Bead onTrouble

by Barbara Burnett Smith

"What is?" My voice was snappy; I wasn't in the mood for anyone else's histrionics.

  "You haven't heard." Tony has never had a deep tan, but in the morning light he looked waxy.

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  "I'm fine." He looked around, and even though we were alone on a side trail, he dropped his voice. "Kitzi, the police were here. When I woke up, I heard them talking to Jennifer, May's assistant, and then they came and talked to me." He paused and swal owed hard. Finally he said, "It was about May Feather."

  My heart stuttered. Had she and Ron been caught in that dark parking lot? Maybe they were in the hospital.

  Tony ran his fingers through his curly hair, taking his time. Was that excitement or dread on his face?

  "What about May?" I asked a tad sharply.

  Tony said, "I'm sorry to tell you this, Kitzi, but . . . she's dead."

  "Dead?" My body went cold. Had I killed her last night when I rammed them? Oh, please God, no. "How did she die? Was it a wreck?"

  "I don't think they know—"

  "Then where?" I demanded, grabbing his arm.

  He looked surprised. "Some people downstream at the public campground found her body; it was half in the river, right at their campsite this morning."

  I let out my breath. I hadn't killed her. And then, with some horrible relief, I realized May's affair with Ron was over.

  I shuddered and must have made a noise because Tony grabbed me. "Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Fine." He didn't let go. "Really," I said. "I imagine I'm in shock. But, I don't understand. Why was May in the river? She hated water." Once I had invited her to go canoeing with me, and she had declined saying, "Wrong tribe—I don't swim."

  He shook his head. "I don't know."

  Had I caused a fight between May and Ron? Was she so devastated that she'd killed herself by jumping in the river?

  Was that even a possibility?

  I didn't know, but the guilt was all but drowning me, and I put my hand to my head, wishing my brain would shut down, or at least slow down. "It was some kind of accident, right? Is that what they think?"

  "I guess so." He didn't look positive. "The sheriff said there'd been a mishap; I'm pretty sure that's the word. I remember thinking, no one really says 'mishap.' Do they?"

  "I don't know, Tony."

  We heard someone coming toward us and turned to find Cordy hurrying up the path. "Kitzi!" she said. "I was looking for you." When she reached us she was breathing hard.

  Tony said, "I've already told her about May."

  "It's just tragic!" Cordy's face was flushed rather than white like Tony's. "I still can't believe it."

  "Neither can I," Tony said. "Did you talk to the police?

  Did they tell you anything?"

  "Mostly, they just asked questions and slowed the process of getting ready for breakfast," Cordy was taking deep breaths as if to calm herself. "But, they did say maybe she was out hiking last night and fell off the cliff into the river.

  They're searching all around right now to figure out what happened—the deputies, I mean. Sheriff Gonzales asked me for permission to be on camp property, but I don't think he had to. That was just courtesy on his part:'

  "He seemed like a nice guy," Tony said.

  "I hope, since we've got so many people here?'

  This was going to affect the retreat and Green Clover, too. I touched her arm. "Oh, Cordy, I'm sorry."

  "Thanks. I think I'll feel real bad about May later on, but right now, I'm just, I don't know. Something?'

  "Do you think people will leave?" Tony asked.

  "Most of them can't. They flew in, and the airlines won't let them change tickets like that—not without paying an arm and a leg. I suppose most of the women could go to hotels, but that's going to be expensive, what with meals and all." She took a breath. "And we've got more arriving today. It's too late to tell them to stay home—those damn airlines would just keep their money."

  But this wasn't really about airlines, this was about Green Clover. And Cordy, and May. Then I remembered that it might also be about all of us. Beth, Shannan, and Ron, And me.

  "I'm going for coffee," Tony said. "Maybe my brain will kick in. Cordy, if you hear any more, let me know. Oh, and if it's any consolation, I won't be leaving. I'll do my demonstrations as usual."

  "Thanks, Tony," she said, giving him a quick pat on the arm. "And don't say anything to anyone just yet. Everyone can at least have a good breakfast?'

