and my vision with his blue gaze. “I’ll be fine.” I looked over at Chelsea. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Deloris and I will be with you the only way we can.”

  He was saying they’d be listening to every word, but with Daryl Owen in the car, he couldn’t be that blunt.

  My necklace had been improved. Actually, I now had two. One with and one without an audible connection. The feature I’d requested not be present was now available on my new necklace. It looked identical to the first, a platinum diamond-dusted cage holding a glistening pearl. Just like the first one, the pearl wasn’t a pearl, but a translucent transmitter. In the necklace I was wearing, it transmitted not only my location, but included an audio transmission. The range was impressive.

  “And while Mr. Owen is beside you,” Nox said, “Isaac will be too.”

  I nodded. Hadn’t there been a time when I didn’t want Nox’s men with me?

  “You won’t be getting in any cars besides this one when this meeting is over.”

  I leaned forward and brushed my lips to his. “I believe that was rule number one on your most recent list, Mr. Demetri. I just want to get back to New York.”

  “Hopefully tonight.”

  “Before that bail hearing,” Chelsea added.

  Reaching for her hand, I smiled. “Girl, are we ready to get this dog-and-pony show going?”

  The remnants of an old spark shone in her hazel eyes. “And then it’s a jail break back to New York.”

  I squeezed her hand. “Damn right. I seem to recall you kick ass at those.”

  “I did. Just maybe I will again.”

  WITH MR. OWEN LEADING the way, we walked the gauntlet. Reporters pushed toward us as Isaac kept them at bay. Questions filled the air.

  “Did you know he was a murderer?”

  “Did you know that before you agreed to marry him?”

  “Do you think he’s guilty?”

  “Did you see her?”

  By the time the front doors to the station closed, the din of voices within was merely a murmur compared to the roar outside.

  “Miss Collins and Miss Moore,” Detective Means said, meeting us at the front desk. “Let’s get you to a more private room.”

  Every eye turned our direction and the whispers stilled as we walked through the large room filled with desks. It was unnerving as people stared. Once we finally made it to the plain room with gray walls and a gray metal table and chairs, Detective Means escorted us inside.

  “I know it’s not much, but please have a seat. Thank you for coming in today. You can understand how surprised we were to get your assistant’s call.”

  Isaac nodded and stayed outside as Mr. Owen, Chelsea, and I entered the room.

  Mr. Owen offered his hand. “Detective Means, I’m Daryl Owen, Miss Collins and Miss Moore’s attorney.”

  She motioned to the table. “This isn’t that formal. We just have a few questions for you.”

  “And we hope we can answer them,” I said. “Mr. Owen is our moral support.”

  The detective smiled. “Can I get you something before Officer Emerson joins us?”

  Though we all declined, she was out and back with plastic bottles of water. Through the open door as she reentered, I watched her hand one even to Isaac. Within a few minutes, the five of us, including Officer Emerson were seated about the small table.

  “Miss Moore,” the detective began, “I’m Detective Means and this is Officer Emerson. We were present during the arrest of Edward Spencer. You weren’t there?”

  “No,” Chelsea said.

  “Yet you wanted to answer questions?”

  Chelsea sat taller. “I wouldn’t say I want to. I’m here.”

  “Please tell us about your relationship with Mr. Spencer.”

  I squeezed Chelsea’s leg and gave her a smile. Mr. Owen had talked to both of us about the possible line of questions. He’d advised us on what to offer and what to omit.

  “I dated Bryce… Edward Spencer from September until a few weeks ago.”

  “Dated?”

  “Yes.”

  “In fact, you lived with him. Isn’t that correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I lived at Carmichael Hall. However, for the last week I’ve been staying at Montague Manor.”

  “Those are nice addresses. When did you first meet Mr. Spencer?”

  “Shouldn’t we concentrate on Melissa Summers?” Mr. Owen asked.

  “Miss Moore, living at Carmichael Hall for… what would that be… two months? How often did you and Melissa Summers cross paths?”

