Lost Distinction Page 7

Although the meal was excellent, probably the best fried cod I had ever eaten, it was an odd meal to eat at such an elegant establishment. No one else seemed to notice and everyone enjoyed the time together. The children cut up at the table to the point of tossing fries into each other’s drinks and everyone else talked loudly about many different subjects ranging from the Middle East to obesity in elementary schools. The one attempt I made to mention Arthur was interrupted by wormy Tristan.

  The staff was very attentive, promptly addressing even the smallest requests. Just like at the harbor, I observed other patrons staring at our table and whispering to each other.

  “Have you ever been to Colorado, Miss James?” Mr. Cross asked.

  I turned in the direction of the question. “What?”

  He smiled and took a sip of water. “I asked if you’ve ever been to Colorado?”

  “Well, I had a layover there when I visited my best friend in Los Angeles, but other than that, no.”

  “You and Richard must join us this winter, then.”

  Stuart leaned close to be heard over the background noise. “Father owns a cabin in Aspen. Have you ever skied or snowboarded?”

  “Well, we don’t get too much snow in Louisiana, but I have been skiing in New Mexico a handful of times.”

  Stuart grinned at my joke. “It’s a lot of fun. I prefer to ski but William and Arthur both snowboard.”

  William leaned forward and winked. “Snowboarding is more fun. You know, there’s something exhilarating in abandoning your reservations and simply going for it.”

  As he said this, I felt a chill run down my spine. It was obvious that he was not talking about snowboarding. While it appeared that everyone else ignored the double entendre, the icy look Michelle sent William verified my suspicion about his statement.

  Desperate to change the subject, I asked, “Rick told me that he and Arthur met at Crowell. Did anyone else go there?”

  William grabbed a French fry and dipped it in some malt vinegar. He took a bite and grinned, his gaze still focused on me. I turned away from him, hoping someone would help me change the subject.

  Finally, Edward did. “No one else went to Crowell,” he said, glancing at his father. “The guys and I went to St. Christopher’s and Jane went to St. Rose’s. Both are Catholic boarding schools.”

  “Both are excellent college preparatory schools,” the ambassador corrected him. He clasped his large hands together and stared at his half-eaten fish before continuing, “I attended St. Christopher’s as did my father. My dear Kathryn graduated from St. Rose’s. We wanted all our children to go there but Arthur,” he shook his head sadly, “well, he needed more personal attention than St. Christopher’s could offer him. Crowell is an excellent school academically, but it wasn’t the family school. Sometimes, things happen and you have to make adjustments to your plans. Life has a tendency to add, well, unknown variables into the equation.”

  Before I could ask what this unknown variable was, Tristan, the maitre d’, came over and stood behind the ambassador nervously. He put his right hand over his heart and bowed. “My apologies for interrupting your meal, sir, but there is someone on the phone for you and he says it’s urgent.”

  Mr. Cross frowned. When he realized everyone was staring at him, he produced a smile and nodded to the little man. Wiping his mouth and placing his napkin on the table beside his plate, he replied, “Thank you, Tristan. I’ll be right back, everyone,” he added to us.

  He hurried across the restaurant and toward the front entrance. Everyone continued eating and discussing different matters without pause. I noticed that the ambassador was gone for ten minutes and when he returned, his face was the same white shade it had been earlier when the young man talked to him on the dock. He had perspiration around his temples and seemed suddenly exhausted.

  Stuart noticed the change in his father, too. Putting his hand on the ambassador’s shoulder, he inquired, “Are you all right?”

  The elder Cross dabbed his face with his handkerchief. He offered a weak smile. “Oh yes. I’m fine. It’s a bit stuffy in here, that’s all.” He glanced at his grandchildren and asked, “Who wants some ice cream?”

  All five children loudly agreed to his suggestion. He told Stuart to have the vehicles brought to give us rides as he paid the check. Rick offered to pay for us but Mr. Cross, distracted, refused the offer.