  "No problem." He turned and went carefully down the path to the dining hall. His walk was missing its usual bounce.

  I found my breath and my manners at the same time. "Is there anything I can I do?" I asked. "You know I'll support you however I can?'

  "Don't leave, either, okay? Stay here, and somehow we'l keep the retreat going." Cordy bit her lip. "And, Kitz, would you make the announcement at breakfast? Nothing flowery, but something about May for those who didn't know her. Oh, and tell everyone how sorry I am that May got hurt . ."

  It was hard for her to admit the truth, that May Feather wasn't just hurt, but dead. I was having difficulty accepting it myself.

  I thought of May's surprised look in the glare of my headlights. Would that come out? What if May had gotten a whiplash, and it made her dizzy? Maybe it threw her balance off so when she got back to camp and went for a walk .

  "Yes," I said, talking to squash my thoughts. "I'll say something. Don't you have a bio on May? There was something in the newsletter you sent out. I could use some of that, or anything else you have. And I'll tell everyone that the retreat is going on. Is that what you had in mind?"

  "Something like that; I just don't know what else to do."

  "You're doing fine," I assured her. The Camden portion of my brain, the part that had faced the world in good times and in bad, was kicking in, clearing my thinking. "I have an idea," I said. "What if we have a memorial campfire this evening—our own sort of service? It would be a way to honor May." I didn't say it, but it might help make Satur-day and Sunday more normal, too.

  Cordy saw that and nodded. "That's perfect. We'll do the campfire at eight."

  "I don't give eulogies; can you get a minister for tonight?"

  "I'm sure I can. That retired minister from the Unity Church was going to do Sunday morning for us. I think she'd come down."

  Green Clover has a small outdoor chapel where nonde-nominational services are held every Sunday during the camping season. As a kid, I always griped about having to get up early for chapel on Sunday, but the services were nice, and sometimes my parents came. I was glad the tradition continued.

  "I'm going to be very brief this morning," I said. I'd agreed to do this because of sorrow for May, and some of my own guilt, but it still left me wondering what I was going to say. "I'd better go make some notes. Oh, and if there are questions, I'd like you to handle those."

  She nodded. "Damn, I just feel so bad that this happened"

  "I know you do:" I turned to go but had another thought.

  "Cordy," I said, stopping her. "People could find out about this before I make the announcement. They might ask about May. And her assistant already knows. Wasn't she staying in May's trailer? Where is she now?"

  "Jennifer? I don't know, but I'd better go find her." She shook her head. "May and I were never close, but she was a nice person and she didn't deserve to die so young.

  She was talented, too:'

  "A very talented designer," I agreed.

  That's when I remembered Tivolini and the proposed contract. "The Tivolini buyer," I said. "Is she here? Will she stay?"

  "Yes, she'll stay. Look, I'll get to Jennifer and ask her not to say anything just yet." She still looked overwhelmed.

  'Thanks, Kitzi. I knew you'd help?'

  "You're welcome?" I was thinking about May, and what to tell people about her. I remembered her hands, stringing the beads with such fluid beauty as she worked. That's what I wanted to focus on.

  Cordy was still talking to m
e.

  ". . I hate to tell you . . ." She closed her eyes, as if sorting through her thoughts.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "What were you saying?"

  "Never mind. It can wait."

  "Are you sure?"

  "It wasn't important. I'll see you in a few."

  "Okay." I had moved on to think about Shannan and how this was going to affect her. Would she feel guilt? Or relief?

  I had to break the news to her before breakfast so she'd be prepared; I couldn't let this come at her out of the blue—

  And then I realized—she could already be talking about May to her mother,

  In her innocence, she could be talking about May to anyone.

  _ I swerved up onto the main path and crashed into another person. The poor man almost had to pick himself out of a tree I'd hit him so hard.

  "I'm so sorry. It was my fault:" I said. He was in his early fifties with thinning brown hair. I helped him brush off his jacket. "Are you okay? I didn't realize I was such a powerhouse!'

