Beads of Doubt (6 page)

“I do.” And I liked Houston better for it.

“It was a tough time, but what came out of it was good: I started developing some of my own investment strategies. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve put together the best deals we’ve got.”

“Good for you.”

He looked around. “I get the impression that you and Houston aren’t tight. Is that right? Seems like you’ve had some, well, shall we say, differences?”

“You can say it if you want.” Free world, free speech. Doesn’t mean I like it, or him.

“Like the way he’s working to take over the Manse.” He shook his head. “That’s a damn shame. I hope you can stop it.”

“Thank you.” In that moment he reminded me of Eddie Haskell from
Leave It to Beaver
. Maybe not as smarmy, but there was something . . .

“Can I trust you to keep something confidential?” he asked.

“If you’re asking me to keep sacred the sanctity of the confessional, I’m not a priest.”

He blinked, trying to figure out what I’d said. “No, I know that.” He blinked a couple more times and apparently wrongly assumed I’d said yes. He dropped his voice. “Here’s the thing: I’m going out on my own. Not that Houston hasn’t been a great mentor, but he’s not doing everything he could be doing to make money. You know . . .”

“For his clients?”

“Right.” Andrew smiled. “I’ve found some ways to increase the income, which in turn increases the capital. People are looking for that. After the downturn in the high-tech market, most people want the maximum return they can get. It only makes sense.”

I didn’t remind him that most people always want the maximum return. “I see.”

“And I’ve got some great investments I’d like to talk to you about. I could make you a lot of money.”

I know people think that money will get them anything, but I don’t like messing with it. I don’t want to have to watch the markets, or real estate, or anything else. I just want to have enough whenever I need it. Like everyone else. “Most of my money is tied up,” I said.

“Well, whatever is loose could be working for you. Let me give you a call next week, okay? I’ll be looking for new offices. Then it will be official and I can tell Houston.”

Now that was an interesting piece of news. “And Houston didn’t have you sign a noncompete?”

He shook his head. “Nope. And why bother? This is a right-to-work state, so any judge would throw a suit like that out of court. I have to make a living. They’re not going to make me work at McDonald’s.”

I wasn’t too sure about that; however, it seemed Houston wasn’t as smart as I’d thought. A basic noncompete would at least prevent Andrew from taking Houston’s clients. I was thoroughly disgusted at Andrew’s duplicity and annoyed that he was confiding in me. I also didn’t like that I was feeling protective of Houston.

“Well, I wish you luck,” I said. It’s a favorite phrase of mine because I don’t specify which kind of luck. “I’m going to get something to drink.”

“I see a couple of my clients—think I’ll go visit with them. Afterward do you mind if I wander around and look at the Manse?”

Even though he wouldn’t be taking measurements of closets or walls for Houston, I still didn’t like it. Andrew was not the fine, upstanding young man I’d thought. I hoped the caterers would protect the silver. “Sure. Enjoy looking,” I said, with stress on the word
looking
.

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.