Bead onTrouble

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  I debated and must have mumbled something, because Beth touched my arm. "Are you okay?"

  "Me? Oh, sure. Fine. Fine:' I wrestled with my conscience some more, then took in air and made my decision.

  Regardless of how bad I would look, I had to tell the truth about last night.

  My insides shriveled along with my courage. And then would everyone find out? Jeb? Would he have to know?

  Cordy? And Nate.

  And how would it be for Beth when she found out?

  People were beginning to exit the dining hall, and I turned my head. A moon orbiting a planet doesn't have as strong a gravitational pull as I have toward Jeb Wright. He looked straight at me. I have no idea what he thought when he saw me, and it's probably better I didn't know. He nodded noncommittally. Like I was a stranger, or like we'd just seen each other last week.

  He was the one who turned away. I had to admit his face was still handsome, but the smooth glow of youth was definitely gone, replaced by dull skin and the beginnings of bags under his eyes. There was the slightest stoop to his shoulders, but he caught that and straightened. I was betting that he ran a difficult race in his career, and I wondered if he was winning.

  Then I remembered he was married. I stood up, just to stretch, and tried to catch a glimpse of his hand to see if there was a wedding ring. I was too late, he was already outside the screen door. I looked around him on the off chance I'd spot his wife, but all the women near him were regular camp attendees. His wife could be at Cordy's house or at a hotel.

  And then Nate moved across my field of vision as he walked over to say something to Cordy. He bent down and spoke quietly. I couldn't hear what he said, but she seemed to relax for a moment before frowning and nodding. He said something more; she caught his hand, and I could see her lips form the words "thank you."

  Others were standing and stretching, too. Jennifer, still pale, rose from her spot a few seats down the trestle table.

  "I've already given my statement, so I'll go take care of Sinatra?'

  "Thank you," I said. "Are you okay?"

  She gave me a halfhearted smile. "I'm fine. I'll be better when I can play with Sinatra."

  "I wonder if we'll stil be doing demonstrations?" Beth asked.

  Jennifer looked toward the outside. "I don't think the Saloon will be available. And who would come?"

  There weren't many of us left in the dining hall. Jennifer gave a small wave and headed for the door. That left only Beth, Shannan, and me at our table. Beth rose. "I'm going to see if they have any leftover dessert—I didn't eat lunch, I can justify the calories. Do either of you want anything?"

  "No, thanks," I said.

  Shannan shook her head.

  "Okay:" And Beth left us alone.

  Shannan looked at me. Either the effects of the hangover were still with her, or she needed another drink-to settle her nerves. She kept her voice low, "They're going to ask all sorts of questions. And we're going to have to make statements. Sworn statements." She waved her driver's license. "And we can't tell the truth, can we?"

  "Yes, we can," I said. "hi fact, we have to, and afterward we'll handle whatever problems come up."

  "But what about my mom? They might think that she .

  she .. ." she looked around but there was no one close to us in the almost empty hall. "Had something to do with May's death. Or my dad. Or . . ." She dropped her gaze to the table and became silent.

  Or her. "Shannan, you didn't see May after we got back, did you?" I asked. "Did you say something to her? Maybe have an argument?"

  "No! Of course not:' But her eyes were down, looking at the scratched table. She wasn't near as convincing as I wished she were.

  "Honey, listen, you—"

  Fix it so we can go home? At least not have to make a statement?"

  "No, I'm afraid I can't. It's called obstruction of justice, which is why Nixon had to resign."

  "Who?"

  "Like Bill Clinton, only in the seventies."

  Shannan's eyes got bigger. "Could we go to prison?"

  "No." This whole thing had gone too far, and there was only one way to pull it back. "We are not going to prison.

  We are going to tell the truth. We have to. Maybe May and your father had a fight, and she went off with someone else." I thought of Nate and the argument he'd had with May. "A lot of things could have happened, and we don't know what."

  "Who else could she have been with?"

  "I don't have the least idea," I said. But, maybe I did.