  "You know the math problem about two trains coming toward each other at sixty miles an hour? I think that was us." He stood up straight, and I realized that we were about the same height. "I'm fine," he said. "How about you?"

  "I'm okay. I was just in such a hurry—if you're sure you're all right, I'd better get going!' I turned, but at a more seemly pace.

  "Uh, ma'am. If you have a minute, I sure could use some help."

  looked at him more carefully. He wasn't a camper, and he wasn't someone from Dripping Springs or Wimberley.

  His shirt and pants were khaki colored and his work boots had seen a lot of use. The jacket I'd brushed leaves off of was olive green and only partially zipped. The shine of metal peeked out from the left side, and that could only be a badge. I was talking to someone official, probably one of the officers investigating May's death.

  "Sure," I said. "It's just, you know, if I could ... I mean, I don't—"

  "That'd be just fine:' He added a smile to the ambiguous phrase, but he didn't move. "You heard about the misfortune down at the river?"

  We'd gone from mishaps to misfortunes.

  "Yes. I was just going to—" I stopped and straightened.

  "Here's the thing: Cordelia, the owner of the camp, asked me to make an announcement at breakfast about May Feather; I was on my way to write something up. I sure don't want to put my foot in my mouth."

  He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

  So did that mean I could go or I should stay?

  I just couldn't be as obtuse as he was. "I don't have a whole lot of time:'

  "I guess breakfast isn't too far off?"

  I looked at my watch. "About twenty minutes, but people will be gathering for coffee."

  "Did you know May Feather well? You must have if you're going to make the announcement." He was drifting toward me so that we were face to face on the path. "Old friends?"

  I had to talk to this man, and I figured it would be best to do it in his own language. Good ol' boy. Some say it's the language of Texas politics, and you have to speak it if you want to be understood. I'm not nearly as good at it as our esteemed former governor, Ann Richards, but I can hold my own.

  "I wouldn't say May and I were old friends," I said adding a little more Texas accent. "I've known her for . .."

  When I realized how long I'd known her, it almost jolted me out of my drawl. "I met her about ten years ago, but I don't remember where. I saw her mostly at bead functions, and I'm not a regular attendee. I just show up a couple of times a year. There are lots of others who are more involved—" Like Beth, and if I didn't keep my mouth shut, I was going to get her in trouble.

  "And what would those 'bead functions' be?" he asked.

  "Bead Society meetings. Bead Shows. Exhibits."

  "Did you two socialize outside of those events?"

  "No, we never did."

  He nodded. "I see. I seem to be holding you up. I didn't get your name."

  "Katharine Camden. Kitzi Camden."

  One of his eyebrows went up, and I waited. Either he had loved my politics, my father, and my grandfather or he hadn't, and he might even want to tell me about it.

  "I'm Sheriff Ben Gonzales," he said, holding out his hand. We shook and he added, "I can see now why you were picked to say a few words." His hand was rough from weather and use. "I just have one more question for you, Ms. Camden." For the first time, I noticed the rumpled notebook sticking out of his pocket. "You know anyone who was a good friend of May Feather?"

  I took a breath, exhaled, and counted to three before I spoke. That's what I train people to do when they're thrown by a question from the media, but it was the first time I'd ever used it with a cop, since normally I'm on their side.

  "No, I'm afraid I don't know who her close friends were:'

  What about enemies? Competitors? Lovers? Like Ron Fairfield? The sheriff didn't ask, and I didn't offer. "I assume May's assistant, Jennifer.. uh, Jennifer . ."

  "Webster," he said.

  "Thank you—I just went blank. Silver moment," I said.

  "Wasn't she close to May?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Anyone else you can think of?"

  He was watching me carefully.

  "May used to be married, but she divorced years ago.

  She didn't have children. I don't know of anyone else."

  Liar; liar, pants on fire. "I'm sorry I can't help you—we just weren't, well, we didn't talk much at all, and when we did it was about beadwork."

