Beads of Doubt (29 page)

“Beth said I’d find you here. How’d things go with your brother?” he asked.

I sighed. “I was just on the phone trying to get through to Gregg.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.”

“Heaven will direct it,” he said. I was impressed; it’s not often you find a man who not only recognizes a quote from
Hamlet
but who can also come back with the next line. Then he grinned. “But I suspect in this case, heaven will get a little help.”

I sighed. “He said something about my not knowing what was best for the Manse that made me suspicious.”

Nate’s eyes darkened. “You think he’s involved with Houston on this?”

I reached down and scratched Sinatra’s chin. “I don’t know. But right now, I’m at an impasse. Beth’s looking up the accident, Lauren’s chasing down the
High Jinx
, and I’m spinning my wheels.”

Nate crossed the room and rounded the desk. I swear I could hear the sparks crackle as he put his hands on my shoulders and began to rub. My tense muscles softened into butter under his strong fingers.

“There must be something we can do,” he said.

“You’re already doing it,” I purred. My hand stopped scratching. Sinatra huffed and jumped off my lap, stalking out of the office.

I leaned back into the chair, enjoying Nate’s closeness, thinking maybe I should just let things go for the day, when he said, “Have you looked at the guest list yet?”

“The guest list?”

“Didn’t Granger ask for it? It might give us at least a few leads.”

I sighed again. “I already went through it with Granger, but there’s a chance I might have missed something.”

“I’ll bet Judy has a copy.”

“You’re right! Let’s head down to the tent.” I wasn’t convinced we’d learn anything, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing. Our bodies brushed as I slipped past him to the door, and a zing went through me. Even if we didn’t find anything on the guest list, I could think of worse things than spending an hour or so in close quarters with Nate.

Judy was helping arrange a display of Swarovski crystal necklaces and matching earrings when we found her. The crystals shimmered in the morning light, and I regretted not bringing my purse. “How are sales going?” I asked.

She beamed at me. “Wonderfully. Thank you so much for letting us use the Manse; we’ve been so busy this weekend. By the end of the event we’ll probably have at least a hundred thousand dollars to contribute to the Ovarian Cancer Organization. And tickets for the necklace are still selling!”

“I’m planning to buy a few more myself,” I said, thinking of Stephen’s comment about what was right for the Manse. My thoughts turned to Tess and Houston’s wife Rebecca, both wonderful women, both struggling with this terrible disease. If helping to find a cure for suffering wasn’t the best possible use for the Manse, what was?

“I was hoping you could help us out,” I said.

Judy smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have an extra copy of the guest list for the reception Thursday night?”

Her face clouded. “The police asked for it, too. For their investigation into that young man’s . . .”

“Yes,” Nate said. “Do you have a spare copy?”

“I’m sure I have one here somewhere.” She turned and flipped through a couple of binders. “Here it is. I think this is the only printout I’ve got, but it’s saved on the computer, so you can have it.”

“Thanks, Judy. I’ll get it back to you this afternoon.”

“Take your time,” she said. “And by the way, I like your hair!”

I raised my hand to my hair and blushed slightly. “Thank you. It’s not permanent.”

“Maybe it should be,” Nate murmured as we walked away from the booth.

“You like it red?”

“It certainly suits your temperament.”

I laughed. “I think I’ll stick with blonde. Where shall we go? My office?”

“We need two chairs. How about the balcony?”

“Great idea. Let’s get a pitcher of iced tea and head upstairs.”

Ten minutes later, we settled ourselves in on the wrought-iron love seat, our thighs touching as Nate pulled out the list. Beth hadn’t found anything out yet on the accident but promised to come up and tell us if she did. I took a sip of iced tea and leaned toward Nate. The morning was already hot, but it wasn’t all due to the sun. I swear that man emanated heat.

“Now, let’s see here. What are we looking for?” Nate said.

I flipped a notebook open to a blank page and poised my pen as he ran his finger down the list. “Anything familiar,” I said. “Or odd.”

“Okay. I guess we can cross off Andrew.”

