Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  I was too far away to touch her, and I wasn’t sure she’d want my sympathy. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  There was a silence in the dim room. She only let it linger for a minute or so, and then she looked at me with a smile. “When Andrew called to tell us he was back, I was surprised at how excited and happy we were to see him. I guess it’s just the energy.” She laughed softly. “Being around all that exuberance is better than watching television, that’s for sure.”

  “Andrew helped invest for you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes. Of all the people in the world, we knew that Andrew would take care of us as if we were family. I suppose in a way, I felt as though we were. He was almost all we had left of Donovan.”

  She went to the big, old cabinet-style TV. I could see the warmth in her face as she picked up a picture and ran her finger across it as if there might be dust. Or maybe it was just to make contact with the young man who gazed back at her from the photo.

  “Is that your grandson?” I asked.

  “Yes.” She handed me the picture. “Wasn’t he a handsome devil?”

  And he was. What I held appeared to be his high school graduation picture. He was wearing a suit and leaning forward toward the camera, his smile just a touch cocky but engaging. His hair was long—it came below his ears—and his eyes had a premature crinkle of humor. I think I’d have liked Donovan.

  I couldn’t help but smile as I handed back the photo. “What a charmer. It’s like he’s having such a good time—even getting his picture taken.”

  “That was Donovan. He could find fun anywhere. Even here at his grandparents’ house.”

  She put the picture on the TV and took a new seat in an upholstered armchair of watery turquoise stripes. Her happy smile had faded. “Life is sometimes very hard, isn’t it?”

  I was thinking of Andrew and Tess when I nodded. “Yes. Sometimes it is.”

  “Some things just seem wrong, don’t you agree?”

  “I agree,” I said. “A friend once said if you want fair, go to the carnival.”

  “That’s terrible but so true. As we get older, it seems as though we see more—or maybe we just recognize the wrongness of things. Like criminals. Why are they alive when good people die? And why don’t we die in order?” The words seemed hard coming from this gentle woman. “It should be the oldest first. It’s not right that our children and grandchildren leave before us. I know they’re going to a better place, but it’s so lonely without them. I read in the newspaper about a 105-year-old man who is living in France. Now what could he possibly be adding to the world?”

  It was a great question and not one that I was qualified to answer. “I don’t know,” I said. “I keep thinking there’s a plan, but I’ve never understood it.”

  Mrs. Yancy shook her head sorrowfully. Then said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this a sad conversation.” She brought her hands to her lap. “Earl always says to stay in the present. I guess he’s right. Oh, and here you came all the way out here and I didn’t even offer you refreshments.” She stood up quickly. “Would you like something to drink? I have iced tea and sodas.”

  “No, thank you. Please, stay where you were. I’m fine.” She sat again, and I went on. “I really came to see if you could give me some information. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your time.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me how Andrew invested money for his clients. What he was buying. Stocks? Bonds? Real estate? I can’t seem to find out.”

  She thought about it before she said, “Well, he insisted on diversification, of course, but primarily with us he was buying a boat. A yacht, actually. It was very large, and it had been seized because of drugs. Andrew used our funds to bid on it at federal auction and got it for a small percentage of its value. The High Jinx. It’s in the process of being remodeled, just like a house.”

  “And when it sells there will be a profit?”

  Her chest seemed to deflate. “That was the intention, but investments don’t always turn out the way they are supposed to. I’m sure you heard that we argued with Andrew at your party. I should apologize, and I am sorry. That was very rude of us. I was just so upset.” She stopped and shook her head, the sadness again evident on her face. “Now Andrew is dead and my last words to him were angry ones. I think I’ve lived too long.”

  Her husband was just entering the room, and I swear he growled like a grizzly bear.

  Sixteen

  He could only have heard her last words: I think I’ve lived too long.

  “Louise, don’t do this to yourself.” He stopped between us, so that I saw just his profile. “Sometimes life is hard,” he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “But we’ve always made it through, and we will now. There are lots of good times ahead for us.”

  Both gentleness and love showed on her face as she reached up and touched his hand. “And you’re almost always right, Earl. It’s very annoying sometimes, too.”

  “Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that before.” He was smiling as he turned to me. “You’re Kitzi Camden.”

  I stood up and held out my hand. “And you must be Earl Yancy. Nice to meet you.”

  His hand was large but the skin was crinkly, like all the juice was out of his body. His voice was welcoming, though. “Likewise. I always like having pretty women at the house.”

  “Oh, Earl,” Louise said. “Why don’t you sit down and join us?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “But I really need to go. I didn’t realize how late it’s getting, and I’m on my way to visit a friend in the hospital.”

  “Sure we can’t talk you into some wine?” Earl asked. “The sun is over the yardarm. Or the yardman. Or someplace.”

  “No, thanks,” I said with a laugh. “I’d better go, but I’ll take a rain check.” I started toward the door, and they followed. As Earl opened the door for me, I said to Louise, “I really appreciate your help. And anytime you’d like to come by and see the Manse, just give me a call. I’d love to give you a guided tour.” I pulled a card out of my purse; for once I didn’t have to spend time digging for it. “You can always reach me at one of those numbers.”