  He nodded politely. "Thank you for your time. I'm just trying to find out who she was with last night after her demonstration." He looked inquisitively at me, and even though I could envision May's face in the glare of my lights, I kept my mouth clamped shut. My silence felt like a lie.

  "Well, then, Ms. Camden," he said, "I'll look forward to hearing what you have to say at breakfast."

  He moved a lot quicker now, and I was looking at his back in the olive jacket before I realized that he had information I needed. "Wait, Sheriff. Do you have just a minute more?"

  He turned. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "Uh, could you tell me a few things? Everyone will want to know how May died. And when. Can I get that from you?"

  "I wish you could, but I don't know how she died just yet. The medical team will make that judgment. As for the time of death, they're going to have to tell me that, too."

  He wasn't being any more helpful than I had been, which I suppose was all right, since turnabout is fair play.

  "Do you know if she drowned, or if she was killed by the fall?"

  "No, ma'am," he shook his head sadly. "I just can't say."

  "But she was found this morning? At what time?"

  "Around six-thirty." He looked at his watch and said,

  "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. I'd best be off. Oh, and Ms. Camden, if you ever need a job, you'd make a fine reporter."

  À job?" He assumed that I was useless, just like some people assume all Camdens are useless unless we're in political office. There are those who think the time we spend in office is a big waste, too. Mostly our political opponents.

  However, I do work. I train people how to speak in public. Besides straightforward presenting, I share with them a whole bag of tricks that can be used on reporters and the brand of politician who thinks he and his ideas are better than everybody else's.

  The temptation was to use a few on a sheriff.

  I didn't. I showed him—I gave him what I teach, which is straightforward communication. "I have a job," I said, the drawl disappearing. In its place my diction was crisp and my words concise. I was standing up taller, too. "I'm a corporate trainer. I also coach people in public speaking and working with the media."

  "Well, isn't that something. I'll bet you're real good, too. Did you teach the president how to speak? He sure has gotten better recently."

  "No," I said. "I've worked with the former Texas attorney general. Isn't he the highest-ranking law enforcement officer in the state?"

  S
heriff Gonzales started to smile. I should have remembered that to officers in the field, the attorney general is nothing more than a politician. So much for my attempt at one-upmanship. "Yes, ma'am, he certainly is," the sheriff said. "You've done a real fine job with him—I've heard him speak a time or two, and he's quite articulate!'

  "Thank you."

  "Well, let you get to your speech writing."

  I turned and went.

  Here it was only Friday and I was wishing that the retreat were over It was hard to be enthused when May was dead.

  On an entirely separate track, I was not excited about running into Jeb. And what would happen if the sheriff found out I'd lied to him. Or if Ron found out I'd spied on him and rammed his car.

  I had certainly made the most of my short time at Green Clover. Whatever else went on this weekend, I could only hope that no one, absolutely no one, ever found out about May's affair with Ron.

  Unfortunately, that secret was in the hands of a seventeen year old, who could be spilling it at that very moment. That got me moving, and I was almost at the cabin when I spotted Beth coming out the door.

  "You must have really crashed last night," she said.

  "Are you all right?" She looked tired, and her hair wasn't improving.

  "Sure. Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "When we went to bed, you were out cold."

  "Must be the fresh air or the sleep of the just," I said.

  "Where's Shannan?"

  "Sleeping." She shook her head. "My dear daughter was hanging out with Jennifer last night and for some reason, don't ask me why, she got into our liquor supply. You'll find that you're short a lot of beer and some rum."

  Another sin tacked onto my account. But had she said anything? "That's a disgusting combination. And the rum wasn't mine."

  "It's no one's now, because Shannan drank it. I found her sitting on the rock a little after midnight. She could barely walk."

  "Damn." Swearing was added to my growing list of sins. "I'm sorry. Is she all right? Did she say why she drank so much?"

  The worried expression I had seen way too often lately on Beth's face was back. "No, but you know how she's been. There's no point in trying to talk to her now. She's dead to the world."