Bead onTrouble Read online

  I turned around to see who was behind me and found none other than Officer Peterson staring at me. The man was a menace. And he had a list with my name at the top of it.

  I turned back around. Beside the minister a table held May's picture. It was the headshot we'd all seen in her brochures and in the camp flyers. Cordy had taken it to the copiers and they'd blown it up as large as they could make it. Now it was in an antique silver frame that set off May's dark beauty perfectly. Also on the table was a bouquet of flowers; not the stilted roses I would have expected on short notice, either. There were red gerbera daisies, yellow mums, and purple irises. With all the greenery and in the tall milky white vase, they made an exquisite statement.

  They were the flowers Nate had put in the back of the van.

  NW. Nathaniel Wright was the last name on Peterson's list, and I had no idea what I thought about that.

  "Talent is a gift of God," the minister was saying. "But the way we train talent, nurture it, and allow it to grow makes the difference between a crafter and a skilled artisan. May Feather honed her talents. We shall all miss seeing her beautiful—"

  Someone from the front row jumped up and began to run along the benches to my left. In the darkness, and with the added shadow of the trees, it took a moment for me to realize it was Jennifer. I couldn't figure out what she was doing until she ran into the bushes almost directly beside us and I heard her retching.

  I was up and ready to go to her when Cordy slid past. I sat back down to let Cordy play the gentle stranger and take care of Jennifer. I needed to stay here for Beth who was absolutely rigid beside me. At one point I'd patted her arm and Beth had jumped a good four inches off the wooden bench.

  I could hear 'Cordy's voice saying something soft and soothing to Jennifer. In a few minutes they both appeared, Cordy helping Jennifer along the path and back toward the cabins. Sheriff Gonzales said something to Cordy. She nodded and kept on walking. Officer Peterson watched them.

  Both of the men had put in a long day and it wasn't over yet.

  I felt a little sorry for the sheriff, but not for Peterson.

  'Wherever she went, there was beauty. She will be missed."

  Beth dug her fingers in my arm and I yelped before I could stop myself. It was lost in the sound of everyone rising for a final prayer. As soon as we said "amen," all the camp lights went out.

  For just a moment we were in darkness with those glittering stars looking over us. Then the flashlights started to go on, and someone began the singing. Slowly everyone turned toward the cabins, and those in the front row filed out as we all sang the good-night song.

  Days at Green Clover had ended this way for as long as I knew. Even when I was eight I loved the dark night, the wind rustling in the trees, and all our voices raised up together. When I was a counselor it had been my favorite time of the day. Of course, that might have been because it also signaled the end of the planned activities, so we could put our charges to bed and finally have some time to ourselves.

  When we'd started the bead retreats, there had been no question but what we would sing on our way back to our cabins. I listened to the voices, probably sixty or so of them,

  "Oh, my Lord, Oh, my Lord,

  I have placed my trust in thee

  Though you have so many children,

  You are always there for me."

  I stood in place, watching as the women walked past. I saw Nate and heard his voice as he sang. The man could even sing. He saw me, and nodded, but he didn't miss a note. Seemed just right, and I found another reason to like him. Jeb was behind him, but Jeb wasn't singing. He was pushing buttons on his cell phone, probably checking messages. I couldn't believe I'd wasted so many years yearning for him. I was beginning to wonder how I'd ever been attracted to the man in the first place.

  "Keep us safe here at Green Clover

  Oh, my Lord, please be my guide."

  The words took on different meanings at different times. When I was eight and new to camp, the God of the song wasn't the same one who had taken Charlotte away.

  This God was like my grandfather, and even though He was in heaven, I was sure He heard us. I also figured He was watching out for us.

  In recent years, I thought the song referred to the danger of one of us tripping and breaking a leg in the dark, or at the very least, spraining an ankle.

  Now, I hoped that God would keep everyone safe from the murderer.

  As the women filed past, some were singing, some were sniffing away tears. I thought about the eight-year-old Charlotte, and how I'd been told she wanted to go to heaven. It made me wonder again what comes after death.

