Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  I watched him awhile then lost him in the milling crowd. That left me with a moral dilemma. Did I tell Houston about Andrew’s intent to defect or did I say to hell with all of them? Except, of course, Rebecca. I don’t like it when life gets complicated.

  I decided to locate Tess Lewis, my former assistant. When I was in the Texas Senate she was my version of Condoleezza Rice; she knew everything there was to know about Texas Senate protocol, and a whole lot about Texas law. She also knew where all the bodies were buried, as they say. That came in handy when we needed to strong-arm someone to get support for a bill.

  Besides being bright as sunshine, Tess loved life. She could have fun at a turtle race. I knew she’d be at the reception because Tess was very active with the Ovarian Cancer Organization and had been ever since she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer almost three years earlier. It hadn’t slowed her down any. When I fussed over her, she kept telling me they’d caught her cancer in the early stages and if anyone could beat it, she could. I believed her, because I found it hard to doubt anything Tess said.

  I went through the crowd twice, visiting with half a dozen people, but I never found Tess. I did run into Bruce, the contractor from next door. His sister died of ovarian cancer. Once you hear about this disease it’s like a new word—it crops up everywhere.

  “You clean up real nice,” I said to him.

  “I try.”

  “Where is Delphine?” She is his wife.

  “She went to talk with someone; she’s thinking of joining the Bead Society.”

  “Oh. Did you get the Dumpster picked up and moved?”

  He took half a step back. “I meant to talk to you about that. We couldn’t get the company out here, so we pushed it out of the way.”

  A Dumpster that size must weigh tons. “Really? Just where did you push it to?”

  “Not very far.”

  “Where very far?” I asked.

  “Your backyard—”

  “Bruce!” He started laughing and I realized that once again I’d fallen for one of his tricks. “You have to stop doing that,” I said.

  “I would if you weren’t so gullible.”

  “Go find your wife and be grateful that someone will have you.”

  I moved off and ended up at the fireplace near the raffle table. My father always said that most people have good hearts and are willing to contribute money to a worthy cause, but they like it better and have more fun when they get something for their money. In this case, they had a chance of winning a necklace that was worth almost seventeen thousand dollars.

  “Would you like to buy some raffle tickets?” the woman taking money asked in a high, just short of piercing, voice. She appeared to be in her late sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair. The kind of woman who was going into old age without caring who knew it.

  She held out a picture of the necklace. In the center was a large, square-cut gem of a clear and rich teal. More teal for ovarian cancer awareness. The central stone was held in place by delicate gold leaves, and the rest of the necklace was formed by three strands of gold links, interspersed with smaller stones. The colors reminded me of water rippling through a mountain stream. There was teal, green, pink, and even a dark dusky color just this side of black. All were tourmaline and all set by hand.

  “I think I’ve already stuffed the ballot box,” I said. I had a raft of tickets upstairs. “And I don’t have my purse on me, or I would buy a few more. I will before Sunday.”

  “You’re Kitzi Camden,” she said.

  “I am.” I held out my hand. “We haven’t met.”

  “Donna Silbert.” We shook hands, and she said, “You be sure and come by our booth tomorrow. I’m with the Ovarian Cancer Organization, and I’ll be handing out information. All the details on how you can protect yourself, at least as much as you can.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  I looked up and realized that the mantel was pretty bare. “I thought the necklace was going to be on display tonight.”

  She glanced up automatically. “It will be later. Cordelia Wright, do you know her? She owns Green Clover Camp.”

  “I do,” I said.

  “Well, she came down with something, so someone else is bringing the necklace in. Should be here soon.”

  My heart did a little hop and spin, which is a completely ridiculous thing for it to do. However, there was cause. Cordy, Cordelia, has three brothers. One is a minister, whom I hardly know, and one is a bounder, a rat, and I used to know him all too well. Neither were the cause of my heart palpitations. Her third brother, Nathaniel Wright, was the cause. I would like to get to know that man a whole lot better, and I intended to if he ever got back into the country.

  Nate owns Tivolini, a catalog of wonderful objets d’art, and he was the one who donated the necklace. I sure hoped he’d be the one bringing it to town.

  Except he lived in Dallas, not Austin, and he’d have called me if he was back. At least I hoped he’d have called since we had a serious flirtation going. And if he was back and hadn’t called, well, it didn’t bear thinking about. One more complication to add to the list.

  This time I set out to find Beth, since she’d met Nate and even she had to agree he was above average—and way above the average of men I’d dated previously. There must have been a secret trapdoor I didn’t know about because I couldn’t find Beth either. I did spot my brother, Stephen, lurking near one of the food tables.

  Stephen is five years younger than I am and very handsome, but he’s never quite grown up. Doesn’t particularly bother me, because I don’t expect anything from him, but it’s played hell with most of his other relationships.

  “Hey, Stevie,” I called, using my childhood name for him.

  “Hey, Kitz.” The music changed to something more upbeat and jazzy. “That’s a little more like it,” he said. “I thought I’d accidentally wandered into a funeral.” It was too close to the truth to be clever, and he said quickly, “I went over to the quartet and made a request. Looks like they added a guitar player, too.”