  Minutes later, we were outside and climbing into an SUV driven by the ambassador’s employee, Drew. He drove us to the ice cream shop where everyone got out and the children rushed inside. Michelle wanted to go look at some dress shops, but Rick told her that he and I needed to talk. She stared at him for a few moments before relenting.

  “I’ll be over here if you need me,” she called as she headed into one of the stores.

  Rick watched her leave. “Well, she certainly likes you.”

  I shrugged and we started walking down a sidewalk lined with souvenir stores. When we were passing the fourth store that boasted Martha’s Vineyard T-shirts and scrimshaw knives in the window, he paused. “Jordan, I know I’ve been saying this a lot today, but I’m sorry. When I said I shouldn’t have brought you into this, I didn’t mean that I was embarrassed about you or that I thought you couldn’t handle the case. I just, well, I didn’t want to expose you to this,” he motioned at the shops and then the ice cream store, “because this is not what I’m about. It was once, but not now.”

  I glanced back at the ice cream store. Everyone was enjoying ice cream cones except the ambassador. He still had a worn expression on his face. I nodded at a discount T-shirt store and Rick followed me inside. A bell announced our arrival and a teenaged clerk greeted us. I walked up to a white, magnetic carousel covered in magnets with various images of Martha’s Vineyard.

  “Rick, I know how you are. I know you’re a private person. I also know it takes you time to open up, but this is your family. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of your family,” I said. “Besides, they seem nice enough.”

  His brown eyebrows furrowed above his crystal-blue eyes and his lips mirrored their downward descent in an adorable way. Thankfully, he didn’t realize I found this expression charming. “They seem nice but there is so much to them you don’t know. Everything is well-planned. Every act is deliberate. Everything is political.”

  I stared at him, dubiously. “Well, I can understand that with Mr. Cross and the boys, but I don’t think the girls—”

  Rick scratched his jaw. “Everyone hides behind a façade. Everything is choreographed. I know because I was a part of it once. I don’t want to be like that again.”

  “I don’t believe Michelle is fake,” I replied, feeling irritated at his accusation.

  “I didn’t say fake. I said everything is choreographed. She has a role to play, the judge’s wife. If Mr. Cross has his way, eventually, she’ll be a senator’s wife or a congressman’s wife. That’s why they got on her case about being too friendly with you. You were a stranger and she was too open. They didn’t know how you would react to her enthusiasm.”

  A cranky woman interrupted our discussion by stepping between us to grab a white T-shirt with a picture of the Gay Head lighthouse on it from a rack affixed to the wall. Once she hurried off, I replied, “Everyone is like that. When you first meet someone, most people are reserved until they get an impression of you. I was raised by a socially-conscious family, too.”

  Rick frowned. “Everyone is like that to an extent, but with this family, it’s an art form. That’s why I stopped coming around and that’s why Arthur avoided them, too.”

  I stood there, at a loss. I looked into his eyes. There was something urgent in them, a need for me to understand what he was saying. Despite my best efforts, I could not decipher the hidden meaning in his message. “Rick, what are you saying?”

  Rick crossed his arms, causing the muscles in them to bulge. “What I’m saying,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, “is that I think this had something to do with his disa
ppearance.”

  “This? What is this?”

  “This family, the people they associate with to further Gatlin’s agenda. I suspect they’re the cause of Arthur’s disappearance. I’m afraid he was kidnapped.”

  Chapter 7

  Rick dropped the subject as soon as Michelle walked into the shop to tell us they were getting ready to leave. When everyone was aboard the yacht again, Rick helped with the mooring lines without a mention of his growing suspicion.

  No one noticed any change in either of us except for Michelle. She sat with me on the ride across the bay and watched me from behind her designer sunglasses but didn’t say anything. Once we were back ashore, Rick headed for Arthur’s room to check his work email account. Mr. Cross retired to his study to handle some business and everyone else decided to go swimming in the Cross family pool. I excused myself to go to my room and headed up the extravagant staircase to the second floor.

