Daughter of Deceit

by Patricia Sprinkle

  He stuck out a square hand. “Miz Murray? I am Kenny Todd.” His voice sounded like it had on the phone, high and nasal with a mountain twang.

  She gazed at him in admiration. “I don’t suppose you could give Jon a few lessons in the proper attire for a college graduate, could you?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, earnest as an undertaker. “I can’t teach Jon a thing. He’s way ahead of me.”

  “Most of the time he looks like he recently survived some natural disaster that ripped his clothes to shreds and wiped out all the barbers.”

  “Maybe so, but he cleans up real good when he wants to. The rest of the time, I reckon he figures it don’t—doesn’t matter.” His eyes were as blue as the sky and equally serious.

  “I reckon he does,” she echoed without thinking. Flustered, she stepped back. “Won’t you come in?”

  He glanced down at the floor of the veranda. “There’s a big package here for you. Do you want me to carry it in?”

  Katharine stepped out and peered down at the label. “Drat! It’s a bookshelf I ordered for Jon’s bedroom. I’ve told them not to leave things without ringing the bell, but it doesn’t do any good. I’d appreciate if you’d bring it in and leave it in my study.”

  The box made him stagger, but he still wiped his feet on the mat even though there had been no rain for weeks. He entered the front hall as if it were paved in gold instead of slate, and followed her to the study. No straw on his shoes, she noted as he set down the box with a whoof! of exertion. “That sucker’s heavy,” he told her. “I’m sorry I’m late. I got caught in traffic. It’s pretty bad today.”

  “It’s always bad around here at this time of day.”

  “Some of your streets could use widening.”

  She didn’t bother to explain that people of wealth prefer old, inconvenient houses and narrow, inconvenient streets. He might ask why, and she had no idea.

  He stepped back out into the hall and looked around. “I like your house. And that’s a fine piece, there.” He had zeroed in on the most valuable piece of furniture they owned, an eighteenth-century table that held Tom’s jade collection. She and Tom had fallen in love with the table on a trip to England years before, and had bought it as an investment.

  “That jade is practically the only thing left in the house worth having.” Hollis spoke from the kitchen door. In black jeans and a black top, with her dark hair and vivid lipstick, she could have passed for a witch.

  Kenny was certainly staring at her like she had come in on a broomstick.

  She sauntered over next to the table. “Hey, Kenny. I’m Hollis Buiton, Jon’s cousin. We’ve met.” She flung down the words like a challenge and seemed poised to run.

  Kenny nodded. “I remember. You go to that school down in Savannah, the artsy place. You’re looking real good.” He sounded so surprised that it was the same as an insult.

  It obviously annoyed Hollis. “I graduated from SCAD. Now I’m helping Aunt Kat redecorate her house.” If she had hoped to impress Kenny, she was disappointed. He didn’t say a word. “The house got broken into back in June,” she added. “It was practically destroyed.”

  Katharine was puzzled. As a rule, Hollis didn’t babble.

  Kenny replied not to Hollis, but to Katharine. “I’m real sorry to hear that, ma’am.” He jerked his head toward Hollis. “Is she living with you while Jon’s away?”

  Before Katharine could answer, Hollis did. “No. I have my own place. Are you still fooling around with computers?” She made it sound like one step up from underwater basket weaving.

  “Working for Google.” He pulled down one sleeve of his jacket as if he feared it was too short.

  Katharine was intrigued. The two of them bristled like cats spoiling to fight.

  Hollis gave a languid wave toward the table. “The jade’s only here because it got stolen the weekend before the break-in, so it wasn’t here when the second set of burglars arrived. Fortunately, it was recovered.”

  Kenny asked Katharine. “Why didn’t the folks who stole the rest of your stuff take that table? It’s extremely valuable.” He stroked the top, then said with a slantwise look at Hollis, “A lot more valuable than the jade, actually. But you probably know that.”

  Hollis waited for Katharine to refute it, but Katharine had to nod. “I know.”

