“I wonder if being a tramp is something a person can inherit. I'm thirty-three years old, and I've had at least a dozen men. Am I different, or are other women like this? I'd give anything to know.”
The front door opened, and she heard her mother's high heels on the stairs. Quickly, she doused the light on the night table beside her bed. But Cynthia wasn't misled. She opened Kellie's bedroom door and peeped into the room. “Hal Fayson's truck was parked across the street for over two hours tonight, and he didn't leave till you came home. Nan and I saw him when he drove up, let the motor idle for about fifteen minutes, turned it off, got out and came to the door here. You better watch that fellow. A man who will do that will get violent. Good night.”
So Cynthia had been across the street at Nan's house watching her with Hal. She hadn't even remembered her aunt Nan, and she'd have sworn that her mother was out on the town chasing her youth. She made up her mind to break off relations with Hal as soon as he kept his promise to let her into her father's house so she could search the dining room and den for the brooch.
“It's there,” she said to herself, “and I intend to find it.”
Â
Â
However, Kellie didn't reckon on her father's resolve or with her sister's special gifts. After leaving her that night, Marshall set for himself two tasks: have Lawrence Bradley mount a real search for that brooch, and move into the house within the next two weeks. Once there, he would make a thorough search himself, provided that the brooch hadn't already been located. He hoped Douglas Rawlins could finish the landscaping before that, but he'd move in no matter what the place looked like.
He phoned Kellie the next morning. “I have a group of teenagers in the church, and I want you to come and talk to them as part of their lecture series.”
He imagined her in a state of shock, for her sputters were clearly audible. “
Me
? Daddy, you're joking. This is Kellie. Did you think you dialed Lacette's number?”
“I know which number I dialed, and I know which one of my daughters I'm speaking with. I can find a lot of people who'll tell these kids what to do and how to live, but I don't know any young people who can tell them what happens when you don't do what's right.”
“Are you asking me to blab out some true confessions to a bunch of teenagers?”
“No, indeed. I want you to convince them of the importance of obeying their parents and trying to keep the commandments and of what happens when they stray from that.”
“I'm not sure I want to do it. I'd be a hypocrite.”
“Not if you tell them the truth. Make some notes, decide when you want to do it and let me know. They'll be excited when I tell them you're going to talk with them.”
“I don't know, Daddy. I'll see.”
He hung up. Maybe she'd do it, and maybe she wouldn't, but he'd given her reason for serious thought about her past, her present behavior and what she could expect in the years to come. He only wanted to enable her to think about her life.
Â
Â
On a Monday morning in late March, Lacette awakened with a start and sat up in bed. The bank. That old woman had said something about the bank. What bank? The woman had also advised her to pay careful attention to her relationship with Douglas, and she had focused on that. But what bank was she talking about, and why had she mentioned it? She struggled out of the tangled covers, a testament to her sleepless night, and padded to the bathroom. Her first working day in her new office, and she had barely enough energy to put one foot in front of the other one. Bank. What on earth did that mean? Save money? Be careful of investments? Spend carefully?
“I'll know sooner or later,” she said as she got into her car and headed to her office to begin her first day as owner and manager of L. Graham Marketing Consultants, Inc.
“What does the word âbank' connote to you?” she asked Lourdes, her receptionist and secretary.
“Money, and a lot of it.”
Somehow, Lacette didn't think the old woman was telling her that banks held a lot of money. She forced herself to put the issue aside and concentrate on drawing in some business. But it wouldn't leave her mind and, at every lull in the day, she searched for what relevance the remark could have for her.
“I'll get it. It's important, and I'll figure it out,” she told herself and settled into her work.
Chapter Ten
As she prepared to leave for work on the second day of her life as a self-employed woman with her own business, Lacette skipped down the stairs, and stopped midway. What her office needed was something, an object or two that made it very personal. She went into her bedroom and collected three of her hand-carved birds and the Native American doll that she bought at the Cabin Fever Festival a month earlier, put them in a tote bag and hurried off to work.
While Lourdes marveled at the beauty of the birds and exclaimed her surprise at Lacette's skill, Lacette stood beside Lourdes's desk staring at the Native American doll that she held in her hand. As she held it, it seemed more and more life-like, and although she would forever swear that it wasn't true, she could see in it the face of the old woman who had sat rocking at the Cabin Fever Festival. And it was more than a premonition; she knew that much. She walked back to her office still holding the doll and sat down just as the telephone rang.
Lourdes's voice came to her over the intercom. “Phone for you, Lacette.”
“Hello.”
“Hi, Lace, I'm applying for a job at County Bank. I don't have a thing to wear to the interview Friday, because you know my skirts are so short. Can I borrow one of your lady-like business suits? I swear I'll give it back to you Saturday.”
