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  "In lust. He's always looking down her blouse." Angie frowned. "Okay, everybody does. Did. You couldn't help it."

  I concurred with that, at least up to a point. "Tony doesn't seem too upset about her death. Not like he's missed a meal or shed a tear."

  "I told you: it was lust, not love."

  "Maybe. But I'll still bet you it wasn't May in his trailer last night." I hit the tetherball.

  "Do you know something you're not telling me?"

  She was dead-on with that, but I hedged, "Well, I can't say how I know . ."

  "I don't care if you were hanging from the flagpole eavesdropping—just tell me what it is."

  "May was not in Tony's trailer. At least not then."

  "And you won't say where she was?"

  "I can't. But I know it for a fact as sure as I'm standing here."

  Angie smacked the ball hard. "I just thought of something. That quarrel I heard? That's the first time I ever remember people arguing at Green Clover. Ever. We're always happy to see each other."

  I hit the ball back, wondering if that meant whoever was doing the arguing, was the one who murdered May. "Bad times," I said.

  "No shit." She used two fists to send the ball wrapping around the top of the pole several feet above my head. I watched, my hands on my hips, as the ball made the final two loops and touched the pole.

  "You won," I said.

  "I know that."

  "I thought you were the one having the bad day? Mine appears to be slipping from lousy to worse," I replied.

  "Thanks for the information."

  "You don't have to go off mad."

  "I'm not. I'm just going off. Oh, and thanks for the therapy, too."

  "You're welcome. It was mutual."

  I turned onto the path that went up to the road. I had lots of new information to digest, and I was thinking I'd head toward the Rover so I could finally get my chocolate dip cone, which ought to help me digest it. That's when I heard my name called.

  "Kitzi? Kitz. Do you have a minute?"

  My stomach did a little leap at the voice I'd waited so many years to hear.

  I slowed, but I couldn't get my legs to stop. It was still full afternoon with hot sunlight pouring down through the trees, and after the tetherball my body was sticky and my face sweaty. I was also lightly coated with dust.

  Naturally, this is the way I'd look when Jeb and I finally came face to face. Isn't life just that way?

  Fifteen

  "When a Clover gal goes walkin' with her one and only man Rest assured she'll do the most official thing she can She won't let him hold her hand,

  For he might not understand,

  That a Clover gal's an angel in disguise ..

  Ha, ha!"

  Green Clover camp song

  I turned toward where Jeb Wright was standing.

  Damn, he was cool looking. He had one hand in the pocket of his khakis. His sage knit shirt with the polo player on the pocket was tucked in just right, not a wrinkle on it nor a drop of sweat anywhere on his body. At least that I could see. And I wasn't looking at his body.

  "kb," I said, hoping my smile looked like I was pleased to see him.

  "Hello." There was a good ten-second pause before he added, "Well."

  Apparently, Jeb wasn't feeling as cool as he was looking.

  "Yes?" I said. He was the one who'd started this conversation, and he's the one who could get it moving in the right direction.

  During the pause, I studied his face. Those dark brown eyes were missing the fire they'd once held—in fact, they appeared downright wary, and I wondered if that was because he was looking at me, or if that was the way he faced life. In the bright sunlight his skin was pale, as if he spent too much time indoors. Beyond that he looked tired. I was almost at the point of feeling sorry for him when he finally spoke.

  "It's been a long time," he said.

  "Yes, it has." The last time I'd seen him had been when he'd dropped me off at my townhouse. That was before I'd moved back to the Camden Manse—my son, Will, had still lived with me, and so Jeb and I had said good-bye on the porch, kissing like a couple of teenagers.

  We'd had a blissful day. He'd rented a convertible, a bright red Mazda, and we'd driven to the lake, then out to Johnson City, and on to Purple Sage where we'd had lunch.

  It was almost like a movie, with the wind blowing our hair and us singing along to the oldies station. We'd remembered all the words to "Satisfaction," and Jeb had tried an English accent for "I'm Henry the Eighth."

