Nox continued to enter my thoughts, and now that I had a minute, I let myself consider him. After the way he behaved yesterday and this morning, I couldn’t dwell on him or how he’d react to my impromptu trip. I’d take that medicine, to use an Alton idiom, when I returned. Right now, getting to my best friend was my only concern.
It wasn’t like I disappeared. I left him a note in the hotel suite with a brief explanation. I almost called Isaac to drive me to the airport, but I knew how this worked. Isaac was supposed to be at my disposal; nevertheless, if Nox told him not to drive me, I would have missed my flight. That was why I opted for a taxi. To that driver, I was nothing more than a fare.
Rushing toward security, I pulled up my ticket on my cell phone and freed my identification from my wallet. As the line inched closer to the TSA, my phone vibrated and rang with an incoming call.
Shit.
NOX- PRIVATE NUMBER covered the screen. With my pulse thumping loudly in my ears, I swiped the red end call icon. Of course he knew where I was. I didn’t know if he’d seen the note, or he just knew I wasn’t at the spa appointment. He’d said I was being watched. No matter how he learned, my not answering his call probably pissed him off more. I put my phone on silent and decided to worry about that later. I’d call him back once I made it to my gate. I couldn’t have a call and my ticket up at the same time.
“Good afternoon, ID and ticket please.”
I forced a smile and handed my phone and driver’s license to the agent. After he scanned both of them, he handed them back to me.
“Have a good flight, Miss Collins.”
“Thank you.”
My flight wouldn’t depart for another fifty minutes, but with the way the rules were, I needed to be boarded by at least ten minutes before takeoff. My best friend was alone in a hospital, and I refused to miss my flight.
I continued to weave around people, dodging children and luggage as my carry-on’s wheels spun, when my phone vibrated again. I didn’t take the time to look at the name. I was pretty sure I knew who it was. Taking a deep breath, I juggled my purse and bag as I swiped the green icon. I might as well get this over with.
“I was going to call,” I said breathlessly as I continued my race through the crowd.
“Alexandria? Is that you?”
My feet slowed as I moved to the side of the corridor and closed my eyes. I could hang up, but this conversation needed to happen sooner or later.
“Bryce?”
“I’m not sure I believe you,” the unexpected voice said. “I guess I’m just glad you answered now.”
“Believe me?”
“That you were going to call. Alex, talk to me.”
“This isn’t a good time.”
“Apparently, there hasn’t been a good time since I left you after your party. I thought… I thought it was a nice night, down by the lake…”
I shook my head. I couldn’t do this, not right now. I should be telling him about Nox; instead, a question that had been nudging at me came to mind. I needed to hear his answer. “Did you know?” My question came with more emotion than I intended.
“What? All I know is you’re gone again. And we want you back.”
I swallowed the tears as a lump formed in my throat, and the betrayal of Montague Manor reemerged. “Did you know? Bryce, answer me. Did you know Alton’s plans? Did you know about my trust fund?”
“Alex, there’s so much for us to talk about. I thought we’d have the chance on Sunday night—”
“Answer my fucking question!” I looked up in time to see a woman give me a grimace as she hurried by with her child. I took a deep breath and lowered my voice. “When we were talking and reminiscing at the lake, when we were talking about Nessie and you were proclaiming your innocence, did you know what my parents had planned?”
“Is that why you’re mad at me? You think I knew? I’m not even one hundred percent sure what you’re talking about now. I know that when I showed up on Sunday, your mother was indisposed and Alton told me you left—again. He said you’d be back, but he wasn’t sure when.”
He’s wrong.
Bryce went on, “I know that it’s been almost a week and you’re not back.”
“I’m not going back. If you want to know why, ask Alton.”
Bryce’s tone softened. He was my childhood friend, the one I could rely on when no one else was there. “Ask Alton? Should I ask him about what happened while you were just recently home or when we were young?”
I clenched my teeth as my spine straightened. “Goodbye, Bryce. This isn’t a good time. I really need to go.”
“We need to talk in person. I’m tired of the no answers and unreturned text messages.” His tone slowed. “Alexandria, you don’t have to say anything. You know I’m the only one who really knows you, who was there for you. Let me be there for you now.”
Shaking my head back and forth, I tried to remember the young man I wanted away from, the one who suffocated me at every turn and claimed me as his own. But in that moment, my mind focused on one truth: of all the things Bryce had ever done, spanking me had never been one of them.
A renegade tear slid down my cheek.
“Bryce.” My voice cracked.
“Alexandria, don’t throw us away. We’re meant to be together. It’s always been that way.”
“I’m going to hang up,” I warned. I couldn’t do this.
“Wait. Let me tell you why I called.”
I stood taller and replied, “Make it fast.”
“I’m coming to see you. We need to talk in person. I need to tell you about your mom.”
“What? What about my mom?”
“When are you leaving California?”
My eyes scanned the corridor. “How do you know about California?”
“What do you mean? You live there—at least until you move to New York. When are you moving?”
“Bryce, no. Just tell me about my mother.”
