Beads of Doubt

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  I sat down on the nearest sofa. “No, thanks, I’m fine. Is Mr. Yancy here?”

  “Oh, he has a standing golf game on Mondays.”

  “How nice.” I leaned forward. “Mrs. Yancy, I have a few questions about the investment plan Andrew put together for you, but I’m afraid this isn’t a good time . . .” I looked at Keith.

  “Oh, it’s fine. Besides, Keith’s family is involved, too.”

  This wasn’t how I pictured this conversation happening, but I went ahead anyway. “How much did you invest with Andrew?”

  She shook her head. “About a hundred thousand, unfortunately.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Oh, yes. When we got the statement, Earl was furious. Andrew tried to tell us it was an accounting error, but it didn’t make sense.”

  “And you?”

  “Oh, I was angry, of course, but what can you do?” She raised her hands in a gesture of resignation.

  I glanced at Keith, then back at the older woman. “Mrs. Yancy, how did you know Andrew was hit over the head with a candlestick?”

  Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to her throat again. “What? Why, it was on the news, of course.”

  “No,” I said. “No, it wasn’t. The police never released that information.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Keith growled.

  The skin of my arms prickled, but I pressed on. “What I’m trying to figure out is how you got him into the Dumpster.”

  The room was silent for a moment, as if everything were in suspended animation. Then Keith’s voice exploded from the wheelchair.

  “It was me, all right?” His eyes blazed. “I did it. When he told me how much money he’d lost for us, I blew up. I whacked him over the head and used the wheelchair lift to get him into the Dumpster. So leave Mrs. Yancy alone.”

  Mrs. Yancy’s face paled, and she shook her head violently, her pageboy swinging. “Keith, no . . .”

  “You killed Andrew?” I hadn’t considered that possibility, since he was in a wheelchair. But if Andrew had been sitting down, it would have been easy. I glanced at Keith’s upper arms. He certainly had the strength; his biceps swelled from years of propelling his body in the chair.

  “The dear boy is trying to take the blame for my actions,” Mrs. Yancy said, her voice wobbling. “But the responsibility is mine. When Andrew told me how much money we had lost—and how much the Linders were losing—I just couldn’t take it. He got the greatest gift of all—he walked away from that accident with hardly a bump or a bruise—and we lost everything. Everything.” Her eyes shot to Donovan’s picture, smiling from atop the television. “And then, to turn around and ruin our lives again . . .” She took a deep, shuddery breath. “When he turned to leave, I grabbed the nearest thing and just hit him with it. I didn’t mean to kill him . . . I was just so angry . . . and that’s when Keith came in.”

  “No.” Keith’s voice was low and cold. “Stop.”

  I ignored him and focused on Mrs. Yancy. “So he helped you get rid of the body,” I said.

  She nodded. “His van has a wheelchair lift.” She shuddered. “Keith draped him over his lap and wheeled him out into the back. We hid him behind a bush. I waited with . . . with the body until Keith got back with the van.”

  Keith’s voice was low and menacing. “Mrs. Y . . .”

  I pressed on. “How did he do it without anyone noticing?”

  “He kept the lights off, and since the van is dark blue, you can’t see it. I don’t know how he did it, but Keith pulled Andrew up onto the chair with him, then he used the wheelchair lift to tip him into the Dumpster.” Her face was pale, and her voice shook slightly. “We figured he would be safe there, that no one would find him there . . .”

  “What about the second candlestick? The one under my friend’s bed?”

  Mrs. Yancy nodded at Keith, who had gone rigid in his chair. “That was Keith’s idea. I didn’t know whose room it was; I just ran upstairs and shoved it under the first bed I found. If one candlestick was missing, it might look suspicious. We were hoping that with two gone, it would take longer to figure out what had happened.”

  “Does your husband know?” I asked.

  She sighed. “I think he suspects something, but I don’t think he has any idea how bad things are.”

  I shook my head. “What a mess. This must have been an awful couple of days for you.” I could imagine her rage at Andrew, the impulse that drove her to strike at him. It was yet another tragedy, piled on top of the others—Donovan’s death, Keith’s paralysis. I reached into my purse and flipped open my cell phone. “I think we need to explain what happened to the police. Considering the circumstances, they might go easy on you.”

