Do You Believe in Magic

chapter TWENTY-TWO



Thursday evening Francie arrived home in what was becoming an incurable state of exhaustion. She was really going to have to see her doctor soon. Now she seemed to have not only an ulcer, but probably mononucleosis or chronic fatigue syndrome. Or was she just turning into a hypochondriac? She had no sooner changed into comfortable, soft, baggy sweats and tied her hair back with a big clip than the doorbell rang.

Was it Clay? Her heart leaped and landed running. Oh, great. Now a heart attack, too.

But when she looked out the peephole and saw only Tamara, she relaxed—until she realized her friend should still be at the shop. Tamara looked angry. Had she heard about Kevin?

“Oh, damn,” Francie muttered under her breath. She didn’t know if she had the strength to deal with the Kevin problem, but it was on her now. She opened the door.

“Hi, Tamara. Come on in.” She stood back while Tamara, hands clenched at her sides, stalked over the threshold and into the living room.

The redhead turned to face her as Francie closed the door. “The police came by to see me today. They arrested Kevin this morning.” Tamara’s tone was distinctly flat, a signal she was definitely angry.

“I know. I heard at work,” Francie said softly. She came around the sofa, but remained standing.

“Lieutenant Childress told me Kevin had been caught hacking into your company’s computer system and wanted to know if he had ever mentioned to me his doing anything like that.” Tamara plopped down on a chair. “Of course, I told Childress Kevin had never said a word about it to me.”

“Of course. I know you would never be a party to dishonesty of any kind.” Francie sat gingerly on the edge of the sofa cushion. Was Tamara angry with her, or just Kevin?

“I couldn’t believe it at first,” Tamara continued, shaking her fists in the air. “How could Kevin do such a thing? I had no idea he was proficient enough to hack, no idea at all he would try such an idiotic idea on Brazos. Childress said Kevin even hacked from your computer here!” She slumped farther back in the chair, crossed her arms over her chest, then sat up straight. “You said you knew Kevin was arrested. Did the police come to see you, too?”

“Well, actually . . .” Here it comes, Francie thought, she had to tell her all about it.

Tamara evidently jumped to the proper conclusion because her eyes locked on Francie’s. “Wait just a minute. Of course, the police came to see you. They knew all along what Kevin was up to, didn’t they? Childress said something about their laying a trap for him. You were helping them, weren’t you? You and Clay. It was all a setup—you and Clay, having Kevin and me over for dinner, all the rest of it. You knew all along what a loser and a crook and a thoroughly dishonest bastard Kevin is!”

She stared at Francie for a long moment, then said in a sad, harsh voice, “Oh, my God. You knew what was going on. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Yes,” Francie said, speaking in as calm a tone as she could muster. “I knew. I knew from the beginning.” She leaned forward, stretched out a hand, palm up. “But, Tamara, I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to, from the start, but Clay had to get close to Kevin, and I knew you would have thrown Kevin out the minute you found out what he was doing, and that would have ruined our plan.” She let her hand fall into her lap. “Kevin tried hacking into Brazos first from my computer.”

“But how did he get in?” Tamara’s expression showed her shock.

“He must have copied your key to my apartment because he came while neither of us was at home. First he tried to use my dial-up capabilities to get into our sales records, but he didn’t know my password. Then he tried a hacking program he found on the Internet. He actually entered into our files, but he couldn’t find what he wanted.

“Clay consults for Brazos, and when Kevin was making one of his forays, Clay traced Kevin back to my machine. Clay and my boss had me followed and spotted Kevin here on my machine while we were at the book club. If it hadn’t been for Clay, Kevin might have framed me for his hacking, claimed I gave him permission to use my computer, and he might have included you in the scheme because you had my key.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?” Tamara repeated. “At least give me a clue? Instead of letting me go ahead seeing him, having a relationship . . .” her voice turned distinctly cynical, “. . . with all that word implies. Didn’t you of all people trust me?”

“Of course, I trust you, Tamara, but you know yourself you don’t lie well. Remember those times in college when you tried to lie about your age? You can’t even tell one of your customers a dress looks good on them when it doesn’t.

“We had to give Kevin the idea Clay would be open to something illegal like hacking and then give him the opportunity to bribe Clay to actually do it. If you broke up with Kevin suddenly and inexplicably before they met over here, Clay had no introduction to him that didn’t look phony. The cops wouldn’t have had real hard proof, and we wouldn’t have known what Kevin was after or if he was working with someone in his company. Now we have incontrovertible evidence against him. It’s thanks largely to you that we do.”

