“Good morning? Just what, pray tell, is good about it? Amos Gibbons tells me you could have been killed in your sleep.”
“Oh, shush, Daddy. You of all people know how dramatic he can be. It was nothing more than a broken pane of glass, someone looking for the office cash, or more likely some kids up to mischief.”
“Don’t you shush me, young lady. Do you think I just fell off the turnip truck?”
“Now, Daddy, your blood pressure.”
“And don’t ‘your blood pressure’ me. I wouldn’t have to worry about my blood pressure if you hadn’t gotten the fool notion into your head that you could meddle in other people’s business without any consequences whatsoever.”
From the sideboard Julia poured a cup of coffee and put a slice of toast on a plate. “I don’t meddle, Daddy. All my job amounts to is research and a lot of paperwork.”
“Hah! You think Rocco Sullivan is best pleased that the Mark Rothko he sold to the museum has been declared a fraud on your say so?”
“Not on my say so, Daddy. On the say so of the art curator of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.” She sat at the table and began to spread marmalade on her toast.
“Yes, but only because--”
“Woodrow,” Audrey Hampton entered the dining room and interrupted the heated conversation between her husband and her daughter, “you’re going to be late for the board meeting if you don’t get yourself to The Bank.”
He rose from his chair. “You needn’t think you’ve heard the last of this.” He threw his napkin onto the table and looked from mother to daughter. “Either of you.”
Julia stood and her father took her by the upper arms and gave her a gentle shake.
“You gave us a scare, Little Bit. What would we do if anything happened to you?”
His use of her childhood name was almost her undoing. “Oh, Daddy.” She lowered her chin and began to straighten his tie. “Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Savannah is a sleepy little town, not a den of intrigue and high crimes. It was just a random act of mischief. You’ll see.”
“Obviously you don’t read the newspaper. We’re installing that security system.” When she started to open her mouth in protest he held up a warning finger. “I’m not budging on this.”
Julia knew when and how to pick her battles so she smiled sweetly and kissed his cheek. “Of course, Daddy.”
Audrey Hampton waited until her husband’s footsteps had receded before she launched her own campaign.
“I think we’ve seen the worst of it. The security system will appease him for now.” She poured herself a cup of coffee and took a chair across the table from where Julia had resumed her seat. “But something has come up and I think it’s important, for your father’s sake, that you attend.”
Julia put the last bite of toast back on her plate. She knew this strategy and her mother wasn’t a foe so easily vanquished.
“Okay, let me hear it.”
Her mother smiled and launched the battle of wills they both knew her seemingly innocent comment initiated.
“The Bank is acquiring Low Country Securities. The merger has been finalized and there needs to be a suitable recognition of the occasion.”
Julia tried to detect any ulterior motive in this opening salvo. It seemed innocuous enough on the face of it. That was why she knew to be doubly vigilant. Nothing with her mother was ever so benign.
“How suitable?”
“A party at The Club, formal attire, I should think.”
“Lots of pomp and circumstance.”
Her mother inclined her head slightly. “Exactly. The Bank will absorb the primary executives, give them some title and a nice office.”
“And a golden parachute for the dead weight.”
“Something like that.”
“And why is it important that I be there?”
“Well, this was a hard won takeover. There’s some animosity on the part of one or two of the majority owners so we need to show a united front. Welcome them into the family, so to speak.”
“But I have nothing to do with The Bank.”
“It’s important to your father. Besides, Vincent Richlieu will retain his position as Second Vice-President of Acquisitions.”
“Oh, Mom. Vinnie Richlieu? Really?”
“Julia, we’ve known the Richlieus forever. Your cousin Grace is married to Vinnie—Vincent’s third cousin on his mother’s side.” Her mother stirred her now cold cup of coffee. “And you remember Vincent from middle school. He’s quite grown out of his acne and braces.”
“Mom, I’ll get the security system. I’ll add flood lights, motion activated lights, to the house. I’ll even call every night when I get home. But I draw the line at Vinnie Richlieu.”