  Mrs. Yancy blinked at me. At the same moment, Keith’s wheelchair barreled across the room, and he smacked the cell phone out of my hand. I watched it skitter across the beige carpet.

  “Who else knows?” he demanded. His dark eyes turned my stomach to ice.

  I croaked, “Why does it matter?” A lump formed in my throat. Why hadn’t I told someone where I was going? I had done it again. Ready, fire, aim.

  “Because I am not going to let you put Mrs. Yancy in jail,” he said.

  “We have no idea how this is going to turn out,” I said. “She could just be charged with manslaughter. She didn’t plan to do it.”

  “I’m not willing to take that risk,” he said.

  I gauged the distance to the door. If I sprinted, I could make it. In one swift motion, I pushed myself to my feet and ran.

  Three steps later, I tripped over an end table and tumbled to the floor, skidding to a halt on Mrs. Yancy’s living-room carpet.

  Twenty-five

  “Get up.” Keith’s voice was hard and cold. I got to my knees, brushed myself off, and looked up to face the dark void of a gun barrel.

  “Keith.” Mrs. Yancy’s voice quavered. “This isn’t necessary.”

  “I was afraid this would happen,” he said. He was talking to Mrs. Yancy, but his dark eyes never left mine. “Ever since she showed up at our place, I’ve been waiting.”

  “Is that why you’ve been by so much since . . . since the accident at the Manse?” she asked.

  “I didn’t want to worry you, but I wanted to be around. Just in case.”

  “Keith, I’m not sure this is the right thing to do . . .”

  His eyes flickered to her. “We’ll do what we have to.”

  My stomach did a flip-flop. Mrs. Yancy sucked in a breath and nodded toward the gun. “Is that really necessary?”

  “I refuse to let you go to jail because that rat bastard screwed us over.”

  “Keith!”

  “Sorry about the language, Mrs. Y.” In my opinion, it seemed a bit much for him to be apologizing for his language when he was holding a gun on an innocent woman, but unfortunately, Mrs. Yancy didn’t object. Keith glanced at his watch. “We only have a half hour,” he said. “Earl will be back at eleven thirty.”

  Mrs. Yancy’s voice wobbled. “What . . . what are you going to do?”

  “Take care of the problem.”

  My eyes skittered around the room, looking for something to defend myself with. Hummel figurines, gold drapes, blue couches . . . nothing I could lay my hands on. “Get up,” he said.

  My knees shook as I rose to my feet.

  “Go that way,” he said, waving the gun toward the kitchen. My brain struggled to kick into gear. The kitchen wasn’t a bad place. Kitchens have knives. As I moved in that direction, I dragged my feet a bit. If I stalled, maybe Earl would get home in time to save me. A butcher’s knife was better than nothing, but I wouldn’t want to lay odds on it against a revolver. Or whatever it was Keith was pointing at me. “Get going,” he said. “We don’t have all day.”

  I didn’t have a chance to pick up a knife. Mrs. Yancy didn’t even have any on the counter, and the only thing small enough to pick up was a plastic banana from the fake fruit display on the kitchen table. The
re was no time even to grab that; he rolled up right behind me, herding me through the utility room and into the garage.

  “Keith, I don’t know about this,” Mrs. Yancy was saying as I stepped into the cluttered garage. Lumber, rope, garden hose, dented metal toolboxes. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Damn.

  “I’m not crazy about it either, but what choice do we have?” I glanced back at him. His face was pale, but his eyes were hard little stones. “Lie down,” he barked.

  I sent a last desperate glance around the garage before I did what he asked. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a pair of hedge clippers, just a few feet to my left.

  As soon as my body touched the concrete, I tucked myself into a ball and rolled to the left. At the same time, a thud sounded behind me, and Mrs. Yancy shrieked, “No!” My hand groped for the clippers. A shot ricocheted past me. I whirled around to face Keith, and something clattered to the concrete.

