Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  “Thank you.” I heaved a big breath. “And thank you for getting me out of there.”

  “Every man wants to rescue a damsel in distress at least once in his life.”

  “I suspect you’ve done it more than once.”

  He smiled. “I try.”

  “I’ll be calling you tomorrow or Monday. Oh, and I’m Kitzi. Kitzi Camden.”

  “I know.”

  A hissing sound came from behind one of the parked cars. “Kitz.” It was Beth. She was hiding behind a dark blue Mini Cooper. “Let’s go!”

  I waved to Gregg and hurried toward her. We ducked and ran using the vehicles as shields to keep us out of the sight of the windows. I didn’t think Granger could spot us unless he was actually standing at a window looking out, but we weren’t taking any chances. My slip-on shoes were giving me a problem, and I almost fell out of them.

  “Grrr.”

  “Keep moving,” Beth said.

  As we ran I dug in my purse for the keys. When we were just two pickups from the Land Rover, I hit the remote; the lights started flashing and the horn blared.

  “Shit!” It was Beth.

  I was too busy punching buttons to cuss.

  “The button on the left,” someone called.

  I pushed it and sure enough the alarm stopped. Within seconds Beth and I were in the car. “Go,” she said.

  “I’m going.” I put it in gear and backed up carefully.

  “Faster.”

  “It’ll be noticeable if I run someone over. Trust me, it will slow up our exit by a bunch.”

  But it was safe now and we both knew it. Beth was sucking in huge amounts of air. “Granger doesn’t have jurisdiction out here,” she said between breaths. “We’re in Williamson County, not Travis.”

  “He’s police. He doesn’t even have authority outside the city limits.” I was on the narrow lane, still too close to the metal building for comfort. I knew I’d feel a whole lot better once we were on the highway doing seventy miles an hour away from here. At least it was night, which hid us a little, and my Land Rover was dark. “I figure he was out here looking for us.”

  “That’s possible,” she said. “But why make the trip? He knew where we’d be tomorrow. Unless it was urgent.”

  “Maybe he found out Andrew went to the tournaments.”

  “And he was just following a lead?”

  “I can’t think why else he’d be there. Besides, I think I prefer that explanation.” I turned right onto the highway and we were headed to Austin. Not a moment too soon, either. A car had pulled out of the parking lot right after us. It wasn’t far behind. “Look back there,” I said, gesturing.

  I was driving a bit over the speed limit so I slowed down. I couldn’t imagine that it was Granger on our tail, but on the off chance that he’d spotted us leaving and had followed, I didn’t want to give him any excuse to stop us. I didn’t think he knew my car, and I didn’t think he’d recognize me with my floozy red hair, either.

  “The car just turned this way,” Beth said.

  I have never wanted to speed so much in my life, but some instincts just can’t be obeyed and I was pretty sure that was one of them. “What kind of car is it?”

  “I don’t know. It’s big and black.”

  “SUV?”

  “One of those monster ones.”

  “Like Nate’s?” I asked.

  Beth looked back again. “Who knows? It was too dark, and now all I can see are headlights.”

  We drove awhile in silence; all the while my eyes were zigzagging from the side mirror to the rearview mirror. The lights stayed back there, pretty much keeping pace with us. We hadn’t quite reached the city yet. The road was a bit narrow, despite the two lanes going in each direction, and I was surprised that on a Saturday night there were so few cars. Where were those crazy teenagers who were supposed to be driving too fast and going too far? What about the families, leaving grandma’s house and headed for home? And where were all the highway lights? Didn’t the Texas Department of Transportation have standards? I wasn’t expecting chandeliers or automatic fog lights, but one or two plain old ordinary streetlights would have been nice.

  We drove on another three or four miles before I turned to Beth. “You know,” I said, “we’re not being followed.”

  “We aren’t?”

  “No.” I was beginning to see small businesses on the side of the highway. Not all together, and not many, but a few. “Someone else just left the tournament about the same time we did, and since they are headed to Austin, and we’re going to Austin, we’re on the same road.”

  “I believe you,” Beth said, turning to face forward. “Are you buying it?”

  “Yes, I think I am. That car back there has nothing to do with us.”

  “Good, then stop in that convenience store over there and let me get a cup of coffee.”

  I looked mirror to mirror and finally said, “We’re not that far from the Manse. I’ll make you a pot of coffee myself.”

  “You don’t drink coffee, and the stuff you make is terrible. Besides, that was a test. I wanted to see if you really accepted the SUV as coincidence.”

  “I do,” I said. “I have only a 10 percent reservation.” I reached over and patted her leg. “But even a 10 percent risk is a big one when your best friend is taking it. I’d worry when you got out to get coffee, while I was safely locked in the car.”

  “You could have gotten out of the car and gone with me.”

  “Why, that never occurred to me.”

  And then I remembered that stupid candlestick hidden under Beth’s bed. I know they say you can’t take it with you, but if I’d known that those things were going to cause me so much grief, I’d have asked to bury them with my grandmother. Or maybe I could have forced them on Houston. They’d look good with the Mashad rug he had in his office.

  “You didn’t tell me what you did today,” Beth said. “Did you visit Tess?”

