Beads of Doubt (3 page)

Which is why I had to get moving. I’d bet my hormone pills that if Houston got the Manse my mother would be out of the gatehouse and looking for a place to live before her next phone bill was due. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Who is this lawyer?” Mother asked.

“His name was Warrington, I think. No, it’s Harrington.”

“Not Edward Harrington?” She suddenly looked wary.

“I don’t think so,” I said, only because it seemed important to reassure her. “Why? Do you know an Edward Harrington?”

“A little. From years ago when your father was in office. But how can you go see the man if you can’t remember his name?”

“I have his address written down,” I said, waving my purse. “Mother, don’t worry. Everything is under control. Really. Tell her, Beth.”

Before Beth could speak my mother said, “Beth, maybe you can talk some sense into Kitzi.”

“It would be a first,” Beth said. “I could chauffeur her, though, which might get her back faster.”

“Is that fast?” My mother looked at Beth’s red PT Cruiser and shook her head. “I would think it’s a little young for you, but you’re going through a trying time.”

“We’ll hurry,” I called over my shoulder as I moved toward the driveway. “I have my cell phone if you need me.”

“Guess she didn’t like my car,” Beth said, popping on the oversized glasses and climbing into the Cruiser.

“As we’ve noted before, she’s a tad more conservative than we are. Don’t take it personally.”

“I don’t. So where am I taking you?”

“We’re going to see Houston and wreak some havoc.”

“My kind of day.”

I spent most of the trip to Houston’s office trying to
explain to Beth the shares and how they are voted in the corporation that actually owns the Manse.

“You don’t really understand yourself, do you?” Beth asked when we pulled into the parking lot.

“No. But I can explain the Electoral College and how that came into being.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Well . . .” I said, looking up at the plain-Jane, white building. It’s on a hillside across from Pease Park in what used to be near the center of Austin. “Here’s the deal. If I’m not back in thirty minutes, come in and get me.”

“Why? Will Houston be holding you captive?”

“No, but I could be seriously hurting him.”

“Then I’m coming in.” Beth got out of the car.

“Okay, but if I start throwing things, you better duck. My aim isn’t what it used to be.”

We went up the cracked concrete staircase, then through the doors into his office, where things were dramatically different. The receptionist’s desk was made of polished mahogany, dark and rich looking, like the office of someone important. Behind her was a panel of the same wood with an inset of etched glass, but the kicker was the rug. It was a hand-knotted Mashad, a good ten feet by twelve in a shimmering cranberry red with a design of cream and faded turquoise. I’m not an expert on oriental rugs, but the Mashad had been in the front hall of the Manse when I was a kid and my mother was big on having us appreciate the beautiful things around us. When it was decided that my parents would take over the house, they had insisted that Aunt Miranda take the Mashad and some of her other favorite furnishings.

Ridiculous though it might be, it still galled me that some of them had made their way here.

“Can I help you?” the young woman at the front desk asked. She was not anyone I’d seen before, nor was she dressed like anyone I’d seen around here before.

Austin is casual; you can wear jeans to everything including your own funeral. This woman was not in jeans. She was wearing an ivory crepe pantsuit with a string of small creamy pearls at her throat. Her dark hair was down and straight. The Mashad of receptionists.

“Yes, you can help me,” I said. “I need to see Houston Webber.”

“Certainly. Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I don’t. I’m Kitzi Camden and I’ll bet you a hundred dollars that he’s expecting me.”

Not only did she not recognize my last name, which in Texas is in every history textbook, but she also didn’t get my joke. “He’s very busy today; may I make an appointment for tomorrow?”

“Won’t be convenient,” I said.

“Perhaps next week?”

“Not to worry, I’ll just pop in on him.” I stepped around the panel behind her and saw four doors.

“You can’t go back there!”

“Of course I can. I just did.” I heard voices behind the door on my right and started in that direction.

“There’s a meeting—you can’t—”

I stopped and asked quite reasonably, “Then where is Houston?”

A door that had been ajar opened and Houston stepped through. “Kitzi Camden. My favorite cousin!” He was tallish and slim, with sleek, prematurely gray hair. His smile showed off his teeth, and he had his arms open as if he were going to hug me.

