They could tease Jason, because he’d just come back from his honeymoon, but they couldn’t make light of Keith’s sudden interest in renewing ties with Andrea.
“Much as I’m enjoying this,” Keith interjected, “I think it’s time we got down to the reason we called this meeting. Dorian.” The other four friends sobered at once. They all shared the strong suspicion that Dorian Brady had murdered Eric Chambers, an accountant at Wescott Oil. But so far, they had no proof of his involvement.
Keith continued. “We’ve been doing our best to keep an eye on Dorian during your absence, Jason, and none of us have spotted anything suspicious. In fact, it appears that, if anything, Dorian has been deliberately maintaining a low profile.”
“That’s suspicious in itself,” Jason said. “Don’t you agree, Sebastian?”
“Dorian was never low-key before,” Sebastian soberly agreed. He was understandably more deeply affected by recent events than the others, since Dorian was his half brother. “Except when it fitted his agenda. As you all know, his showing up out of the blue was one hell of a shock. We look so much alike, I never for a minute doubted his story about Dad being his father, and I still don’t. Putting him to work at Wescott Oil was a bad error in judgment, however. My only excuse was that I really wanted to help him.”
“None of what happened is your fault, Sebastian,” Keith said quietly. “How do honest people deal with a snake like Dorian? He’s deliberately gone out of his way to undermine your authority and good reputation with the company and the community in general. Don’t blame yourself for anything Dorian’s done.”
“Considering his background with Merry’s sister even before he came to Royal, he was a louse then and he’s a louse now,” Jason said stonily. No one could disagree with that summation, and the conversation changed directions.
“What we still can’t figure out is his motive for murder. What was Eric Chambers to him, other than a co-worker? It simply doesn’t add up.”
“And let’s not forget Dorian’s alibi,” Will said. “Maybe we should talk to Laura Edwards about that. Double-check her story about Dorian being at the diner at the time of Eric’s murder.”
“Why would she lie?” Sebastian asked and got up for a coffee refill. “I’ve wrestled with motive since the murder, and I have a hunch that it’s somehow connected to me. Jason, I know you were uneasy about Dorian from the start.” Sebastian resumed his seat. “Why?”
“We’ve covered this ground before,” Keith said.
“Yes, but obviously we’re missing something,” Sebastian said. He frowned slightly and added, “What could it be?”
“His computer files imply that Dorian was blackmailing Eric,” Jason reminded them all. “Merry discovered that.”
“Yes, but those files do not explain the blackmail. What was Eric up to that Dorian was able to discover and use against him? Maybe if we knew more about Eric,” he mused. “What do we really know about him?”
“He worked for Wescott for quite a few years,” Sebastian volunteered. “He was a very private individual with a cat as his only companion. He was divorced long before coming to work for Wescott, so no one I know has ever met his ex. He lived alone—with his cat—in a small house. That struck me as odd, because he made a good annual salary.”
“Which he could have been paying to his ex-wife in alimony,” Keith said.
“But he wasn’t. His wife had remarried quite a while back, ending the alimony payments, and there were no children for Eric to support. He could’ve afforded a much better home, considering his earning power.”
“Follow the money,” Jason said, half in jest.
But the simple concept simultaneously struck all five men as critically important. They looked at each other, and several of them nodded. Months ago, money had gone missing at Wescott Oil. Sebastian, accused of killing Eric and taking the money—a ridiculous charge when he owned the company and had more money than he could ever spend—had been completely exonerated and all charges against him had been dropped. Since then, everyone had been concentrating on Eric’s murder. The missing money was still unexplained, a loose end left dangling.
It could be the clue they had been hoping to uncover and follow up on.
One
Andrea O’Rourke was given the good news on the first of June. “New Hope has been named by the Texas Cattleman’s Club as the primary beneficiary of this year’s charitable donation!” The other volunteers present at the time were overjoyed and began discussing what could be done with the money. New Hope’s most crucial need was money for expansion, but how much would the donation be? Everyone knew the club’s annual charity ball donations were legendary, but the sums distributed to needy causes were never publicized.
Andrea tried to appear as thankfully elated as the other volunteers in the meeting room of the big old house that served as a sanctuary for battered and abused women. The building was the heart and soul of New Hope Charity, and the meeting room was pleasant with comfortable mismatched chairs, several desks where paperwork was taken care of, and a table with the tools and supplies to brew coffee and tea.
While Andrea rejoiced at New Hope’s good fortune in her own quiet, subdued way, she also suffered an internal ache that she would never even attempt to explain to these good ladies. Residents of Royal, Texas, knew that she was the volunteer who acted as New Hope’s representative for events that benefited the charity. The more Andrea thought about it, the more suspicious she became that Keith Owens, longtime member of the Cattleman’s Club and the one citizen of Royal whom Andrea tried diligently to avoid, was behind the good deed that had the other ladies in the room giddy with delight.
I’ll have to attend the club’s annual charity ball! I’ll have to accept the donation with thanks, probably even have to say a few words about New Hope. Well, I’ve done that before at other events, but not with Keith Owens looking on and undoubtedly smiling that overbearing, egotistical smile of his while I’m on stage!
Oh, my heavens! What if he’s the member passing out the award?
No! I won’t do it, I can’t do it.
But of course she could do it, and she would, however painful to herself. Looking around at the generous women who gave time, energy, intelligence and individual talents to New Hope, Andrea was aware that none of them really knew her. They thought they did, and she encouraged that impression because her privacy was crucial to the quiet lifestyle she had fashioned for herself. She had lived alone since the death of her husband five years before, and her preference for dignity and serenity in everything from her home to her personal demeanor eliminated a good many people who had attempted a close friendship. Those friends who had made the cut were truly cherished by Andrea, and for the most part they enjoyed the same gentle entertainment that she did—primarily small dinner parties and elegant little luncheons at which intellectual discussions of literature, music, fashion and personal hobbies took place.
Keith Owens was not in that circle and never would be. Andrea had never stepped foot inside the Texas Cattleman’s Club’s sprawling two-and-a-half-story clubhouse—decorated, she’d heard, in dark paneling, heavy leather furniture and stuffed animal heads. Visualizing herself doing so the night of the charity ball actually made her shudder. She couldn’t share that thought with the group, of course, and why would she? Were the intimate details of her life—past or
