Fidelity (Infidelity #5)(5)

“What is the meaning of this?” Alton demanded.

“Mr. Fitzgerald, as I explained on the phone from the front gate, this matter couldn’t wait.”

“Of course it could wait. Can’t you see we have a party going on?”

Detective Means nodded and turned to Suzanna. “Ma’am, are you Suzanna Carmichael Spencer, the current owner of the Carmichael estate off McWhorter Drive?”

“Why, yes. Is there a problem?” She looked at Bryce. “What’s going on?”

Before the detective could answer, Officer Emerson pulled a small card from his breast pocket and began to speak. “Mr. Spencer, you are under arrest. I’m with the Savannah-Chatham Metropolitan Police Department. You have the right to remain silent. What you say can and will be used against you…”

Suzanna and I gasped, my hands forgetting to grip as my handbag fell to the floor. The tips of my fingers covered my lips. Bryce’s mouth fell open. Alton took a step forward.

“Don’t say a damn word, Bryce. Officers, Detective, there’s been a mistake.”

“Sir,” Detective Means said as Officer Emerson continued Bryce’s Miranda rights. “As I said, this matter is now a criminal investigation and is out of our hands—”

“Out of your hands? You’re the Savannah police. Of course it’s in your hands,” Alton insisted, each phrase growing louder as the crowd outside the door continued to build. “I told you on the phone we’d be glad to come to the station tomorrow. There was no need for this ridiculous spectacle.”

Criminal investigation? I watched in horror as I tried to make sense of the scene.

Alton turned toward the doorway, filling by the second with more sets of eyes. “Close the damn door!”

It was then that Patrick made his way through the crowd. Our gazes met, mine pleading for him to come inside with me. However, my plea was snuffed out as one of the men from the house staff came forward and pulled the door shut.

Alton commanded and people appeared.

Swallowing, I took in the room. Bryce’s cheek was against the wall. Alton’s fists were balled as he rocked from foot to foot. Suzanna’s expression paled in confusion. She appeared to be in shock, standing against the far wall with her arms around her midsection. Part of me wanted to help her, to help my mother’s lifelong friend.

And then, my hands dropped and a small smile fought to stay hidden. In the eye of the storm, I imagined her passing out and falling to the floor. The bitch wasn’t my mother’s friend any more than she was mine. I’d let her fall.

“Mr. Fitzgerald,” the detective continued, “as we explained, this case now involves not only our department but also the Evanston Police Department and very soon the FBI.”

Officer Emerson continued speaking, “Mr. Spencer, please place your hands behind your back.”

I didn’t know if I was just relieved or also going into shock.

My shoulders sagged, chest caved, and lungs fought to fill. No longer were my thin heels capable of supporting my weight. Reaching for a nearby chair, the tips of my fingers blanched as I gripped the soft leather and tried to make sense of it all.

Did this have to do with Chelsea? Was this a ploy to save me? Had Deloris helped her file some charge of battery?

And then it hit me: I hadn’t heard the charge.

“What’s the charge?” I finally managed to ask.

Instead of answering me, everyone’s attention was on Bryce.

Backing away from the policeman, he said, “Handcuffs? No! Why? You can’t arrest me. I didn’t do anything. Evanston police? FBI?” His eyes widened. “I’ve cooperated. I’ve given them statements. So has Chelsea.”

Alton spoke over him, telling him to be quiet.

“Alex,” Bryce yelled. “Go get her. Go get my whor—Chelsea. She can tell them!”

“Shut up!” Alton screamed, stepping closer to Bryce. “Cooperate.”

“Call her!” Bryce said, nodding his head toward the floor.

I followed his gaze to my handbag. I did have my new phone, but I couldn’t call her, not if she were gone.

The room was a cyclone of voices and activity.

Clinging tightly to the chair, my stomach twisted as I tried not to get lost in the uproar. The world grew fuzzy. Maybe it was the fog. Maybe it was a special effect. I realized it couldn’t have been Chelsea who pressed the charges, whatever they were. Her charges wouldn’t involve the Evanston police or the FBI.

“Sir, step back,” the second officer said to Alton. “I don’t want to have to arrest you too.”

“How dare you talk to me in that tone, in my home, in Savannah…”

Phrases flowed, their volume growing as I tried to follow. If this were a movie, it was poorly scripted. Too many things were happening. Too much to follow.

I thought back to my classes at Columbia. The Savannah police wouldn’t dare enter Montague Manor without evidence. The FBI wouldn’t be involved if they didn’t know something. Yet in all the chaos, I still hadn’t heard the charge.

I cleared my throat. “Excuse me, Officer, what are you charging him with?”

My question caused Bryce to look back my direction. The psychopath from yesterday was gone. In his place was my childhood friend, the boy who was afraid of the fictitious monster living in our lake. The man who’d asked for my help. He looked down at my purse and back to me.