Cindi Lou was a proud member of the Daughters of the Republic of Texas, and she insisted the cautious trait of Texans harkened back to the old days when people arrived in the Republic from all over. Many were on the run from the law, creditors, or family. Others simply wanted a fresh start. In any case, folks quickly learned—often at the wrong end of a six-shooter—not to ask name, former location, or business.
With that in mind, Misty couldn’t afford to become known as a “Nosy Nellie” or she’d never complete her job. If she were in Dallas, she’d have an easier time of it. Folks with lots of different backgrounds were moving into the Lone Star State for jobs and many of them didn’t mind answering questions. Southern Californians were only too happy to talk, even to giving their last therapy session in detail. But she was going to a small Texas town where everybody knew everything about each other. She’d have to slide in sideways to get answers.
But that’s what she did best. She wasn’t there for a hard investigation—nuts and bolts or forensic accounting. She’d been hired for a soft investigation—ferreting out secrets or concealed facts. To do that, she needed to make friends, elicit trust, and conduct research. She liked people, so this type of troubleshooting came naturally to her.
If it weren’t for Cindi Lou, she probably wouldn’t even be a troubleshooter. When she’d met Cindi Lou, Misty had been a hardworking gal from North Dallas with a master’s degree in library science, but with college debts and three jobs, she was still losing ground because she couldn’t find local work in her field. Cindi Lou had advertised for a librarian to organize her family’s library in their mansion on Turtle Creek in Highland Park. When Misty had applied for the part-time job, Cindi Lou had hired her on the spot.
Turned out Cindi Lou was the descendent of big oil money. Her great-granddaddy had been a wildcatter in East Texas in the 1930s and struck it rich with black gold. That meant Cindi Lou was a Hockaday, SMU, and Neiman Marcus graduate, but she always said she was in recovery because she’d inherited her great-granddaddy’s wildcatter streak.
Cindi Lou sat at the hub of an information network, rubbing elbows with everyone from street folks to movers and shakers. She saw patterns in life, so she put together folks who had problems with folks who had solutions. Right away, she’d suggested Misty become an independent troubleshooter because she had the research skills and personality traits to be helpful to those in need.
Five years later, Misty was glad she’d taken the suggestion and changed her life. She’d helped many individuals and businesses. Cindi Lou had built on her calling, too. She’d expanded her network into a quirky hexagonal 1950s Midcentury Modern one-story office building in Dallas. She’d named herself Hub Mistress when she’d set up her office in the center of the building. Misty had her office there, along with several other young women whom Cindi Lou had befriended and encouraged to take chances in cutting-edge or thinking-out-of-the-box work. And Cindi Lou efficiently managed all their businesses.
Even though Misty’s background was different than Cindi Lou’s, they had a lot of other things in common. Cindi Lou hadn’t felt as if she’d belonged with her family once her beloved great-granddaddy had passed away. Misty had no family, not since she’d lost her wonderful aunt who’d raised her in a warm and loving home in Dallas. Friendships were important to them both, but Cindi Lou was pushing Misty to reach out and experience more of life.
Aunt Camilla, who was Misty’s father’s sister, had always encouraged Misty to do the same thing. She’d bought season tickets to the Dallas Summer Musicals for them every year. Misty had loved going to the big old theater in Fair Park, where they’d also gone to the Texas State Fair. That was where Misty had first really noticed the differences in architecture. She’d asked her aunt about the beautiful buildings and learned they were Art Deco style. At that time, it had seemed to Misty that Aunt Cami knew everything because she taught history in high school and took Misty on driving tours and to museums, libraries, and parks.
Now that Misty thought about it, maybe she’d turned to library science as a way of cataloging all that knowledge stuffed into her head at an early age. She smiled warmly at the thought. Aunt Cami had also stuffed her with tasty treats. She still smelled gingerbread and brownies when she thought of her aunt. She sighed. Cancer had taken her way too soon—just like all her family had been lost to her too soon.