Winning Texas (10 page)

“
Thanks, Matt. Houston has definitely ripened me. Soon I
’
ll be so ripe, I
’
ll be rotting before your very eyes.
”

He roared with laughter and put his big hand lightly on her arm. His touch felt warm and protective. They finished their entrees.

“
How old are you, Matt? I
’
ve forgotten.
”

He looked chagrined, but didn
’
t dodge the question.
“
I
’
m fifty-two, getting old. You
’
re about forty, right? Still got a few years on you, Annie Girl.
”

“
You look different
–
and better
–
than you did ten years ago,
”
Annie said.
“
You
’
ve taken off some weight, haven
’
t you?
”

“
Yeah, I started running again and gave up sweets,
”
he said.
“
Speaking of which, would you like to order dessert, or would you rather have a quiet nightcap on my balcony?
”

“
Where
’
s your balcony?
”

“
Just a few blocks from here. I have a garage apartment in Montrose.
”

“
Okay, I
’
ll follow you there,
”
Annie said.

Fifteen minutes later, they were sipping scotch and looking at the stars on the narrow balcony of his apartment in the urban, tree-lined Montrose area. With its ancient oaks and solidly built old houses, Montrose was a haven for well-heeled hipsters and upstart millennials. It wasn
’
t far from her Heights cottage, but his neighborhood was more upscale and sophisticated. Matt didn
’
t fit the profile of the average Montrose dweller, but had found a great efficiency apartment. His place consisted of one large room above a garage that encompassed a kitchenette, a living space and a bedroom area with an adjoining bathroom. She liked its almost-military compactness and order, and the balcony was a big plus.

“
This place is wonderful,
”
she said.
“
I
’
m impressed that you keep it so neat.
”

“
I like living alone, surprisingly. Sue and I got married too young. Had to, with a kid on the way. So I never had a place of my own, or the freedom of a bachelor
’
s life.
”

He returned to the kitchen, brought out the bottle of scotch and poured more into the heavy tumblers.

“
I don
’
t usually like scotch, but this stuff just slides down your throat,
”
she said.

“
Thanks. I bought it on the Isle of Skye, off the Scotland coast,
”
he said.
“
I went there by myself a few months ago and spent a week walking, reading and thinking about life.
”

“
Why
’
d you choose the Isle of Skye?
”

“
My mom
’
s family emigrated from there way back when,
”
he said.
“
I always wanted to see it.
”

She was intrigued with their conversation. He
’
d surprised her all evening, showing a reflective side she
’
d never seen. Now he caught her off guard again, leaning over her chair and kissing her lightly on the lips. She kissed him back and after a while, he led her inside to his bed.

A few hours later, she woke and wondered briefly where she was. She heard Matt
’
s even breathing and tried, but failed, to go back to sleep. She
’
d always found it difficult to actually sleep with someone she
’
d had sex with for the first time. It always felt suffocating. She
’
d rather digest the experience alone, without the laden expectations sex inevitably carried on the morning after. As he slept soundly, she got up quietly, put on her clothes and wrote a note to leave on his bedside table.

It was close to 2 a.m. as she drove her Camry along the flat, lighted and mostly empty streets from Montrose to the Heights. She was glad she didn
’
t have to worry about getting on a freeway, that she could just glide along, lost in thought. Suddenly, she sensed a dark SUV following a little too closely for her comfort. She looked back a few times, but couldn
’
t see inside the tinted windows. She pulled off in the parking lot of an all-night service station and the big vehicle kept barreling along the street. Shaken, she waited a few moments before getting back on the road and driving the mile or so home. Thankfully, she didn
’
t see the SUV again. She parked in the driveway, let herself into her bungalow, threw off her clothes and fell asleep.

She slept later the next morning and dawdled over breakfast, thinking about her evening with Matt. It was almost 9 a.m. when she walked out her back door, opened the patio gate and saw her Camry parked in the narrow driveway. She uttered a low moan. Someone had slashed all four of her tires and dumped the contents of her trash containers all over her car. She
’
d been followed, as she
’
d suspected, but she thought she
’
d shaken off the tail. Who had it been and why did someone want to hurt her?

CHAPTER 9

Juliana Souza kissed Kyle Krause goodbye at the door of the three-story condominium they shared in southwest Houston. Located in a fashionable area on the Westside, the street consisted of rows of similar-looking condos with balconies, two-car garages and minuscule patios in the back. She didn
’
t much like his place, but it was convenient for Kyle and he wouldn
’
t hear of moving. She favored the multi-million-dollar Memorial area a few miles away with its mid-century spacious homes on large, pine-shrouded lots. Memorial offered a shaded retreat that felt respectable and established. But he liked his kitted-out third floor gym, the incurious neighbors and the anonymity that went with condo land, as she thought of it. However, since she was clearing excellent profits at the clandestine venture in the Hill Country, he
’
d given in to her desire to buy a beach house on Galveston Island, about forty-five miles southeast of Houston. She wanted a hideaway where they could relax and enjoy a romantic weekend once in a while.