  “That’s wonderful. We’ll do it,” Louise said as I left.

  I climbed into the Land Rover and tossed my purse on the passenger seat. Now I had two completely conflicting reports of Andrew’s expertise. Louise had said that things didn’t turn out well; Andrew had bragged that he was making more money for his clients than Houston was.

  I started the car and drove off, thinking about that. Seemed to me there was only one way to prove who was right. Since the police had Andrew’s computer, and we couldn’t get back in it, and since they had his files, we would just have to track down the High Jinx. That big a yacht wouldn’t be impossible to find. There had to be a registry of boat numbers, and that would mean the state. I was pretty sure I could influence someone to track down what I needed to know.

  I was also curious about the accident that killed the Yancys’ grandson, Donovan. Who else was in the car? Who was driving, and who were the other people involved?

  If we could get that, we could cross-check the names with Andrew’s clients, assuming, of course, that we could find out who his clients were, and we could match it with the guest list. Lots of ifs and coulds in there, and that didn’t take into account the poker players I might meet that evening.

  There was something else tucked away in the back of my brain, and it chose that moment to surface. Bruce had said that Andrew needed killing, and I had to wonder why and how those two knew each other.

  I stopped at a drugstore and put my cell phone earplug in. It annoys me when other people have private conversations on the phone while they’re out in public, but I didn’t intend to do the talking. At least not much talking. I was just going to ask questions.

  By the time I was walking through the automatic doors, I could hear ringing on the other end, and then Bruce answered. “Yo.”r />
  “Yo, yo-self,” I said. “I have two quick questions for you. Do you have time to answer?”

  “Is this a marketing survey?”

  “No, this is Kitzi.” I headed toward the candy aisle and started looking for Tess’s favorite kind. “Do you have time?”

  “I guess. What’s up?”

  “How did you know Andrew Lynch?”

  “When my sister was sick we met at the Relay for Life. She and I were walking, and he was with a client who had some other kind of cancer. He wasn’t walking; he’d just donated some money.”

  “Did you invest with him?”

  “Some.”

  I was looking up and down the shelves. “Is that when he started talking about investing money, at the Relay for Life?” I asked.

  “You knew Andrew—what do you think?”

  “That was the day.” I found them: Red Vines licorice. Tess used to chomp her way through a bag a week when the pressure was on. “What did he put your money into?”

  “Do you have a license to ask these kinds of questions?”

  “Nope. Do I need one?” Now I was heading toward hair products. “Are you going to tell me?” I swear that what I was looking for just jumped off the shelf and into my hand. I couldn’t help grinning when I thought of what Beth’s reaction was going to be. “Well?” I asked Bruce. “Where did he invest your money?”

  “A yacht. It was at a great price because the government was auctioning it. We knew going in that a lot of work had to be done on it.”

  “It wasn’t by any chance named the High Jinx?” I asked. I was already at the counter, taking out my debit card.

  “Yeah. Why? Did you invest in it, too?”

  “No, but from the way you talk, right about now it might be for sale cheap.” I ran my card through the payment machine. “How much of your money was in it?”

  “That’s pretty damn personal, don’t you think?”

  “Okay, then I’ll break it down into categories: (A) just a little, (B) a whole lot, or (C) probably more than you should have put in.”

  “All of the above.”

  I picked up the sack with the things I’d bought, smiled at the young cashier, and started for the door. “That’s all I needed to know, Bruce. It’s always a joy talking to you.”

  It was still sunny by the time I got to the hospital, but it was late afternoon and I had a lot to do. I would have to keep the visit short.

  Upstairs I tiptoed into Tess’s room and discovered that she had a roommate. A woman who looked to be somewhere in her late seventies was sleeping, and snoring, in the bed next to the door. There was an IV going into her left wrist, and her right hand seemed to be twitching. She must have been sick for sometime because her hair was completely flat on one side, with light brown, matted curls on the other. There was also a good inch and a half of gray roots at the scalp.

  I supposed that in the list of indignities that came with illness, that was a minor one, but still, it was obvious that she cared about her appearance and hadn’t been able to do anything about it of late.

  The curtain between the two beds was pulled closed, and I kept on going, practically tiptoeing around it. On the other side was a wheelchair. Had Tess been too weak to walk on her own?

  Tess was lying in the bed, staring out the window. A magazine was spread open on her chest, as if the view outside was better than anything inside. Or maybe she was sleeping. I kept going around the bed until I could see her face. She was awake, and she smiled when she saw me.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, yourself,” I said. “Look at you.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I wouldn’t like to, thank you very much.” She ran her hand over her short hair. “I’m graying, aging, and belching. None of that is good.”

  I laughed. “Well, on you it’s all good.” Her skin had color today, and the waxy sheen was gone. Her eyes were brighter, too. “Obviously the transfusion helped. You seem so much better.”

  “If this is an improvement, I don’t even want to know what I looked like when I came in here.”