  “That’s nice,” I said. “Have you heard the latest about what Houston’s done?”

  “Our cousin Houston or the city?” He seemed more interested in the musicians across the room than our conversation.

  “Our cousin Houston, of course. That man is not to be trusted—”

  “That’s nothing new. I was just about to get a drink; can I get you something?”

  “No, I’ve got to eat first,” I said. “Anyway, I was telling you about Houston. I think I’m going to need your help on this one. I got a call from some lawyer that Houston hired—”

  Stephen let out this long heartrending sigh. “Can we talk later?”

  “Why? This is important.”

  “I’m sorry, life is just a little complicated right now.”

  “Now that’s a first.” Stephen has been married three times, has one daughter, and is perpetually involved in something that isn’t working. “Look, I need—”

  “I’m going to grab that drink; I’ll talk to you later.” And he was gone.

  “Great idea,” I said to his back. Like a drink was going to make a difference in whatever complication he was facing this time. “And thanks for your support and concern.”

  I went for the hors d’oeuvres table and selected a small shish kebab with meatballs and green peppers. I was so hungry I thought about just gnawing the meat off the stick, but the last time I did that, I almost pierced my tongue.

  I gathered up a fork and a plate and sat at an empty table. Holding the stick tightly, I used the fork to push the meat. It didn’t budge. I gripped both fork and stick even tighter and tried again.

  A deep voice whispered in my ear, “Hello, Miss Kitz. I’ve missed you.” His lips grazed my ear. A shudder of ecstasy shot through me, my hand jerked, and the meatball flew into the air.

  The very handsome Nate Wright was standing above me. We both watched as the meatball glanced off the chandelier and headed for Earth.
I stood up. “We’d better get out of here.”

  He grabbed my hand and we ran to the foyer. “I had no idea you were interested in the space program,” he said.

  “Who knew I’d be that good at it?”

  Behind us the party went on, and no one screamed about falling meatballs.

  Nate was grinning. “Is life always this much fun around you?”

  I thought about Houston’s bid for the house, Beth’s divorce, and my mother’s failing memory. “I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll bet you’re wrong about that. At least you’re speaking to me.”

  “And why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Well, you haven’t returned my calls. After the third nonresponse I started to think you were sending a not-so-subtle message that I was too persistent to see.”

  “You called me?” I said. “Here?”

  “Are you surprised?”

  “Well, I haven’t heard about any calls, and if I had, I promise you, I’d have phoned you back. I may be of another generation, but I don’t buy that girls can’t call boys.” I looked at him. “Wait, who did you talk to?”

  “Your mother. At least she said she was your mother.”

  We have one phone line that can be picked up at the Manse or the gatehouse. We arranged that when my mom moved down there so she wouldn’t miss her calls. I hadn’t bothered to change it, since there hadn’t been a need, but now it appeared there was one. “I’m sorry about that. My mother forgets things. And she obviously didn’t give you my cell number.”

  “She gave me three different ones, and none of them were answered by you. Unless you sometimes go by Chenille.”

  “Nope, that’s a bedspread, not an alias.” I went on with my explanation. “We have everything programmed into speed dial on my mother’s phone, which is why she doesn’t know the numbers.” It’s pretty bad when the man of your dreams has been trying to get a hold of you and you didn’t get the message. “How about if I buy you a drink in the other room?” I asked. “I’ll even offer you some pretty terrific hors d’eouvres—but I can’t recommend the meatballs.”

  “I can understand that. I mean, who could top your expertise with them?”

  “Pun intended?”

  He grinned again. “Of course. James Boswell called a good pun ‘among the smaller excellencies of lively conversation. ’ And when I’m around you, everything is lively.”

  I raised one eyebrow and so did he. Was there a double entendre in that statement? I wasn’t about to ask, but I swear, even his eyes were grinning. I could feel everything including my stomach starting to blush, which is totally unacceptable at my age.

  I cleared my throat. “Shall we go get that drink?”

  His face changed from teasing to disappointed. That’s one of the things I like about Nate: he’s not afraid to be alive. I also like that every cell in my body goes on red alert when he’s around.

  “Kitzi, I’m sorry, but I can’t. Cordy has a sinus infection, and I just ran into town to drop off the necklace and pick up her prescription. I can’t stay.” I’d have argued, but I want him to be the kind of man who takes care of his sister. Who knows, I might need him to take care of me sometime. “But, I could stay long enough to get your cell number. And you could walk me to my car.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll add it to my new exercise program.”

  We went out through the kitchen door, and I was surprised to see that there was a security guard sitting at the opening to the tent. “Good evening,” I said, reaching out to shake his hand and introduce myself. “I didn’t know we’d have protection on the premises.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m Charles Jones. I’ll be here until 2 a.m., and then someone’ll take over for me. It’s just to make sure that everything in the booths is safe.”

  I hadn’t thought much about that either way, but at least I didn’t have to be responsible for all the jewelry inside the tent. “It’s nice to know you’re here,” I said. “If you need anything to eat or drink, just ring the bell on the back door and I’ll let you in. Or better still, I’ll put a key under the mat for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  I waved good-bye as we started toward the parking area. When Nate slipped an arm around me I noted again what an amazing effect he had on me. An hour ago I was tired and cranky, and now every part of me, including my hair, felt animated.