  At the end of the day, I'd thought my heart would break when he kissed me one last time and said he had to go. I remember his face in the dim light of the full moon .

  And now here he was, all these years later, standing in the sunshine at Green Clover. He was scrutinizing me, probably seeing some of the same changes I'd recognized in him. I thought I looked better than he did, but then I'd watched the years and the transformation come about grad-ually in me.

  "You're still as beautiful as ever," he said.

  "Liar."

  He smiled. "Actually, I'm telling the truth. You look wonderful. How do you do it?"

  "Living by the Golden Rule," I said.

  I was doing unto others as I wanted them to do unto me—probably the total opposite of how he lived—but I suspected he didn't know what the Golden Rule was. The puzzled look told me I was right.

  Finally, he laughed. "Don't tell me you've given up causing problems and having fun? Can't be the same Kitzi Camden I know."

  I wanted to say that he didn't know me at al , probably never had. Instead, I raised one eyebrow and forced myself to smile. Too many years had passed by, too many times I'd wondered why he'd hurt me so; but I could see now that I'd been hurt by someone else. Someone of my own creation.

  I didn't seem to know this man.

  He added, "I can't imagine you going for sainthood."

  I thought about explaining, but there was no explanation in me. There didn't seem to be many words, either.

  "Well .. Jeb said. When I still didn't speak, he glanced at his watch, then looked up to study me intently. "You've changed."

  I nodded slowly. "I imagine I have." And then I did start feeling sorry for him. He'd been a rat and a brat, and I supposed he deserved to be told that, but who was Ito do the telling? Instead, I dug down to find my manners and maybe even a little charm. "How is your wife?" I asked.

  "My wife?" He let out a short, sardonic laugh. "Which one?"

  I blinked. Obviously he hadn't spent any time pining away for me if he'd found time to marry more than one woman. "The one you married right after you left Austin,"

  I said.

  "Oh." His half-smile wasn't having an effect on me.

  "You've had more than one?" I asked.

  "Two. The first was Phoebe." His voice turned sad. "Just six months after the wedding, she left me for the minister who married us." He took in a breath. "It was unexpected, and quite a learning experience."

  I recognized that as my cue to make sympathetic noises, and because, like most women I'm well trained, my mouth was already open when I realized what I was about to do. It was pretty ironic that he was looking for some sort of consolation from me.

  He wasn't going to get it.

  "Here's what I tell myself," I said, "on those rare occasions when I have problems with the opposite sex: number one, you picked the jerk. And number two, at least you aren't stuck with the jerk now." I hoped he saw the double meaning. 'Words for you to remember," I finished.

  He hesitated before saying, "I'll think about it."

  "Good idea. Well, I'd better run. I've got some things to get done before dinner."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. Nice visiting with you." I hadn't meant to say that, because it wasn't nice and he wasn't nice. "Ciao."

  "Kitzi—"

  In spite of myself I stopped and turned to look at him.

  "Yes?"

  "Maybe we can get together later . . ." He waited, like maybe h
e was looking for me to fall for him again, melt into a puddle at his well-shod feet, and utter rapturous little whimpers. I could hardly breathe, so I wasn't about to waste any air whimpering. When I stood as still as Lot's wife, and probably about as happy, he finished with, "We can catch up on each other's lives. Maybe this evening?"

  "Of course. Sounds, uh, sounds good. Let me know when." And I set off up the hill like I was training for the Olympic walking event.

  I turned onto another path and because I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, almost ran into a tree. I might have slumped against it but the way my luck was running, Jeb would find me. Or Officer Peterson.

  Instead, I cut off a side trail, and then around to another wider path. Ahead of me was a tree trunk with several rough wooden boards tacked to it Each of the boards had painted arrows pointing in different directions. A few were useful and showed how to get to the Saloon and the horse barn. One said Wall Drug. Another pointed upward, with the word heaven.

  I didn't seem to be going to any of those places.