  Keith slumped in the wheelchair, his head lolling to the side, the gun on the floor beside him. Above him stood Mrs. Yancy, a yellowed two-by-four clutched in her hand.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I had no idea it would come to this.”

  I dropped the hedge clippers, and my whole body started to shake.

  Two hours later I was back in the Manse kitchen, nursing an iced tea while Nate rubbed my shoulders. I had called him right after dialing 911, and he had driven to the Yancys’ as fast as his Navigator could go.

  The police cruisers had been first to arrive, and Granger appeared fifteen minutes later. As men and women in blue suits swarmed the living room and garage, I pulled the sergeant into the kitchen. I didn’t know how much the Camden influence would sway him, but I did the best I could. “I hope you’ll be easy on her,” I said. “I don’t think she meant to kill him, and she saved my life.”

  He smiled grimly. “I can’t make any promises, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  I tilted my head to one side. “By the way, why were you at that Texas hold ’em tournament the other night?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “How did you know that?”

  “A friend told me.”

  “I was following a lead,” he said gruffly, and stalked out of the kitchen.

  I walked back into the living room as Mr. Yancy burst through the door, demanding to know what was going on. When one of the officers explained the situation, his ruddy face turned deeper red. “Nonsense! I’ll have my attorneys hang you out to dry!” he roared.

  “Earl,” Mrs. Yancy said to him. “Enough.”

  He turned to face her, and his whole body sagged. “Is it true?” he whispered.

  She nodded briefly and turned away.

  Now Earl Yancy sat in a chair in the corner, his head in his hands, rocking from side to side as they snapped handcuffs onto his wife’s wrists.

  Before they took Mrs. Yancy to the police car, I squeezed her arm. “Thanks for saving my life. If I can help you with finding an attorney, or anything at all, please call me.”

  Her face was bleached white, and she looked very old, but she straightened her shoulders and said, “Thank you, Miss Camden.”

  As she shuffled out the door, flanked by policemen, my eyes turned to her husband. He had raised his head and watched her go, his shoulders sagging, eyes forlorn. I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you have someone to stay with?” I asked gently.

  He looked up at me, his face haggard. “I’m staying here. She’ll be back soon.”

  “I hope you’re right,” I said. I gave him my phone number to call if he needed me. He wadded it up and stuck it into his pants pocket without looking at me.

  A minute later, Nate showed up, and after I gave the police my statement, he escorted me home.

  Now, in the Manse kitchen, Nate moved his hands up to rub my neck as I sipped my iced tea. It was a relief to be back at the Manse, and Nate’s gentle neck massage felt like heaven. “So it was the Yancys after all,” he said.

  “Not both of them. Just her.” I shook my head. “And then Keith covered it up for her.”

  “And was prepared to kill you to do it.”

  I shivered under his warm hands. “Yesterday I was convinced it was Sandy Corcoran. And for a while, I even thought it might be Bruce.” I thought of Delphine’s fabulous cooking and Bruce’s warm smile, and was relieved I had been wrong. As I told Nate what Granger had discovered about Andrew’s business partner, the phone rang. It was Katie.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  “Much better now,” I said, and filled her in on the details. I didn’t tell her everything about Houston, just that he was innocent of murder and that he’d decided to drop the push to transfer the Manse. At least I hoped he had—he still hadn’t responded to my offer.

  “Thank God they caught the murderer,” she said.

  “I know. And we won’t have a custody battle over the Manse, either.” Hopefully not, anyway. “By the way, Rebecca’s in remission.”

  Katie gasped. “That’s wonderful news! So the chemo worked?”

  “Looks like it,” I said, looking at the tourmaline beads Beth had left on the counter. At least one victim had escaped. The phone beeped in my ear. “I’ve got another call—can I ring you back?”

  “Of course,” she said. “So glad everything’s working out.”

  “Give the kids my love,” I said, and clicked over.

  “Kitzi?” It was Houston.

  “Houston.” I sat up and straightened my back.

  “I thought about your proposition last night, and I think . . . I think I’ll take you up on it, if it’s still open.”