“I already have a ticket. I’ve been trying to tell you, but you wouldn’t answer or return my text messages. I’ll be in Palo Alto tonight. I’m waiting for my flight out of Atlanta.”
Shit!
“It’s too late. I’m in New York.”
“You’ve never been able to lie to me. I’ll see you tonight.”
“I am in—” He didn’t hear me. Pulling the phone away from my ear, I stared at the screen. He’d hung up. As his number disappeared, the icon for missed calls came into view. Six missed calls: three from Nox, two from Deloris Witt, and one from Chelsea’s mother, Tina.
I took a second to add Bryce’s name back to my phone. That way I would at least know it was him. Then with my head pounding and a lump in my throat, I called Tina.
“Mrs. Moore, this is Alex. Have you learned anything?”
“We’re not there yet. Kelsey had to get off work. She’s working at the mall now—”
“Mrs. Moore, I’m about to board my flight. Why did you call?” I couldn’t care less about Kelsey or her job or why Chelsea’s mother would delay her drive to her injured daughter.
“The hospital called. Chelsea’s responding.”
“Oh thank God.” I needed some good news.
“They said she doesn’t have any broken bones, just a lot of bruising.”
“Is she talking?”
“Not yet, but she’s moving and responding.”
“Thank you.”
“Honey, you don’t need to fly out here. She’s going to be all right.”
I thought about that. I could stay in New York and avoid Bryce. Then again, I wanted to be sure Chelsea was really all right. If I avoided Bryce in California, would he come to New York? That wouldn’t be good, because… well, because of Nox.
I took a deep breath. “I’ll see you in about seven hours. I need to go.”
BOARDING HAD BEGUN. When I booked, I took the last seat on this flight, which had me seated in a zone that hadn’t been called. As I waited, my stomach twisted with myriad thoughts tur
ning cartwheels in my head. My mother? What did Bryce want to tell me about her? And then there was Nox. I needed to return his calls. I just couldn’t be talking when they needed to scan my ticket. Therefore, I decided to wait until after I was in my seat.
With the announcement of my zone, I made my way forward. When I handed the woman my phone, instead of the little beep that I’d heard for the passengers ahead of me, the air filled with the shrill alarm.
“Just a minute, Miss Collins. It appears there’s been a change to your ticket.”
“What? There can’t be. I just purchased it.”
“Give me a moment, ma’am.”
My jaw clenched as my hands began to tremble. Damn, him! This had to be Nox. It had to be. “Ma’am,” I said, “It scanned fine in security. I need to be on that plane. I need to get to San Francisco.” My sentences were clipped with desperation.
She pushed a few buttons. “Not to worry. It appears you’ll make it. You’re still on the plane.” She smiled up at me. “It must be your lucky day. You’ve been upgraded to first class, seat 3D.” She handed me back my phone. “Enjoy your flight.”
My lucky day. Hardly.
I shook my head as I entered the long causeway toward the airplane. Maybe I was just being paranoid. After all, my nerves were stretched and my imagination was working overtime. Upgraded. It made sense. I usually flew first class, so it was probably a coincidence. That’s what I told myself as I made it over the threshold, smiled at the flight attendant, and walked down the aisle to the third row. I lifted my carry-on up to the compartment above my seat and settled into 3D. As I sighed with relief at being on the plane and other passengers continued to board, I looked around the cabin. The rest of first class was already seated, except 3F. The seat beside me was empty.
I tried to ignore the odd sensation that something wasn’t right. When I first booked the flight, the computer indicated that first class wasn’t available. I pushed those thoughts away as I swiped my phone, took a deep breath, and returned Nox’s multitude of calls.
“NO,” I REPEATED, as my mother, Olivia, held tightly to my hand.
There had been so many conversation and decrees I’d heard while within the regal walls of my father’s home office. For all of my life it had been his throne room, his center for control. From within this room he’d make decisions and pass judgment, but today was different. Charles Montague II wasn’t telling. Like my mother and me, he was listening. Today’s news affected us all.
“Mrs. Collins, the LAPD has significant evidence to believe the driver of the car was indeed your husband, Russell Collins.”
“It can’t be. He was just here. He’s on a business trip. I spoke to him yesterday.”
“What time did you speak to him?”
My mind was a blur. It had been later, after dinner. Our conversation was short, but words were exchanged. That made it a conversation, right? “I don’t remember. After dinner.”
“Dinner’s always at seven,” my mother interjected, as if our unyielding schedule would somehow help the detective piece together our sordid lives or Russell’s death.
Detective Michelson nodded and wrote in his notepad. “We’ll undoubtedly need to see your phone records.”
“I spoke to him on his cellular telephone. I called from the line in our bedroom.”
Michelson looked around as if taking in the grandeur of our home for the first time. “You have more than one telephone line?”
“Yes,” my father replied. “Is that significant?”
“No, it’s just common procedure in cases like this to clear the family.”
Heaviness filled my chest as I thought about the man I married, the man with golden eyes and copper hair. The man I’d met at Emory with the background and breeding that pleased my father. I remembered who we’d been before we came back to Savannah, before we changed. I recalled his excitement when I told him I was pregnant. We’d never practiced birth control and yet it took us years and two miscarriages before I finally made it through the first trimester. Russell was elated to be a father. Even after the ultrasound that told us we were having a girl, he never wavered. To him, Alexandria wasn’t an heir; she was his child, his little girl. Now I’d need to tell her that he was gone.