  Oh, the ministers can talk about heaven and hell, but they never tell us what heaven looks like. Are there trees? And if there are, then what kind of trees? Do we live in houses, or do we just float around on clouds all the time?

  I'm afraid I have to agree with Mark Twain, who was highly disparaging of all of us going to a place where we played musical instruments and sang for the rest of eter-nity. Not only does it sound more than a tad improbable, it also doesn't sound like a heck of a lot of fun.

  As too many people have pointed out, I'm a here-and-now kind of person, doing the best I can in the moment. I couldn't do anything about May's current whereabouts, and I certainly couldn't deal with anyone's future residence. Right at this very moment, I had to take care of something more immediate, and that was Beth. She was going to need comfort and a sounding board. She'd also said she wanted a stiff drink, which was fine, but I didn't want her blurting out any accusations about May to the wrong person.

  Finally, our row was able to leave, and Beth and I walked side by side, following the beams of our flashlights back toward the cabin. On the way we passed a man in a Mezner Security uniform. I nudged Beth and pointed him out.

  "I think it's good news that he's here," Beth said. "I think:'

  "I feel the same way."

  Finally we reached the Lazy L. "It's good to be home,"

  I said.

  "I'm making margaritas," Beth said. Ours is one of the few cabins with a refrigerator, and Beth went to the party room to get some of the ice she'd stashed in its freezer.

  While she was gone, Jennifer came in.

  "How are you doing?" I asked.

  Jennifer covered her white face with her hands. "I'm so embarrassed. I can't believe I got sick—practically in front of everyone."

  "It happens to all of us at least once in our lives, and you had a good reason. It wasn't like you were drunk." Of course, she had been drunk the night before, and the cause of her stomach problems could have been barbeque on top of a hangover.

  Jennifer took Sinatra out of his cage and climbed up to her bunk. "I keep telling myself that at least I was in the bushes, but still—I threw up! And everyone heard me."

  Sinatra wasn't a happy kitten—he bit Jennifer. "Ow. You little monkey."

  "As you get older, Jennifer, you'll discover that bodily functions become less offensive and more routine." I began to pet Sinatra who started to purr. "My mother's friends talk about bowel movements—"

  "Gross! That's like disgusting."

  "What is?" Beth asked, returning with the ice.

  "You don't want to know," Jennifer said.

  Beth began making the margaritas, and I went to the cooler and got out my bottle of Muscovito. I sipped a plastic cup of it as I sat on my bunk watching the parade of women coming in from the service, and those who were already leaving. The ones going out were heading for the Saloon carrying bead boxes and design boards for a night of their favorite activity. We treated several to margaritas on the way out, and we collected some iced sugar cookies in return. They were not going to be eaten with the margaritas.

  Shaman came in long enough to get a jacket and some money for the vendor's room, then Jennifer put Sinatra into his cage and the two young women started to leave together.

  Beth stopped them at the door. "Go straight to the Saloon and straight back. No wandering ar
ound the camp. In fact, stay with a crowd—"

  "Mother!" Shannan said.

  "I'll watch her," Jennifer said as they scooted out.

  "Why am I not secure with that?" Beth asked.

  "Because of their behavior last night," I said. I pointed to the newest batch of margaritas. "Now, are you going to drink any of that, or are you giving it away?"

  "Are you in a hurry?"

  "No, but I can't sit here and watch you feed the entire camp:'

  "This isn't food."

  "Manna. Nectar of the gods . ."

  She poured out a drink, started to stash the pitcher in the cooler, then said, "Oh, to hell with it, I think I'll drink it all."

  "I'll bring my bottle." I grabbed an extra blanket in case the combination of the frozen margaritas and the night air was too much for Beth, shifted my wine under my other arm, and followed her to the rock above the cabin.

  I put the blanket underneath us, and Beth put the pitcher on the ground. I leaned back with a sigh, holding my wine.

  The camp lights were back on and it was like a fairyland.

  "It's always so pretty from up here."

  "The whole world is like that, don't you think?" Beth asked. "You just don't want to get too close, or too involved, because then it can get ugly."

