Beads of Doubt by Barbara Burnett Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

locate Tess Lewis, my former assistant. When I was in the Texas Senate she was my version of Condoleezza Rice; she knew everything there was to know about Texas Senate protocol, and a whole lot about Texas law. She also knew where all the bodies were buried, as they say. That came in handy when we needed to strong-arm someone to get support for a bill.
    Besides being bright as sunshine, Tess loved life. She could have fun at a turtle race. I knew she’d be at the reception because Tess was very active with the Ovarian Cancer Organization and had been ever since she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer almost three years earlier. It hadn’t slowed her down any. When I fussed over her, she kept telling me they’d caught her cancer in the early stages and if anyone could beat it, she could. I believed her, because I found it hard to doubt anything Tess said.
    I went through the crowd twice, visiting with half a dozen people, but I never found Tess. I did run into Bruce, the contractor from next door. His sister died of ovarian cancer. Once you hear about this disease it’s like a new word—it crops up everywhere.
    “You clean up real nice,” I said to him.
    “I try.”
    “Where is Delphine?” She is his wife.
    “She went to talk with someone; she’s thinking of joining the Bead Society.”
    “Oh. Did you get the Dumpster picked up and moved?”
    He took half a step back. “I meant to talk to you about that. We couldn’t get the company out here, so we pushed it out of the way.”
    A Dumpster that size must weigh tons. “Really? Just where did you push it to?”
    “Not very far.”
    “Where very far?” I asked.
    “Your backyard—”
    “Bruce!” He started laughing and I realized that once again I’d fallen for one of his tricks. “You have to stop doing that,” I said.
    “I would if you weren’t so gullible.”
    “Go find your wife and be grateful that someone will have you.”
    I moved off and ended up at the fireplace near the raffle table. My father always said that most people have good hearts and are willing to contribute money to a worthy cause, but they like it better and have more fun when they get something for their money. In this case, they had a chance of winning a necklace that was worth almost seventeen thousand dollars.
    “Would you like to buy some raffle tickets?” the woman taking money asked in a high, just short of piercing, voice. She appeared to be in her late sixties, with salt-and-pepper hair. The kind of woman who was going into old age without caring who knew it.
    She held out a picture of the necklace. In the center was a large, square-cut gem of a clear and rich teal. More teal for ovarian cancer awareness. The central stone was held in place by delicate gold leaves, and the rest of the necklace was formed by three strands of gold links, interspersed with smaller stones. The colors reminded me of water rippling through a mountain stream. There was teal, green, pink, and even a dark dusky color just this side of black. All were tourmaline and all set by hand.
    “I think I’ve already stuffed the ballot box,” I said. I had a raft of tickets upstairs. “And I don’t have my purse on me, or I would buy a few more. I will before Sunday.”
    “You’re Kitzi Camden,” she said.
    “I am.” I held out my hand. “We haven’t met.”
    “Donna Silbert.” We shook hands, and she said, “You be sure and come by our booth tomorrow. I’m with the Ovarian Cancer Organization, and I’ll be handing out information. All the details on how you can protect yourself, at least as much as you can.”
    “I’ll be there.”
    I looked up and realized that the mantel was pretty bare. “I thought the necklace was going to be on display tonight.”
    She glanced up automatically. “It will be later. Cordelia Wright, do you know her? She owns Green Clover Camp.”
    “I do,” I said.
    “Well, she came down with something, so someone else is bringing the necklace in. Should be here