Butterfly (56 page)

Danny wanted to own it. Beverly kept a watchful eye on him. She had her private inves-

tigator, Jonas Buchanan, who now worked for no one but Beverly, make regular reports

on Danny’s financial movements. He was spreading out over America like an octopus, his

tentacles reaching out and grasping. His power grew daily; his wealth was multiplying; he

now owned people as well as things.

“When?” Maggie often asked Beverly. “When are you going to stop him? When are we

going to have our revenge?”

But the time was never right. Beverly was cautious; she wanted to make sure that when

she did finally confront him again, face-to-face, the advantage would be all hers. That

there was no chance of her losing. And that he would be destroyed.

Now she was building up her arsenal. She had bought Monument Publications

because of its pornographic sideline. This, together with some other carefully crafted

deals, would be dangled on a hook in front of Danny, and he would grab for it. In his

greed, he would take it all, playing right into their hands. And someday Beverly was going

to turn his own greed against him.

“I know how we can arrange the sale,” Maggie said now. “Through the stockbroker I

used to work for. His is a large company. They have offices in Texas.”

“Let’s get on it, then. Maggie, get ahold of this management firm. I want to talk to

them as soon as possible. Carmen, you get together with Ann. I want this new company

operating and supplying our restaurants inside of six months. And see if anyone can come

up with a name.”

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Kathryn Harvey

Maggie collected the papers, slipped them into her brief case and said, “How about

Royal Farms?”

Beverly looked at Carmen, who nodded. “All right, Royal Farms it is. By November 1

want Danny Mackay signing the papers of ownership.”

As Carmen was following Maggie through the door she paused and looked back.

Beverly was still seated at her desk, settling into a few more hours of work. There was her

Chamber of Commerce report to be written, on her proposed plan for the launching of a

new eighties image for Hollywood; there were speeches to be prepared and invitations to

be accepted or declined; and Beverly had to get ready for her trip next week to Sacramento,

where she was going to meet with state lawmakers on the abortion issue, Beverly’s latest

personal project. She was pro-choice, wanting not only legalization of abortion but also

counseling centers for pregnant teenagers, showing them the alternatives.

“Hey,
amiga,”
Carmen said softly. “It’s your birthday tomorrow. Let’s do something.

Let us take you out to dinner. I can reserve a private room at Perrino’s. A woman should-

n’t turn forty alone.”

Beverly smiled at her friend. “Thanks, Carmen. But I don’t care for birthday parties. I

only ever had one in my entire life, and that one was enough for me.”

Carmen gazed across the mote-dusted sunlight and, for an instant, shared Beverly’s

memory of cheap champagne lying flat in paper cups and Hazel’s voice saying, “Here’s to

our favorite girl.” And Danny coming to take Rachel out for her birthday and delivering

her instead into the hands of a back-alley butcher.

Then Carmen thought of their reunion in Dallas, fifteen years ago, and how Beverly

had taught her to dream and to make those dreams come true, and that made Carmen

think of all the people Beverly was inspiring today with that same spirit and ambition,

going to colleges and clubs and her own stores and companies and telling people of all

ages, young and old, to dare to take chances, to dare to live their fantasies.

If only—Carmen wished as she left the office and quietly closed the door behind her-

self—Beverly’s private dream could come true, how perfect her life would be! But Jonas

Buchanan, although he still searched and followed leads (now employing other investiga-

tors), had come no closer to finding the lost mother and sister. Naomi Burgess’s trail went

cold in Medford, Oregon, and Christine Singleton, married for a while, Jonas had dis-

covered, to a man named Rutherford back in 1958, had had her marriage annulled, and

she, too, had vanished.

Then Carmen thought of Danny Mackay and how it was because of him that Beverly

would not allow herself to fell in love, that she lived the solitary life even though there

were men, Jonas Buchanan among them, who clearly were devoted to her. And Carmen

also knew that Beverly’s vow to someday take revenge on Danny still burned steadily in

her heart.

Memories flooded back into Maggie’s mind, memories of swimming with Joe in

Mission Bay, of walks through Balboa Park, of long, romantic days at the zoo, lying on

the grass and watching the lazy progress of clouds. But, of course, Maggie realized as she

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245

pulled into the parking lot of the Outrigger Restaurant, those days were long gone and

San Diego was a different town. In fact, it was a city now.

As she followed the saronged hostess through the dark, wharf-like restaurant, Maggie

wondered if Pete had changed much. After all, it had been ten years—

My God, he was exactly the same.

Suddenly self-conscious of her weight, and surprised to realize how good-looking he

was and wondering why she hadn’t noticed it when she had worked for him, Maggie

hugged her former boss with tears in her eyes. He reminded her of the good days, of sim-

pler days, before Danny Mackay and Joe’s tragic death.

“I can’t tell you how surprised I was when my secretary said you had called!” Pete

Forman said. “I said to her, Maggie
Kern?
Are you sure the caller identified herself as

Maggie Kern? And then when I dialed the number she gave me and I heard your voice

come on the line, sounding just like you did when you used to work for me, I nearly fell

over! Maggie, you look great! How’s Joe? That’s your husband’s name, isn’t it?”

“Joe died ten years ago, Pete,” she said softly as two piña coladas were set before them.

He laid his hand over hers. It was warm and dry and reassuring. “I’m sorry to hear

that, Maggie. Why didn’t you come right back to San Diego? I meant it when I said you

could always have your job back.”

She smiled. “I got a better offer.”

Pete and Maggie got reacquainted over teriyaki chicken, wild rice, parmesan vegeta-

bles, and more piña coladas. To their right the restaurant slowly filled up. Candles in red

globes flickered on tables and cast shadows on old fishing nets, Hawaiian tikis, and fake

crates marked “Singapore,” “Shanghai,” and “Cairo,” while to their left fabulous Mission

Bay stretched in endless blue to meet the endless blue of the smog-free San Diego sky.