Audrey Hampton smoothed the immaculate surface of the Irish linen tablecloth. “I understand.” She rose from her chair and picked up her cup and saucer and turned toward the kitchen. “Your father will be so disappointed.”
Julia groaned inwardly. Her mother had fired the winning shot. Her comment was code for a command appearance. She spoke in the language of Southern women. Women who never raised their voices, never quarreled, who never made outright demands. That code was universal throughout the South and it always achieved the desired result.
“And, Julia,” her mother said, “wear something with sleeves before it occurs to your father to question all the Band-Aids on your arm.”
Sandra looked up from the reception desk when Julia pushed through the front door of The Weatherby Insurance Agency.
“Julia!” She was all smiles. “Did you get my email?”
Julia, who had just survived a bad night, and it could be argued, a worse morning, was at a loss as to what Sandra was referring.
Sandra must have read the lost expression on her face. She said, “The website. You know. Doug’s profile.”
“Doug’s profile?” Julia frowned then she remembered. “Douglas. Douglas Heinz.”
“Yes!” Sandra looked as if she would pop with barely suppressed excitement. “Isn’t he a dream?”
Julia smiled at Sandra’s enthusiasm and her own memory of the website photo. “Not bad. If it’s a real photo of a real guy. Everyone lies on those sites.”
“No, no, no.” Sandra shook her head. “He’s as real as they come. I know because we posted the profile.”
“We?”
“Me and Debbie.”
Debbie was the secretary for the claims adjustor for The Weatherby Insurance Agency.
“So who is he?’
“The new guy.”
“The new—Wait. What new guy?”
“Well, not new, new. He’s been here almost a year.”
“Now I see why he looked so familiar. I must have glimpsed him around the office at some point.” She dug around in her briefcase and came up with a daily reminder. “I have an appointment…”
“Julia!” Sandra slapped her hands on the desk. “What about Doug?”
Julia raised her gaze from the page of her daily reminder. “What about him?”
“Don’t you want to—you know—ping him?”
“Ping him,” Julia said in amazement while she silently thought, matchmakers to the left of me, matchmakers to the right of me. “I’m not going to date some guy who has to resort to the internet to get someone to go out with him.” All the time she was really thinking loser.
“But he didn’t.” Sandra looked crushed.
“I’m sorry,” Julia’s eyebrows rose in question, “didn’t what?”
“He didn’t post the profile. We did. Me and Debbie.”
“You mean he doesn’t know?”
Sandra shook her head.
“Oops.”
Julia could see doubt spreading across Sandra’s face and wished she had held her tongue.
“You don’t think he’ll be mad?”
What to say? Julia knew she would be spitting mad if any of her friends pulled such a stunt on her.
“Maybe not. If he’s such
a great guy I’m sure he’ll take the news in the spirit in was intended.”
Just then the door to the inner offices of the insurance agency flew open and none other than Douglas Heinz marched into the reception area. “Sandra.”
Sandra stood so quickly her chair flew back against the partition wall.
“What are all these messages in my inbox? And what the heck is Couples Connection?”
Julia couldn’t help but notice that Douglas Heinz looked even more attractive when his dark eyes flashed with what appeared to be more than a little anger.
“D-d-doug,” Sandra stammered. “Douglas Heinz, this is Julia Hampton.”
Doug nodded in Julia’s direction, then took a breath in preparation for what Julia was sure would be a diatribe at Sandra. But he stopped as if in mid-thought and turned back to Julia.
“Julia Hampton?”
“Yes.”
All the anger disappeared from his expression. “The private detective of The Hampton Detective Agency?”
Julia smiled. “One and the same.”
“What brings you to The Weatherby Agency?”
“An appointment with Peter Ryder.”
“Too bad. I was hoping it had something to do with the prank Debbie and Sandra have gotten me into.”
