When the divorce was final, she married Hale in a lavish ceremony, attended by dozens of his friends, and they bought a house in Oak Park there. Time seemed to fly by, and Bette had never been happier, more effulgent, in her life. Hale had inherited a considerable amount of money when he was younger, and that, coupled with his huge salary as a surveyor with the State Highway Commission, enabled them to live in monumental luxury – to take an extended trip to Europe, to rub elbows with movie stars and starlets, to become an integral part of the hectic social whirl of metropolitan Chicago. It was a dream come true for Bette, a Cinderella story.

And then suddenly, it had become instead a nightmare.

The beginning of the end, a little less than a year ago, had come in the form of a telegram and two letters from David's brother, Ken Clark, which she had received three weeks late upon returning from a Mexican cruise with Hale. Her hands trembled when she read them and tears spilled from her eyes. David was dead. He had been killed in an automobile accident on the outskirts of Westridge.

She had called Ken immediately, and though his voice had been cold, he had talked to her, listening to her explanation of why she hadn't come to the funeral. He told her that Tony had moved in with him – Ken was a widower who lived alone in the wealthy section of Westridge as a result of his successful commercial artist's talent – and that the old house was in the process of being sold. Bette had asked to speak to Tony, but her son had refused to talk to her, saying loudly so that she could hear over the long-distance phone wires that he never wanted to see his mother again. Ken had quietly urged Bette to come home anyway to see Tony, and she had said that she would. But she had never gone because of guilt and her son's stinging words – and because of what happened in her marriage to Hale Bixby.