  “Only for about half an hour. She looked a lot better today,” I said. “A lot.” But it wasn’t something I wanted to talk about right now. Every time I thought of Tess I felt a hole in my chest that went through my heart. I said, “I also went to visit the Yancys. Andrew’s clients.”

  “The ones who were arguing with him on Thursday. It was Thursday, wasn’t it?”

  “It was. And I learned some interesting things.” We were coming closer to Austin, and the road now had lights. Even stoplights. There was a restaurant, families, and dozens of cars. Behind us, and in front, was a stream of vehicles all intent on getting someplace. I gestured toward them. “Where were all of these when we needed them?” I asked.

  “Probably right here,” she said. “So, what did you find out from the Yancys? And what were they like?”

  I thought about that for a moment. “They were nice. They live near Balcones Country Club, and their home is lovely. A little dated, but what would have been termed gracious living in the seventies.”

  “How old are they?”

  “Also seventies,” I said. “But they both seem pretty athletic. They can swing a golf club, so why couldn’t they swing a candlestick? And both of them were at the party Thursday night—”

  “Wait. What’s this about a candlestick?”

  I took a deep breath. “You can’t tell a soul this, but that’s what killed him.

  “Someone clobbered him with a candlestick?”

  I nodded. “It gets worse.”

  “How could it?”

  “I found the other one under your bed.”

  “What?” The look of utter shock on her face was visible even in the faint light of the dashboard, and any doubts I might have had about my friend evaporated.

  “Have you told the police?” she asked.

  “Of course not,” I said. “They’ll wonder why it was there—and why I didn’t mention it earlier.”

  “Well, what do we do now?” she said.

  I changed lanes, in preparation for getting on the freeway. “I do
n’t know. Try to figure out who put it there?” I glanced in the rearview mirror. “By the way, is our faithful follower still behind us?”

  “Who can tell? What candlestick was it, by the way?”

  “One of the two from the mantel.”

  “One of yours? Those big ones you don’t like?”

  “Yes,” I said, my brain furiously putting together other associations. “The Yancys’ grandson was killed in a car wreck when he was in college, and Andrew was also in the car,” I said. “It would give them a motive for killing him, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it would,” she said. “But how did they get him into the Dumpster?”

  I thought about that for a moment. Swinging a candlestick I could see. But the Dumpster Andrew had ended up in had six-foot sides, and I just couldn’t see a seventy-year-old—even two seventy-year-olds—heaving a grown man into a Dumpster. Unless one of them drove a forklift. “You’re right,” I said. “That is a flaw in my theory.”

  “Do you know if the accident was Andrew’s fault?” Beth asked.

  “I don’t know. There was at least one other young man in the car, and he was paralyzed from the accident. Donovan, the grandson, was several years older than Andrew, but that doesn’t mean he was driving. It’s one of the things I want to check out tomorrow.”

  “Did they say why they were having a disagreement with Andrew?” she asked.

  “I assume it was because of the High Jinx.” I explained about the boat—or would that be considered a ship?—and how it was to be revamped and sold for a profit. “People do that with houses and cars all the time, so it sounds like a logical investment.”

  “If the resale market is good. Did they say anything about that?”

  I shook my head. “One more thing to be checked out tomorrow. Maybe we could find the actual boat. It’s supposed to be huge, so you know it has to be at the coast—”

  “We have the Bead Tea, remember?”

  “I remember.” I had intended to enjoy tomorrow. The last day of any big event at the Manse is usually the most fun because everyone knows their jobs and there isn’t much to be taken care of. I had planned to shop in the tent, have tea, and visit with people. Instead there were a whole lot of other things I needed to do.

  “Is there anyone else on your list of suspects?” Beth asked.

  Probably half the alumni of the University of Texas belonged on the list, and surely one or two of the poker players had disagreed with Andrew on something, but I didn’t know those people so I could hardly suspect them. I’m not sure why, but learning that he and Houston had played poker together gave me an uneasy feeling. I’m a great believer in the subconscious—it sees all and hears all when the rest of our brain is busy worrying about something else entirely. I wondered if my subconscious had picked up something about that and I’d yet to move it to the upper regions of my brain where I could access it.

  “What about Houston’s clients?” Beth asked. “Lauren said that she handled them, and then she started helping with research. Since Rebecca’s been sick, Houston hasn’t been involved, and if Andrew was investing their money and lost it . . . “ She paused. “Do you think any of them could have killed Andrew?”

  Sometimes Beth and I still think alike; apparently this was one of those times, because that was something that had been bothering me, too. “I can’t say anything about Houston’s clients, but I have another idea. I know it’s going to sound crazy at first, but hear me out, okay?”

  “You rarely sound crazy,” she said. “You do act crazy, but that’s another story. In fact, sometimes that’s kind of fun.”

  “Thank you, I think. Here’s what I keep thinking about: what if Lauren was working with Houston’s clients, handling everything while he took care of Rebecca, and she did something, say, illegal. Andrew could have discovered whatever it was and threatened to tell Houston or the police. To stop him, she killed him.”

  “She wasn’t even at the party, was she?”