  My steps were slower now as I assessed the damage to my psyche after my meeting with Jeb. Looking back I saw that I hadn't fallen apart, fallen back in love, or even fallen over my words. I had been calm. I had been the Kitzi Camden my friends and I don't recognize when reporters write about her, instead of the klutz who broke her heel and almost sat in the fountain at the governor's ball. Or the one whose daughter gripes at her about being more responsible.

  My alter ego—every public person has one—had performed admirably.

  I let out a shallow breath. I felt a little like the alcoholic who could finally drive by the liquor store without stopping. Doesn't mean you don't notice the liquor store, or react, but you do keep going. It meant I had grown beyond Jeb, but there was a sad side to that, too, because it meant I had left behind a little of me. Particularly the me who was naive and more sweet than sour and believed in fairy tales. I suppose at my age it was well past time for that to happen, but wasn't it like a stiffening of the arteries? The ones around the heart?

  I didn't want that to happen.

  That's when I saw Beth coming down from a path above me. The worried look was back on her face, and she was shiny with perspiration.

  "Are you okay?" I asked. "Is anything wrong?"

  "I'm fine. Aren't we all?" she said. "Actually, I'm just stressed like all of us. Where have you been?" She stopped in front of me.

  I dropped my voice. "Having a conversation with Jeb." I was surprised at how sad I sounded. Beth looked concerned, maybe a bit unhappy, so I added, "And this time I didn't swoon or faint, and I wasn't even overly nice to him.

  You should be proud of me."

  "Are you sure you aren't taking him to dinner? Or on your way to do his ironing? Maybe buy him a car?"

  "I never did most of those things, and honestly, I'm not now."

  "Really? That's a good thing, a very good thing." She touched my arm. "So, how are you feeling after that? You look a little pale."

  "That's from tetherball."

  Her expression questioned the excuse, but she said,

  "Then how is he? Is he devastated that you didn't fall into his arms? You really didn't?"

  "I did not. Promise. If you don't believe me, you can turn left at the intersection down there and you might see him. He's probably still standing there speechless."

  "Maybe we could bronze him, and then no one would have to deal with him again."

  It was quiet except for a blue jay squawking in a tree not too far off. "Maybe that's him."

  "The voice is too deep," she said, then added seriously,

  "I'd love to waltz up to him and say, 'Hey, Jeb, how you hangin' ?' I suppose that's tacky, but he brings out the worst in me."

  I could hear the faint rustling of bushes farther down the path, no doubt the reason for the jay's upset. It was probably someone walking toward us and if so, it had to be Jeb. I couldn't face him again so soon. I raised my voice to say.

  "I have some things to do—I'll catch up with you later."

  She nodded. "Sure."

  I started off, then swung back around. "Have you seen Shannan? Do you know how she's doing?"

  Beth shook her head. "I've haven't seen her since lunch. I was going to the barn in the hope that she's hanging out with the horses."

  The footsteps were moving closer, like the jaws of a land shark closing in; I had to get out of there or I'd be needing anti-anxiety pills. "Before dinner, we'll talk."

  Then I was away again, up the path and down another one_ Shannan was probably hiding out somewhere, maybe in Wimberley eating homemade fudge and buying CDs.

  Although I wasn't interested in theludge, I was ready for my own brand of comfort food and a change of scenery.

  I felt in my pocket. My driver's license was still there and the spare key was still hidden on the Rover, along with my emergency stash of cash and a credit card. Everything a woman needs for a getaway. I headed for the front entrance of the camp.

  My hope was that the deputy would be gone so I could slip out before anyone official noticed me.

  I got to the top of the path and peered up the road. There were voices, and I eased forward to discover a whole congregation of people at the front gates. The deputy was still there and she had been joined by the sheriff, Officer Peterson, and a couple of others that I didn't recognize; I cut back along another path, then around a bend, so I was able to cross the road without being seen. At that point, I slipped behind the Saloon and kept moving until I came to the outer perimeters of the camp and the brushy area with the secondary gate. It was trickier here, but I carefully picked through the sticker bushes to the opening—except it wasn't. Open, that is. It was closed. Even worse, as I reached for the latch I discovered that the sunlight was glinting off the shiny metal of a brand-new combination lock.

