Bead onTrouble

by Barbara Burnett Smith

  "Sorry," Nate offered.

  "Not your fault. Talk to the county commissioner, he's in charge of roads." I stared ahead of us for a moment and then let my gaze rest, quite easily, I might add, on Nate. "I wonder where the word hullabaloo comes from?"

  "Sounds like it goes with, 'when the hurly-burly's done, when the battle's lost and won.' "

  "The Scottish play!" Macbeth. A favorite of mine, and Nathaniel Wright had just quoted it. There is nothing that can sweet-talk me faster than a man quoting Shakespeare or some really fine poetry. And he'd been quoting people ever since I got in the van. "Are you a patron of the arts?" I asked. "Libraries? The theatre?"

  "Sometimes I am."

  But it seemed the tips of his ears were suddenly awfully pink.

  That very expressive face and the sexy voice added up to something more. I had a suspicion . "I was a theatre major at UCLA for a time," I said.

  "You went to college in Southern California?"

  "For two years, but that wasn't my point. I was working up to ask where you studied acting. You did, didn't you?"

  "Ah. A leading statement to get me to reveal my youthful indiscretion?'

  "I wouldn't call it that."

  He flashed me a quick, sheepish, and absolutely irre-sistible smile, this time with no undertone of the leer he'd used earlier. "I majored in Radio, Television, and Film at the University of Texas. Now, my question is, why weren't you there? With your background, I'd think your family would have insisted that you stay in Texas."

  We were turning onto a paved road, and the van settled down to a more sedate shimmy. "Have you ever known kids who were accepted to universities solely on the merit of their family connections?" I asked.

  He thought about it for a moment. "No, I haven't."

  "Well, I have. Too many of them. I know several who didn't make it past the first year. One little blonde got into Texas Tech on her uncle's name when she wasn't smart enough to fill out the paperwork for the dorm let alone the SAT." I shook my head. "I refused to be one of those, especial y since I was a little blonde when I started college, so I spent two years out of state proving to myself, and anyone else who cared to know, that I was smart enough to make it on my own, Then I transferred back,"

  "And gave up acting at the same time?"

  "Yes, and that was a real shame, too, because I'd have been good. Instead, I majored in business with a minor in Poll Sci. It wasn't so bad. I used the acting when I was in the senate." I started looking around. "Oh, and you asked where you could take me. See that hamburger place right there, the Dairy Queen? You can take me through the drive-up."

  "Ah, something to revive your spirit. Think it will help you get through the current rough spot?"

  "At least until the hurly-burly's done."

  He glanced sideways to give me a smile. "Or the battle's lost and won."

  My heart did a flutter step. Nate Wright was good looking, witty, and down-to-earth enough to wear an old Green Clover knit shirt. His clothes were no longer sprinkled with leaves from his fence duty, but they didn't have the pristine look that Jeb's had. I liked that. I liked a lot about Nate.

  And then I remembered when I'd first seen him.

  Yesterday, he'd been arguing with May Feather just hours before she was murdered in a particularly violent way.

  He pulled up to the large outdoor menu, but now my stomach was quivering with something other than anticipation. Nate Wright had known May Feather well, and now he was here, flirting with me.

  No, that wasn't right. He'd known May Feather, but I didn't have any more information than that about their relationship. Except that they'd had some kind of disagreement, and it had ended when he reached for her. She'd jerked away and flipped her hair back before racing off.

  But what had they been arguing about?

  I needed to find out, but how do you phrase a question like that?

  Nate was being asked for our order. He turned to me.

  "What would you like?"

  "A chocolate dipped cone," I said. I needed comfort and I needed it now.

  "What size?" Nate asked.

  I didn't hesitate. "Better make it a large."

  Sixteen

  By the time Nate was getting the baling wire, my tongue was firmly clenched between my teeth so I

  wouldn't pop off and ask a few accusatory, or at least un-comfortable, questions. There was a reason that I was being so unnaturally uncommunicative; I was alone with Nate, and no one on this planet knew that but him and me.