Lacette tried to focus on what Kellie said, but she couldn't think beyond the word, bank.
“Lace, I need the suit, and I promise I'll give it back to you the same way I got it. Please.”
“Uh. All right. I have a navy blue suit, and I'll drop it off at the parsonage tomorrow evening.”
“Thanks. Uh . . . what time?”
“I don't know. It'll be after six. Or we could meet for dinner, and I'll bring it along.”
“I don't . . . think I can make dinner. Uh . . . why don't I drop by your office and pick it up?”
Precisely what she didn't want. Kellie wouldn't resist making a pass at any of her male clients and posing as Lacette. “All right. Come between five and five-thirty.”
She knew from Kellie's reluctant agreement that her sister would have preferred a different arrangement, but years of dealing with Kellie had taught her the efficacy of self-protection. She hung up, reached for the phone to call the manager of the Warren Pitch Company, her former employer, in an attempt to get the company as a client, and her hand stilled, suspended over the phone as recognition dawned on her.
The old woman. She'd said, “There's something for you.” The bank. Kellie. She got up and walked from one end of her small office to the other, retracing her steps again and again. “Good Lord.” She slumped into her desk chair, her heart thumping so loud and so fast that she grabbed her chest as if that would slow down her heartbeat. Perspiration poured from her forehead and sweat dampened the back of her neck as awareness dawned on her. Why hadn't she realized it, and why hadn't Lawrence thought of it?
That brooch could be in a safe deposit box in a bank.
She telephoned Lawrence Bradley. “Everything's fine,” she said after their greetings, impatient with the small talk. “Lawrence, my gramma's brooch may be in a safe deposit box in a bank somewhere.”
She listened to silence and imagined that he berated himself for not having thought of it. “What makes you think that?”
“My father said Kellie has searched the house for it. If she'd found it, we'd all know it.”
“She
what
? She knows I have a court order restraining her from going into that house before your father took possession of it.”
“Well, she ignored it, and after you gave the keys to Daddy, she broke in through a back window andâ”
“Don't tell me . . . never mind. That woman is capable of just about anything. I gather you don't know which bank. Are you pretty sure it's in a bank?”
“I have no proof that you'd accept, but I'm fairly certain.”
“Are you saying you have a sixth sense or something like that?”
“You could say that. How do we identify that bank?
“It's my job, and I'll get right on it. If Carrie Hooper had a safe deposit box, I'll know it pretty soon.”
She could barely contain her excitement and her anxietyânot because she coveted the brooch, she didn't. But because the mystery of its whereabouts had given it larger-than-life significance, at least to Kellie. As she always did when confronting change in her life, change that held uncertainty, Lacette telephoned her father and told him where she thought they would find the brooch.
“Why didn't we think of that, Daddy?”
“Is this the result of one of your premonitions?”
“Partly.” She told him how it came about. “It bothers me that I took so long to figure it out, but I guess what matters is that I eventually got it. Lawrence Bradley is trying to find the bank.”
“Does Kellie know this?”
“No, Daddy, and I'm not planning to tell her.”
“We have to tell her, because she's hell-bent on self-destruction because of it. Let me know when Bradley gets it, and I'll tell her. I want us all to be together when he gives you that brooch.”
She promised that she would, and telephoned Douglas to tell him what had occupied her thoughts for most of the day.
“You mean that old woman at the festival? I thought it unusual that you should go directly to the Native American crafts when you didn't know where they were, not that it matters. I hope your hunch is correct. What about lunch?”
“Not today. I promised myself that the next time we lunched over here, I'd bring the food from home. Something special.”
“Any other reason why we can't lunch together?”
“Not that I can think of.”
“Great. Then I'll be over at twelve-thirty with lunch and you'll owe me two lunches. I love home baked ham.”
Her eyes rounded as she stared at the phone. She had never baked a ham in her life. “You'll take what I give you.”
His laughter was fresh air purifying her atmosphere. “And I'll take what you give me with the greatest pleasure. See you at half-past noon.”
“Douglas, I'm beginning to see that you can turn the simplest most innocent statement into a risqué double entendre.”
The laughter seemed to flow out of him, and she wished she could see the devilry that she knew his eyes reflected. “That's the way it shapes up in your thoughts, babe. My mind's as clean as crystal and as pure as falling rain.”
She tried to punish him by not laughing, but failed in the attempt and whooped. “Very funny,” she said when she could get her breath. “See you later.”
For some time after she hung up, she pondered her ignorance of Douglas, for although she had met his parents and his son, she didn't know enough about him as a man and as an individual to warrant her deep and growing attachment to him. If she examined her feelings carefully, she would have to conclude that she cared for him. And where did that leave her? Her left shoulder flexed lightly. What would be would be, she thought and prepared for her appointment, a first time author who wanted a media blitz sufficient to get her book on
The New York Times
list of best-sellers. Fat chance of that happening. She'd read the story of an old hippie still trying to find himself at the age of seventy-six and hadn't been able to muster much sympathy for the hippie. She had none for the writer.