“Laide?” My father’s voice pulled me from the past.
“What?” I scanned from my father seated on the other side of his desk, his eyes open wide in expectation, to Detective Michelson, a tall, balding man in a cheap suit who shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m sorry. Did you ask me something?”
“I apologize,” the detective said. “I know this is a difficult time. I don’t want to be the bearer of more bad news…”
Tears escaped my eyes as I stifled my cries. My hands trembled as the news registered. Russell was gone, forever. He’d never return. Each time my head bowed, my mother’s grasp of my hand would squeeze, reminding me to keep my head held high. Improper etiquette was unacceptable for a Montague, even when learning that I was now a widow at the ripe old age of twenty-nine.
“The LAPD,” the detective continued, “wanted you notified in person, before news broke.”
Charles’s head bobbed up and down. “We appreciate that, Detective Michelson.”
“We know, Mr. Montague, how upsetting this is and what a shock it is. We wanted you to know the details before any different stories got out.”
My gaze shot to the detective. “Different stories? What are you talking about? You just said my husband was in an automobile crash. What different stories could there be?” Something he’d said earlier finally registered. “And why would you need to clear the family? Of what?”
“Dear,” my mother cooed. “Let the men do their jobs. I’m sure it was purely an accident.”
“Of course it was.” Turning my gaze toward Detective Michelson, I asked, “Are you insinuating that it wasn’t? Do you think someone purposely…” I couldn’t bring myself to say the words as my chin again dropped.
“No, ma’am. I’m only saying that before Mr. Collins’s body can be brought back to Savannah, there needs to be a few tests. In cases like this, an autopsy is mandatory.”
“N-No,” I whispered. Gathering my strength and lifting my eyes, I looked across the large desk to my father, wordlessly pleading for his help. If anyone could stop this, Charles Montague II could.
“Laide,” he said, his tone dripping with fatherly concern, “it’s their job.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want them to cut him open. No. I’m his family, Alexandria and I. We’re all he has… had. I say no. Can’t I say no?”
“I’m sorry,” the detective said again, though I doubted his sincerity. “It’s protocol. As I explained, the car exploded upon impact. His body was burned beyond recognition. Though the car was badly damaged, it was a rental, and LAPD was able to trace it to Mr. Collins. Upon preliminary examination by the medical examiner, the man driving that car met your husband’s description: height, weight, age, but his identity and cause of death can’t be one hundred percent confirmed without the autopsy.”
“Wait. What about dental records?” I asked.
“We’ve already subpoenaed those from his dentist. However, that won’t confirm his cause of death.”
I stood and paced a small track near the front of Charles’s desk. My eyes filled with tears. “You said the car exploded. He couldn’t get out. Wasn’t that the cause of death?”
“On the surface. However, tests need to be done to confirm that there were no foreign substances in his system: drugs, excessive alcohol, anything. This isn’t debatable. The medical examiner has already begun.”
My stomach twisted. “Father? Isn’t there something you can do? I don’t want them to do this. He wouldn’t want that.”
Charles Montague II shook his head. “I think this is something that needs to be done. It will help with closure.”
“Closure? Closure! My husband is gone. I’m a widow and not even thirty years old, and you’re talking about
closure. What about Alexandria? No matter what the results are, she’ll never be able to say goodbye to her father. I’ll never…” More tears flowed.
“Mrs. Collins, was it your husband’s practice to drive at excessive speeds?”
I shrugged as I lowered myself back to the chair. “Russell liked fast cars. He never drove too fast with me or Alexandria.” I remembered a gift I gave him when we were first married. “He did one of those race-car fantasy weekends once.”
The detective continued to take notes as I spoke.
“But he wasn’t a drinker. I doubt there’s anything you’ll find. He barely drank wine.”
“I hate to ask, but your marriage? LAPD wants to know if there were problems.”
My teary eyes opened wide. “No. That’s absurd.”
“I didn’t mean anything by that. It’s a standard question when life insurance is involved.”
Charles sat straighter. “Detective, does it look like my daughter is in need of insurance money?”
The tall, balding man shook his head. “Not on the surface, but these are all questions that need to be answered.”
“No,” I said with more conviction than I’d previously mustered. “What needs to happen is that Russell is brought home. We need to arrange a funeral, and I need to explain to our three-year-old daughter that her father is never coming home.”
“As soon as the autopsy—”
“Detective, I want my husband home.”
My blue eyes met my father’s. Slowly his lips formed a straight line and he nodded. I leaned back against the chair.
“Tell me when my daughter’s wishes will be honored.” It wasn’t a question. Charles Montague II didn’t ask. He proclaimed.
“As soon as possible. We’ll contact LAPD and do all we can.”
“Thank you, Detective Michelson. Please contact me with the results of any tests. I don’t believe you’ll find anything, but if you do, Montague Corporation needs to know what it’s up against.”