  A question that might provoke him seemed akin to slapping a rattlesnake. When I think it through in advance, I avoid such maneuvers.

  The van rocked as he slammed the back door. His final purchase had been a small amount of baling wire for the job he needed to do. He put it beside the flowers he'd bought earlier, then he was climbing inside.

  "Back to Green Clover?" he asked me.

  "That suits me fine."

  "I assumed it would."

  "And what does that mean?" I asked.

  "You haven't spoken a word to me since you got your ice cream. Unless they're dipping it in some kind of drug, there's something on your mind."

  "There is," I said. "Murder."

  He had the van out of the parking space, and now he put it. in forward and stepped on the gas. "May Feather's murder."

  "That's the one," I said.

  He remained silent, apparently very intent on his driving. He didn't say that May's murder was a terrible thing, or that he was sorry it happened, or that he hoped they'd catch the SOB who did it. Nothing. And that in itself seemed pretty suspicious, until I realized I hadn't made any of those comments, either.

  We rode on for a few miles before he said, "Why did you get out of politics?"

  "I beg your pardon?" I'd been stewing on his silence and when the question came I missed it.

  "Politics," he repeated. "Why did you leave office?"

  "Oh." I gave him my stock answer. "Because I discovered that almost any jackass can get elected, and way too many of them had been." Nate started to smile. I added,

  "Especially if they wear pants and bray real loud."

  He laughed.

  I scowled. "Aren't you going to tell me that's sexist? My brother always says it is."

  "Not if it's the truth—and if you're saying it, then I suspect it is."

  It's hard to argue with that kind of logic. "Thank you."

  "Do you still run with the politicos?"

  "A few, but only those who were real friends, not the ones I just had alliances with."

  "Do you know Liz Carpenter?"

  "I do. A generous and charming woman who says what she means, even if it isn't popular."

  "Not like anyone else I know," he said. Then he asked,

  "Do you think Ann Richards will ever run for president?"

  "I have no idea, but I can't think of anyone who'd do a better job in the office."

  "You really think that?"

  "I do. When she took over the governorship of Texas, the state was six billion dollars in debt, but she worked hard, and when she left, it had a two-billion-dollar sur-plus," I said. "Now that's responsible government."

  "I bet if she'd known she wasn't going to get reelected, she'd have spent every dime."

  "So? A lot of important programs didn't get funded after she left. Having been in the senate, I can say without a qualm that the boys in the legislature like spending money on roads, but rarely on schools or social programs. They like putting funds in their little 'pet pots,' too, just to make sure that the people back home name buildings and such after them."

  Nate didn't even try to hide his grin. "It's pretty obvious why you decided to get out."

  "Back when I was in office my mother kept saying,

  `Now, Katherine, you can attract more flies with honey than with vinegar.' Problem was, that I was almost diabetic from too much honey, and I was damn sick and tired of flies."

  "I'm afraid I'd have to agree with you, rathe
r than your mother. Not that her sentiment isn't correct, but some niceties aren't much more than bribes." He said that like he knew what he was talking about, which made me wonder again who this man was. Thinking back, he'd said more about his brother than himself.

  The van turned down the dusty caliche road that would wind us back to Green Clover. "Almost home," he said.

  "So I see. Guess that's my cue to get serious."

  A puzzled and slightly amused look crossed his mobile face. "Serious about what?"

  "I wondered what you were arguing about yesterday.

  With May Feather."

  The amusement disappeared and his skin washed with red. He took in a breath, carefully, as if he didn't want me to see. "I'm not sure where you got your information."

  "You didn't answer."

  He turned the wheel quickly to avoid the pothole Pd seen last night and kept his eyes trained on the road. His voice was even. "Who says that I argued with May?"

  "I do."

  "I see." He drove carefully but we were almost at Green Clover, and I realized that I'd waited a tad too late to start this conversation. Nate slowed as he turned onto the private road that belonged to the camp.

