The Tycoon (57 page)

The sale would close at a location convenient to the seller, Shannon knew. “Maybe they’ll

do it here in town since the property’s here. Keep an eye out for it, will you? It’s a cash deal, so

it’s going to close real soon.”

“I’ll find out what I can,” Christa said. “But what good will it do to know who bought it?”

“You never know what might happen. His deal could fall apart.”

“Cash deal? Not likely.”

“The thirty acres I already own aren’t much good to me without the corner. As soon as I find out who the buyer is, I can contact him and offer to sell them to him.”

****

Shortly after noon, Betty waited for Donna Schoonover for a second lunch date at LeFleur, the same café where she had met Donna last week.

The blonde swept in late, wearing a full length mink coat over tight jeans and boots. Without saying hello or removing her coat, she slapped a brown mailing envelope onto the corner of the table. “She’s nothing but a tramp,” Donna growled. “And this proves it. I can
not
believe he broke off with me for
that
.”

A large diamond ring on Donna’s right hand glinted under the indirect lighting. Betty never failed to notice striking jewelry, especially diamonds. She detected a familiar smell, a combination of alcohol and Listerine. She had smelled it often enough on Bill Junior.

Donna shrugged out of her fur coat and threw it across a chair as if it were made of rags, then plopped onto a chair opposite Betty.

“What do you mean, tramp?” Betty asked her.

“White trash. Lived in a dumpy trailer house her whole life. Got pregnant in high school. Got married and divorced before she was twenty-one years old. Slept with a dozen men we know about. And get this.” Donna made a snort of disgust. She tapped the brown envelope with a long acrylic nail, a diamond ring throwing off shards of fire. “She had an affair with a married man, tried to break up his marriage. Drake’s new sweetheart doesn’t have much to be proud of.”

An oft-ignored sense of justice surged within Betty. For a thrice-married, reputedly alcoholic party girl to be criticizing any woman based on the laundry list she had just itemized was truly the pot calling the kettle black. But before Betty could go further with that thought, the waitress came and took their order for two glasses of Chablis and the daily special, chicken salad sandwiches.

“That isn’t what it says online,” Betty said. “I looked her up.”

“Honey, you can’t believe anything you read online. People write just any old thing, whether it’s true or not.”

Betty wanted to get the goods on Shannon Piper all right, but she also wanted the information to be accurate. If she were going to risk alienating her son, she wanted to do it with the truth. “Where did you learn all of those things?”

“I told you. I have resources.”

“But what are they? How do you know they’re reliable?”

“I’m good friends with one of daddy’s PIs. He does things just for me.”

“PI? Do you mean a private detective?”

“That’s the only way to get good info.”

The waitress returned with their lunch. Betty spread her napkin on her lap and tasted the wine. “Who was the married man? Someone in Camden?”

Donna wrapped her long manicured fingers around the wine glass, gulped half the contents

and set the glass back on the table. “Fort Worth. He’s a prominent insurance broker. Justin Turnbow’s his name. My God. Drake probably knows him. He’s one good-looking son of a bitch, I have to say. Anyway, someone who knows him told me he nearly left his wife for her.”

Betty searched her memory, couldn’t recall ever seeing or hearing the name Justin Turnbow. “She has an ex-husband?”

Donna finished off the wine and signaled the waitress for another glass “He’s a mutt. Works at odd jobs. My daddy’s friend thinks he’s a meth-head. I’ll show you.”

She pulled a thin sheaf of papers out of the brown envelope, paged through them to a black and white photograph. She slid it across the table. Betty set her plate aside and stared down at what looked like a mug shot. A gaunt, hollow-eyed young man with pimples stared back at her, most of his visible skin, except for his face, stippled with tattoos. While his face might not show tattoos, it showed metal jewelry protruding from one brow, his nose and lips. A sick feeling crawled from Betty’s stomach to her throat. If Shannon Piper had been married to this man, she must be what Donna said she was. Indeed, Drake had taken up with a tramp.

The waitress returned with another glass of wine for Donna. “Just bring the bottle, honey,” Donna told her, then turned her attention back to Betty. “So now, Betty,” she cooed. “I’ve done this for you. What are you going to do for me?”

Thinking of the compromising situation she had put herself in, Betty squirmed. She looked at Donna cautiously. “What do you want me to do?”

“Something easy. I want you to fix up a make-up date between Drake and me.”

Betty checked herself before a laugh burst out. She knew her son. He had not ended his relationship with Donna because of his new girlfriend. He had simply had enough. Donna’s wealth and social standing meant little to him. In her heart of hearts, Betty was proud of him for that, though she wished circumstances were otherwise.

Even if she were able to influence Drake in that way, she wasn’t sure she wanted to. “He doesn’t necessarily do what I recommend.”

“You can tell him this. I’ve cut way back on my drinking and I’ve quit smoking. I know he hates both of those. If I could spend some time with him again and just talk to him, I know he’d change his mind about me.”

Betty glanced at the full carafe of wine the waitress had just set on the table. As Donna picked it up and refilled her glass, Betty studied her. True, Donna hadn’t smoked in either of their meetings, but seeing how she swallowed glasses of wine as if they were water made Betty doubt her claim about drinking.