  As soon as I turned the corner and was mere feet from the oceanfront room, I was struck by an overwhelming feeling that I was being followed. My initial fear was William had followed me. I hurried my pace and rushed into the room, closing the door behind me and locking it. My fears were well-founded because moments later, someone was jiggling the lock, trying to come inside. My heart was pounding as the intruder began to bang on the door.

  Suddenly, a voice from the other side relieved my concerns. “Jordan, what are you doing? It’s Michelle. Let me in.”

  I exhaled and unlocked the door. She entered the room quickly and closed the door behind her. Turning to face me, I observed a curious expression on her face. She walked past me and sat on the edge of the canopy bed. She motioned for me to join her so I walked over and sat cross-legged on the chaise beside the bed.

  “What’s going on? You’ve been acting weird since we left Edgartown. Is everything okay with Richard?”

  “Oh, yeah, we’re fine.”

  She narrowed her eyes, studying me. “Then what is it? What won’t you talk about?”

  I stood and crossed the room, standing beside the large fireplace. “Nothing, really. I’m fine.”

  She stood up, too, and walked toward the door. She turned before reaching for the knob. “Listen, Jordan, I like you. I like you better than my three sisters-in-law combined. To be perfectly honest, spending time with you has really meant a lot to me. I mean, for the first time since I left Oahu five years ago, I haven’t been completely homesick. But if you don’t feel comfortable opening up to me, that’s fine. I’m not going to bother you. Just know if you ever do want to talk, I’m here.”

  She left my room and I didn’t see her again until later that evening at the Rolling Hills Country Club. Everyone appeared to be in good spirits as we entered the main lobby of the clubhouse. I was beginning to wonder if Arthur was missing at all. It floored me to think these people could party like this with a loved one MIA. I’d had clients more devastated over lost jewelry. Trying to go with the flow, I studied the lobby. The large room offered a lodge-type feel with its fifteen-foot stone fireplace and thick wood floors.

  Other patrons were thrilled to see the Cross family again and as we followed a waiter up the stairs to the family’s table, people stopped different members of the group to say hello. I was startled when a slinky blonde with big, green eyes in a glittery-pink cocktail dress approached Rick. She sauntered over to him as he pulled out my chair and squeezed his shoulder with affection. His tan complexion turned a reddish hue when he recognized her.

  “You weren’t even going to say hello?” she breathed, batting her false eyelashes at him in a seductive manner.

  He nodded once before turning his attention back to me. Apparently, she was not used to rejection, because she touched his arm again. “That’s all I’m worth to you? A nod?”

  “Pretty much,” he replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m here with my girlfriend.”

  His curt response caught her off-guard and she stood there staring at him for several moments. When she regained her composure, she stormed off, and with each step, her six-inch heels echoed on the wooden floors. We all remained frozen, waiting for Rick’s next move.

  He became aware of his audience and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, everyone.”

  The ambassador offered a knowing smile. “That’s quite all right, my boy. You never know who you’re going to run into when you’re here.”

  William beamed from across the table with such fervor that I wondered if he had anything to do with the awkward encounter. After that incident, things ran relatively smoothly throughout dinner. Everyone relaxed as wine and scotch was consumed, causing the volume and content of certain conversations to escalate.

  Shortly after eight o’clock, people migrated to the ballroom where a small, live band featuring a guitarist, keyboardist, and even a saxophonist played everything from big band and swing music to current hits upon request. Rick led me to the dance floor and we slow danced to several numbers. I kept glancing over at Michelle, who was dancing with Edward, but she did not meet my gaze.

  As soon as a fast song began, Rick headed off the floor, taking me with him. During our exit, William reached for my hand and pulled me close. “How about letting someone else have a go?”

  I tried to wrench free but his grip was strong. He laughed as he tried to put his arms around my waist and his breath reeked of scotch. As I continued to push him away, I felt an instant presence behind us and the next moment, William was on the ground. I looked down at him, startled, and he stared up past me with blood flowing from his nose.

