Best Kept Secrets

by Sandra Brown

  “I—” Alex began.

  “Are you lost?”

  “I’m looking for Nora Gail Burton.”

  “Whaddaya want with her?”

  “I want to talk to her.”

  “What about?”

  “It’s personal.”

  He squinted suspiciously. “You selling something?”

  “No.”

  “You got an appointment?”

  “No.”

  “She’s busy.”

  He started to close the door, but a man approached it on his way out. He squeezed between them, doffing his bill cap to Alex and muttering thanks to the doorman. Alex took advantage of the interruption and stepped over the threshold into a formally decorated vestibule. “I’d like to see Ms. Burton, please. I promise not to take too much of her time.”

  “If you’re looking for work, miss, you’ll need to fill out an application and provide pictures. She doesn’t see a girl until she’s looked over her pictures.”

  “I’m not looking for work.”

  He considered her for another long moment before coming to a favorable conclusion. “Name?”

  “Alexandra Gaither.”

  “Wait right here, you hear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t move.”

  “I promise.”

  He retreated toward the back of the house, moving along the staircase with a grace and lightness of tread unusual for a man his size. His order for her to stay put had been so emphatic that it had nailed her shoes to the floor. She didn’t think anything could prise her away.

  Within seconds, however, the music beckoned her toward its source. Low conversation and soft laughter lured her toward the violet brocade drapes that separated the hallway from the room beyond. The edges overlapped so she couldn’t see anything. Raising her hand tentatively, she pushed them apart and peeked through the slit.

  “Ms. Gaither.”

  She jumped and spun around, dropping her hand guiltily. The bearded giant was looming over her, but his soft, pink lips were twitching with amusement.

  “This way,” the mammoth said. He led her behind the stairwell and stopped in front of a closed door. After giving it three sharp raps, he pushed it open and stepped aside for Alex to enter. He closed the door behind her.

  Alex had expected the madam to be reclining on satin sheets. Instead, she was seated behind a large, functional desk banked by metal file cabinets. From the number of ledgers and folders and stacks of correspondence scattered across the desk, it looked as though she conducted as much business here as in the boudoir.

  Nor was her clothing what Alex would have expected. Instead of a scanty article of lingerie, she was wearing a tailored wool business suit. She was, however, elaborately jeweled, and all the pieces were genuine and exquisite.

  Her hair had been bleached snow-white and looked like a sculpted mound of cotton candy. Somehow, though, the outdated style suited her. Like her sister Wanda, her figure gravitated toward plump, but she carried that well, too. Her complexion was her best feature. It was flawless, smooth, and milky white. Alex doubted it had ever been exposed to the damaging West Texas sun.

  The blue eyes with which she assessed Alex were as calculating as those of the cat that was occupying the corner of the desk nearest her right hand.

  “You have better taste than your mother,” she said without preamble, giving Alex a slow once-over. “Celina had pretty features, but no sense of style. You do. Sit down, Miss Gaither.”

  “Thank you.” Alex sat down in the chair across the desk. After a moment, she laughed and shook her head with chagrin. “Forgive me for staring.”

  “I don’t mind. No doubt I’m your first madam.”

  “Actually, no. I prosecuted a woman in Austin whose modeling agency proved to be a prostitution ring.”

  “She was careless.”

  “I did my homework. We had an airtight case against her.”

  “Should I take that as a warning?”

  “Your operation doesn’t fall into my jurisdiction.”

  “Neither does your mother’s murder case.” She lit a slender black cigarette as a man would, with an economy of motion, and offered one to Alex, who declined. “A drink? Forgive me for saying that you look like you could use one.” She gestured toward a lacquered liquor cabinet that was inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  “No, thank you. Nothing.”

  “Peter said you declined to fill out an application, so I guess you’re not here looking for a job.”

  “No.”

  “Pity. You’d do very well. Nice body, good legs, unusual hair. Is that its natural color?”

