Chapter One
It wasn't so much the cockroach that made her scream as
the chipped fingernail.
The cockroach was small. The chip was a dilly. On her
manicured nail it looked
as deep and jagged as the Grand Canyon.
Alex swatted at the cockroach with the laminated card that
displayed the motel's
limited room service menu. The reverse side advertised the
Friday night Mexican
buffet and The Four Riders, a country and western band
currently performing in
the Silver Spur Lounge nightly from seven till midnight.
Her swipe at the cockroach missed by a mile and it
scuttled for cover behind the
wood veneer dresser. "I'll get you later."
She found a nail file in the bottom of the cosmetic case
she had been about to
unpack when the metal clasp had wrecked her fingernail and
the cockroach had
come out to inspect the new tenant of room 125. The room
was located on the
ground floor of the Westerner Motel, three doors down from
the ice and vending
machines.
Once the nail had been repaired, Alex gave herself one
last, critical look in
the dresser mirror. It was important that she make a
stunning first impression.
They would be astonished when she told them who she was,
but she wanted to
create an even stronger impact.
She wanted to leave them stupefied, speechless, and
defenseless.
They would undoubtedly make comparisons. She couldn't
prevent that; she just
didn't want to come out on the short end of their mental
measuring sticks. If
she could help it, they would find no flaws in Celina
Gaither's daughter.
She had carefully chosen what to wear. Everything-clothes,
jewelry,
accessories-was in excellent taste. The overall effect was
tailored but not
severe, smart but not trendy; she exuded an aura of
professionalism that didn't
compromise her femininity.
Her goal was to impress them first, then surprise them
with what had brought her
to Purcell.
Until a few weeks ago, the town of thirty thousand had
been a lonely dot on the
Texas map. As many jackrabbits and horned toads lived
there as people. Recently,
town business interests had generated news, but on a
comparatively small scale.
By the time Alex's job was done, she was certain Purcell
would capture newspaper
headlines from El Paso to Texarkana.
Concluding that nothing about her appearance could be
improved upon short of an
act of God or very expensive plastic surgery, she
shouldered her handbag, picked
up her eel attachΓ© case, and, making certain she had her
room key, closed the
door to room 125 behind her.
During the drive downtown, Alex had to creep through two
school zones. Rush hour
in Purcell began when school dismissed. Parents
transported their children from
school to dentists' offices, piano lessons, and shopping
centers. Some might
even have been going home, but the sluggish traffic and
clogged intersections
indicated that no one was staying indoors that day. She
didn't actually mind the
stop-and-go traffic. The delays gave her an opportunity to
gauge the personality
of the town.
Black and gold streamers fluttered from the marquee
outside Purcell High School.
The caricature of a black panther snarled at the passing
cars on the highway and
temporary letters spelled out POUNCE PERMIAN. On the field
inside the stadium,
the football team was working out and running plays. The
marching band, its
instruments flashing in the sun, was rehearsing Friday
night's halftime show on
a practice field.
The activity looked so innocent. For a moment, Alex
regretted her mission and
what its outcome would most likely mean for the community.
She dismissed her
guilty feelings quickly, however, when she reminded
herself why she was here. A
harvest of rejection, as well as her grandmother's harsh
accusations, were
stored in her mind if she ever, even for a second, forgot
what had brought her
to this point in her life. She could ill afford the
slightest sentimental
regrets.
Downtown Purcell was almost deserted. Many of the
commercial buildings and
offices facing the square were closed and barred.
Foreclosure signs were too
plentiful to count.
Graffiti was scrawled across plate-glass windows that had
once been filled with
enticing merchandise. There was still a hand-lettered sign
on the door of a
deserted laundry. Someone had scratched out the r, so that
the sign now read, 3
SHI TS/$1.00. It crudely summed up the economic climate in
Purcell County.
She parked in front of the county courthouse and fed coins
into the meter at the
curb. The courthouse had been built of red granite
quarried in the hill country
and hauled by rail to Purcell ninety years earlier.
Italian stonecutters had
carved pretentious gargoyles and griffins in every
available spot as if the
amount of decoration justified the expense of their
commission. The results were
ostentatious, but gaudiness was one of the edifice's
attractions. Atop its dome
the national and Texas state flags flapped in the brisk
north wind.
Having worked in and about the state capitol of Austin for
the last year, Alex
wasn't intimidated by official buildings. She took the
courthouse steps with a
determined stride and pulled open the heavy doors. Inside,
the plaster walls
showed peeling paint and signs of general disrepair. The
aggregate tile floor
had faint cracks in it that crisscrossed like the lines in
the palm of an
ancient hand.