  “I’ll be coming back in town tomorrow evening,” Nate said. “Would you like to have dinner?”

  “With you?” I stopped. “Are you ever amazed at what comes out of your own mouth?”

  By this time we’d reached his car. In the darkness I wasn’t sure of the color, but I thought it was between bronze and sand. A Lincoln Navigator. The man traveled in style, much better style than when I’d first ridden with him. That day he’d been in an old beat-up Camp Green Clover van, but it had still been pretty wonderful, if I remember correctly.

  “So, dinner tomorrow?” he asked again. “How about if I pick you up around seven? We could listen to some jazz afterward.”

  He leaned against his car and slid both arms around me, pulling me to him. Then, his arms tightened and I could feel the muscles as he brought me even closer. I don’t think I was breathing. Then his mouth came down on mine. I’ve had some hot flashes in my days but nothing to equal the heat of that moment.

  The first kiss was soft. The second was longer and harder. I kissed him back, and for a minute thought I was going to melt right down through his arms and become part of the parking lot.

  “Hey, you two cut that out!”

  I jumped. It was that darn Bruce, coming up the walk behind us. He was with his wife, and she was shaking her head at him. He was grinning and even his beard couldn’t hide it. “Did I scare you? I didn’t want you to get carried away.”

  Nate said, “You mean like this?” He bent me over backward and kissed me dramatically.

  Once I could stand again, I said to him, “Let me guess, you wanted to grow up to be the sheik.”

  “And you are my blonde heroine.”

  “That’s hellcat to you,” I said.

  Nate was smiling. “So, my blonde hellcat, seven tomorrow night?”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Once Nate had closed the door, Bruce and Delphine walked by. Bruce said, “New boyfriend? You look like you’re about three feet off the ground. Just don’t fall off your cloud.”

  “I’m not a bit worried,” I said. Nate drove away with a last wave, and I saw Bruce and Delphine go toward their pickup, which was in the neighbor’s driveway behind a Dumpster.

  I let out a sigh. Maybe I was three feet above the ground. What’s more, I intended to stay there.

  Just the thought was smug and seemed to tempt the fates. No one stays on a cloud all that long; seems there’s always something sooner or later to knock you off. In my case it was sooner.

  I was off my cloud first thing in the morning.

  Six

  The sky was the sort of deep turquoise-cobalt blue mix that Austin is famous for. The grass was sharp emerald green, and the tent was still teal and white stripes. It would have been a nice mix to look at from my bedroom. With me still in bed.

  “Why don’t we do about forty minutes?” Beth said. “Then we’ll be back and still have time to change before the tea officially opens.”

  It was too early in the morning; we were wearing shorts and T-shirts ready to go for the gusto, or whatever it is that you get as a result of a forty-minute walk.

  “We could drive down to Sweetish Hill and get some croissants first,” I suggested.

  “We had whey shakes and that’s plenty. Think of them as milkshakes,” she said as we passed the tent. I didn’t see anyone outside, and it was closed off, so apparently the guard was asleep inside.

  “Why don’t we set a route,” I said, “and if we get done before the time is up, then great. And maybe it will take us longer than forty minutes.”

  “You’re conniving.”

  “I’m back-timin
g. It’s now eight fifteen. If we walk forty minutes, that’s nine.”

  “Five of.”

  “Close enough. The volunteers will be arriving, so we won’t have time to shower and get dressed.”

  “They aren’t coming until nine thirty because they got everything ready last night. Nothing officially starts until ten. We have plenty of time.”

  I growled, but I didn’t say anything. Who can argue with that kind of logic?

  We cut through the bushes to the parking lot, and I heard voices coming from over the fence where the house was being renovated. “Sounds like a party.”

  Beth, slightly ahead of me, picked up her pace. “A bad one. The cops are there.”

  I caught up with her and saw that not only were there police, there was also a special crimes unit SUV and a coroner’s van. That’s when I started running. Bruce might have broken up my good-night kissing with Nate, but he was still one great guy, and he’d been my closest neighbor for over a year—the whole time he was renovating the house. He and his wife had been at the Manse several times, and when I had a problem with the garage door, he was the one who’d fixed it. That was on a Saturday and he’d never let me pay him. When his wife made tamales or posole, guess who got some?

  I was almost out of breath when I rounded the corner and saw the big Dumpster with a ladder leaning against it.

  There were people everywhere, including a few in uniforms, and several more in plain clothes. I went up to the man who seemed to be in charge. He appeared about fifty, dark straight hair, cut in a style you’d call clean-cut or all-American. He had a bit of a belly hanging over his belt, and he was taking some notes on a handheld computer.

  “Good morning,” I said, still breathing hard. “I’m Kitzi Camden from next door.”

  “Yes, Ms. Camden, nice to meet you. I’m Senior Sergeant Dwayne Granger.” He put away the stylus he’d been using on his Dell Axim and shook hands with me. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  I hate when people over twenty call me “ma’am.” “It appears that something terrible happened here. I knew the contractor and several of the workmen. Are they okay?”