  "Do you want me to drop you off at the front or at the little gate?" he asked.

  We were close enough I could see that the TV vans were gone, and even though the gates were still closed, there was no one guarding them. "The front will be fine' He turned into the parking area, then rolled up to the entrance. I added, "You still haven't answered my question."

  He appeared intent on getting us lined up absolutely at a right angle with the wrought iron. "Why would you think I argued with May? I hardly—"

  "Because I saw you:'

  He stopped the van and kept his focus on the view outside the windshield. "Then you must have heard what was said." His voice was calm, controlled. He turned to me,

  "The truth is I feel bad about that argument; it didn't have to happen. let you off here, since I have to pull around to the barn:'

  And he still hadn't told me what it was about. I raised an eyebrow, but he was studiously looking out the window again.

  "Well, since you insist," I said, "I expect I'll just head up to the cabin."

  I opened the door and had stepped out when he said,

  "By the way, thanks for corning with me. It was the nicest part of the day." He didn't look cocky now.

  I walked off, knowing that as a detective I had just bombed, and in the future I'd have to allow for the learning curve.

  As I went on past the trailers, the crime scene tape was still on May's. I had to wonder if Jennifer had gotten her underwear yet. And if she'd had that nap she'd needed so badly. And where Mr. Sinatra was at the moment, and who he was terrorizing.

  First stop was the Saloon, where I found half the women at the retreat jammed in at tables, working away on various projects. It wasn't the mosh-pit atmosphere of the night before with lots of cross-table talk and laughter. In fact, the women were so quiet it was almost eerie. I stepped inside and realized that there was a lot of sighing going on, which I suppose is natural when you think about someone you knew who has just died.

  Finally someone talked, and I looked over to see Angie at a long table with about ten other women. They were making greeting cards, mostly in an oriental motif. I'm not much of a stamper, but I dabble, about like I do a lot of things, so I slipped into the group to watch. Angie was working on a card with dark teal paper and an origami kimono that had Asian characters printed on it. It had the antique look of an artifact that had been unearthed from some ancient emperor's tomb.

  She'd added a small tassel with gold threads beside it, and then began fiddling with the placement of a Chinese coin.

  I leaned in closer. "I hope you're planning on selling that; it's nothing short of amazing."

  "Why? You want to buy it?"

  "I want to buy a dozen, but you're going to tell me it's one of a kind. Where did you get your idea?" I was watching as she used a' glue gun to attach the coin in the spot she'd selected.

  "From your demonstration. Recognize the Chinese characters?" She held up scraps of paper, and sure enough, they did look like what I'd taught the women to find on the Internet.

  "I'm glad I was useful. Now can someone teach me to do that origami kimono?"

  "No need." She picked up the card, inspected it for last-minute flaws, then handed it to me. "With my compliments.

  In appreciation for the tip. Oh, and there's an envelope that goes with it in my trailer. I'll get it to you later."

  I didn't even hesitate to take the card. When someone

  makes a generous offer, I accept. "Thank you. This is beautiful and I promise to mail it in good health."

  "You do that. You find out anymore more about those-uh—" she dropped her voice before she said, "Those items that we discussed earlier?"

  "Not a thing. Did you think of anything else?"

  "Not that I'm telling." She smiled, but I wasn't buying it. If she had something new, she'd be dragging me outside to tell all.

  "Angie, can you show me what I'm doing wrong with this kimono?" Sandra Borders was folding a piece of paper into something that I had mistaken for a hibachi; apparently it was supposed to be a kimono. "I think I missed a step."

  "Here," Angie said, pointing. "Take this and wrap it backs See? Then slide this into here."

  "Oh, right."

  I watched, then said to Sande, "Where's your cousin Lynn?" The noir beader was nowhere in evidence. Not that her absence was a bad thing. "I thought you came all the way from L.A. to spend time with her."