Their kiss was perfunctory, as was his goodbye on this sun-soaked Saturday. He was headed out for a business trip and had no interest in checking out real estate on the island with her. She dreaded his road trips, always suspecting they came with nights fueled by plentiful drugs and pliant women.

“
Jules, you can buy anything you want, as long as you stick to the budget we
’
ve agreed to and pay cash,
”
he
’
d said.
“
You don
’
t need me along. Lila Jo Lemmons is a pro and she
’
ll know how to handle everything.
”

Juliana hadn
’
t met Lila Jo, but knew that the real estate broker had sold Kyle his condo a few years ago. He
’
d liked her for finding what he wanted quickly and quietly, and carrying out his instructions without asking unnecessary questions.

“
Okay, but you
’
d better be prepared to like it.
”
She heard the unattractive edge in her voice and hastened to sound more agreeable.
“
Be careful driving to San Antonio and don
’
t run over any of those hideous creatures.
”

She succeeded in getting a laugh out of him. She
’
d been horrified the first time she
’
d seen a dead armadillo, feet up and scaly shell glistening in the sun. He referred to them, as other natives often did, as Texas speed bumps. They weren
’
t quite fast enough, or smart enough, to avoid mortal injury while crossing the state
’
s highways. But she was superstitious about killing them and wondered why they were so creepily drawn to their certain death on the roads.

She stood there a moment flooded with mixed feelings, annoyed that he
’
d left, but anticipating a satisfying day without having to please him. Juliana loved looking at real estate and she
’
d sold high-end beach houses in Brazil for a time before she joined Kyle in Texas. She still checked out the online Brazilian listings for fun. But she hadn
’
t wanted to study to get a real estate license in Houston and be forced to deal with Texans who had the money, but not the rarified taste of her customers in Brazil. She also liked flying under the radar and didn
’
t want to call attention to her immigration status, which was unsettled at the moment. She was angry with Kyle about that, too.

She saw a battered red Mercedes hurtling down the street and figured that it must either be Lila Jo or a crazy teenager seeing how much speed he could get away with in his dad
’
s old car.

The car stopped on the street in front of their condo and a middle-aged woman jumped out and waved vigorously. Lila Jo had the look of a housewife who
’
d ceased caring about her appearance and did just enough to pass muster in public. She had messy hair, overdone makeup and wore faded black jeans and a white T-shirt, which she attempted to gussy up with a flowing tropical print jacket. Her sandals were glorified flip-flops. Juliana, who prided herself on her put-together designer ensembles, had chosen white ankle pants with a lacy camisole and an electric blue blazer.

“
Juliana, right?
”
Lila Jo said brightly.
“
Honey, we
’
re going to have a good time today. Hop in and let
’
s get going.
”

Lila Jo kept up a constant happy patter as she expertly navigated out of Houston to the Gulf Freeway heading southeast. Juliana thought the scenery outside the window spotlighted the ugly side of Houston, flat and featureless, except for junky, dated commercial areas. They passed the tired-looking Baybrook Mall and signs to Clear Lake, where extensive NASA operations and facilities had put Houston on the map decades ago. Clear Lake City was nice enough, she thought, but most of the other suburbs on the Eastside consisted of blue-collar housing close to refineries, beat-up stores and bars. The only time the area exhibited its own spooky charm was at night, when the big refineries were lit up as festively as Christmas trees.

Finally, they reached the bridge that heralded their entrance onto Galveston Island and Juliana
’
s spirits rose at the sight of the open water. She
’
d only been to Galveston a couple of times and wasn
’
t overwhelmed by its beauty, but she longed for access to a beach again. Since she
’
d grown up on Brazil
’
s Copacabana Beach, she
’
d missed the Atlantic Ocean with a longing she couldn
’
t quite explain to Kyle. Galveston
’
s Gulf of Mexico beach wasn
’
t nearly as attractive as coastal beaches on the ocean, but she was willing to give it a chance.

They drove down Broadway, the six-lane road that bisected the island, past Victorian houses and the old Bishop
’
s Palace residence, now a museum. Juliana remembered what first attracted her to Galveston, the wide, colorful median planted in long rows of deep pink Oleander bushes. They looked so perky and festive, making up for the occasional slatternly convenience store or gas station perched between the majestic old houses. Lila Jo told her the island
’
s population of about 50,000 included poverty-level old-timers and working-class families interspersed with affluent Houston residents seeking a weekend escape or retirement lifestyle. It definitely could use more gentrifying.

Lila Jo drove down the old commercial area called The Strand, which Juliana remembered that she
’
d strolled along during the past Christmas season, when she and Kyle had gone to a faux-Victorian festival called Dickens on the Strand. The older buildings housed a decent number of upscale shops and businesses. But she was eager to get on with the house hunting.