“Yeah, right. Then why do I feel dirty all over?”

“I’m sorry, Tamara. If it’s any consolation, I do, too. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know, Francie. Probably.” She paused, scrubbed her forehead with her fingers. “You’re right. I can’t lie worth a damn.”

She scrubbed some more, then took her hands away from her face and looked at Francie. “Yes, all right, definitely. I can stay mad at everybody but you. I forgive you. We’ve been friends too long to let someone like Kevin come between us.”

She gave Francie a wavery smile, and Francie returned it as relief washed over her. She hadn’t lost Tamara. She could weather this storm.

Tamara slumped back in the chair. “I’m just so angry at him right now. I feel betrayed on some deep level I haven’t figured out yet. Just the thought of having had Kevin’s hands on me is revolting. I know, I know,” she said with a rueful shake of her head before Francie could interrupt, “the son of a bitch used both of us.” She took a deep breath and let it out in a huge sigh. “I guess I should be happy I broke up with him before he could call me to bail him out of jail.”

“See, there is a silver lining here.”

With a blank look, Tamara stared off into the distance, then started chuckling. The chuckle turned into laughter. “Can you see me bailing the klutz out of jail? Putting up my very hard-earned money for a man like that, who uses me and my best friend in such an idiotic scheme? I can’t even imagine traipsing into the jail, or the court, or wherever, money clutched in my hot little hand to bail out my sweetie, like in one of the TV cop and lawyer shows. The picture boggles my mind.” She made a little mincing, prissy motion with her hand and her body and started laughing in earnest. “Which of my outfits do you think is suitable for jailhouse visits?”

“Oh, the hot pink with the stripes, certainly.” Francie joined in the relieving laughter. If Tamara could joke about the situation, everything between them would be all right. When they both sobered, she said, “I was scared to death for you, Tamara, that he would try to involve you in his scheme. I was so happy when you broke up with him.”

“Yes, me, too. What did I ever see in the guy?”

“Well, he was a good dancer.” That remark set them off again.

When they stopped giggling, Tamara looked Francie up and down, as if she had not paid any attention to her before. “This mess really got to you, didn’t it? Are you all right? You look exhausted.”

“I’m all right. The strain, the worry, dealing with . . .” She made a motion to wave it all away. “But it’s over with now. Brazos will see that Kevin is prosecuted, and neither of us has to see him again, although I may be called to testify.”

“What about Clay? You can’t tell me your reaction was all playacting on your part, Francie. I know you too well. Are you going to see him again?”

A sharp stab in the solar plexus reminded Francie of the emptiness around her heart, but she covered up her reactive jerk by pulling her legs up and hugging them. “I honestly don’t know. We just didn’t suit, didn’t fit, couldn’t agree on some basic levels at the end. It’s probably better this way, to find out before getting in too deep.” She listened to the facile explanation, the dishonesty in her words and wondered if Tamara heard them.

The redhead gave her a shrewd look that took in her shapeless clothes, the drab colors, the big eyeglasses, and her careless hairdo, and Francie was certain her friend saw right through her.

“He served one good purpose, though,” Tamara said. “He got you out of those awful clothes and out of this apartment. Now, you’re right back in them. You have to promise me something. Promise me you’ll ditch your old wardrobe and start wearing real clothes again.” She shook her head at Francie. “Don’t give me that mulish look, woman. You know you’ve been enjoying the new clothes, and I’ll bet everybody has been complimenting you, right?”

“Well . . .” Francie fidgeted, but knew Tamara wouldn’t let her return to her shell.

“And you have to promise me . . .” she crossed her heart, “. . . if a nice guy asks you out, you’ll go.”

“I’ll think about that one,” Francie replied. Date somebody else? How could she? The pain flared but subsided when she shook her head at the idea.

“If I have to come over here in the morning and dress you for work, I will,” Tamara remonstrated.

“Okay, okay.” Francie held up her hands in surrender. “I’ll wear ‘real’ clothes, but I reserve judgment on the other.”

Tamara looked at her watch. “Oh, my gosh. I have to go. I have to help my saleswomen close the shop.” She rose and when Francie did also, gave her a hug. “I’ll check on you tomorrow. Remember your promise. Maybe I’ll find a couple of guys we can go out with this weekend.”

“Oh, no, I’m not ready for that. Not yet.” Francie held her friend at arm’s length. “Don’t tell me you have your eye on a new man already!”