  “We didn’t.”

  “You didn’t?” Detective Means asked. “Do you believe she was living at Carmichael Hall?”

  Chelsea shook her head. “I can’t say. I can only say I never saw her.”

  “Did you eat meals there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who joined you for meals?”

  “It varied. Sometimes I ate alone in my room. Other times I ate with Bryce or Suzy.” She looked at Mr. Owen and added, “Mrs. Suzanna Spencer, Bryce’s mother.”

  “Was there additional food prepared for someone you didn’t know was there?”

  “I-I don’t know. I’d never lived like they live. I never saw the food prepared. They have people who do that. People who serve it.” She shrugged. “Not as many as at Montague, but it wasn’t like we all hung out in the kitchen.”

  “So you started dating Edward Spencer and immediately moved into his house?”

  “Yes.”

  Detective Means leaned across the table. “That seems quick.”

  “I didn’t have anywhere to live. I got a job at Montague Corporation, in their human resources department. And I was going to get an apartment when Bryce offered me a room in his home.”

  “A room? Your own room?”

  Chelsea nodded. “Yes. I can tell you which one. Some of my things are still there.”

  “You didn’t share a room with Mr. Spencer?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever enter Mr. Spencer’s suite?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever see another woman in his bedroom?”

  “Of course not.”

  “You said there were a lot of people there. Maybe Melissa was there and you didn’t know she was?”

  “It’s possible,” Chelsea said.

  Detective Means opened a folder and pushed a large glossy picture of Melissa across the table. “Look at her. Does she look familiar?”

  “Only from the news.”

  “Only from the news? Haven’t you accompanied Mr. Spencer and made statements regarding her disappearance?”

  Chelsea nodded. “I have, but the first time I saw her picture was on the news.”

  “Miss Moore, where were you this past Saturday?”

  “I woke at Montague Manor. Jane, the house manager, asked me to help with the engagement party.”

  “That must have been awkward,” Officer Emerson said.

  “What? No. I was happy to help.”

  “You were happy to help with the party celebrating the engagement of the man you were dating to your college roommate?”

  My stomach knotted listening to their questions. From the outside it had to look twisted. Hell, from the inside it was twisted.

  “I was,” she said confidently. “Jane gave me a list of places around Savannah. I went all over: florists, caterers. I even met with the quartet to go over music selections.”

  “That was very helpful of you,” Officer Emerson said. “I’m sure we could see you on the surveillance footage of these establishments to determine a timeline.”

  “I’m sure you could.”

  “Why weren’t you at the party?”

  Chelsea’s fingers grazed her cheek. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

  “Miss Moore, the guests were catalogued as they left. You weren’t at Montague Manor after the party.”


  “No. I’d left during the party, before all of this.”

  “Left? Why?” Detective Means asked.

  “I’d decided to move to New York.”

  “And give up your job?”

  “Yes.”

  Officer Emerson scrunched his nose. “It was embarrassing to be in Savannah with Mr. Spencer engaged to…” He nodded my way. “…her?”

  “I was ready to leave.”

  “Thank you, Miss Moore.” Detective Means turned to me. “Miss Collins, are you and Mr. Spencer married?”

  “No.”

  “Yet at the scene, your stepfather referred to you as Mr. Spencer’s wife. There was a license filed and then voided in unheard-of rapid succession. Can you explain that?”

  My eyes widened. They’d voided it? “I can’t. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

  “So it is Miss Collins, not Mrs. Spencer?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now if our notes are accurate, you’ve known Mr. Spencer for most of your life.”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  “Where were you on Saturday during the day?”

  “I also woke at Montague Manor. Next I went with Suzanna Spencer to Magnolia Woods where my mother was a patient. I was there with Jane, the house manager Chelsea mentioned, until late afternoon. I’m sure I’m on their surveillance. I had a meeting with Dr. Miller, my mother’s doctor.”

  “But your mother is no longer there?”

  “She was there on Saturday. I was with her.”