  That was my cue. "How Iong have you known?"

  She paused but only for a beat. "About four months I think I got in around the beginning. At least, I think that's when things started for them."

  "How did you find out?"

  "Oh, you know, he'd get strange phone calls on his cell phone and say he had to go out. He started having a lot of dinner meetings with clients, and he hadn't done those in years. Pretty much the usual, I guess. It wasn't confirmed until a week ago by Mr. Jack Pomrey, Private Eye."

  I turned to stare at her. "I beg your pardon?"

  "I didn't want to believe that Ron was having an affair, so I waited forever, and then I hired a private detective. You didn't think I followed Ron around, did you? I wouldn't stoop that low. How did you find out?"

  "I followed Ron around."

  "Nice going, Kitz. Why didn't you just ask me? I'd have shared Mr. Pomrey's report with you; I'd have let you see the video."

  This time I almost choked on my drink. "A video?"

  "It was dark when Pomrey took it, so you can't see much. Thank God, because it wasn't easy to watch." She drank some more margarita. "Now, why were you following my husband around? Surely you had more interesting things to do." I didn't say anything. "Well?" she asked.

  "Why were you following Ron?"

  "Does anyone else know? About the affair?" I asked.

  "You're doing it again."

  "I can't answer until you tell me."

  "How should I know? I haven't talked about it with anyone except Mr. Pomrey, and Mr. Pomrey doesn't chitchat?"

  I hesitated. "You'd better drink up, I may have more bad news."

  "Now what'?" She took a big swallow from her cup.

  "Darn, this is cold."

  "Here, warm it up." I poured wine in the frozen margarita. "That ought to melt it."

  She sipped. "Luckily, I'm not after taste, just effect."

  She took another swallow of the melting slush, "You might as well tell me; after the past two weeks I think I can take anything. I cope well. In fact, I'm getting damn sick and tired of coping."

  "Boy, do I know that one

  "Would you stop mincing around and tell me? I can't sit here all night."

  "Okay, okay; I'll tell you. I found out last night, and it wasn't my idea." This was the part I dreaded. "Shannan wanted to borrow the Rover, and since I couldn't let her, I volunteered to drive. She said she saw Ron's car here at camp . . . and she wanted to know for sure."

  I could feel Beth slump beside me. "I was afraid she was suspicious. My poor baby. I wanted to talk to her, but I thought I should confront Ron first. And, I just couldn't. I couldn't do it." She picked up the pitcher and refilled her cup. "You saw Ron with . . . her last night? What were they—no, don't tell me."

  "They weren't doing much. Just talking." That's the kind of lie I can get behind.

  "But it was enough to upset Shannon, which, I'll bet, is why she got drunk. go talk to her.--" She started up, but I pulled her back down.

  "I wouldn't worry about it now. She's coping today," I said. Laughter floated up from the Saloon. "At the moment, she's probably having fun for the first time in months."

  "You're right." Beth let out a long sigh. "I feel so sorry for her. Poor Shannan."

  "Poor you." I started to drink some wine and discovered my cup was empty. "Want more?" I asked, holding up the bottle.

  "A splash:" She poured in margarita, and I topped it off with Muscovito.

  I realized I was leaning against Beth. "Sorry." I sat up straight. "The big question is, what are you going to do about it? Or have you thought about that?"

  "It's all I've thought about."

  "Have you done anything? I mean besides hiring Mr.

  Pommy?"

  "First, I cried a lot. Then I planned to murder Ron, but I decided it would upset Shannon, so I didn't do it. Then I thought about killing May—but, I didn't." She looked at me. "Really, it was just a mental exercise to make me feel better. And that was weeks ago. And now she's really dead; I can't believe it. You do know that I didn't have anything to do with her murder?"

  "I know. But that doesn't answer my question; what are you going to do?"

  Beth scooted back and almost fell off the rock. When she had her balance she said, "I don't know_ I wanted to get the Tivolini contract so I could support myself and Shannon. It would have made it a lot easier to leave Ron."

  "And if you didn't get the contract?"