Donna quitting one, or even two, bad habits would make no difference to Drake. Betty wasn’t about to make promises she couldn’t keep or had no intention of trying to keep. “All I can do is mention it to him. I’ve already mentioned you to him often. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you he has a mind of his own.”

“And that’s why I want to get back together with him,” Donna said petulantly. “He’s got some
cajones,
for chrissake. I get so tired of the wimpy snivelers who chase after me. They’re more interested in what Daddy can do for them than they are in me.”

Donna’s blue eyes misting over spurred sympathy in Betty. Even a spoiled heiress had feelings. She sighed. “Oh, Donna, I can well imagine that you’d have that problem, but I—”

“Drake never expected anything from my daddy, Donna said. Daddy loves him. He would love to get him involved with some of his business deals, but Drake’s never showed any interest.” She sniffed and touched the corner of her eye with a fingertip.

Betty had been growing more uncomfortable with this meeting the more it unfolded. Now

she could scarcely sit still. She had lost count of the number of glasses of wine Donna had drunk. Any one of her neighbors might drop in and she didn’t want someone who knew her to see her in a neighborhood café with a weeping drunk woman, even if that woman was Don and Karen Stafford’s daughter.

“Well, what can I say?” she said with false cheer. “Drake’s his own man. He’s been that way since he was a child.”

“There’s more than that.” Donna leaned forward and lowered her voice, which had taken on a slur. “I’ll tell you frankly. Your little boy is the best piece I’ve ever had.”

Betty’s eyes bugged. Donna had a reputation for letting whatever popped into her head fall out of her mouth, especially if she was drinking. Betty glanced left and right to see if anyone she knew was near.

“He just knows what to do with that thing, you know?” Donna drained her glass, then set it on the table with a
clunk
and reached for the carafe again. “And he can go and go. And I’ve really hated doing without that.”

Horrified, Betty lowered her chin and cleared her throat. “Donna, you’re embarrassing me. Please remember, this is my son we’re discussing.”

“I meant it as a compliment. Honest.” Donna lifted a full glass of wine and took a large swallow. “Haven’t you ever lost a big ding-dong that you just hated doing without?”

For absolutely no reason, an image of Bill Junior in his naked glory flashed in Betty’s mind and she felt a tingle down low. As he had warned, he had come to her house before daylight last Thursday morning and they had stayed in her bed all day. Late in the afternoon he had headed to the Stock Show for the bull sale, leaving her worn out and well-sated. As usual.

As those erotic memories danced in her head, she looked up and stared at Donna. Not because of what the woman had said about Drake, but because Betty was appalled at realizing the one thing she and Donna Schoonover had in common after all. She knew exactly how it felt to miss and do without a big ding-dong. A flush crawled all over her body.
Good God, she had to change the subject.

She grabbed her napkin off her lap, dabbed at her brow and upper lip. “Please excuse me. I’m having a hot flash.”

An hour later, Betty returned to her home, vowing never to socialize with Donna Schoonover again. But their lunch date hadn’t been social. Donna had given her the brown envelope of printed material and photographs.

Betty carried it to the bedroom she used as her study. In the quiet and calming atmosphere of the small room, she thoroughly perused the PI’s report. Shannon Piper had lived in Fort Worth nine years. During that time, she’d had half a dozen jobs—store clerk, maid in a nursing home, waitress, cocktail waitress. Good Lord, it appeared the only tacky job the woman had avoided was lap dancer. No wonder she had chased after a successful man like an insurance broker without regard to the fact that he was married. And now she was chasing after Betty Lockhart’s son.

Betty sat back in her chair, looking out into her manicured back yard and thinking of how beautiful her roses would be if spring ever came.
At least Shannon Piper didn’t appear to be a criminal,
she mused. There was that to be grateful for.

Betty was sure Drake didn’t know all that she now knew. What woman would reveal things like this to a man she wanted to capture?

But she couldn’t give this file to him. She couldn’t even tell him about it. He would want to know where she had gotten it. He might be annoyed that she had the information, but if he knew where it had come from, he would be enraged, not as his trampy girlfriend, but at his mother. He

might never speak to her again.

After a few minutes, she thought of a more subtle and even more desirable solution to the problem. She went to her purse, found her cell phone and keyed in Tammy McMillan’s number.

Chapter 34

Drake had been in a dead run all week. He awoke on Friday reminding himself that he had one day left to accomplish what he should have gotten done through the week. He left his condo before daylight for his office.

On his walk to and from his office every day, he the jewelry store where he had bought the pen he had given to Shannon for Christmas. Its black marble front stood out in a slot of space between a dress shop and an office supply store.

He paid its window little attention usually, but with the morning still dark, its lighted display of a snow-white porcelain hand slowly turning on a pedestal caught his eye. He stopped and looked. Among other wares that glittered under the focused lighting, the white hand’s left ring finger wore an impressive bauble made of diamonds and emeralds. Though he had rarely bought jewelry in his life and knew little about the fine points, he recognized a wedding ring when he saw it.