The ceiling was high. The drafty corridors smelled of
musty record books,
industrial-strength cleaning solution, and an overdose of
perfume that emanated
from the district attorney's secretary. She looked up
expectantly as Alex
entered the outer office.
"Hi, there. You lost, honey? I love your hair. Wish I
could wear mine pulled
back in a bun like that. You have to have real tiny ears.
Wouldn't you know it,
I've got jug handles sticking out from the sides of my
head. Do you put henna on
it to give it those reddish highlights?"
"Is this District Attorney Chastain's office?"
"Sure is, honey. Whatcha need him for? He's kinda busy
today."
"I'm from the Travis County D.A.'s office. Mr. Harper
called on my behalf, I
believe."
The wad of chewing gum inside the secretary's cheek got a
rest from the pounding
it had been taking. "You? We were expecting a man."
"As you can see ..." Alex held her arms out at her sides.
The secretary looked vexed. "You'd think Mr. Harper would
have mentioned that
his assistant was a lady, not a man, but shoot," she said,
flipping her hand
down from a limp wrist, "you know how men are. Well,
honey, you're right on time
for your appointment. My name's Imogene. Want some coffee?
That's a gorgeous
outfit, so high-fashion. They're wearing skirts shorter
these days, aren't
they?"
At the risk of sounding rude, Alex asked, "Are the parties
here yet?"
Just then, masculine laughter erupted from the other side
of the closed door.
"That answer your question, honey?" Imogene asked
Alex. "Somebody prob'ly just
told a dirty joke to let off steam. They're just bustin' a
gut to know what this
hush-hush meeting is all about. What's the big secret? Mr.
Harper didn't tell
Pat why you were coming to Purcell, even though they were
friends in law school.
Is it something to do with ME getting that gambling
license?"
"ME?"
"Minton Enterprises." She said it as though she was
surprised Alex was not
familiar with the name.
"Perhaps I shouldn't keep them waiting any longer," Alex
suggested tactfully,
sidestepping Imogene's question.
"Shoot, just listen to me running off at the mouth. Did
you say you wanted some
coffee, honey?"
"No, thank you." Alex followed Imogene toward the door.
Her heart started
beating double-time.
"Excuse me." Imogene interrupted the conversation by
poking her head into the
room. "District Attorney Harper's assistant is here. Y'all
sure are in for a
treat." She turned back toward Alex. One set of eyelashes,
gummy with navy blue
mascara, dropped over her eye in a broad, just-between-us-
girls wink. "Go on in,
honey."
Alex, bracing herself for the most crucial meeting in her
life, entered the
office.
It was obvious from the relaxed atmosphere that the men in
the room had been
expecting another man. The moment she crossed the
threshold and Imogene pulled
the transomed door closed, the man seated behind the desk
sprang to his feet. He
ground out a burning cigar in the thick, glass ashtray and
reached for his suit
coat, which had been draped over the back of his chair.
"Pat Chastain," he said, extending his hand. "'Treat' is
an understatement. But
then, my good buddy Greg Harper always did have an eye for
the ladies. Doesn't
surprise me a bit that he's got a good-lookin' woman on
his staff."
His sexist remark set her teeth on edge, but she let it
slide. She inclined her
head in acknowledgment of Chastain's compliment. The hand
she clasped in a firm
handshake was so loaded down with gold-nugget jewelry it
could have anchored a
fair-sized yacht. "Thank you for arranging this meeting,
Mr. Chastain."
"No problem, no problem. Glad to be of service to both you
and Greg. And call me
Pat." Taking her elbow, he turned her toward the other two
men, who had come to
their feet out of deference to her. "This here is Mr.
Angus Minton and his son,
Junior."
"Gentlemen." Confronting them, meeting them eye to eye for
the first time, had a
strange and powerful impact on her. Curiosity and
antipathy warred inside her.
She wanted to analyze them, denounce them. Instead, she
behaved in the expected
civilized manner and extended her hand.
It was clasped by one studded with calluses. The handshake
bordered on being too
hard, but it was as open and friendly as the face smiling
at her.
"A pleasure, ma'am. Welcome to Purcell County."
Angus Minton's face was tanned and weathered, ravaged by
blistering summer sun,
frigid blue northers, and years of outdoor work.
Intelligent blue eyes twinkled
at her from sockets radiating lines of friendliness. He
had a boisterous voice.
Alex guessed that his laugh would be as expansive as his
broad chest and the
beer belly that was his only sign of indulgence.