  Nate Wright and May Feather had been arguing just yesterday afternoon and it hadn't come to an easy conclu-sion, either. May had flipped her long, dark hair, jerked away from Nate, and dashed off.

  So, how did Nate know May? I felt a little disappoint-ment at that

  "Maybe," Shannan said without conviction, "maybe the sheriff won't want to talk with me. I'm just a teenager; won't that mean they'll skip me?"

  "I wouldn't think so. You're seventeen, and that seems to stick in my mind as some kind of important age. You might be able to have a parent with you. Maybe your mother—"

  "No! I can't do that. I don't want her to find out that way. We have to tell her. Right after we finish—"

  "How was your trail ride?" I asked loudly as Beth arrived back at our table carrying a plastic bowl of strawberry shortcake.

  Shannan looked surprised, then saw her mother. She waited only a beat before saying, "Uh, terrible. That new woman, the wrangler, treated us like two-year-olds."

  "Tell Cordy," I said. The sheriff came out of the private dining room and gestured in our direction. I almost lost my balance when I stood up. The sheriff shook his head and pointed to Shannan. "Will you come in, please?"

  "Oh, no—" she turned even whiter.

  "Shannan, it's just fine," Beth said. "Think of what a great story this will make at school."

  I took Shannan's hand and said, "Just tell them the truth and nothing but the truth."

  She looked at me. "You're sure?"

  "I'm sure:'

  On shaky legs, she walked toward the sheriff who was waiting for her—and watching her.

  I jumped forward. "Maybe I'd better go with her."

  I'd almost caught up with Shannan when Sheriff Gonzales shook his head. He asked Shaman, "How old are you?"

  "Seventeen."

  To me, he said, "She'll be fine." Except I knew his curiosity had been piqued. He escorted her inside the private dining room and closed the door firmly.

  The truth and nothing but the truth, I told myself. Dear God, let Shannan be okay.

  . "Kitz," Cordy said, touching my arm. "Do you have a minute to talk with us?"

  I must have looked mute and none too bright.

  "Nate and me," Cordy explained.

  "Oh. Sure." I exhaled carefully. "Where did you have in mind?"

  She gestured toward Beth and led us to the table.

  "Beth, I need a war council."

  Beth pushed aside her untouched strawberry shortcake_

  She was more upset than she wanted me to know. "Sure.

  How can I help?"

  Cordy sat across the table with Beth, and Nate took Shannan's seat beside me. "Do you both know my brother Nate?"

  Beth introduced herself, and I nodded, but I wasn't making eye contact with him. He seemed to generate some kind of heat, and it was just more trouble on a day that was already filled with it.

  Cordy said, "This is a nightmare, and I'm afraid it's going to get worse."

  "Worse?" Beth's worry made her look even more like Shannan. "You think someone else could be killed?"

  "No, no! If T thought that I'd, shut this place down and we'd all find hotels." She shook her head. "I think we're safe enough. Sheriff Gonzales has five or six officers here from DPS. They've even got a mobile crime lab. Crime Ambu-lance they called it."

  "The problem is," Nate said, leaning forward. "Several of the women say they are leaving as soon as they give their statement?'

  "Coul
d be as many as half," Cordy added. "And you know what will happen from there—pretty soon everyone will be gone."

  We took it in, and Beth said, "Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing. Just this once!'

  "You don't understand?' Cordy said. "It wil kill the retreats from here on out. Oh, damn, I didn't mean kill Wrong word. You know what I meant. It will put an end to them. Or we'll get ten people and have to start building all over again. I was just making money on them, too. The last two years they've been profitable, but they won't be if I have to start over. Or if we have to refund everyone's money,"

  Nate said quietly, "The real problem is that Green Clover hasn't been profitable the rest of the year. With the economy down, the summer sessions the last two years were barely half-full "

  Now I understood the other part of Cordy's worry. "If it's money, I can—"

  "No," Cordy snapped.

  "I've already offered," Nate said, the hair on his arm brushing mine.

