himself heard over the music. They wended their way through
the crowd.
The club wasn't glitzy. It didn't resemble the slick, neon
nightclubs that were bursting out like new stars in the cities,
catering to yuppies who flocked to them in BMWs and designer
couture.
The Purcell Horse and Gun Club was quintessentially
Texan. The bartender could have been sent over by Central
Casting. He had a handlebar mustache, black bow tie and
vest, and red satin garters on his sleeves. A pair of longhorns,
which spanned six feet from polished tip to polished
tip, were mounted above the ornately carved nineteenth-century
bar.
The walls were adorned with pictures of racehorses, prizewinning
bulls with testicles as large as punching bags, and
landscapes where either yucca or bluebonnets abounded. In
almost every instance the paintings featured an obligatory
windmill, looking lonesome and stark against the sun-streaked
horizon. Alex was Texan enough to find it comfortable
and endearing. She was sophisticated enough to recognize
its gaucheness.
"White wine," she told the bartender, who was unabashedly
giving her a once-over.
"Lucky son of a bitch," he muttered to Junior as he served
them their drinks. The grin beneath the lavish mustache was
lecherous.
Junior saluted him with his scotch and water. "Ain't I
just?" He propped his elbow on the bar and turned to face
Alex, who was seated on the stool. "The music's a little too
country and western for my taste, but if you want to dance,
I'm game."
She shook her head. "Thanks, but no. I'd rather watch."
A few songs later, Junior leaned close and whispered,
"Most of them learned to dance in a pasture. They still look
like they're trying to avoid stepping in a pile of cow shit."
The wine had taken effect. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks
flushed. Feeling a pleasant buzz, she tossed her hair over her
shoulder and laughed.
"Come on," he said, placing his hand beneath her elbow
and helping her off the stool. "Mother and Dad are at their
table."
Alex moved with him along the perimeter of the dance
floor to the cluster of tables set up for dining. Sarah Jo and
Angus were seated at one. He was puffing on a cigar. Sarah
Jo was idly waving the offensive smoke away from her face.
Alex had been apprehensive about wearing the russet
leather skirt and matching, leather-trimmed sweater, but she
felt more comfortable in them than she would have wearing
Sarah Jo's burgundy satin dress and looking out of place in
a room where people were stamping out "Cotton-Eyed Joe,"
yelling "bullshit" in the appropriate places, and drinking
beer straight from opaque amber bottles.
"Hello, Alex," Angus said around his cigar.
"Hello. Junior was hospitable enough to invite me," she
said as she sat down in the chair Junior was holding out for
her.
"I had to do some arm-twisting," he told his parents,
taking the chair next to her. "She plays hard to get."
"Her mother certainly didn't."
Sarah Jo's cool, catty remark momentarily stifled the conversation.
It served to counteract the potency of Alex's glass
of wine. Her giddiness fizzled and went flat as day-old soda.
She nodded toward Sarah Jo and said, "Hello, Mrs. Minton.
( You look lovely tonight."
Even though her dress was inappropriate, she did look
lovely in it. Not vibrant, Alex thought. Sarah Jo could never
look vivacious and animated. Her beauty had an ethereal
quality, as though her visitation on earth was temporary and
tenuous. She gave Alex one of her vague, secretive smiles
and murmured a thank-you as she took a sip of wine.
"Heard you were the one who discovered Pasty's body."
"Dad, this is a party," Junior said. "Alex won't want to
talk about something nasty like that."
"No, it's all right, Junior. I would have brought it up
myself, sooner or later."
"I don't reckon it was coincidence that you met him at
that honky-tonk and climbed into his pickup with him," Angus
said, rolling the cigar from one corner of his lips to the
other.
"No." She paraphrased for them her telephone conversations
with Pasty.
"That cowboy was a liar, a fornicator, and, worse than
all his other vices put together, he cheated at poker," Angus
said with some vehemence. "In the last few years he'd gone
plumb goofy and irresponsible. That's why I had to let him
go. I figure you've got better sense than to put any stock in
what he told you."
In the middle of his monologue, Angus signaled the waiter
to bring another round of drinks. "Oh, sure, Pasty might've
seen who went into that stable with Celina, but the one he
saw was Gooney Bud."
Having said his piece, and giving Alex no opportunity to
dispute it, he launched into a glowing review of a jockey
from Ruidoso that he wanted to ride for them. Since the
Mintons were her hosts, Alex graciously let the topic of Pasty
Hickam die for the moment.