  “Dull and boring,” I said, handing her the sack of candy. “These ought to perk you up.” I sat in a chair and took a good look at her. She really did appear better. Thank God for things like doctors, hospitals, and blood transfusions.

  “Red Vines?” She poked a fingernail through the plastic and brought the sack close to her face. “Even the smell is wonderful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Soft, squishy footsteps entered the room, and someone who had a professionally cheerful voice spoke to the woman on the other side of the curtain.

  “Mrs. Winston, did you turn on your call button?”

  “Yes, I did. I told you before, I was supposed to get the bed by the window.”

  “I’m sorry, but as I said to both you and your sister, we don’t have a bed by a window. As soon as we get one, we’ll move you.”

  “They promised me. Before I agreed to come to this hospital, they promised me.”

  “Can I get you anything to drink? Are you thirsty?”

  “No. It’s dark in here. I can’t stand this dark. Why didn’t I get the window bed?”

  “Let me turn a light on for you. Would you like the TV on, too?”

  “No. I can’t sleep with the light and the TV on. I just want my window.”

  Luckily the woman couldn’t see us, because Tess and I were openly listening, and I was making faces. I leaned forward and whispered to Tess, “When did she get here?”

  “Last night,” she said softly. “She’s been asking for the window ever since.”

  “Oops. I guess that’s my fault. I’m the one who got you moved.”

  “I told the nurse I’d switch, but they said that it was too much trouble now that both of us were here. Something about phones and records.”

  We couldn’t help but eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation:

  “I’ll be back in just a little bit to take your vitals, if there’s nothing else—”

  “The window bed. I told you. They promised me the window bed. Why can’t I have the window?”

  “We’ll move you just as soon as one becomes available.”

  “But I want one, now. I was promised.”

  We heard the nurse leave the room.

  “Has she been like this all day?” I asked, and Tess nodded. “Oh, brother,” I said quietly. “So, other than that, how are you feeling?”

  “Better. You know. Still not too perky, but a lot better than I was.”

  “Have they done any tests?”

  Tess curled a lip. “I spent half the day with someone either asking me questions or poking at me. Now I know how those presidential appointees feel after Congress gets done with them.”

  “Have they figured out anything to do for you?”

  “Still no treatment plan,” she said. “First I’ll finish the tests, then they—and I don’t know who they is—will get the results and consult with some other doctors, so they can come up with a plan.”

  “I want to know when you get some results. And what they are going to do for you.”

  “Yes, senator.”

  “Good. Have you called Melissa?” Melissa is her twenty-five-year-old daughter. A beautiful young woman, bright, and a lot like my son Will. Too busy to take time for parents. “When is she flying in? It won’t be any trouble for me to pick her up at the airport.”

  “I’m not quite sure. How is the tea going?”

  “Wait just a minute. What do you mean, you’re not sure? Have you called her, or what?”

  Tess took her time, raising her bed and pulling her tray closer so she could sit up and sip some juice through a straw. “I must need the vitamins—this juice tastes wonderful.”

  “You still haven’t answered my question. Have you called her? Does she know you’re in the hospital?”

  “Kitzi, I’m old enough to run my own life. I called her, we talked, and she probably won’t be coming out here.”


  “Well, now, that’s devotion for you. Except,” I said, “did you say you were really sick?”

  “I’ll be fine in a week or so.”

  “Just because you’ll get better doesn’t preclude you from being really sick now. I’ll bet you told her not to come. In fact, I’d put fifty dollars on it.”

  She leaned back against her pillow. “Save your money. I told her not to come.”

  “Did you need something?” We heard a different voice, but still professional, addressing Tess’s roommate.

  “I want some juice. Real juice, not those cocktail things. And I need something for anxiety. I’m very distressed.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Just let me check your chart, and I’ll be right back.”

  “I wouldn’t be so upset if I hadn’t been lied to. I was promised a window, you know.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. You rest, and I’ll be right back.”

  I whispered again. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Something on her lungs and something else, but I haven’t heard what.”

  In a normal voice, I asked, “So who is taking care of Rafferty?” Her seventy-pound Airedale might be an exceptionally clever boy, but he certainly couldn’t be living alone.

  “Marie next door is taking him for walks and feeding him. She really likes him, but her yard isn’t fenced, so she can’t have a dog. This way, she has mine, at least temporarily.” She reached for her juice again, but it took more effort this time. “Tell me about the Tea. How did today go?”

  I gave her a quick overview, and she was pleased to hear about the high attendance and how much the vendors had been selling. Then I told her about Andrew, whom she’d only met once. I’d kept it from her yesterday, but now I had enough distance to talk about it without emotion. I also mentioned that Houston had almost landed in jail.

  “Too bad they didn’t keep him,” she said.

  “Isn’t that the truth? Except my mother and my aunt Miranda were very upset, so I had to ask the police to let him go. Oh, and guess what I did then?” I told her about Lauren and getting the computers linked up, as well as our excursion to Houston’s office. I was careful not to let anything slip about Houston’s bid to takeover the Manse. Tess would worry about it, and she didn’t need worry—she needed rest and a little entertainment.