“Prank?” Julia knew he was flirting and she liked that he was. Who wouldn’t trade Vinnie Richlieu for this single, thirty-two, fairly new to the area, antique car enthusiast?
Douglas Heinz revealed a perfect row of pearly whites and said, “It seems I’ve been languishing on the shelf for too long, in their opinion.”
“Ah,” Julia said. “So Couples Connection isn’t a marriage counseling service?”
“If it is, the ladies have made a grave mistake.”
“How so?”
“I have no wife, no significant other, no better half.”
“A pity.”
“Not from where I’m standing.”
Julia was accustomed to male attention. Doug’s flirting didn’t make her blush. She realized she was enjoying it. But she was here on business. She smiled at Douglas Heinz then returned her attention to Sandra who was beaming like the mother of a newborn baby.
“Sandra, would you let Peter know I’m here?”
“Oh,” Sandra said. “He isn’t here. In fact I can’t find him.”
“Since when?”
“Yesterday afternoon. He checked in after his morning appointment then was a no-show for his two o’clock.”
Doug said, “I saw him just before lunch yesterday. Have you tried his home?”
“Home, cell, and beeper. I can’t reach him anywhere.” Sandra frowned. “It’s not like him to simply duck out on his appointments.”
Julia returned her calendar to her briefcase. “I’ll try to reach him and reschedule. Let me know when he checks in.”
Doug touched Julia’s arm lightly. “How about a cup of coffee? I mean now that your calendar is open.”
Julia thought about the disarray still awaiting her at her office but then she looked at the invitation in Doug’s eyes and allowed herself to be swayed.
Chapter Two
The night had turned cool for September in Savannah. The following day held a crispness that Julia loved. Autumn was her favorite time of the year. The alfresco tables at Aldopho’s had been the perfect choice for the dinner invitation Julia had, over coffee with Douglas Heinz the previous day, turned into the more innocuous lunch they had just enjoyed. She smiled at her reflection in the mirror of the powder room where she had just reapplied her lipstick. There was potential here, she decided. Doug was witty, intelligent, and a far cry from Vinnie Richlieu.
He waited on the sidewalk outside the entrance to the restaurant and turned to her with a smile as she came through the door. The slant of the autumnal sun etched his face in sharp contrasts of light and shadow. Sunglasses hid his eyes. For an instant his expression brought a wolfish image to Julia’s mind. It passed before the thought could fully take hold as he reached out his hand to her and threaded her arm through his.
They turned down the sidewalk in the direction where Doug had parked his classic 1966 Ferrari Spyder a block and a half away.
“So,” Doug said as he snugged her arm more securely in the crook of his elbow, “did I pass muster? Table manners up to par? Proper wine selection? Passable meaningless conversation?”
Julia laughed. “You’ll do in a pinch.”
“Ah.” He smiled. “A compliment of the highest magnitude, coming from the daughter of Woodrow Hampton, as in The Bank of Savannah Hamptons?”
Although he posited his statement as a question, Julia felt a slight let down for she knew that knowledge changed things. She didn’t allow her disappointment to show but said in a like teasing manner, “Oh, my, yes. Or as we in the family refer to it, The Bank.”
“As everyone in Savannah refers to it as well, probably even in the hallowed halls of Wharton Business School.” He sighed. “Worse luck.”
Julia kept her tone light and teasing. “Why’s that?”
Doug stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned to face her as her arm slipped from his. “Because I like you.”
“Okay. And why is that bad luck?”
“Pretty girl, old family, rich and powerful daddy. He’s probably running a background check on me as we speak.”
The smile faded from her expression. “And what will he find?”
Doug lifted his shoulders in a dismissive shrug. “Middle class, state college educated, nose to the grindstone average Joe.”
She thought of the expensive classic car he drove. Vulgar as her mother thought the habit, her job had taught her to assign value to rare objects of beauty. The Ferrari was probably worth more than half a million dollars. Doug wasn’t such an average Joe as he pretended.