  “Yes.”

  The madam grinned wickedly. “I know several regulars who would enjoy you a lot.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said stiffly, the compliment making her feel like she needed a bath.

  “I guess you’re here on business. Yours,” she said with a lazy smile, “not mine.”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  “First, I’d like to ask one of my own.”

  “All right.”

  “Did Reede send you here?”

  “No.”

  “Good. That would have disappointed me.”

  “I found you through your sister.”

  One eyebrow arched a fraction of an inch higher. “Wanda Gail? I thought she believed that speaking my name aloud would turn her into a pillar of salt, or some such nonsense. How is she? Never mind,” she said when she sensed Alex’s hesitation.

  “I’ve seen Wanda Gail from a distance. She looks terrible. That little pecker who professes to be a man of God has nearly ruined her health, as well as her looks. Her kids go around like ragamuffins. If she wants to live like that, fine, but why impose poverty on them?”

  She was genuinely indignant. “There’s no righteousness in being poor. I’d like to help her financially, but I’m sure she would rather starve than take a cent from me, even if her husband would allow it. Did she just come right out and tell you that her sister was a whore?”

  “No. She only gave me directions here. I guess she assumed that I already knew your… occupation.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “My business has been lucrative, but I’m branching out. I used to screw men for fun, Ms. Gaither. I’m still screwing them, but now I do it mostly for money. And you know what? Money’s even more fun.” Her laugh was throaty and complacent.

  She had none of Wanda Gail’s timidity. Alex got the impression that Nora Gail wasn’t afraid of Satan himself, that she would walk up to him and spit in his eye without an ounce of trepidation. After that, she would probably seduce him.

  “In fact,” she continued, “you were lucky to catch me in. I just returned from a meeting with my banker. No matter how busy he is, he makes room in his schedule to see me.”

  She gestured down at the portfolio lying open on top of the desk directly in front of her. Even reading it upside down, Alex recognized the logo on the letterhead.

  “NGB, Incorporated,” she mouthed silently. When her eyes met the madam’s again, Nora Gail’s were gloating. “You are NGB, Incorporated? Nora Gail Burton,” she said faintly.

  “That’s right.”

  “You signed the letter the businesspeople sent to me.”

  “I helped draft it.” Her long, beautifully manicured nails sank into the cat’s lush fur as she scratched it behind the ears. “I don’t like what you’re trying to do here, Miss Gaither. I don’t like it at all. You’re about to throw a goddamned wrench into all my carefully orchestrated plans for expansion.”

  “As I recall, NGB, Incorporated proposes to build a resort hotel near Purcell Downs.”

  “That’s right. A resort complete with golf course, putting greens, tennis courts, racquetball, swimming. You name it, it’ll have it.”

  “And does a whore come with every room?”

  Nora Gail gave another of her bawdy laughs, taking no offense. “No. But
who knows better how to show folks a good time than an old whore? I’ve got the best resort architects in the country working on the layout. It’ll be spectacular, gaudy as hell, which I’ve decided the tourist trade likes. Everybody who comes to Texas from out of state, particularly from back east, expects us to be loud, raucous, and tasteless. I don’t want my customers to be disappointed.”

  “Have you got the money to build a place like that?” Alex asked, her peevishness giving way to curiosity.

  “I’ve got enough put aside to borrow against. Honey, more cowboys, truckers, roughnecks, white-collar types, statesmen, and would-be statesmen have trooped up those stairs than I could count,” she said, pointing toward the staircase. “Actually, I could tell you exactly how many, how long each stayed, what he did, what he drank, what he smoked, whatever you wanted to know. My records are that meticulous.

  “I’m a whore, but I’m a goddamned smart one. You don’t go into this business just knowing how to make a john come. You go into it knowing how to make him come quickly so you can move on to the next one. You’ve also got to know how to get him to drop more dollars than he intends to while he’s visiting.”