  “What the hell! You freaking hit me! No one hits me!”

  I looked behind me and saw Rick glaring down at William with fire in his eyes. His chest heaving, he pointed his index finger at William. “Don’t you ever touch her again, do you hear me?”

  William jumped up and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his designer sports jacket. He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips. A moment later, his arms were around me again, his hot breath on my neck. A second after that, Rick shoved him off. William bounced back and they began to fight on the dance floor, each throwing blow after blow, some making contact, others not. I tried to grab Rick’s arm but he continued to wrestle with William.

  Suddenly, Mr. Cross and his other sons appeared. I could see the mortification on the ambassador’s face. They tried to break up Rick and William, but they continued to exchange drunken blows. Someone grabbed my arm and started dragging me away.

  “Come on.”

  I realized Michelle had pulled me off the dance floor, through the dining room, and toward the front door. I turned back to Rick and heard a loud argument ensue. The yelling was followed by the sound of glass shattering.

  “I can’t just leave him!”

  Michelle tugged me harder, nearly dragging me through the front door while two young waiters watched in disbelief. I must admit it probably looked comical–two women in cocktail dresses fighting over leaving a brawl. Finally, she won and I followed her to Edward’s Bentley. She unlocked it and we climbed inside.

  “What are you planning to do?” I asked once the doors were closed and the engine started.

  She brushed several loose strands of hair out of her face.

  “We’re going to Crowell. That’s where you wanted to go, right?”

  “What? We’re going there right now?” She nodded and I hesitated, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  With both hands on the wheel and the car in reverse, she asked, “Why?”

  “Well, I don’t think either of us is in the shape to drive.”

  “I didn’t drink at all,” she replied, frustrated. “Don’t you want my help? I figured this would be the perfect time to go, while they’re all dealing with bloody noses and political appearances.”

  I sat there and considered my options. If I waited until tomorrow, I could probably go, but Rick would want to come with me. Involving Rick meant involving the family, which might not be a great idea.
In short, this was my best shot. Michelle studied me while I thought.

  “So are we going or not?”

  I tugged on my right ear lobe. “Well, I guess this might be my best chance to go but—”

  She took her foot off the brake and the car started rolling in reverse. “That’s good enough for me.” She grinned. As we peeled out of the country club, I thought I glimpsed a dark form rushing at us. The sight spooked me, but I forced it from my mind, telling myself it was only the shadows.

  Michelle came to an abrupt stop at a red light. Across the street, several teenagers walking on the sidewalk in front of a fast food restaurant stared at the car. I watched with amusement as they marveled at the expensive vehicle.

  In terms of quality, the Bentley Mulsanne was the smoothest car I’d ever ridden in. It was also the most luxurious. The white leather seats were soft and the dashboard had false wood paneling that offered a striking contrast to the black steering wheel, glove compartment, and floorboards.

  My respect for the beauty of the vehicle was quickly replaced with awe for its power. I soon discovered how much Michelle enjoyed driving it. She continued to accelerate to the point that once we were on I-95 South, we were going over ninety miles an hour.

  I sank back into the contour-fitting seat nervously. “Do you think you may be going a bit fast?”

  A smile crossed her ruby lips. “Not for this car. Eddie had it up to one hundred twenty once.” Her smile faded and she added, “He doesn’t do that anymore. His father says a speeding ticket could destroy his future.”

  “Destroy his future?” My eyebrow arched. “Hmph. I’m not much for doing things for political reasons, but I would like to make it there in one piece.”

  She laughed and began to slow down. “You must think I’m crazy. I swear I’m not. I just haven’t had a chance to be myself in so long. I have to watch what I say and what I do.” She cut over to the left lane, barely missing the back of an eighteen-wheeler. “I have to go to luncheons with a roomful of women like Nadia and it just takes its toll. I guess that does make me sound crazy.”