  Cordy said more gently, "I'm sorry; I don't mean to be rude, but Nate's been a silent partner all along. He helped me get started, and if I can't pull it through this there's no point in keeping the camp?'

  Lose Green Clover? Beth and I exchanged a stunned look. It would be like someone foreclosing on a part of our childhood—the happiest part. The Craft Retreats were the only way I knew of to regain the fun of our youth.

  I looked at Cordy. "I'll do anything I can to help. I've already told you that."

  "Me, too," Beth added.

  Cordy glanced at Nate, then at each of us in turn.

  "Thanks." She took a deep breath. "I want the retreat to go on. We have May's memorial tonight, and then two days that could be close to normal. If both of you stay, then maybe others will, too."

  "I'll stay," I said.

  "I appreciate that, but take some time to consider first,"

  Cordy said. "I want a disinterested second opinion. If you think there's a danger, I'm shutting this place down now, and I mean right now."

  "But you just said you thought it was safe; I don't get it,"

  Beth said.

  "I do think it's safe, but I'm prejudiced."

  "We are, too," I said.

  "Oh, Lord," Cordy said. "I guess I want someone to read the future and tell me it's okay to keep the retreat going. I'm just not willing to put people at risk."

  If the sheriff was right, May's death was the end of the danger. If he was right. I tried to weigh what he'd said with my own experience of crime, which was limited to what I read about in the papers or saw on television. I'd never heard of a murderer coming back to the scene of the crime and killing someone else. That only happened in movies or books, and this was real life.

  In the end I exchanged a long glance with Beth and then a brief nod.

  "Well?" Cordy asked_

  "I'm staying," Beth said.

  "Me, too," I added. "The sheriff says it's safe, and he's a professional."

  "But you have your daughter," Nate said to Beth. "Are you sure?"

  Beth nodded. "I'm trusting my instinct on this one, but I'm not naive. I still want locks on the cabin doors. All the cabins. And maybe if we put out a flyer reminding everyone to stay together it would help."

  "The newsletter," Cordy said. "I have one prepared with tomorrow's schedule, only I was going to skip it. It's in the computer, so it wouldn't take long to add some things.

  What do you think, Nate?"

  "I'll call Mezner security and have four people stationed on the grounds overnight. That, by the way, is your birthday present, Cordelia, so don't say a word about paying me back."

  I liked this man; too bad kb wasn't more like him. But which brother was Nate? To the best of my recollection, one of Cordy's siblings was a minister, or had been, and another had some kind of security company that sold Mace and fire ladders by mail. Leesa was Zeke's daughter, and she didn't seem like a preacher's kid . .

  Beth snapped her fingers. "And remind people to close the wooden windows."

  I had almost forgotten those heavy wooden pieces that came down and sealed the cabins off from the outside. They were used during storms or when the camp was closed.

  "We'll have to turn on the overhead fans or we'll suffo-cate," I said. Air-conditioning at Green Clover meant real, breathable, created-by-the-good-Lord air and a few ceiling fans.

  "Okay. And I'll get someone on those locks first thing,"

  Cordy said.

  I added, "The Tivolini contract is serious inducement for the best artists to stay. If you announced the buyer would be meeting with artisans tomorrow morning, you couldn't make people leave?'

  Nate and Cordy exchanged glances before Cordy said,

  "I think we can do that. I'll find out."

  Which made me think Nate Wright was the buyer in question. After a glance at his worn jeans and his old Green Clover golf shirt, I reconsidered. His shirt was the kind male counselors wore on Parent's Day. He just didn't look like someone who selected bead designs.

  I started to ask, but the private dining room door opened, and Shannan emerged from her interview. Her skin was pasty, but the look of relief on her face was hard to miss. I wondered what that was about. Beth and I were both headed toward her when the sheriff stepped out and said, "Ms. Camden. If you'd join us."

  I nodded, but I was much more intent on Shannan. "Are you okay?"

  "Fine. No problem?'

  Beth was there, slipping an arm through Shannan's.