“Houston,” I said, keeping well back from him, “we need to talk.”

He looked at the young woman. “Lauren, I’d like to introduce you to my cousin.” He stepped forward and tried to put an arm around me, but I dodged. He went on, “I’m sure you’ve heard me mention her, the infamous Katherine Camden. She was senator here in Texas.”

“Yes, of course.” Lauren’s annoyance fell away and she smiled, back to lovely and gracious. Houston has a lot of flaws, but he somehow has the smarts to surround himself with exceptional women. “How do you do, Ms. Camden?” she said.

“Fine, and thank you for asking,” I said. “This is my friend, Beth Fairfield. Houston, I’m sure you remember Beth.”

“Of course.” He shook her hand, looking happy, maybe because someone was willing to touch him. “So, Kitzi, shall you and I go into my office? This won’t take but a moment, Lauren.”

“Glad to hear it,” I said. “Beth, you come along, too.”

“Maybe we should—” Houston began.

“Have a witness,” I finished for him. “I couldn’t agree more.”

He didn’t take us back to the room he’d been in, but to the one next door, obviously his office, since there were pictures of him and his wife, Rebecca, on the carved credenza behind the desk. Rebecca is the primary exceptional woman in his life.

Now, I’m not an expert on offices. However, my own, which I call the epicenter of my empire, was originally designed to be British Colonial, but it has evolved into a hard-work area with too many papers, too many cords, and too many files.

Houston’s space doesn’t appear to have evolved at all. It was still an elegant Ralph Lauren gentlemen’s office in mahogany, hunter green, and navy blue. There were no papers, although he did have a computer. One of those slick little silver models often compared to executive jewelry.

Once Beth and I were seated in the client chairs, Houston took his rightful spot behind the massive desk and leaned forward. “Miss Kitzi, what brings you to my humble offices?”

“Well, Houston, why do you think I came here?”

He smiled. “Now, Kitzi, the last thing I want to do is rile you,” he said with a smile. “It’s about the Manse, isn’t it? I’m so sorry that we didn’t get to talk before Edward called you. It’s just been chaotic.”

A phone call would have taken five minutes, and he’d had a fair amount of time to do it, since Edward Harrington claimed he’d sent me the letter two weeks ago. I wasn’t buying it.

“Bottom line,” I said, “is that you want me out of the Manse, and you’ve got the votes to make it happen.”

“Oh, Kitzi, you’re my favorite cousin,” he said like he really meant it. “And I’ve hurt your feelings. That was the last thing I wanted to do.”

My daughter used to make gagging sounds when I said things she wasn’t buying, and I thought now was an appropriate time to make one myself, but I held back.

“My feelings are just fine, thank you,” I said.

“Now, Kitz,” Houston went on, “you know that Grandfather was a man who believed in fairness, and he loved his family. All of us. Your side of the family has enjoyed living in the Manse ever since he passed away—”

“At the request of your side of the family. And we’ve paid all the taxes and all the upkeep and improvements.”

“You’ve been wonderful caretakers of the family tradition.”

Beth was watching us patiently waiting for something to happen, but I kept my composure.

“Thank you,” I said, more politely than I wanted to. “However, you make us sound like pirates, or squatters, which we both know isn’t so. When my mother begged for someone to take over the place, I noticed that you didn’t jump up and volunteer.”

“And you were glad I didn’t.”

“Wrong. I didn’t want to leave my house, which if you’ll remember, I had just finished remodeling. My business suffered a huge setback because I had to plunk a whole lot of time into the Manse.”

“So now I’m ready to step up and take my turn at the Manse,” Houston said. This man went in more circles than a merry-go-round. “I’ll take the burden off of you—”

“Don’t give me bullshit, Houston.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Beth grinning.

Houston leaned forward earnestly. “Kitzi, it’s really for Rebecca. You know the statistics on ovarian cancer.” I surely did: three to five hard years and no cure. Ever. “I’m doing this for Rebecca.”

“Houston, if I believed that I’d start packing tomorrow.”

