CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: Pride in Opulence
Calvin Maxwell’s house was as beautiful as Blair had remembered. The two-story, country style abode always impressed Blair as being both spacious and comfortable. Seven thousand square feet was enough for two people to get lost in. Everything about the place smelled of old, well-seasoned money; Calvin had inherited quite a pot from his mother.
Blair rode Horace’s middleweight cruiser up the red brick driveway, rattling past the well-kept lawn and spectacular flower beds, past the neatly trimmed shrubs and properly pruned trees, and stopped beside the four-car garage. He hopped off the rusty two-wheeler and then beat the kickstand down with his foot. Then he propped the bicycle up and replaced the chain, which had fallen off as he’d stopped. The cuffs of Blair’s pants were badly soiled with oil from the bicycle chain, but he didn’t concern himself with that. His wrinkled clothes and dirty face and hands would have to be good enough for Macomb County’s elite suburbanites. Besides, it was about time their homeless neighbors came knocking on their doors.
Walking up the sidewalk to the front porch, Blair watched as the sprinklers worked overtime tap, tap, tapping around in circles and making the green grass glisten in the reddish-orange sun rising like a glowing coal from the east. A full-sized, neoclassical statue overlooked the front garden, and its eyes followed Blair as if he knew that trouble was coming.
After reaching the front door, Blair paused a moment to study the brass knocker embossed with the head of Edward VII. That head said it all: the Edwardian suggestion put the finishing touches on the Maxwells’ pride in opulence. Visitors understood where the family stood in the scheme of things even before entering the house.
Blair lifted the hinged knob and dropped the back of Edward’s head against the door. One of the maids answered, opening the thick, oak door and looking at Blair as if she believed he had no business coming to the main entrance. “Yes?” she said, her slender physique guarding the opening she’d made until she got some definite identification. He couldn’t help but notice that the uniform she was wearing resembled the one Mercedes wore in the photograph Horace had found. “Are you making a delivery? Packages are to be brought around to the back.”
“I’m here to see Calvin Maxwell,” he said sharply, having no time to execute the niceties that proper society people had come to expect.
“May I ask who’s calling?” She checked her watch. “It’s just after six in the morning.”
“My name is Blair Vaughn. Tell him I’m here. I’ll wait outside.” He glanced over at the bed of petunias and marigolds blooming in a garden next to the picture window. “I won’t steal anything while you’re gone, you have my word.”
The maid took in his terse words with a surprised pause, but then nodded and seemed to take particular delight in slamming the door in his face when she left. Corinne came to the door a few minutes later. She was wearing a beautiful, pale yellow and white dress with matching yellow shoes, a yellow and white hat, and a yellow purse. Eagerly she opened the door and then held it for him. The fragrance she was wearing reminded Blair of a wonderful rush of roses on a cool, spring day.
Corinne paused only once to stare at Blair’s soiled tee shirt. Eventually her eyes drifted to his run-down shoes. Smiling, she said, “Come on in, Blair. I’m sorry Felicity left you standing out here.”
As Blair came inside the foyer, the name Felicity definitely caught his attention. “Felicity Carmichael?” he asked, and Corinne hesitated, and then smiled again.
“Why, yes. If you know one another, why didn’t she let you in?”
“She doesn’t know me. I just heard her name mentioned before. I don’t remember who I was talking to at the time.”
Now that was a lie; Felicity Carmichael was one of the names Mercedes had mentioned as a ‘mutual friend’ of hers and Cynthia’s. It was all starting to make sense to him. He figured the Jack Drummond she’d mentioned also worked for the Maxwells in some capacity.
“Well, the conversation must have been relatively recent,” Corinne said. “Felicity has only been with us for five months, and she’s not from this area.”
“Are you going to church?”
“Yes. I’m sorry I can’t stay and talk with you, but the service starts in twenty minutes.”
“I understand. Calvin isn’t coming with you?”
“No, he’s not feeling well. But I’m sure he wants to see you. Go on up to the bedroom. He’s having his breakfast there this morning.”