  Sande shook her head as her fingers fumbled with the paper. "I was coming here anyway, but then I invited Lynn to the retreat since she lives in Austin. I'm spending two days with her after we leave here:' She was still wrangling with the origami trying to get the sleeves inserted when it ripped. "Oh, sugar!" She held up the two pieces so Angie could view them. "I don't suppose a one-armed kimono could be considered my contribution to Asian art?"

  "Maybe next week:' Angie said, picking up a fresh sheet of paper that was stamped with tiny chrysanthemums.

  "Here, start over. A new look."

  "So, Sande," I said. "Have you enjoyed seeing your cousin after so many years?" Angie gave me a look behind Sande's back, but I kept going. "Has Lynn changed much?"

  "She looks different," Sande said, starting to work on a fresh kimono. "But, then it's been almost ten years since we've seen each other. We mostly e-mail."

  "She told me she'd had a bad divorce."

  "Bad isn't even the word. But she got her revenge—she made him pay. Big!"

  There's no alimony in Texas, only settlement. "I suppose she got the house and half the bank accounts."

  Sande snorted. 'That was the least of it." She lowered the paper that she'd been folding, as well as her voice, and said,

  "He swore there wasn't anybody else, but he did start dating pretty fast, and Lynn . ." she looked around to see if anyone else was listening. There wasn't, or they were smart enough to pretend they weren't. "Lynn didn't stand for that."

  Angie leaned forward. "What does that mean?"

  "Well, he was renting some big place on the lake, and she decided to stake it out. Like some kind of detective_ Only nothing much happened until a lady came to clean; Lynn decided that was her chance, and she just waltzed in behind the woman. She said she was Carl's wife, which was true, and when the woman was in another room Lynn swiped the woman's key and raced down the road and got a duplicate made." Angie and I stared, rapt. "By the time she got back, the woman was frantic looking for her keys, so Lynn

  `helped her look,' And found them—surprise, surprise."

  "But what did Lynn do with the key?" I asked.

  Sande said just above a whisper, "First, she did a lot of research on the Internet." Sande dropped her voice even more. "I thought she was going to make a nuclear bomb—

  she scared me to death, but finally she found something that was
almost harmless. She found a way to make a stink bomb that was rigged with a timer. Can you believe that?

  She put it under his bed. And when it went off _ . ." Sande was grinning now "Carl was furious, and he called Lynn from his cell phone because he couldn't stay in the house.

  He said he'd been alone in the bedroom, but Lynn thinks he had company, and it must have been worse than farting under the covers."

  Angie let out a snort of laughter, then stifled herself, as she realized she was getting a lot of curious glances.

  "Did she ever find out if there was a woman?" I asked, thinking of May.

  "I don't know. At the time, she was just after revenge."

  Angie was still grinning. "Think she'd tell me how to build that bomb?"

  "You can't tell her I told you about it," Sande said, "but I'll see if I can get the web page."

  Lynn might be tacky and rude, but I had to give her credit for ingenuity. "Very tricky."

  "I mean that about not letting on that I told you," Sande added, "She's not someone to cross."

  "Promise," I said, exchanging a look with Angie.

  "Me, too," Angie said. "Here, give me that paper—"

  "I know. I'm still doing this wrong," Sandra said, "It's the collar."

  Angie helped her while I thought about Lynn. An anony-mous stink bomb wasn't nearly the same as sending a woman over a cliff, but I'm no psychiatrist. I had no idea if a woman who would make a stink bomb was capable of murder.

  I looked around. My fingers were itching for the feel of beads and the total absorption of making something. All of my supplies were in the Lazy L, and I wasn't in the mood for the hike. Who might stake me to a few beads? Beth was at a large round table, and she signaled me to come over. I was on my way when I saw that she was working with wire.

  They were doing the dreaded wrapped loop.

  It's a standard in some types of beading. You take a piece of wire or stiff pin, make a loop at one end, then take the tail of the loop and wrap it around the rest of the wire.