When they'd finished their drinks, Angus and Junior offered
to go through the barbecue buffet for the ladies. Alex
would just as soon have gone through the line herself. She
found it difficult to make small talk with Sarah Jo, but after
the men withdrew, she valiantly made an attempt.
"Have you been members of the club for a long time?"
"Angus was one of the charter members," Sarah Jo supplied
distractedly. She kept her eyes on the couples doing the
two-step in an eternal circle around the dance floor.
"He seems to have a finger in just about every pie in
town," Alex remarked.
"Hmm, he likes to know everything that's going on."
"And be a part of it."
"Yes. He makes things happen and spreads himself thin."
She gave a delicate sigh. "Angus has this need to be well
liked, you see. He's always politicking, as though it matters
what other people think."
Alex folded her hands beneath her chin and propped her
elbows on the table. "You don't believe it matters?"
"No." Her entrancement with the dancers ended. For the
first time that evening, she looked directly at Alex. "Don't
read too much into the way Junior treats you."
"Oh?"
"He flirts with every woman he meets."
Alex slowly lowered her hands to her lap. Anger roiled
inside, but she managed to keep her voice low and level. "I
resent your implication, Mrs. Minton."
Sarah Jo lifted one shoulder indifferently. "Both of my
men are charming and they know it. Most women don't
realize that their flirting is meaningless."
"I'm sure that's true of Angus, but I don't know about
Junior. Three ex-wives might disagree with you about his
flirting."
"They were all wrong for him."
"What about my mother? Would she have been wrong for
him?"
Sarah Jo fixed her empty stare on Alex again. "Absolutely
wrong. You're a lot like her, you know."
"Am I?"
"You enjoy causing dissonance. Your mother was never
content to leave bothersome things alone. The only difference
is that you're even better at making trouble and creating ill
will than she was. You're direct to the point of being tactless,
a trait I've always attributed to bad breeding." She lifted her
eyes to someone who had moved up behind Alex.
"Good evening, Sarah Jo."
"Judge Wallace." A sweet smile broke across Sarah Jo's
face. One would never guess she had had her stinger out
seconds earlier. "Hello, Stacey."
Alex, her face hot with indignation over Sarah Jo's unwarranted
criticism, turned around. Judge Joe Wallace was
staring down at her with disapproval, as though her being
there was a breach of the club's standards.
"Miss Gaither."
"Hello, Judge Wallace." The woman standing beside him
looked at Alex with a censure that matched his, though for
what reason, Alex couldn't guess. Obviously, Junior was the
only friendly face she was going to find in this crowd.
The judge gave the woman's arm a nudge and they moved
toward another table. "Is that his wife?" Alex asked, following
their progress.
"Good heavens, no," Sarah Jo said. "His daughter. Poor
Stacey. Eternally dowdy."
Stacey Wallace was still staring at Alex with such malice
that she was captivated by it. She didn't break her stare until
Junior's knee bumped hers when he resumed his seat and set
two plates of food on the table.
"I hope you like ribs and beans." His gaze followed the
direction of hers. "Hey, Stacey." He winked at her and raised
his hand in a friendly wave.
The woman's puckered mouth relaxed into a faltering
smile. Blushing, she raised her hand to her neckline like a
flustered girl and called back shyly, "Hi, Junior."
"Well?"
Though she was still curious about the judge and his chameleon
daughter, Junior's one-word inquiry brought Alex's
head around. "Sorry?"
"Do you like ribs and beans?"
"Watch me," she laughed, spreading the napkin over her
lap.
She did unladylike damage to her plate of food, but her
healthy appetite earned her a compliment from Angus. "Sarah
Jo eats like a bird. Don't you like the ribs, honey?" he asked,
looking into her plate, which had barely been disturbed.
"They're a little dry."
"Want me to order you something else?"
"No, thank you."
After they'd eaten, Angus took a fresh cigar from his pocket
and lit it. Fanning out the match, he said, "Why don't you
two dance?"
"Are you game?" Junior asked.
"Sure." Alex pushed back her chair and stood up. "But
this kind of dancing isn't my forte, so nothing too fancy,
please."
Junior drew her into his arms and, disobeying her request,
executed a series of intricate turns and dips. "Very nice,"
he said, smiling down at her when they lapsed into a more
sedate two-step. Using the arm he had placed around her
waist, he pulled her tighter against him. "Very, very nice."