  If I'd been Scarlett O'Hara, I'd have stamped my foot and said, "Fiddle dee dee!" Instead I picked up a fist-sized rock with a thought of inflicting some damage to the new lock. My arm was raised, when Nate Wright stepped out from behind a tree.

  "I take it you don't care for the new hardware?"

  I started guiltily. "You scared me!" I lowered the rock.

  For the first time I noticed a toolbox on the ground. Apparently Nate had been off watching the confab at the main gate when I arrived.

  "Security duty," he said. "Locks on gates, dead bolts on cabin doors. That's my job, ma'am." He said it with a drawl and a tip of his hand as if he were a servant.

  "The camp is now secure?" I asked.

  "You can drop the rock, we've got it under control." I did as suggested and he added, "Cordy's hired some men to put on the cabin locks. My job is to secure the fence, and this and a small problem near the campfire wil finish it up."

  "You know how to mend fences?"

  He grinned, and it might have been the shade of Clark Gable grinning down on me. As both rake and roué he responded, "It's said I'm good with my hands?'

  "And who says that?" I asked.

  That half-grin again, "Ma'am, I don't believe this is the time or place to discuss it."

  Voices came up from the gate and one said, "I'll check and see if it's closed off." It was the deputy starting up in our direction.

  Peterson's voice said, "I'll come, too."

  "Well, shoot," I said. "I don't supposed you know the combination to this thing?" I pointed at the lock..

  "You don't want to visit with any of the officials?" Nate asked me.

  "Not in this lifetime:'

  "Okay." He turned the dial quickly. Then it was off the gate, which he swung open. "I was just leaving in a few minutes," he said. `Want me to drive down the road out there and pick you up?"

  "I'd be much obliged," I said in my best good-of-boy-speak.

  Or was it Mae West? Then I was out the gate, picking my way through the brush.

  I felt like a spy, hiding between a boulder and an algarita bush until Nate pulled up in the Green Clover van and I j
umped in. Not that I thought anyone was watching, but they could have been. And not that I shouldn't have been leaving the camp, because that wasn't an issue either, really.

  "Didn't want to report your plans to Peterson?" Nate asked, once I was buckled in and he was piloting us toward town.

  "I don't like that man"

  "He's only doing his job . . . to protect you." Nate flashed the grin that could captivate any woman_

  Then he reached over and pulled something out of my hair and held it up for me to see. A small bunch of dry leaves. " 'Long live the weeds and the wilderness.' Edward Abbey," he said. "He wrote—"

  "I know who he is. The Monkey Wrench Gang."

  "Did you like Edward Abbey?"

  "Absolutely. I was practicing using a chain saw—for billboards and such—when I moved on to another phase of my life. Ayn Rand, I think. Probably a good thing."

  "Very likely." He tipped his head at me, smiling, then went back to watching the road. I watched him.

  Now why hadn't I met Nate earlier? Say, twenty years or so?

  "Tell me again which brother you are," I said.

  "Nathaniel Samuel Wright. Older than Cordy, younger than Jeb or Zeke."

  "That's not what I meant. Are you the former preacher, or the one who sold security things by mail?"

  "Zeke was, and still is, the minister. I'm the other one.

  Oh, and is there any place special I'm taking you? I assume you don't want to shop for baling wire."

  "I don't mind. I mostly just wanted away from all the hullabaloo." I thought about what I'd said. "Hullabaloo.

  Now there's an old word."

  "Winston Churchill said that old words are best."

  "How nice of him. Of course, he was probably old at the time so he might have been just covering his rear."

  Nate was grinning again. "Didn't Cordy tell me you're a communications trainer? Who do you train? Politicians?"

  "Some. Lots of computer people, too. They love jargon, and when that's not overwhelming, they take real words and garble them. They'll say things like, we should ìncen-tivize the sales staff.' Or just ìntent the salespeople.' I can't convince them incentive is a noun and there are no verbs related to it." We hit a bump and the van flew up into the air, landing with a metal groan.