Otherwise, he seemed physically
fit and strong. Even a younger, larger man would be loath
to pick a fight with
him because of his commanding presence. For all his
strength, he looked as
guileless as an altar boy.
His son's handshake was softer, but no less hearty or
friendly. He enfolded
Alex's hand warmly, and in a confidence-inspiring voice,
said, "I'm Junior
Minton. How do you do?"
"How do you do?"
He didn't look his forty-three years, especially when he
smiled. His straight
white teeth flashed and a devilish dimple cratered one
cheek, suggesting that he
behaved no better than any given occasion called for him
to. His blue eyes, a
shade deeper than his father's but just as mischievous,
held hers long enough to
intimate that they were the only two in the room who
mattered. She withdrew her
hand before Junior Minton seemed ready to relinquish it.
"And over yonder is Reede, Reede Lambert."
Alex turned in the direction Pat Chastain had indicated
and located the fourth
man, whom she hadn't noticed until now. Flaunting
etiquette, he was still
slouched in a chair in the corner of the room. Scuffed
cowboy boots were crossed
at the ankles, their toes pointing ceilingward and
insolently wagging back and
forth. His hands were loosely folded over a western belt
buckle. He unlinked
them long enough to raise two fingers to the brim of a
cowboy hat. "Ma'am."
"Mr. Lambert," she said coolly.
"Here, sit yourself down," Chastain offered, pointing her
toward a chair. "Did
Imogene offer you some coffee?"
"Yes, but I told her I didn't care for any. I'd like to
get to the purpose of
the meeting, if we could."
"Sure enough. Junior, pull that other chair over here.
Angus." Chastain nodded
for the older man to sit back down. When everyone was
reseated, the district
attorney returned to his chair behind the desk. "Now, Miss-
Well, I'll be
damned. During all the introductions, we failed to get
your name."
Alex held center stage. Four pairs of eyes were trained on
her, curiously
waiting to hear her name. She paused for dramatic effect,
knowing that divulging
it would cause a profound reaction. She wanted to witness
and catalog their
individual reactions. She wished she could see Reede
Lambert better. He was
sitting partially behind her, and the cowboy hat hid all
but the lowest portion
of his face.
She took a breath. "I'm Alexandra Gaither, Celina's
daughter."
A stunned silence followed the announcement.
Pat Chastain, befuddled, finally asked, "Who's Celina
Gaither?"
"Well, I'll be a sonofabitch." Angus flopped backward in
his chair like a
collapsing inflatable toy.
"Celina's daughter. My God, I can't believe it," Junior
whispered. "I can't
believe it."
"Somebody want to fill me in, please?" Pat said, still
confused. Nobody paid him
any attention.
The Mintons openly stared at Alex, searching her face for
resemblances to her
mother, whom they had known so well. From the corner of
her eye, she noticed
that the toes of Lambert's boots were no longer wagging.
He drew his knees in
and sat up straight.
"What on earth have you been doing with yourself all these
years?" Angus asked.
"How many years has it been?" Junior wanted to know.
"Twenty-five," Alex answered precisely. "I was only two
months old when Grandma
Graham moved away from here."
"How is your grandma?"
"She's currently in a Waco nursing home, dying of cancer,
Mr. Minton." Alex saw
no merit in sparing their sensibilities. "She's in a
coma."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Thank you."
"Where have y'all been living all this time?"
Alex named a town in central Texas. "We lived there all my
life-at least, as far
back as I can remember. I graduated high school there,
went to the University of
Texas, and then, straight into law school. I passed the
bar a year ago."
"Law school. Imagine that. Well, you turned out fine,
Alexandra, just fine.
Didn't she, Junior?"
Junior Minton turned on his charming smile full
blast. "I'd say so. You don't
look a thing like you did last time I saw you," he told
her teasingly. "Best as
I recall, your diaper was wet and you didn't have a single
hair on your head."
Considering the reason for this prearranged meeting, his
flirting made Alex
uneasy. She was glad when Pat Chastain intervened
again. "I hate to butt into
such a touching reunion, but I'm still in the dark."
Angus enlightened him. "Celina was a classmate of Junior's
and Reede's. They
were best friends, actually. Rarely did you see one of
them without the other
two when they were in high school. Crazy kids."
Then, his blue eyes turned cloudy and he shook his head
sorrowfully. "Celina
died. Tragic thing." He took a quiet moment to collect
himself. "Anyway, this is
the first time we've heard a word about Alexandra since
her grandma, Celina's
mother, moved away with her." Smiling, he slapped his
thighs. "Damned if it's
not great to have you back in Purcell."
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