Despite the heat, I shivered a bit. “We know Houston and Rebecca,” I said. “And Bruce and Delphine. They were outside the night Andrew died.” I blushed, remembering what they had broken up. “And the Yancys.”

“Just the two of them?”

“Louise and Earl. Stephen was there, and Lauren, of course.”

He turned to look at me. “Do you think Lauren could have done it?”

“I don’t know. She’s been so helpful, and she just doesn’t seem like the type.”

“They say Ted Bundy didn’t, either,” Nate said.

I sighed. “I know, I know.” Suddenly a thought occurred to me. “Wait. Is there someone named Sandy on there?” I didn’t think I would have missed Cat’s Eyes at the party, but I couldn’t be sure.

“Who’s Sandy?”

“Someone I met at the poker tournament last night.” I took a sip of tea and scanned the page with him.

“Let’s find out,” he said.

We were moving through the second page when my eyes skidded to a stop. “Wait a moment.”

“What?”

“That name. Linder. Marian and John Linder.”

“What about it?”

“I’ve seen it somewhere before. I just can’t place it.” I thought for a moment. Where had I seen it? It was on a folder somewhere, in a desk . . . “Hang on. I remember it now. That was the name on the client file I found in Houston’s office.”

“Do you think it’s connected?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s possible.” As we turned to the third page, the door to the house squeaked, and I looked up to see Beth.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Well, yes, but I didn’t mind. “No, no,” I said. “We were just going over the guest list from Friday night. What did you find out?”

“Not much, I’m afraid. Andrew was driving, it seems, and he was the only one to make it out without major injuries. I found an old newspaper article. According to the papers, Donovan and the other boy weren’t wearing seat belts.”

I sucked in my breath. “God, what a tragedy.”

“Anyway,” she said, “I found out the other boy’s name. The one who ended up in the wheelchair.”

“And?”

“His name was Keith Linder.”

him?” Beth’s brow creased. “Why? Do you know him?”

 

“No,” Nate said, “but I’m guessing his parents were at the reception Thursday night.”

Her eyes widened. “Do you think . . .”

“I don’t know,” I said. “The file I saw said they lived in Pflugerville. Unless they have an unlisted number, their address should be in the phone book. Anyone up for a short drive?”

“I’d love to,” Beth said. “But I have to get back to my booth. Delta said she’d cover it for an hour, and I’ve only got ten minutes left.”

I turned to Nate. “Are you up for it?”

His face split into a broad grin. “I’m always up for another adventure with my favorite redhead.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “I think I’m glad I’m not coming. I hate feeling like a third wheel.”

An hour later, we turned onto Cuthbert Cove, a cul-de-
sac in a housing development that, based on the size of the trees, had been built within the last few years. Although I was excited to uncover another lead, I didn’t want the ride to end; Nate was fabulous company, and we’d sung to the Beatles and laughed the whole way. “Paperback Writer” was still streaming from the speakers as Nate’s SUV slowed to a stop in front of 2305, a brick one-story ranch with two small crape myrtles and a
For Sale
sign in the front yard.

“Well, this is it,” he said. “What do we say when we knock on the door?”

“That Andrew was Houston’s partner, and we’re hoping they can give us some information that will shed light on what happened.”

Nate grinned. “And that they’re suspects?”

“I think we’d probably be better off keeping that under our hats for now. I wonder why they’re selling the house.”

“Let’s go find out.”

As we headed up the front walk, I noticed a ramp next to the steps. Did Keith still live with his parents? Then Nate’s hand brushed mine, and I stopped thinking about everything. Well, not
quite
everything . . .

“Ready?” He squeezed my hand, sending an electric current through my body.

“Here goes nothing.” I reached out and pushed the doorbell.

The woman who answered the door must have been twenty years younger than Mrs. Yancy, but she looked old beyond her years. Streaks of white peppered her springy black hair, and both her face and frame looked worn, as if she’d carried some heavy burden.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a thin voice. “If you’re interested in the house, I guess you can take a look.”