Tamara grinned. “Lieutenant Childress was sorta cute. I wonder if he’s married. He wasn’t wearing a ring.”

And he’s Clay’s friend, Francie thought, but didn’t say. She simply turned Tamara toward the door. “Go take care of your shop. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

After Tamara left, Francie closed the door and leaned against it. Explaining to Tamara had gone better than she expected, better than she had a right to ask for. Her best friend was still that—her best friend. She could stop worrying about betraying Tamara. The police had Kevin. The nightmare was almost over.

The doorbell rang, and the sound jerked her upright and around. She looked out the peephole. Good Lord. What were the gamesters doing here? She opened the door, and Jim, Linda, and Rick walked into her apartment.

“Hey, y’all. What’s up?” she asked as the trio made themselves at home on the sofa and chairs.

“Are you all right?” was the first thing out of Linda’s mouth.

“Of course,” Francie answered blithely—or so she hoped—as she sat on a chair. “Why?”

“Because you don’t look so good, kind of pale, and your eyes are red.”

“No, I’m fine,” Francie replied. “It’s been a hard week. Can I get any of you something to drink?”

“Nothing for us. We’re on our way to dinner,” Jim stated after a good long study of Francie. “I’ve been doing some thinking about marketing Conundrum, and I decided I’d better talk to Clay before going any further. Would it be okay to call him, do you think? Do you have his number?”

At the sound of Clay’s name, a sharp pain, much stronger than the one that hit her when Tamara was there, took her breath, but she covered her sudden bending over with a cough.

Rick reached over to pat her back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Francie nodded and breathed deeply. “Yes, something just went down the wrong way,” she said hoarsely. “I’ll get you his number.” She rose and walked into the kitchen where she wrote his number on her notepad, tore off the page, and brought it back into the living room.

“Here it is,” she said, handing the paper to Jim. “Uh, I need to tell you—Clay and I have broken up.”

“Oh, no,” Linda groaned.

“What happened?” Jim and Rick said in unison.

“Did he hurt you?” Jim asked angrily. “If he hurt you, Francie . . .”

“Oh, honey,” Linda rose and came to give Francie a hug.

The friendship expressed in the hug caused Francie’s eyes to well up, and she blinked back tears as she stepped out of Linda’s embrace. With sheer willpower, she stopped the sorrow and emptiness cascading through her. Damn. Where was her self-control?

“No, no, y’all. It was a mutual decision.” What had she told Tamara? Oh, yes. She repeated her former prevarication. “We just didn’t suit, didn’t fit, couldn’t agree on some basic levels at the end. It’s probably better this way, to find out before getting in too deep. You don’t need to worry, really, and it’s still okay to give him a call. He’s a man of his word. If he said he’d help with the financing, he’ll follow through. You can trust him, no matter what the situation is between him and me.”

Jim looked distinctly skeptical, Rick was confused, and Linda wore a distressed expression, but her friends rallied around her. “Come with us, why don’t you?” Linda asked and the guys agreed.

With some difficulty, Francie managed to turn down the invitation and persuade them to leave without her. She didn’t think she had convinced them of anything about the “breakup,” but at least she thought Jim would call Clay to discuss the game.

Her own words rang in her head as she slumped—again—against the door after the trio left. She was so exhausted. She pushed herself off the door, walked into the kitchen, and dug a package of chicken-noodle soup out of the cupboard. Hot comfort food was about all she could handle for supper.

As she ate the soup, an idea began to form in her mind. What she needed was some rest, time to come to terms with the situation, preferably away from there. She had plenty of vacation time accrued. She’d go to work tomorrow and ask Herb for the next week off. She could visit her parents, or maybe just go to Galveston and walk Seawall Boulevard. Someplace where she wouldn’t run into Clay.

Clay. Her heart gave the tiniest of jumps, and her mind replayed what she had told Tamara and the gamesters.

She hadn’t lied. She and Clay didn’t suit. They couldn’t agree on some very basic levels. Like the existence of magic.

She couldn’t figure it out. How could Clay, an honest, trustworthy, intelligent man in every respect, believe in such a thing?

In her bones, she knew he was a man of honor and integrity. That being true, why on earth did the man think he could cast spells and cause machines to do his bidding? That he was, in fact, in actual, provable fact, literally a computer wizard? That this ancient imperative not only existed, but was causing them pain because they weren’t together?

He couldn’t be telling the truth about all that, could he?

She’d told the others that they could trust him.

Why couldn’t she?

In counterpoint to her thoughts, her breastbone began throbbing again.