“Well, in that case,” she said, the humor returning to her voice, “you’re perfectly safe from Daddy’s objections. He knows I’m only interested in equally old family, rich, and powerful contenders.”
Doug grinned and they turned back along their path. “Thank god. I didn’t think I could dodge that bullet.”
“Well, since you now know you’re safe from my feminine wiles, I have a favor to ask.”
“A damsel in distress? Is that your ploy?”
“I find it works on occasion.”
“Okay,” he said, “lead me down the primrose path.”
“There’s an event I have to attend on Friday evening. One of those fusty old gatherings to grace the anointed with my presence.”
“Command performance?”
Julia sighed. “Yes.”
“Then I’m at your service. Where and what time shall I pick you up?”
“Black tie at the The Club and seven o’clock.”
“Black tie, huh. And The Club would be, of course, The Savannah Golf Club.”
She smiled. “Of course.”
He laughed. “Well, count me…”
The words died on his lips as they came abreast of his car. The pristine red paint had the letters D I C scratched deeply into the hood. A long keyed scratch traveled down the passenger side from front to back.
“Son-of…” He paled, snatched his sunglasses off, and ran his hand over his eyes if to erase the image. “What in the hell!”
“My god, Doug.” Julia stared at the damage. “Who would do such a thing?”
Doug turned from the car, his back to Julia. She saw his shoulders draw in as if in pain for just a second then his posture straightened, his shoulders squared and he turned back toward the car. There was a change in his voice when he spoke, a deadly quality that caused Julia to take a small step back. His words belied his expression. “Vandals.” He cleared his throat. “Damn, fool kids, probably.”
“Surely not.” Julia’s gaze settled on the capital letters across the hood of the car. They were deep and the lines sharp and smooth as if done quickly, as if the perpetrator were in a rage, no hesitation, just violence. Kids would perhaps key
the side of the car, maybe even try to steal the Ferrari emblem, but would they be so wrathful as to gouge letters deeply into the hood?
Julia dug into her purse and brought out her cell phone. “I’ll call the police.”
Doug’s reaction was immediate. “No!” He raised his hand, palm toward her in a placating gesture. “No. Let’s not get bogged down in legalities. We’ll never know who did it and,” he sighed and dropped his hand, “it’s insured.”
She had already punched in 911. “But it has to be documented. You know better than anyone how difficult a claim on a car this rare will be to negotiate.” As he started to protest again, she turned slightly from him. The dispatcher was on the line. “Yes, there’s been an act of vandalism…” From the corner of her eye she saw Doug jam his sunglasses onto his face and turn his head from her. She gave the dispatcher the particulars of their location and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Doug. It’s such a beautiful car.”
He turned back to face her, shrugged then adjusted the knot in his tie. Before he could speak, an unmarked dark sedan came to a screeching halt in the street on the driver’s side of Doug’s car.
The tall drink of water who unfolded himself from the driver’s seat had Julia’s full attention. When he walked around the hood to stand in front of her and Doug she had to suppress a sigh.
“Hello, Doug. What seems to be the problem?” He removed his Ray-Bans and glanced at Julia then back to Doug.
“Mitchell.” Doug rolled his shoulders and squared his stance. “What are you doing here?”
“Heard the call from dispatch.” He lifted his hand in a nonchalant gesture. “I was in the area and thought I’d check it out.”
Julia took in the dark, nondescript sedan with antennas sprouting from the back and cleared her throat.
Doug looked down at the sidewalk, gave a small shake of his head, then made the introductions. “Julia, this is Mitchell Lawson. Lawson, this is Julia. She helps Peter Ryder occasionally.”
Julia inclined her head slightly taking in Mitch’s jeans and plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled back revealing tanned forearms and a serious watch. She let her gaze travel down to long fingers, no ring. “And you know Doug how?”
Trouble in Dixie (Familiar Legacy Book 2) Page 2