  "I thought about trying to talk Ron into couple's counseling. That's what it's called these days. It's not marriage counseling anymore, because the marriage doesn't get counseled, the couple does." She took a sip of her drink, made a terrible face and said, "Here, taste."

  I did. "Fruit punch gone bad." I handed her back the glass.

  "Let's chugalug," she said. We did, and she added,

  "Whew. That'll send you to the super bowl. Where was I?

  Oh, counseling. I know Ron's never been your favorite person, but for a long time, he was mine. When we first dated, I loved how logical he was, and how he thought I was cute and funny." She laughed, then the sound turned into a sob.

  "I'm sorry. It's just hard. It feels like my whole life has been false. Maybe he never loved me. Maybe I was never good enough. And then when I gained all the weight—"

  `That's crazy!" I stood up. "Okay, you loved him. And, he loved you. Ron is way too selfish to marry someone he didn't love."

  "Yes, but then there was May. And maybe others—"

  "You don't know that, and you don't know that he loved May. It's possible he was just in lust with her. And now she's gone, never to return."

  Beth wiped her cheeks as more tears fell. "I know. Murdered, which doesn't make things any better because he didn't give her up voluntarily. And the police might decide he murdered her. Did you think of that?"

  "Of course:' I sat back down, half on the blanket and half on the rock, which was very cold. "Scoot over, please:'

  She did, and I sat down again, although my aim wasn't much better. "One more time' This time I hit the blanket and leaned back. "You know it's worse than you thought.

  Think. The police could suspect Ron, but they could also suspect you." I didn't mention Shaman. "So, what about Ron? I know it's bad to question his integrity—or do I mean morals? But you know he could have had an argument with May and blown up. Could he have killed her?

  I just wondered Think he could have?"

  "After all these years, I know Ron, and he's not that explosive. Of course, I never thought he was that passion-ate, either. Damn." She took a gulp of her drink. "I'm beginning to like this stuff. Maybe we should bottle it."

  I shuddered. "I don't think there's much of
a market!'

  Her head came up_ "I just figured out where you went today. And why you came back with Sinatra. You went to tell Ron. About May:' She turned and looked at me. "That was nice of you:'

  "I wasn't being nice to Ron," I said. "I went so you wouldn't have to tell Mo-Ron."

  "I knew that. You were being nice to me. Good ol' MoRon!' She shook her head. "You really shouldn't call him that. To Mo-Ron." We clicked our plastic cups together in a toast and drank some more. Finally, Beth said, "You know, if Peterson finds out about that affair, my whole family could be in trouble:'

  "Absolutely." The word came out absoluly. "My tongue must have frozen," I said. "From the night air. The cold night air."

  "Right."

  "Most important," I said. "We have to make sure no one knows about the affair. Shannan won't say anything. But she does have few choice words for her dad,"

  "Oh, good. Someone should."

  "Are you getting cold?"

  "A little." She raised her glass. "Whatever happens, happens." She took a drink. "Maybe Ron will stay now Or maybe I'll get the Tivolini contract. Or maybe— Oh, to hell with it." She drank, and I followed her lead. "So, tell me about kb."

  "What's to tell? I came, I saw, and I think he's a moron.

  My heart has mended."

  "Yes, but is your brain better?"

  "My brain?"

  "The number-one sexual organ."

  "Well, he did screw with my head." Beth laughed and I added, "My brain doesn't like him, either. He is self-absorbed. Rude. And you know what else? He never liked me. He married two other women, did you know that?"

  "Actually, I did."

  "And you didn't tell me? Oh, who cares. Wait, I do. Not that you didn't tell me, but that he could marry two different women, and he couldn't even bother to call me on the friggin' telephone. It could have been on his cell phone, and it wouldn't even have cost anything. What a sumbitch." I took a sip of Muscovito. It tasted soft and warm, so I refilled my cup and sipped some more. "I suppose it's a very good thing Jeb didn't call, because I'd have hauled up to New York, left behind my family, given up the manse. Jeez. Talk about a moron. I win the moron of the decade award. Moron of the century—"