When Rebecca and Houston married, they moved into his house, which we all called Tudor Hacienda. Nice neighborhood, ugly house. Rebecca had turned it into a Mediterranean showplace, with an enclosed courtyard, fountains, and lush gardens. She loved that house with well-earned pride, and I’d never heard her say a word that made me think she’d want to leave it.

“It’s true,” Houston said.

“I thought Rebecca just finished chemo? How can you saddle her with an eight-thousand-square-foot house? You don’t have any idea how much work that is.”

“Staff, Kitzi,” he said as if I weren’t bright.

“This isn’t the Victorian era and you aren’t king. Who’s going to manage the staff?”

“I am, of course.”

I snorted, which wasn’t ladylike, but was quite appropriate. “Oh, right. That’s a full-time job, too, and you can’t do that and still run a business full-time. Believe me, I know because I’ve tried to do both.” My voice was getting louder, but I didn’t care. This man made no sense. “I had to let my trainers go and now it’s just me, coaching and training people. And the Manse isn’t just time consuming, it’s expensive. You don’t have that kind of money, Houston Webber, and I can assure you that I am
not
going to bail you out when you get into trouble.” Which to my shame I’d done twice before. “And one more thing: all you had to do was call me! You didn’t need some lawyer to phone me or start sending letters.”

The door swung open. “Excuse me!” A man stepped in and closed the door. He was a Houston clone, except ten years younger and a few inches shorter. He was dressed like Houston in dark slacks with a light blue, French-cuffed shirt, and his dark hair, sleekly cut like Houston’s, was even beginning to gray.

“Andrew,” Houston said, welcoming him with relief. “Is the meeting over?”

“No.” Andrew jerked his head indicating the room next door. “Our new clients were a little concerned about all the noise.” Then he looked at me. The irritation disappeared as he suddenly smiled. “Ms. Camden. How are you? I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yes, I’m afraid she was getting a little excited,” Houston said.

Andrew held out his hand to me. “You probably don’t remember me. I’m Andrew Lynch,” he said with a smile.

“Of course I do, Andrew,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed. False modesty was one of Houston’s ploys, as well. “This is my friend, Beth Fairfield. ” I shook his hand, then returned my attention to Houston. “So, you’re sticking to this?”

“I think we ought to talk about this later,” Houston said. He smiled, making his eyes warm and sweet. That look hadn’t charmed me since I was seven and he’d used it to con me out of all my birthday money.

I was about to ask one more question when Andrew sat down on the front of the desk and leaned toward me, earnestly. Very Houston-like. “It’s serendipitous that I walked in here and found you. We were talking about you just the other day.”

“Oh, really? You and Houston?”

“Yes. And I couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t told you about all the wonderful investment opportunities that we’ve uncovered. I’m meeting with a few of our clients in the conference room right now and I’d love to have both you ladies join us.”

Beth leaned forward. “Why, Andrew, that’s very generous of you. So if we attended the meeting, something wonderful would happen?” She made it sound like group sex would be taking place. Or more to her liking, Andrew would be serving hot fudge sundaes.

He laughed. “We are returning between a hundred and twenty and a hundred and eighty percent on our client’s money. Now that’s the way to build a retirement—”

“Andrew,” Houston cut in. “I don’t think now is the time.”

“Too bad,” I said. “But I do have one simple question.”

“Of course,” Andrew said.

“Thank you, Andrew, but this one is for Houston. Who in the family has changed their vote?” Because that’s what had to have happened. Someone was going to vote with Houston.

“I can’t really discuss that before the corporation meeting.”

I stood up. “Houston. Gird your loins, honey, because we’re about to have one hell of a fight.”

Beth smiled as she said good-bye to everyone, and we walked toward the front.

“Very restrained,” she said to me as we neared the front desk.

“Why, thank you.” I nodded toward Lauren to indicate we were leaving, then said to Beth, “You know, I’d love to pinch his head off and throw him in the Dumpster. Or maybe I’ll just shoot the sumbitch.”

Lauren heard and raised an eyebrow. Beth said to her, “Don’t worry, I’ll take away her guns. Or maybe just her bullets.”