I realized she thought Nate and I were a couple out house hunting on a Sunday afternoon, and I felt my face heat up. “Oh, no,” I said. “We’re not looking for a house. Are you Mrs. Linder?”

She nodded.

“I don’t believe we’ve met, but you were at my house the other night, for the Bead Tea reception.” I proffered my hand. “I’m Kitzi Camden, and this is my friend, Nate Wright.”

Nate dipped his head, and if he’d had a hat, he would have doffed it. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Linder.”

Mrs. Linder looked confused. “But . . . your hair . . .”

My hand rose to my head, which I now remembered was orange, and I smiled. “I guess I needed a change. We were wondering if we could ask you a few questions about Thursday night.”

“Of course. Do come in.” Nate and I followed her into her small, dark living room. The house smelled faintly of boiled cabbage, and the surfaces were crowded with porcelain and crystal animals, the kind you see on the Shopping Channel. The shades were down, and despite the newness of the house, the sagging couches and fifties side tables mirrored Mrs. Linder’s weariness. She was a meticulous housekeeper, though; there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

“What lovely figurines,” I said.

“Thank you.” Her lips twitched into a sweet smile that lifted years from her face. “The agent told me I should clear them up while the house was on the market, but I couldn’t do it.” She caressed a crystal dolphin’s back. “They make me feel at home.” She looked up and realized Nate and I were still standing by the front hall. “Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Oh, no thanks,” I said, sitting down on a worn blue-plaid couch. I was disappointed when Nate sat down at the other end.

“You have a lovely house,” Nate said when Mrs. Linder had settled herself on the love seat opposite us. “May I ask why you’re moving?”

Her face sagged again. “We had some investments we thought were doing really well, and we were going to move into a bigger place. But now . . .”

I leaned forward. “Were you working with Andrew Lynch?”

Her thin eyebrows rose in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Several people were,” I said. “He was my cousin’s business partner. I understand things weren’t going as well as they could with some of his investment strategies.”

She sighed. “We thought they were, but then Earl and Louise called and told me things weren’t going so well. John and I talked with Andrew last week, and we couldn’t get a straight answer.” She slumped into the couch. “And now, with Andrew gone, I don’t know what to do about it. We put everything we had into it, everything we’d been building since Keith finished his therapy . . .”

“Is Keith your son?”

She nodded. “Our only child. We wanted another one, but it wasn’t in God’s plan, I suppose. Keith was in an accident many years ago—with Andrew, and with another young man, named Donovan. The Yancys’ grandson.” She twisted her thin lips. “It was awful. Poor Donovan didn’t make it, and Keith was paralyzed from the waist down. He had years of therapy. Eventually, the insurance money ran out, and we put every penny we had into making him well again.” She shrugged in sadness and resignation. “He’s better, but he’ll never be quite the same.”

It was sad, I thought, how one split second can shatter a life. If Andrew and his friends had decided to see a movie instead of hitting Sixth Street, or if someone else had driven, or if they’d left just five minutes later, maybe the Yancys would still have their grandson and Keith Linder would be able to walk. I gazed at Marian Linder’s tired frame. She and her son had suffered because of Andrew’s poor judgment in the past. Had the loss of their money been enough to make her snap? “It sounds like you did everything you could to help him through it,” I said. “He’s a lucky young man. Does he live here with you?”

Her eyes flickered to the line of photos on the mantel. Framed snapshots of young, dark-haired man. Smiling. “He works part-time at the local bank. We keep encouraging him to do more, but after the accident, he never quite got his confidence back.”

I ran my eyes over the photos, realizing that none of them included a wheelchair. It appeared that Keith wasn’t the only one who hadn’t come to terms with his handicap. “How did you meet Andrew?” I asked.

“We knew him before the accident; he and Keith were friends at UT. The three of them were coming back from Sixth Street when it happened. They never made it.”

Nate and I sat silent as she relived a moment long past. I could only imagine what it would be like to have the police arrive at your door, to tell you that your son was paralyzed, or worse . . .