  Hollis’s eyes narrowed to slits. She didn’t say a word.

  Katharine continued, trying to ease the tension, “I have no idea why the thieves didn’t take furniture, but all they seemed to want were smaller valuables and carpets.”

  Most of the rest they smashed, shattered, or slashed. She didn’t bother to say that. Kenny didn’t need a recital of her misfortunes. But she felt a sharp pain, as if a crystal shard had pierced her heart. Grief takes you like that—out of nowhere, unexpected.

  Kenny stroked the tabletop again. “They sure as shooting must not have known the value of this piece. It’s a beauty.”

  When he bent to look closer at the wood, his profile made Katharine think she had seen him before. “Did I ever run into you over at Jon’s?”

  “No, ma’am. I would remember. I never forget people, or when and where I’ve met them.” He glanced toward Hollis as he said that. Hollis bent down and picked up an invisible speck on the hall rug.

  When Kenny peered through the arch that led to the living room, Katharine automatically explained, “Most of the furniture is away, getting new covers. The people who broke in slashed the upholstery, as well.”

  Heavens! she chided herself. Do you have to explain your life to a stranger who’s only going to be here an hour? How pathetic is that?

  Kenny spoke cautiously, repeating himself as if determined to say the right thing. “Are your sofas and chairs antiques, too?”

  “Oh no, they’re plain, garden-variety stuffed furniture.”

  He gave the room an appraising look. “I’ll bet when they get back, this room will be lovely and comfortable.” He was so solemn that Katharine wanted to tell him to relax—except it would probably only make him more nervous.

  “It doesn’t even have the pictures hung or decorative accessories around,” Hollis said scathingly. “You don’t have any idea how good it’s going to look.”

  He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Looks good to me.”

  “Hollis has been helping me redecorate,” Katharine told him. “She’s very good. She helped me choose the color schemes and she has made all my drapery.”

  If she hoped that might thaw the ice in the hall, it was a forlorn hope. Kenny looked around as solemnly as if he were a judge at a home show. Hollis watched him, tense as one of the entrants. Kenny pretended to ignore her, but Katharine had the feeling his antennae were tuned in her direction. “Looks like you’re doing a pretty good job,” he said eventually.

  “I’m doing a real good job,” Hollis retorted. “Not that you’d know.”

  He shrugged again. “Probably not.”

  Whatever it was that crackled between these two young people, it made Katharine uneasy. Hollis might choose weird young men to date, but she was basically sound. What gave her this intense dislike for Kenny?

  All Katharine knew about him was that he was the friend of a friend of Jon’s, and Jon picked up people the way cats pick up fleas, expansively including them in his circle without bothering to find out much about them. Could she be sure Kenny wouldn’t show up with a truck the next time she left the house and steal what the last thieves had left?

  Chiding herself for thinking such thoughts about a young man who had come across town in rush hour traffic to help her, she offered, “Would you like a Coke? Hollis and I were having one when you arrived.”

  He brightened. “That would be real nice. It’s hotter than the hinges of—well, it’s real hot out there.”

  Katharine brought all three drinks from the kitchen. She found Kenny and Hollis in the dining room, eyeing each other like enemies waiting for the battle to begin.

  “I suppo
se you know all about that rug?” Hollis demanded.

  He knelt and brushed it with his fingers. “It looks like a fine old Aubusson to me, handwoven back when they were still made in France. Is that right?”

  Hollis didn’t answer. Possibly, Katharine thought, she didn’t know. Hollis had been more interested in decorative fabrics and tapestries at SCAD. But Kenny’s answer tallied with the information that came with the rug, which Tom had bought a few weeks ago for their anniversary.

  Hollis folded her arms over her chest. “I guess you studied them at Tech?” She sounded so snotty that Katharine wanted to swat her.

  Kenny gave her a sunny smile. “Why, you know, we have one on the floor of the old shack up home.”