  I thought about that. “I didn’t see her particularly, but no one was checking. She could have been there.”

  “It’s feasible, I think. I wondered about something, too,” Beth said. “Does Houston actually take in cash? Money that she could have stolen?”

  “Cash isn’t something that shows up much these days for investments. I’m guessing, but it doesn’t seem to be the norm.” I thought some more, and a convoluted plan occurred to me. “Try this one,” I said. “What if she had access to all the investment records, which I’m sure she did, and what if she created an affidavit requesting the transfer of something to her name? Money or stock—something of value that she now owns.”

  “Don’t those affidavits have to be notarized?”

  “Yes, and don’t you think there are ways of faking that?”

  “There’s an awful lot of conjecture in this,” Beth said.

  “I’m just saying that Lauren ought to be on the list, that’s all,” I said. “Guilty until proven innocent, that’s my motto.”

  “That’s not the American way.”

  “Oh, really?” I said. “Check with the IRS. Or any other federal enforcement agency. If they say you could have done it, you done it. At least until you prove otherwise.”

  “God, no wonder you left office.”

  I took the onramp to Loop One South, more often called Mopac. It runs along the Missouri-Pacific railroad line, which is where the name Mopac came from. “You know how most streets are named after people?” I asked. “Cesar Chavez? Martin Luther King Boulevard?”

  “Congress Avenue?”

  “That one was named after a lot of people.”

  “First Street? Second?” she suggested.

  “You’re not cooperating. I mean, why not name streets after everyday people? You know, with names like Mary,” I said. “And Lamar. And Mopac.”

  “Mopac?”

  “Fred and Ethyl Mopac. They used to hang out with Lady Bird and LBJ.”

  Beth barely smiled at what I thought was a pretty funny remark, but then I hadn’t laughed, either.

  “Who else is on your list?” she asked as we drove through the night into Austin proper. The lights of the city were off to our left, and I still enjoyed seeing the capitol lit up. Like the one in Washington DC, it’s a symbol of all that’s right with people. It may not be successful all the time, but the government is still supposed to serve all the people. That deal of service to the people is what I believe in, and that’s what the capitol stands for to me.

  “The guard, Charlie. At the tent.”

  “He’s security! Aren’t they bonded and screened, or whatever they do?”

  “Absolutely. They are also often from the military, and they know things about combat and such. Not only that,” I went on, “he was outside and could have killed Andrew at any time. We don’t know when that happened.”

  “And the candlestick?” Beth asked.

  “Who would question a man in a security uniform if he walked into the house and picked one up?”

  Beth was not convinced. “Let’s not dwell on that. Who else is on your list of possibilities?”

  I moved on. “Bruce. The owner of Accurate Construction. I like him, but he’s certainly strong enough to use a candlestick as a weapon. Maybe even his wife, Delphine, could have done it. If Andrew took all their money—”

  “But she’s little. She’s not even five feet tall, is she?”

  I was nearing the Manse, which was a good thing. My brain was somewhere close to empty, and my body was in need of a recharge as well.

  “She’s little, but she’s tough. You should have seen her out there the day that Bruce and his crew were tearing the roof off the house behind us. There were something like four layers of roofing, and they are heavy, but she was loading them in a trailer. Not only that, the woman is a black belt and she used to have her own dojo. What are those things they fight with? Pikes or something?”

  “They use a lot of different weapons.”

  “Well,
I’m betting that candlesticks could be one.” I turned into the driveway, and I could feel myself mentally slumping. An awful lot had happened, and I wasn’t up to all of it. I was grateful to be home.

  The Manse was dark except for a light at the back door and a soft glow coming through the windows from the nightlights strategically placed around the house.

  The big teal and white tent looked forlorn, like it had accidentally been forgotten when the circus left town. There was a slight wind, and the big trees behind it were moving gently. I pulled into the driveway and parked the car close to the garage, careful to lock it after Beth got out.

  Maybe it had been all the emotional ups and downs of the day that had drained me. I didn’t seem to have the energy to do much more than drag myself out of the Land Rover. The guard came out of the tent and waved before going back in again.

  Beth was facing the street we’d just come from, and her expression went from tired to shocked.

  “Kitzi! Look.” She pointed, and I turned in time to see a large black SUV cruise very slowly by the entrance to the driveway.

  Nineteen

  We were both in our pajamas; Beth was on the rocker in my room, and I was sitting on the bed. Beth wore the expression of someone who was shell-shocked or beyond exhaustion. Since it was almost two in the morning, that was understandable.

  “It had to have been the same one. He followed us all the way here,” she said.

  I shook my head for the umpteenth time. It seemed to be getting heavier. “We still don’t know that. There must be thousands of big black SUVs in Austin, and to me, most of them look the same. And you still haven’t answered the why. Why would someone follow us all the way home, and then not stop? If it was Gregg, making sure that we got home safely, he’d have pulled into the driveway, so we wouldn’t worry. It couldn’t have been Granger—”

  “He drives some white cop-looking car.”

  “Which only supports my point. It was a coincidence. Someone was lost. Or on their cell phone—”

  “Which is why you checked three times to make sure the alarm was on. And why you asked the guard to be extra watchful tonight.”