Blair smiled. “You get going now. I don’t want you to be late. Is Jack Drummond your driver?” he asked, trying to find out all he could about the mysterious Mr. Drummond while he was at it.
“No, no. I hired Jack to remodel one of the upstairs bathrooms. Charles and Peter drive for us.”
“Oh, yeah. Calvin had said something about having a bathroom remodeled. Jack’s the same guy who built on the extra room a few years ago, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. We contracted Jack and his men two summers ago to do that.”
“You’re in charge of all the hiring around here, aren’t you, Corinne? What a responsibility that must be.”
“Well it is, but I don’t mind it. Cal’s usually too busy with his practice to supervise things that need to be done around the house.” She stared at him appreciatively; she always did like Blair despite his shortcomings. There was a time when he could have kept her laughing for hours.
“Stay until I get back, Blair. I’d love to talk to you.” He nodded, watching Corinne as she took a case from her purse. Taking out an exquisite pair of prescription Revo sunglasses, she put them on before leaving. “See you later,” she said, giving him another smile before opening the door again.
“Good-bye,” he said as she stepped through, closing the door softly behind her.
Blair glanced around to see if Felicity was anywhere in sight. She wasn’t, so he tiptoed past the display cases along the walls and then went to the family room and peeked inside. There in all its glory was the liquor table with several delightful beverages right at his fingertips. He went over and quickly read the labels on the elegant, crystal flasks: vodka, whiskey, vermouth, wine…. Gin! Taking the cork out of the decanter of gin, he filled up two shot glasses and then tossed them back. What a buzz! He filled the glasses again and repeated the same. Bracing himself against the table, he closed his eyes to savor the feeling.
When he turned to leave the room, Felicity was standing at the door and watching him with her hands on her hips. “May I help you?” she asked him.
“No, no,” he said. “I served myself. Thank you.” He brushed past her as he left the room.
Blair stopped in the foyer when he saw the cases lining the walls again. On his many travels, Calvin had collected samples of red corundum from every corner of the earth. His Kenyan rubies were pinkish and full of needle inclusions. The Thai rubies from Chanthaburi had a purplish hue and a medium dark tone with lots of black extinction areas. There were flawed rubies from Jagdalek, Afghanistan and Pailin, Cambodia. Brazilian rubies from the states of Bahia and Ceara were nice, but their clarity was low. There were rubies from Madagascar, Malawi, Nepal, Pakistan, and Tanzania. The small, tabular samples from North Carolina in the United States were more typical of the norm than Vinnie’s colossal trinkets.
The cases on the wall housed low-quality ruby samples from the Sichuan Province of China, and Southern India star rubies that were opaque and maroon in color. The ones from Orissa, however, looked pretty good. A six-sided, tapering hexagonal dipyramid corundum crystal was from Mysore, and others were from Madras. Russian rubies were six-sided specimens embedded in a dark gray and white crystalline matrix flecked with smaller corundum particles and what looked like pink garnets. The Sri Lankan rubies had a red hue, medium tint, and a strong red fluorescence with a violet cast.
The last display was reserved for high-quality, Burmese rubies of medium hue, and of an intense, highly saturated color. The pieces were listed as being obtained at Mogok valley, an almo
st inaccessible tract in upper Burma and Mandalay. Those babies didn’t have a hint of brown or gray in them. They were perfect specimens, hindered only by their small size and therefore minuscule carat weight.
Blair glanced over his shoulder and it startled him to find Felicity breathing down his neck with a scowl on her face. “Is there something you want here?” she asked.
“How about your phone number?”
She stood back a little and her mouth dropped open. “Surely not,” she said, putting a hand against her breast. Blair could understand her being flabbergasted; after all, it was probably the first time any man had ever asked that tight-sealed drum for seven digits.
Shrugging, Blair said, “I guess I’ll have to keep on looking,” and then turned his back to her and walked away. He took the red velvet, spiral staircase two steps at a time and then knocked on Calvin’s bedroom door.
“Yes?”
“Cal, it’s Blair.”
“Come on in.”