Maggie began to wonder why she hadn’t done this a long time ago.

Over coffee she explained the purpose of her visit.

“As you can see, Pete,” she said, spreading sheets out for him on the table. “Royal

Farms owns some of the best growing land in the Central Valley. The beef comes from the

best herds. And I know you’re familiar with the management firm that is running it for

us. Look at the profits already, in just five months of operation.”

He studied the figures and nodded, impressed. “You say that Royal Farms is the
sole

supplier of food and paper products to the Royal Burger franchise? Why does your boss

want to sell?”

“She wants to expand the Royal Burger chain and she needs the cash.”

Pete didn’t need to be told the significance of that. He’d been in the investment busi-

ness for too many years. Normally, an agricultural company wasn’t a very good invest-

ment—he would shy away from it. But this one had a guaranteed market. And what a

market! Not only that, but the money from the sale of this company was going to expand

the very market that was going to buy its products!

“I can see your mouth watering, Pete.”

“Maggie, if you’re asking me to find you a buyer, give me five minutes and I’ll give you

a hundred of them!”

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Kathryn Harvey

She rubbed her cheek and looked out at the sailboats on the bay. Here came the deli-

cate part.

“Well, I do want you to handle the sale for us, Pete. But we already have a purchaser in

mind. You see, my boss is a keen supporter of a certain evangelist and his ministry. Since

Royal Farms is her baby, so to speak, since she created it herself and has run it herself, she

wants to be certain that it passes into worthy hands. She wants the preacher to buy it.”

“Does he want to buy it?”

“We don’t know. That will be part of your job.”

“How can she be sure he
will
buy it?”

There was no room for doubt there. Carmen’s financial file on Danny Mackay was as

thick as a telephone book. Now that Good News Ministries was pulling in millions of

dollars annually, and now that he was seen coast to coast on television, Danny Mackay

was acquisition-mad. He bought anything he could lay his hands on, as long as it prom-

ised profits.

“Where is this buyer located?”

“In Houston. I thought you might contact someone in your Galveston office, have

him meet with the buyer, conduct the actual sale, and then split the commission with

you.”

“It will be my pleasure,” he said as he gathered up the papers and slipped them into

their folder. “I’ll get on it right away.”

Maggie looked at her watch and was surprised to see how late it was. The restaurant

would soon be serving dinner.

“Surely you’re not going to drive back to L.A. now, are you?” Pete said, folding his

arms on the table and leaning slightly toward her. “The traffic will be murder for the next

few hours.”

“I’ll find somewhere to stay on Hotel Circle and go back in the morning.”

“How about staying at my place?”

Their eyes met and held for three heartbeats, in which time Maggie fleetingly pictured

Pete Forman’s fabulous house on the bay, with its private beach hidden by trees. Then she

said, “What about your wife?”

“Corinne divorced me five years ago.”

She was suddenly afraid. Since Joe’s death Maggie had kept herself busy with raising

the two boys and helping Beverly Highland build her financial empire. Maggie had kept

her distance from men. But Pete was close, dangerously close, both physically and emo-

tionally. She looked into his gray eyes and was surprised to find herself suddenly wanting

very much to be with him.

“That gorgeous red hair of yours,” he said softly. “I remember how I used to stare at it

when you weren’t looking.”

“I have a few gray ones now.”

“You must be an old lady.”

“I’m thirty-five.”

“What’s wrong, Maggie?”

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247

She stared at her coffee cup. What was wrong? There was no doubt in her mind that

she desired Pete. And there was a very nice, comfortable affection between them. It would

be so easy—no messy start-ups, no laying down rules, no wondering where it was all lead-

ing. And it had been so long since she had been with a man…

“It may sound crazy, Pete,” she said quietly, “but I would feel as if I were cheating on

Joe.”

“It’s not crazy at all. But is it realistic?”

“I don’t know.”

“Would he want you to remain faithful to him?”

“Promise me you’ll marry again, Maggie,
” a voice echoed from the distant past.
“I’ve got

a bad heart. It can go anytime. I don’t want you and the boys to go it alone.”

“Let me take you dancing,” Pete said suddenly.

“Dancing!”

He took hold of her hand and said in a quieter voice, “Let me seduce you. At least give

me a chance.”

Maggie left him long enough to make two phone calls, one to Beverly to let her know

that Pete was going to handle the sale, the other to her housekeeper to tell her to give the

boys their supper and put them to bed. Maggie’s heart was racing. For the first time in ten

years she wasn’t going to be sleeping alone.

The wedding reception was held in the largest honky-tonk in Texas. Nearly eight hun-

dred guests gathered under the vast roof of Mickey Gilley’s three acres to congratulate the

Reverend Danny Mackay and his bride.

The newlyweds made a handsome couple, everyone thought, with Angelica in her

grandmother’s antique lace wedding gown and Danny smartly decked out in the best

from Cutter Bill. The admiring crowd thought the Reverend was every inch a Texan,

from the white Stetson on his head right down to his ostrich-skin boots. At forty-five

Danny was still lean and fit; he cut a striking figure in his Western-style jacket and cus-

tom-tailored pants. To the ladies there was something romantic about the sexy Reverend

who wasn’t afraid to cry on nationwide television, and to the gentlemen Danny Mackay

was a true man’s man.

While a Western band played all the country favorites for couples doing the Texas

two-step, and while the food—traditional Texas barbecue with steaks, ribs, corn on the

cob and blazing-hot chili—was being served with tall, cool drinks, no one looked at the

bride close enough to notice a shadow of fear in her eyes.

“Well, son,” said a white-haired gentleman as he clapped Danny on the back. “I wish