  "You look pale."

  "I'm fine, really." She stared at me, her eyes sending a message I couldn't read. Damn, damn, damn.

  "I have to go," I said.

  Shannan shook her head, no. What did that mean?

  Sheriff Gonzales said, "If you would bring your driver's license?'

  "Oh, sorry," I said. "Let me get it." I turned and hurried toward the table. Nate spotted the license and picked it up to hand to me. Somehow, Shannan managed to get in between us and she mouthed, "I couldn't do it."

  I felt my stomach plunge at the same time a wave of relief hit me. "Last night?"

  "I didn't tell them."

  She had lied to the sheriff. And now, if I told the truth it would be worse for her.

  "Here you go," Nate said, pressing the license into my palm, and wrapping his fingers over mine. "Good hick."

  I couldn't look at him; I was too stunned to move.

  "Ms. Camden?" The sheriff said.

  "Coming."

  "Good luck:" Shannan said.

  "Thanks "

  "You don't need luck:' Sheriff. Gonzales said as I started toward him. "You just need to tell me everything you know."

  "Certainly."

  Except that was the one thing I couldn't do.

  Twelve

  "Hop, hop

  little rabbit, hop.

  The hunter's

  blown his top.

  He'l come for you,

  and you'l be stew. So

  hop

  little rabbit,

  hop."

  Camp Green Clover song

  My good-or-boy plan felt pretty lame as I took a breath and entered the private dining room. The room held two oblong tables that were a bit less camp-worn than those outside, and the sheriff was seated at one.

  "Howdy," I said, with a weak smile.

  "Come in," he said.

  And then I saw another man on his right. He was also in uniform, except he was younger, rougher looking, and somehow sleeker. Maybe it was the tight skin and tight muscles under his tight shirt. He completely ignored me while the sheriff gestured for me to take a place across from him with a microphone in front of it, along with several sheets of paper.

  "Ms. Camden, if you'll make yourself comfortable."

  The sheriff's voice was still slow and gentle. The other officer finally looked up, and his eyes were as hard as his body and they took in every inch of me, assessing, determining, and then dismissing. The rise in my blood pressure was probably visible.

  "This is Offi
cer Peterson," the sheriff said.

  "How do you do," I said politely. Then I sat and held out my driver's license. "I think you need this."

  It was the sheriff who rose to take it from me. "Thank you:' He looked at it quickly, then handed it to Peterson who read every word and even checked the back to see if there were restrictions. Not only a tight body, a tight ass, too.

  "Are you ready?" the sheriff asked.

  "Yes, of course." That was my first lie. Problem was that plan A was not going to work on that young Peterson, and I didn't have a plan B.

  The sheriff started a tape recorder, then took me through the preliminaries, asking my name, my age, address, how long I'd been coming to the Craft Retreats, and when I'd arrived at camp for this event. The questions were easy, but he wasn't near done.

  "How long have you known May Feather?" he asked next.

  I told the truth about shows and the Bead Society meetings, and how we were acquaintances, but not close friends.

  "And tell me about seeing May at this retreat."

  If I'd been attached to a polygraph, the needle would have jumped across the room and smacked that Peterson in his broad shoulders.

  "-This time?" I took a breath. "I was at her demonstration, but I left early."

  Peterson leaned forward and asked, "And why was that? Why didn't you stay for the end of May Feather's demonstration?"

  It was the first time he'd spoken since our introduction.

  "I'd heard her stories before," I said. "Also, I knew I would never make the bracelet she was demonstrating. She was working with tiny seed beads doing a stitch that takes me forever."

  "Where did you go when you left?" he asked.

  "All over the camp. I told you, I've been coming here since I was a child. Last night I went down to the river and to the barn to see the horses. Then I went back up to the cabin to wash my hands and get my keys."

  "Why?" Peterson asked.

  "Because my hands had horse slobber on them." Which was one of the most dim-witted statements I'd made in my life, but the man scared me.

  He let me wallow in my own stupidity before he asked,