  Officer Emerson looked down at his notes and back up. “You don’t seem concerned or shocked about your mother being missing.”

  “Does this have to do with Mr. Spencer and Melissa Summers?” Mr. Owen asked.

  Officer Emerson shrugged. “We aren’t sure. We’re just covering our bases.”

  “Miss Collins and Miss Moore are here to answer questions about your timeline. Are they done?”

  “Miss Moore,” Detective Means began, “what happened to your cheek?”

  Chelsea looked to Mr. Owen.

  “Is this about Mr. Spencer and Miss Summers?” Mr. Owen asked again.

  “I don’t know, Miss Moore, is this about Mr. Spencer or Miss Summers?”

  Tears filled Chelsea’s eyes as she maintained her posture. “Bryce has a temper.”

  Detective Mean’s eyes widened. “Are you saying you received that bruise from Edward Spencer?”

  “I-I’m not pressing charges.”

  “But you will testify to his temper?”

  She looked again at Mr. Owen. It was the subject we all expected. It was the picture worth a thousand words on her cheek. It was proof of Bryce’s violent outbursts.

  “I will,” I volunteered.

  “Miss Collins?” Officer Emerson asked.

  “I witnessed the altercation.” It was the loophole in Chelsea’s agreement. She wasn’t pressing charges, nor was I. But I could testify as to what I witnessed, what I experienced.

  “You saw Mr. Spencer strike Miss Moore?”

  I took a deep breath. “Yes. I was in the same room.”

  Officer Emerson and Detective Means exchanged looks.

  “Miss Moore, we’d like to take a photograph of your cheek, if you’ll allow it?”

  Her lip disappeared behind her teeth as she looked at Mr. Owen and then to me. We both nodded.

  “Yes, but I’m not pressing charges.”

  Detective Means continued her questions. “Did either of you see Edward Spencer on Saturday?”

  “I did,” I said. “It was after six o’clock. He’d called me multiple times during the day. He wasn’t happy that I spent the day with my mother. You can check my phone records. He’d wanted me to go to Carmichael Hall. I’d agreed, but then my mother took an unexpected turn. As I said, I spent the day with her and her doctors.

  “Once I got back to Montague, I had to get ready for the party. People were supposed to arrive at 6:30.”

  “You saw him before the party?”

  “Yes. He came to my room.”

  “Was he still upset?” Officer Emerson asked.

  I shook my head. “No. He was the complete opposite. During his calls he was angry, but by that evening he was calm and even nice.”

  “Nice.” Detective Means repeated. “You say that like it was the exception rather than the rule.”

  “I wasn’t sure what to expect.”

  “Miss Moore, did you see Mr. Spencer on Saturday?”

  “No. Like I said, I was at Montague Manor and then all over Savannah for the party. I didn’t attend the party and decided to leave during it. I never saw him.”

  “Do you have a phone?”

  “Yes,” Chelsea said.

  “Did Mr. Spencer know your number?”

  “Yes. You can check my records too. He called many times. I even let some of them go to voicemail.”

  “What did he want?”

  Chelsea took a deep breath. “He wanted me to come to Carmichael Hall. He was very upset that I was not available.”

  “Available?” the detective asked. “But he was about to go to a party announcing his engagement in front of Savannah, Georgia… well… nationwide society, and he wanted you to be available to him before that?”

  Chelsea nodded. “That’s why I wanted to leave. That’s why I left during the party.”

  Officer Emerson and Detective Means turned to one another. After a prolonged stare, they turned back to us. “Ladies,” the detective said, “thank you for your cooperation. Today’s statements weren’t made under oath. Would you be willing to testify to the information you shared with us today?”

  My tongue darted to my lips. “I will.” It wasn’t up to me to speak for Chelsea.

  We all turned to her. Finally her head bobbed. “Yes.”

  A knock at the door echoed through the small room.

  OFFICER EMERSON STOOD and opened the door as we all began to gather our things.

  “Alexandria!”