  This had to stop. “You must like antiques,” Katharine told him.

  He hadn’t realized she was there. Abashed, he stood and brushed his knees. “Not to say like them, ma’am, but I grew up around them. The women in my family all collect them.”

  Hollis gave a grimace that made Katharine suspect that she, too, was picturing a small white house on a hillside with flea-market antiques flowing across the sagging porch to join a host of broken appliances and junked cars. But would that sort of collector be able to identify a handwoven rug?

  She handed him his Coke. With a grateful “Thanks!” he took a long swallow.

  “What does your family collect?” she asked, feeling like she was single-handedly pushing a heavy conversation uphill.

  Kenny grinned. “It’s not the family, only the women. But they collect almost anything you can think of. They started with small stuff—dishes, clocks, things like that? But then they moved up to furniture. By now, it has become a pure-T obsession with them. That’s how I recognized the table back there.” He gestured with his head. “Having been drug all over the place looking at old furniture, I’ve picked up a bit of knowledge.”

  “You’d better not count on knowing enough to buy stuff without getting it appraised,” Hollis warned. “I took a class on antique furniture, and people get fooled all the time into thinking they are getting a bargain when they aren’t.”

  He favored her with a look out of the corner of his eye. “I’ll give you a call if I’m ever of a mind to buy something.”

  “Do they sell antiques, too?” Katharine had shopped with friends in antique and secondhand shops in North Georgia. They ranged from broken-down sheds fenced with chicken wire to historic buildings divided into stalls for several dealers. Wouldn’t it be odd if one of those shops belonged to Kenny’s family? None of them, however, had carried pieces like her table or that rug. Where had he learned about quality antiques?

  “No, ma’am, they never sell anything. They ship ’em back home and find some place to put ’em. They’ve brought home so many, Daddy and my uncles had to build places to hold ’em. But not one of my mama’s chairs or sofas is any good for sitting on. I wish Mama could see how you’ve mixed up your antiques with comfortable pieces. I’ll bet when you are finished, it will look a lot more realistic, like the furniture is furniture instead of for show.”

  “Thank you.”

  Kenny either sensed her embarrassment or felt he’d said too much, for he asked, “Where is that computer you were wanting me to take a look at?”

  “Back in the study.” She led him across the hall.

  As he slid into the desk chair, he bent and said softly, “Why, hey, little kitty. You hiding under there?”

  Phebe was a streak of orange and black as she dashed for Tom’s library door.

  “She doesn’t like you,” Hollis commented. The word “either” hung in the air.

  “She’s new to this house,” Katharine explained quickly. “Still a little skittish around strangers. That’s the computer,” she added, feeling foolish since he was sitting in front of it.

  Once Kenny touched the computer, he didn’t notice anything else. He set his glass on the floor and bent over the keyboard like a concert pianist making the acquaintance of a new instrument.

  He looked up in a minute. “Do you mind if I shed my coat and tie?”

  “Of course not.” Was her son this polite in other people’s houses?

  He literally rolled up his sleeves before he went to work, revealing muscular forearms covered with a fuzz of light yellow hair. Watching him, Katharine was impressed with the difference between his diffidence in conversation and his confidence in his work. First he made sure the computer was properly assembled. When he tried to turn it on, she held her breath until they were both sure nothing was going to happen.

  “I’d have felt like a fool if it had worked,” she admitted.

  He laughed. “That’s what people always say. Let’s see what’s inside the CPU.” He pulled a small screwdriver from his shirt pocket, opened the box, and began poking and prying inside. “Looks like your motherboard’s shot.” He began to whistle.

  Hollis huffed. “Sound cheerful about it, why don’t you?”

  Kenny tightened his jaw, but did not rise to the bait.

  “But it’s almost new,” Katharine protested.

  “Happens sometimes. It’ll still be under warranty, so you could take it back and have them give you another one. But if you like, I’ve got a motherboard in my car I could install. It would save you time and a bit of trouble.”