She finally got her desk cleared around a quarter past twelve and went to her bathroom to refresh her makeup and comb her hair, looked in the mirror and thought,
I look fine. Men don't have to look perfect, and if they are too lazy to shave, they can grow a beard and be in fashion.
She flicked off the light and went back to her desk, declaring herself independent of lipstick and eye shadow.
Minutes later, Douglas arrived with their lunch, put his packages on her desk, and walked around to where she sat. Without saying one word, he rolled her chair from the desk and lifted her from her seated position. Her heart skipped a beat, and she had that feeling of being suspended in space. Then the warmth, the feeling of security like solid ground beneath her feet enveloped her as his arms enfolded her and his tongue flicked across her lips. She opened to him, and her senses reeled as he possessed her.
He broke the kiss and hugged her to him, softly and gently stroking her back. “I missed you,” he said. “Only twenty-four hours, and I couldn't wait to see you today. Want to go fishing in the Monacacy River Sunday?”
How could she respond to his comment and his question when every nerve in her body clamored for more of him? “I've never been fishing. I have no idea how you do it.”
He squeezed her to him. “It's easy. I'll teach you that and anything else that you need help with and that I have any expertise at.”
She stepped back and looked at him, fully aware that he'd left the subject of fishing. “Gee, that's great. Make a list and I'llâ”
He cut her off, rubbing her nose as he spoke. “Let's eat before this gets out of hand. I'm just realizing that we both like matching wits with each other. It's fun, but the food will get cold.”
Later, as she waited for Kellie, she reflected on the events of the day. They would find the brooch, she had three new clients, and best of all, she sensed the possibility of a future with Douglas. At five-thirty, she transferred some papers to her briefcase and prepared to leave, and Kellie rushed into her office, having ignored Lourdes, and entered without knocking or being announced.
“Hi, Lace, sorry I'm late. Let me see which one you brought.” She examined the suit. “I was hoping for one of your designer suits.”
Lacette sucked her teeth, quietly she hoped, but if Kellie heard it she didn't mind. “Kellie, all of my suits were designed by somebody somewhere. That's the one I'm lending you.”
Kellie lifted her left shoulder is a careless shrug. “And beggars shouldn't be choosers, right?”
“I'll be by the parsonage Sunday morning. You or mama can make some waffles, and I'll bring some good country sau . . . Oh, dear. I forgot I have a date for Sunday.”
Kellie's eyes narrowed. “You're going out with Douglas what's-his-name? Or is it that Smith fellow?”
Lacette rejoiced that Kellie no longer intimidated her and that she didn't feel impelled to answer the intimate questions that Kellie felt free to ask her. “Name him whatever you like,” she answered and stood. “I'll drop you off at the parsonage.” As she said the words, she recalled that she'd never considered the place home, but a temporary residence among the many that their father, a preacher, had secured for them. She wondered how Kellie felt about it and asked her.
“I never questioned the fact that it's home until Daddy left. Now, it's sort of like I'm living in a boarding house and not having to pay rent. It's weird.”
“What will you do when he moves into his house? He said he plans to do that in the next two or three weeks.”
Kellie's bottom lip sagged. “He said that?” The print of her tongue moving around against her jaw told Lacette that Kellie was ruminating over the effect of her father's move. “Hmmm. I see.”
She took Kellie to the parsonage but didn't go in. “Tell Mama I said hi.”
“I will,” Kellie said over her shoulder, “provided I see her.”
Lacette didn't say,
but you live in the same house with her, and there are only two of you,
though the thought pressed upon her. Instead, she said, “Maybe we three can have dinner together next week over at my place.”
Kellie turned and walked back to Lacette's car. “Now that's an interesting proposition. By the way, will what's-his-name be there?”
“In spirit, maybe. I'm thinking of dinner for the three of us.”
“We've had a few of those since Daddy checked out. They're like funerals. No thanks. See you.”
Â
Â
Kellie dropped the suit on the living room sofa and raced to the living room window to make certain that Lacette had driven off. She didn't see the car, so she grabbed her shoulder bag and headed for her father's house. She had to get in there and search the place from bottom to top before her father moved in, and she only had two weeks. Her biggest obstacle was Douglas Rawlins, and she feared that she couldn't move him
. If I can't, I'll take a chance on getting there early Sunday morning when Rawlins will be with Lacette and Daddy will be at church.
Douglas stopped working when he saw her approach, leaned against the handle of a shovel and waited for her to speak.
“I need to get in the house, and I can't find my keys. Daddy's out of town. If you don't want to give me the keys, will you please let me in?”