  I turned to the familiar face of Ralph Porter. He’d been at the party Saturday night; however, before that it had been years since I’d seen him. Most of the contact I’d made with Hamilton and Porter regarding my trust had been with Natalie, one of their assistants.

  I nodded. “Ralph?”

  Granted, in proper society, a man Ralph Porter’s age, probably older than Alton, deserved the respect of the use of his last name. Nothing I’d discovered about Ralph Porter, from the archaic will of my grandfather to the loss of my trust fund, deserved my respect.

  He lifted his hand toward me, beckoning me out of the room.

  When I didn’t move, he said, “Officers, if you’ll excuse us. I need to speak to my client.”

  Standing directly behind Ralph was Isaac. His head and shoulders loomed higher, dwarfing the man who’d forever been my mother’s as well as Alton’s and Bryce’s counsel.

  “Are we done?” Mr. Owen asked Detective Means and Officer Emerson.

  “Yes, thank you,” the detective said as they both stepped from the room. Mr. Owen, Chelsea, and I had yet to move.

  After a backward glance at Isaac, Ralph stepped inside and shut the door. “My dear, I saw your picture on the news and rushed over. You shouldn’t be here without counsel.”

  My smile grew. Tilting my head toward the side, I said, “Ralph, I’m sure you know Daryl Owen. I’m represented. Thank you for your concern.”

  His wrinkled face paled, or was it grayed? Confusion clouded his eyes. “I don’t understand. I dropped everything when I saw you enter this place. Dear, you’re a Montague. Hamilton and Porter has represented the Montagues exclusively since… well, since your grandfather.”

  Perspiration dotted Ralph’s upper lip. He had thinning gray hair that was thicker toward the base of his head, wrapping around like a white horseshoe. In the fluorescent light of the interrogation room, even the top of his head seemed to glisten.

  “Actually, Ralph,” I said, “Mr. Owen has been a big help, not only to Chelse
a and me but also to my friend Lennox Demetri.” I pursed my lips. “Seeing as you represent Bryce and well, my stepfather, I didn’t want there to be a conflict of interest.”

  “No conflict of interest. Dear, we’re all on the same side. We all have the same goal. We all want to see Bryce acquitted of this ridiculous charge. As his wife—fiancée, that is your goal?”

  I took a step forward. “What happened to the marriage license you showed Mr. Demetri?”

  “I-I,” he stuttered. “I didn’t show anything to that man.”

  “No, you gave it to me,” Mr. Owen said. “Complete with the court’s approval. Yet now it seems to have been voided. Was there a problem?”

  Ralph looked at me. “Alexandria, please, we need to talk privately. There is more at stake here than a marriage license.”

  I lifted my brow. “Forgery?”

  “No, dear.” He turned to Chelsea. “Miss Moore. We’re so pleased you’ve returned to Savannah. Seeing as you have testified on Bryce’s behalf in the past, we’ll need your continued support.”

  When she didn’t respond, he added, “We’ll require it.”

  “Thank you, Ralph, for hurrying down here. As you can see, we’re fine and now we’re done.”

  “Alexandria, come to Hamilton and Porter and talk to us. Let’s get things straightened out. Don’t leave Georgia without learning your options.”

  “My options? What are you talking about?”

  “Dear, you’ve seen the will.” He leaned close. “I can’t let Montague fall from the rightful Montague heirs without a fight. As I said, I represented your grandfather… your father, Alexandria. I was with Adelaide when he died. I’m here for you now and for her.

  “I know where you were in New York. Please tell me that Adelaide is there or at least that you know she’s safe.”

  He deserved an Academy Award for the performance he was giving. It was heart-wrenching and sincere—and it was total bullshit. However, years of addressing a jury had served his acting skills well.

  We’d talked about this with Nox and Deloris. The fire was burning hotter under Alton’s world. Since he didn’t know that we knew about the codicil, we’d expected a power play. Was this meeting it?

  “Ralph, I really need to get back to New York. Despite all of this, I’m still a student. The semester will end soon. Once it does, I’ll have more time.”