  Relief washed through me. I’d thrown him a lifeline, and he’d taken it. “It is. We’re going to have some work to do, though.” I told him about Mrs. Yancy, and then gave him the rundown on what Granger had discovered about Corcoran, who was already in custody. The police were on their way to intercept Lauren at the Holiday Inn in Galveston.

  He sucked in his breath. “God. I had no idea.”

  “Neither did Andrew’s clients. Look, why don’t I call Gregg Jacques and see what he can do? You may have some fraud charges in the wake of all of this, and he’ll be able to help you out.”

  “What about Harrington?”

  I remembered the pompous lawyer who had called me just before the Bead Tea began. I was willing to help out, but not if it meant dealing with Harrington. “If we’re going to do this, I want to go with Gregg.”

  He was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was resigned. “All right.”

  “I have an appointment with him at ten thirty tomorrow. Why don’t you meet me there?”

  “I’ll plan on it.”

  When I hung up, Nate eyed me quizzically, but I didn’t mention Houston’s gambling problem. It was hard enough for Houston that I knew. Instead I changed the subject. “Did you know Lauren was involved, too?”

  “With the murder?”

  “No. She was Corcoran’s partner.” I told him what the police had discovered about Corcoran’s true identity, and the scams that he and Lauren, a.k.a. Leila, had run in the past.

  “So we were right,” he said. “It was a Ponzi scheme.” He shook his head. “It’s a shame about Lauren. I liked her.”

  “Me, too. For a few minutes, I thought she might be the murderer, but it just didn’t feel right.” I sighed. “I’m just hoping Andrew’s clients can get their money back. The Yancys are going to need it to pay lawyers’ fees.”

  “Ah, yes. The Yancys. Why the heck didn’t you tell anyone where you were going?” he asked.

  “I just didn’t think, I guess.”

  “Well, it’s lucky for you Mrs. Yancy has a conscience.”

  “Hey, I could have taken him down with the hedge clippers.”

  “Miss Kitzi, the next time you decide to play Nancy Drew, at least make sure Ned knows where you’re going.”

  I turned and batted my eyelashes at him. “Are you applying for the job?”

&nbs
p; “If you’ll have me, ma’am.”

  I smiled. “I’d be delighted.”

  “That’s a good thing,” he said, “because on my way over to pick you up, I called my travel agent.”

  I sat upright. “Why? Are you going on a trip?”

  “I hope so. How does South Padre sound?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, with the Bead Tea, your cousin trying to take over the house, Andrew’s death, and everything else that’s been going on around here, you need a vacation.”

  “But what about Tess? And Beth? I still don’t know what happened with Shannan and Ron . . .”

  He stroked my forehead. “Relax, Kitzi. We’ll visit Tess before we go, and then again when we get back. And Beth knows your cell phone number, doesn’t she?”

  He was right. I closed my eyes as his strong hands massaged my neck. Long walks on sandy beaches, cold margaritas, the wind through my red hair . . . “Nate,” I murmured, “you’re incredible.”

  He leaned down to kiss me. Just before our lips touched, he whispered, “So are you.”

  Make Your Own Cell Phone Dangle

  Looped Cell Phone Dangle

  MATERIALS

  4 2 mm facet tourmaline rondelles

  2 4 mm crystals (one pink, one green)

  1 foot 26-gauge sterling wire

  8 inches black waxed linen

  TOOLS

  Chain nose pliers

  Round nose pliers

  Craft glue

  INSTRUCTIONS1. String 2 inches of faceted rondelles onto the sterling wire.

  2. Mold wire into an oval and cross ends of wire into a V at the top of the oval.

  3. Take one end of wire and wrap it around the other end of wire three times to form a coil. Clip excess wire from coil. Flatten end with chain nose pliers to make smooth.

  4. String one crystal onto remaining end of wire.

  5. Use round nose pliers to form a loop at the top of the crystal by turning the wire away from you with your right hand while pulling the wire around the round nose pliers with your left hand. Wrap the excess wire around the bottom of the loop three times. Clip off excess wire and flatten end with chain nose pliers to make smooth.