  “That would be great.” One thing you learned by living alone was how to make decisions quickly. With all she had to do in the next two weeks, time was more precious than money.

  He pushed his chair back. “I’ll go get it. I’ll be right back.”

  “Ah’ll be rat back,” Hollis mimicked his accent when he was out the door.

  “What is the matter with you?” Katharine demanded. “He seems nice enough.”

  “He’s a self-righteous prig.”

  “Can you at least be polite?”

  “No.” She picked a novel off Katharine’s shelves and headed to her Uncle Tom’s library. “But I’ll stay until he goes. I’ll be reading in here. Call if you need me.”

  That made Katharine more nervous. She went back into the kitchen and switched on the CD player, thinking bluegrass music might warm up the atmosphere, but when Kenny walked back in the hall he stopped and frowned.

  “You don’t like the music?” Katharine asked.

  “It’s okay if you want to keep it on, but I like classical, myself.”

  She cut it off and brought back a magazine to read in the wing chair by her study window while Kenny worked. He didn’t ask where Hollis had gone, but her absence seemed to relax him. While his fingers were busy inside the computer, he began to whistle the song they’d just heard on the CD. Katharine lifted her head to listen. “You are the only person I know who can whistle a whole song on key.”

  He flushed. “Sorry. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break.”

  “I like it. Do you sing?”

  “No, ma’am. The only musical talent I have is for whistling.” He resumed work, but stopped whistling. In a few minutes, he said, “Let’s see what she does.”

  When the computer booted, he linked his hands above his head and stretched.

  Katharine smiled. “You are amazing. I’ll bet your family’s real proud of you.”

  His chuckle was as sunny as his smile. “Not really. Every one of the men sat me down and suggested I get some training so I can find a real job in case the computer industry goes bust, and they’re all waiting for me to show up on the front porch one night admitting I’m starving and need a loan.”

  Thinking about how she wished Jon were closer, she asked, “Do they live far away?”

  “About an hour and a half north of here.”

  “Is your mother okay about your living in Atlanta?”

  “Oh, sure. Mama gets around more than Daddy, so she understood why I might want to live in the city. She told me to do whatever makes me happy. But before I came down here, her sisters gave me all sorts of helpful advice.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Janie said, ‘If you ever need a little money
, give me a call and I won’t tell the others.’ Wanda said, ‘If you wind up in jail, give me a call. I’ll come bail you out and won’t tell your folks.’ Flossie warned me not to forget my roots, and Bessie told me she is real disappointed, because she had me slated to be a preacher. Can you imagine that? She knows good and well I never planned on being a preacher. All I ever wanted to do was work on computers.”

  “You did a great job on mine. How much do I owe you?”

  “Not a thing. I got that motherboard off a computer I bought for parts, and I’ve more than made back my investment selling pieces to other folks.”

  “But your labor?”

  “Jon’s fed me enough times to pay for that. I’m glad to do his mama a favor, him being out of the country and all. You call me if you have any more trouble, you hear?”

  “Thank you. The biggest trouble I’m likely to have tonight is trying to track down a friend’s father’s military medals. She left a box of them and wants me to see if I can help her figure out what he did to earn them.”

  What made her say that? Could she possibly care whether a young man she scarcely knew saw her as a woman with interests and abilities of her own, and not simply as Jon Murray’s mom?

  Kenny lit up like a summer morning. “Military history is something of a hobby of mine. Could I see what medals you’ve got?”

  She fetched Bara’s cigar box, vexed with herself. Chances were good that Kenny knew little more about military medals than she did, but he’d spend the next who-knew-how-long trying to track them down. Why hadn’t she remembered that giving a computer geek a research subject is like throwing fresh steak to a starving dog?

  Chapter 12

  She came back to find pictures of medals on her computer screen. “This is U.S. Military About dot-com,” he informed her. “It tells all about various medals and what it takes to earn them, and it has good pictures, too. I’ve bookmarked the site for you to read later.”