  She sat back and stroked the cat. “Yes, I’ve got the money. More important, I’ve got the brains to pyramid it into a fortune. With that resort, I can go legitimate. I’ll never have to give a blow job to another stiff cock unless it’s one of my own choosing, or listen to another hard-luck story from a man about how his wife doesn’t understand him.

  “I’m living for the day I can move out of this place and into town, hold my head up, and say, ‘Kiss my ass,’ to anybody who doesn’t like me moving into his neighborhood.” She pointed her cigarette toward Alex. “I don’t need a cheerleader like you to come in here and fuck it up for me.”

  It was quite a speech. In spite of herself, Alex was fascinated, though not cowed. “All I’m trying to do is solve a murder case.”

  “Not for the sake of law and order you’re not. The state doesn’t give a damn about Celina Gaither’s killing, or it would have been looked into years ago.”

  “You’ve just admitted that the case warrants being reopened.”

  Nora Gail gave an elegant shrug. “Maybe from a legal standpoint, but not from a personal one. Listen, sugar, take my advice. I’m talking to you now like I would to one of my girls when things aren’t working out for her.” She leaned forward. “Go home. Leave things here the way they were. Everybody’ll be happier, especially you.”

  “Do you know who murdered my mother, Ms. Burton?”

  “No.”

  “Do you believe that Gooney Bud killed her?”

  “That harmless idiot? No.”

  “So, you suspect someone else. Who?”

  “I’d never tell you.”

  “Even under oath on the witness stand?”

  She shook her head of glorious white hair. “I wouldn’t incriminate my friends.”

  “Like Reede Lambert?”

  “Like Reede Lambert,” Nora Gail repeated firmly. “We go way back.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  Nora Gail’s husky chuckle brought Alex’s head up. “Does it bother you to know that Reede and I used to screw our brains out?”

  “Why should it?”

  Without taking her eyes off Alex, Nora Gail sent a plume of smoke ceilingward and ground out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “You tell me, sugar.”

  Alex drew herself up, attempting to reestablish herself as a tough prosecutor. “Was he with you the night my mother was killed?”

  “Yes,” she answered without a second’s hesitation.

  “Where?”

  “I believe we were in my car.”

  “Screwing your brains out?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “My interest is strictly professional,” Alex snapped. “I’m trying to establish Reede Lambert’s alibi. I need to know where you were, what you were doing, and for how long.”

  “I fail to see the relevance.”

  “Let me decide the relevance. Besides, what difference does it make if you tell me now? I’m sure you gave the answers to the officers who questioned you before.”

  “No one ever questioned me.”

  “What?” Alex exclaimed.

  “No one ever questioned me. I guess Reede told them that he was with me and they believed him.”

  “Was he with you all night?”

  “I’d swear to that in court.”

  Alex gave her a long steady look. “But was he?”

  “I’d swear under oath that he was,” she said, her eyes openly challenging.

  That was a dead-end street. Alex decided to stop butting her head against the bricks. It was giving her a headache. “How well did you know my mother?”

  “Well enough not to cry over her death.” Her candor matched Stacey Wallace’s. Alex should have been inured to it by now, but she wasn’t. “Look, sugar, I hate to put it to you so bluntly, but I didn’t like your mother. She knew that Reede and Junior both loved her. The temptation was just too strong.”

  “What temptation?”

  “To play them against each other, see how far she could go. After your daddy got killed, she started playing up to them again. Reede was slow to forgive her for getting pregnant, but not Junior. I guess he saw his chance and took it. Anyway, he started courting her in earnest.

  “His folks didn’t like it. Stacey Wallace was about to come apart at the seams over it. But it looked like Junior was going to get Celina, after all. He made it known to anybody who wanted to listen that as soon as he graduated, he was going to marry her. Tickled your grandma to death. She’d always been jealous of Reede and fancied Junior Minton as a son-in-law.”

