Bethany Campbell - A Little Town In Texas

Nora laughed. “You need a man with a little devil in him.”

Kitt thought again of Mel Belyle, the wicked innuendoes, the playful sexuality of his words. She realized that he was staying at the same hotel she was, literally sleeping under the same roof….

“So there’s nobody interesting?” Nora asked sympathetically.

Kitt pulled herself back to the moment. “Nobody interesting in the least,” she said, almost believing it.

MEL BELYLE WAS NOT without potential friends in Crystal Creek.

There were people who looked at the rolling ranch country that Brian Fabian had bought and didn’t see land about to be despoiled. They saw a crop of dollar signs pushing out of the earth, begging to be harvested.

Two who saw dollar signs were Ralph Wall, the town pharmacist, and his wife, Gloria. Mel had phoned them once he got settled, and Gloria immediately invited him over for a “little get-acquainted drinkee.”

Mel went to see how much the couple would tell him and to gauge how grasping they were. They struck him as transparently greedy, and after two little drinkees, they were very talkative indeed.

“A smart man stands to make a lot of money out of all this,” Ralph Wall said, doing his best to look like a smart man.

“You’re exactly right,” Mel answered. He smiled at Gloria Wall. “These are excellent hors d’oeuvres, Mrs. Wall.”

Gloria beamed. She was a large woman whose hair was a crown of tight ringlets rinsed to an improbable shade of gold. She had filled a silver plate with things stuffed with ham, olives, anchovies and enough creamed cheese to supply Philadelphia for a week.

“We have five prime acres we inherited from Gloria’s mother,” Ralph said, leaning back in his flowered easy chair. “It’s the ideal location for a strip mall. I thought I could lease it to Mr. Fabian for a hundred years—”

“Mr. Fabian doesn’t usually lease,” said Mel as pleasantly as he could. “This is an idea I’d have to run by him.”

“He’ll like it,” said Ralph. “He’s a man who thinks outside the box. I can tell that. Yessir. I’m a man who thinks outside the box myself.”

“Mama’s land is a select piece of property,” Gloria said. “We were thinking of leasing it at oh, maybe, a million dollars. That’s not very much, spread over a hundred years.”

It’s highway robbery, thought Mel. “Interesting. We’ll have to do a feasibility study. That takes time. But I’ll be sure to suggest it.”

“Let me freshen that drink,” she said reaching for the pitcher of margaritas.

“No more, thanks,” Mel said. “But don’t let me stop you. This is truly a festive spread.”

Gloria refilled Ralph’s glass and her own. “I lo-o-ove to cook. I want you to come for supper sometime this week. I’ll invite my niece, Ladonna Faye. She’s a lovely girl, a natural blonde like me, and so interested in investments. We’ll have such a nice cozy time.”

When hell freezes over, Mel thought, suppressing a shudder. But he smiled, told them he’d checked his schedule and let them know. Now, when they were so friendly and their tongues growing loose, was the time to ask about Kitt Mitchell.

He had a thin stack of information on her in his hotel room, faxed by the tireless DeJames. He’d learned a few things about Kitt—but not enough.

He said, “I need to confide something to you. I got word today that Exclusive magazine’s sending a reporter after me. A woman who grew up here. Her name’s Katherine Mitchell.”

Ralph and Gloria exchanged a significant look. Ralph said, “Little Kitt Mitchell? She’s coming?”

“She may already be here,” Mel said. He knew she was; she had to be. It was eerie, but he could feel her presence in his marrow.

Gloria peered at him over the edge of her drink. Ah, thought Mel. Gloria wants to gossip. It’s shining out of her face like a light.

She said, “I’m surprised she’d lower herself. She couldn’t wait to shake the dust of this place off her feet.”

Mel tilted his head in interest. “Really? What makes you say that?”

Gloria twirled her glass coyly, making the ice cubes clink. “Well…” she said. “Far be it from me to gossip…”

Mel stared into her slightly unfocused eyes. “This isn’t gossip. It’s intelligence. Business background.”

“Give him the goods, Mama,” Ralph said and reached for another canapé.

Gloria seemed to puff up with importance. “I wish I didn’t have to say it, but Kitt came from riffraff. They both did.”

Mel’s interest coiled up like an overwound spring. “Both of them? What do you mean?”

Gloria heaved a sigh of false sympathy. “She and that Nora Slattery. She’s Kitt’s aunt. She owns the café and motel.”

Mel nodded solemnly, hiding his jubilance. So the little vixen had told the truth about having an aunt. And he recognized Nora’s name; she ran the Longhorn, which was one of the town’s main nerve centers.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Why’d you call them riffraff?”

Gloria’s small eyes narrowed to knowing slits. “Well, Nora’s father was shiftless. Just a wrangler. He drifted all over the county. He worked for all of ’em at one time or another.”

“All of them?” Mel reached for the pitcher and topped off her drink.

“All the money people,” Gloria said with ill-disguised bitterness. “The big ranch folks. He dragged around a skinny wife and a passel of skinny kids. And the youngest was Nora. She was the ‘caboose.’ Her oldest brother—that was Herv—was sixteen—seventeen years older than her.”

Ralph reached for another canapé. “Herv was already married when Nora was born. He worked for the McKinneys. Kind of a tenant-hand. There never was a Mitchell man who showed a lick of ambition.”

“No,” Gloria said sipping her drink. “And they all married young. Had to. Couldn’t keep their pants on.”

Mel frowned, wondering if this was supposed to include Kitt.

“Well,” Gloria said with an expansive gesture. “When Nora’s mother died, Nora was the only kid left at home. She was about nine. So her daddy dumped her on her brother. On Herv, at the McKinneys’, and lit out for the panhandle. So Nora lived with Herv for—let’s see—seven years.”

Ralph heaved himself up out of the easy chair. “Those margaritas are so tasty, I’m going to make up another batch.”

“Oh, goody,” said Gloria. She gave Mel an almost flirtatious look. “What was I saying?”

Mel inched back from her slightly. “I asked about Kitt Mitchell.”

Gloria finished her drink and set the glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. “Herv’s oldest child was Kitt—the reason he had to get married. Then, like stair steps, there were three more little ones—boys—boom-boom-boom. Those Mitchells bred like rabbits.”

Mel did some swift figuring. “So Nora and Kitt were actually kids growing up together.”

“Right. And Nora was like a little mother to that child. Good thing, too. Kitt’s own mother couldn’t keep up with all those children. Ha! She didn’t even try.”

Mel felt an irrational desire to defend Kitt Mitchell. “Kitt did all right for herself. Exclusive’s a fine magazine.”

“I never said the girls weren’t smart,” Gloria said with a sniff. “They were. But…blood will tell. Nora no sooner turned sixteen than she got pregnant by that no-good Gordon Jones.”

Mel’s face hardened. “What about Kitt?”

But Gloria’s mind was on its own track and would not be derailed. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was something funny about how Gordon Jones died. It happened at the McKinneys’ lake house. Cal McKinney himself was there. And so was Nora. And Ken Slattery—the man she married—the McKinneys’ foreman.”