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room.
    â€œWhat’s wrong?” Billie Jean asked Vonlee. Vonlee was crying, shaking and had a hard time getting a handle on herself. Vonlee wanted a drink.
    â€œWhat’s wrong? I cannot believe he’s dead, Billie!”
    â€œGet over it,” Billie Jean snapped.
    â€œGet over it? What do you mean?”
    Billie Jean walked over and sat down next to Vonlee. She put her arm around her shoulder. “Just pretend like it didn’t happen, Vonlee.”

CHAPTER 6
    WITH BILLIE JEAN ROGERS traveling to California to fetch her son after he endured a life-threatening car accident, Vonlee Titlow and Don Rogers were alone inside Don’s expansive house. Vonlee did not work. Don went into the office, but came home at all hours of the day. So they were home together, alone, a lot. Vonlee now waited to hear from Billie Jean about how her son was making out.
    â€œWhat do you say we go out and celebrate your birthday?” Don asked Vonlee.
    It was July 12, 2000. Vonlee had been at the house now since that July Fourth weekend she spent with her aunt in North Carolina. Vonlee had just turned thirty-three. She was thinking about heading back to North Carolina. The Chrysler had been repaired after it had been stolen and impounded for investigative purposes. Vonlee was told she could pick it up anytime now.
    â€œSure,” she told Don. What a nice gesture, Vonlee considered. The guy had a big heart, she realized since moving into the house. He meant well. It was the bottle holding him down. Billie Jean had him all wrong.
    Don made reservations for the two of them at Bloomfield Hills Country Club, an exclusive, eighteen-hole golf course with one hell of a four-star restaurant attached, about a fifteen-minute drive from the house. Vonlee liked to be treated like a lady. She’d dated some wealthy men in her life and knew what luxury living felt and tasted like. Her aunt did not want her to leave for North Carolina until—the earliest—she returned with her son. Keeping Don busy and reaping the benefits of that were favors Vonlee felt obligated to do while her aunt was away. Billie Jean made it clear to Vonlee before she left for California that she had plans for the two of them, her and Vonlee. The accident her son had been in might have derailed those plans somewhat, but it did not cancel them out.
    â€œStay,” Billie Jean had said over the phone.
    â€œI will,” Vonlee responded.
    Everyone at the club knew Don well. Here he was with this beautiful woman on his arm, walking in and sitting down to a nice, elegant birthday celebration. For Vonlee, going out to dinner with an older gentleman was not such a stretch; she’d run that escort service and doing this exact thing had been part of that world for her and her employees—along with all things sexual, of course.
    It was clear from the moment they arrived that this night would not be anything but a routine night in Don’s life. He’d drank all day long. And by the time they got around to ordering dinner, “He was so blitzed! I had to get the manager of the club, who—thank God!—knew Don well, to help me carry him out into the car,” Vonlee later recalled.
    They hadn’t even eaten dinner.
    Vonlee had no clue how to get back to the Rogers house and got lost for an hour or more until she finally found her way. When they arrived, Vonlee managed to wake Don up enough to get him to stagger with one arm over her shoulder up the stairs and into bed.
    Damn, she told herself walking down the stairs. Billie Jean wasn’t lying about the way Don drank. He never had a few pops and got a good buzz on; Don went all out, every day. Passing out was part of his routine.
    At some point during the night, Vonlee awoke to Don, in bed next to her, grabbing at her, she later said. In fact, Don had woken her up by placing his hands on her large breasts. He was fondling her violently, perhaps in a drunken stupor or even a