  She paused to light another cigarette. Alex waited impatiently, a knot of tension drawing tighter in her chest. After Nora Gail’s cigarette was lit she asked, “How did Reede feel about the pending marriage between Celina and Junior?”

  “He was still pissed at Celina, but he cared—a hell of a lot. That’s why he came to me that night. Celina had gone out to the ranch for supper. Reede expected Junior to pop the question. By morning, he expected them to be engaged.”

  “But by morning, Celina was dead.”

  “That’s right, sugar,” Nora Gail replied coolly. “And in my opinion, that was the best solution to their problem.”

  As though punctuating her startling statement, a shot rang out.

  Chapter 34

  “Good Lord, what was that?” Alex sprang to her feet.

  “A gunshot, I believe.” Nora Gail remained admirably calm, but she had already reached the door by the time the man who had greeted Alex flung it open. “Is anyone hurt, Peter?”

  “Yes, ma’am. A customer’s been shot.”

  “Phone Reede.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Peter lurched toward the telephone on the desk. Nora Gail left the office. Alex followed her. The madam flung open the drapes with a theatrical flourish and took in the scene at a glance. With apprehension and curiosity, Alex peered over Nora Gail’s shoulder.

  Two men whom Alex assumed were bouncers had subdued a man and were restraining him against the ornate bar. Several scantily clad young women were cowering against the purple velvet furniture. Another man was lying on the floor. Blood was pooling beneath him, making a mess on the pastel Oriental rug.

  “What happened?” When Nora Gail got no answer, she repeated her question with noticeably more emphasis.

  “They got in a scuffle,” one of the prostitutes answered finally. “Next thing we knew, the gun went off.” She pointed down. A revolver was lying on the floor near the prone man’s feet.

  “What were they fighting over?” After a lengthy silence, one of the girls fearfully raised her hand.

  “Go to my office and stay there.” Nora Gail’s tone was as brittle as cracking ice. It suggested that the girl should have known how to prevent an incident like this. “The rest of you get upstairs, and stay there until f
urther notice.”

  No one argued. Nora Gail ran a tight ship. The young women flitted past Alex like a flock of butterflies. They were met on their way upstairs by several men stampeding down, pulling on their clothes as they ran. Without exception, they looked neither right nor left as they exited through the front door.

  It was a farcical scene, but giggling over it was out of the question. Alex was mortified. She had been on the fringes of violence before, but reading about criminal action in a police report was different from experiencing it firsthand. There was something very startling and real about the sight and scent of fresh, human blood.

  Nora Gail gestured Peter, who had rejoined them, toward the bleeding man. He knelt beside him and pressed his fingers against the man’s carotid artery. “He’s alive.”

  Alex saw some of the starch go out of Nora Gail’s posture. She’d handled the situation with aplomb, but she wasn’t made of stone. She had been more worried about the situation than she had let on.

  Hearing the wail of a siren, Nora Gail turned toward the door and was on the threshold to greet Reede when he came barging in. “What happened, Nora Gail?”

  “There was a dispute over one of the girls,” she informed him. “A man’s been shot, but he’s alive.”

  “Where is he? The paramedics are—” Reede stopped short when he spotted Alex. At first he just gaped at her with patent disbelief; then, his face turned dark with rage. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Conducting my investigation.”

  “Investigation, my ass,” he growled. “Get the hell out of here.”

  The wounded man moaned, drawing Reede’s attention. “I suggest you tend to your own business, Sheriff Lambert,” Alex said tartly.

  He cursed as he knelt down beside the man. When he noticed the amount of blood, however, his concentration switched immediately from Alex to the victim. “How’re you doing, cowboy?” The man moaned. “What’s your name?”

  His eyes fluttered open. He comprehended the question, but didn’t seem able to answer. Reede gently moved aside his clothing until he found the source of the blood. The bullet had pierced his side at about waist level. “You’ll live,” he told him. “Just hang in there a few more minutes. An ambulance is on its way.”