Alex let him hold her close because it felt good to have
two strong arms around her. Her partner was handsome and
charming and knew how to make a woman feel beautiful.
She was a victim of his charm, but knowing it was her safety
net.
She could never actually fall for a glib charmer like Junior,
but small doses of attention from one was fun temporarily,
especially since every time she was around Reede, her confidence
and ego took a beating.
"Is Reede a club member?" she asked casually.
"Are you kiddin'?"
"He hasn't been invited to join?"
"Oh, sure, as soon as he won sheriff the first time. It's
just that he feels more at home in another crowd. He doesn't
give a fuck--excuse me--for society stuff." He stroked her
back. "You seem more relaxed than when I picked you up.
Having fun?"
"Yes, but you got me here under false pretenses," she
accused. "You're a long way from becoming drunk and talkative."
His smile was unrepentant. "Ask me anything."
"Okay. Who's the man over there, the one with the white
hair?" Junior identified him by name. Her instincts proved correct. His name had been among those at the bottom of her
letter. "Introduce us when the band takes its next break."
"He's married."
She shot him a look. "My interest in him isn't romantic."
"Ah, good, good."
He did as she asked. The banker she had picked out of the
crowd seemed disconcerted when Junior introduced her. As
she shook hands with him, she said, "I received your letter,
Mr. Longstreet."
Her straightforwardness surprised him, but he recovered
admirably. "I see that you're taking it to heart." He slid a
knowing glance toward Junior.
"Don't let my being here tonight with Junior fool you. I
can appreciate what he, his father, and Mr. Lambert mean
to Purcell and its economy, but that does not mean I'll suspend
my investigation. It'll take more than a letter to scare me
off."
Clearly irritated, Junior spoke to her out of the side of his
mouth as he escorted her back onto the dance floor a few
minutes later. "You could have warned me."
"About what?"
"That you are armed and dangerous. Longstreet's a big
wheel who shouldn't be put on the defensive. What's all this
about a letter, anyway?"
She explained, reciting as many of the names as she could
recall. "I hoped to meet some of them here tonight."
He pulled a deep frown, regarding her with asperity. Eventually,
however, he shrugged and fashioned a beguiling smile.
"And here I thought I'd swept you off your feet." Sighing
in resignation, he added, "Well, I'd just as well help you
out. Want to meet the rest of your adversaries?"
Trying to make it appear as casual as possible, Junior
moved her through the crowd, introducing her to those there
who had signed their names to that subtly threatening letter.
A half hour later they moved away from a couple who
owned a chain of convenience stores throughout West Texas.
They had invested heavily in Purcell Downs and were the
most demonstratively hostile. By that time, though, word had
gotten around who Junior's date was, so they'd been laying
for her.
"There, that's everybody," he told her.
' 'Thank God,'' Alex whispered. "Are the knives still sticking
out of my back?"
"You're not going to let that old biddy's rapier tongue get
to you, are you? Look, she's a dried up old shrew who hales
any woman who doesn't have a mustache as thick as hers."
Alex smiled in spite of herself. "She all but said, 'Be on
the next stage leaving town ... or else.' "
He squeezed her arm. "Come on, let's dance again. It will
take your mind off your troubles."
"I need to repair the damages," she said, slipping out of
his grasp. "Excuse me."
"Okay. The little girls' room is thataway." He pointed
down a narrow hallway.
There was no one in the powder room when she went in,
but when she came out of the cubicle, the judge's daughter
was standing in front of the dressing table, staring at her
reflection in the mirror. She turned and faced Alex.
Alex smiled. "Hi."
"Hello."
Alex moved to the sink and washed her hands. "We haven't
been formally introduced. I'm Alex Gaither." She
plucked two coarse paper towels from the dispenser.
"Yes, I know."
Alex dropped the used towels into the wastepaper basket.
"You're Judge Wallace's daughter." She attempted to break
the ice in an atmosphere that was glacial and getting colder
by the second. The woman had dropped all vestiges of the
shy, insecure maiden she had assumed when Junior had spoken
to her. Her face was stony and uncompromisingly antagonistic.
"Stacey, wasn't it?"
"Yes. Stacey. But the last name isn't Wallace. It's Min-ton."
"Minton?"
"That's right. I am Junior's wife. His first wife."