Think Before You Speak (15 page)

“Part of the joy of earning money and having
the audacity to try and keep some of it.”

“He says that too.”

Three-quarters of Texans say that every
April, but I kept those thoughts to myself. Better to let Janine
hold onto the fallacy of her dad making up that saying. At least it
proved she listened to his advice.

It was so obvious they were grooming the
wrong De’Laruse to take over the family business. But sweet and
trusting Janine running a multi-billion dollar empire? Yeah, that
might be a bit of a stretch. Then again there was George.

Nope, I gotta stick with Janine on this. I
shuddered to think what her brother would do with that kind of
money at his feet. At least under Janine’s management umbrella
they’d have plenty of philanthropic causes to use for tax shelters.
If history was any indicator, George would take the company the way
of the porn industry.

Hmm. Maybe I should introduce him to Nick’s
Fashion Emporium.

“So,” I continued, “is that what you’ve been
doing all summer instead of working on your thesis…helping set up
Bobby’s prison ministry?”

“Well…um…yeah,” Janine admitted. “It all
started with a question he asked after services one Sunday. Bobby’s
a talented minister and so good with people, but he really doesn’t
have a head for business.”

I also remember what Bobby had a head for at
one time. I’d always carry fond memories of that F-150 truck. But
where I’d devolved into a drunken dancing queen in my adult years,
Bobby had matured and discovered a new life’s path.

I cleared my mind of truck bed visions.
“Being the wonderful person you are, you offered to help him set up
everything.”

Janine nodded. Was that a blush I saw
coloring her cheeks? “I started researching some of the new tax
laws governing non-profits. Then one of Dad’s attorneys offered to
do the legal work pro-bono.”

“That was generous.”

“It also provided some tax benefits to the
attorney,” Janine said with a smirk.

“So that’s why you were over at his place the
other day. You’ve been spending extra time with him all
summer.”

The blush came full on so fast, I thought
Janine was going to have a heart attack. “Well I…it’s just
that…there’s nothing going on, I swear!”

I laughed. Then laughed some more. A full
minute passed before I could breathe enough to speak. “I’m just
giving you a hard time, Janine. Geez.”

“I’d never do anything like that. I mean,
it’s only been a couple of months since Amy…and after you and
him…it wouldn’t be right.”

“That was a long time ago. And you’re
right…he’s still grieving. I’m just glad you’re the one helping him
with all of this.”

Her shoulders were so tight when I laid my
hands on them, I kneaded them like an attentive coach to work out
some of the kinks. Some coach. All summer I’d worried about my own
life so much and about when I could return to my apartment that I’d
neglected my friend. It was obvious she needed to get out and have
a little fun again – Vicki style.

“Besides,” I continued, “with you spending
all this time working with Bobby, it leaves less opportunity for
Lorraine Padget to get her claws into him.”

Janine snorted. “You should visit church
again just to see the spectacle Lorraine puts on around him, now
that Bobby is considered
available
,” she air quoted.

“I thought she was engaged to that old
oilman. Mr. Summers wasn’t it?”

“Still is, though you’d be hard pressed to
believe it with the way she fawns over Bobby.”

My turn to snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if
she dropped her fiancé any day now.”

“Drop him by poisoning him, you mean,” Janine
offered with a grin. “Just to get her mitts on the money
and
Bobby.”

“How could she get the money if they’re not
married yet?” I asked.

“Daddy said Mr. Summers changed his will and
added Lorraine as a beneficiary when they got engaged.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. But it’s only a specified amount
until they get married. After that, percentages from the pre-nup
will kick in.”

Hmm. Lorraine might be onto something. Marry
an old, rich guy who’s bound to kick off in a couple of years, then
enjoy the estate with a few boy toys on the side. Ew.

I wasn’t as twisted and scheming as those of
the Padget persuasion. I couldn’t picture kissing a man older than
my dad during the wedding ceremony, much less
after
the
wedding. Consummation? Forget it. People like Lorraine would simply
give the guy a sleeping draught then go to the hot, young guy
waiting in the next room. Tempting, but that would be something my
dad would do – and I refused to be anything like the sperm
donor.

Which is why I’m happily single. I enjoy the
consummating without the complication of vows. No strings to tie me
down – and I ain’t talking Pinocchio.

Janine exhaled in relaxation before I
released her shoulders and plopped onto the bed among all of the
Pepto-Bismol pink. Pink sheets. Pink pillows. Pink carpet. Pink
walls. I felt a little chalky just lying there.

It was time to sic Reggie on this room and
bring Janine into adulthood – dragging, kicking, and screaming if
we had to. Was pink even her favorite color anymore, or was it a
holdover from dear, old mom?

“So putting Lorraine aside,” Janine said,
swiveling the chair to face me. “Was there something other than
Bobby you wanted to talk about?”

Speaking of Reggie – er, without speaking of
Reggie. “As a matter-of-fact, there is.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Are you sure you have time?”

“For my best friend?” Janine asked with a
rapid bat of her unfairly long lashes. “You shouldn’t even have to
ask.”

“True,” I admitted. “Okay, since I’ve been
out of the debutante circles for several years, I don’t know what’s
happening among the uppity crowd.”

“And with my doctoral work, and generally not
caring about those silly gossips, I do?”

“Maybe not, but your mother does.”

“You got me there,” Janine admitted with a
grin.

“I need you to show a smidge of interest in
what’s said among the socialites,” I said, paging through a nearby
textbook. “Nose jobs. Home remodel jobs. Things like that.”

“Boob jobs?”

“Maybe even blow jobs.”

“Vicki!”

“Hey, you never know what those girls will
discuss at the Thursday afternoon ladies luncheons.”

“That’s at church,” Janine scolded.

“Never stopped them when Mom dragged me to
those things.”

Janine tilted her head in contemplation.
“Come to think of it, there were some rather saucy topics discussed
when we leaned in to listen.”

“Exactly,” I returned.

Furrowed brows turned my way. “Does this have
something to do with that gang talk at Bobby’s?”

“Um…,” I started.

“And don’t you dare say you plead the fifth
this time,” she interrupted. “It sounds dangerous if it involves
gangs, so I need to know what’s going on.”

Like any good law-abiding Texan, I looked
Janine right in the eye, opened my mouth and spoke in a way she
could comprehend this time.

“I plead Beethoven’s Fifth?”

Now that I had Janine’s interest piqued, I
figured it was time to get down to business – the consulting
variety. The old consummation thoughts I’d already put aside,
especially when faced with scurrying past one seriously oversexed
Georgie without suffering another attempted pat-down. I’d never get
over how close the genetic material was between my best friend and
her brother. Night and day, folks.

Since I had to get ready for work in a few
hours, Janine followed in her red Mercedes as we made our way down
the De’Laruse lane toward the highway. I chanced a call to Reggie’s
cell and got his drippy voicemail message instead – fake accent and
all.

You haff reached Reginald von Braun’s
messaging service. Vat a sad day, no? But all is not lost! Leave
Reginald a vee, little note, mein liebchen, and he vill reach out
and touch you soon. Ciao!

“Reggie, it’s Vicki,” I said over the roar of
the Vette as I peeled out onto the highway. “You might want to
change that outgoing message before you get hit with a sexual
harassment charge. Anyway, when you have a chance to talk, give me
a call. Or swing by my place. Better yet, tell me where to meet you
if it isn’t too late. I’ve gotta be at the bar by six. Bye.”

With a few hours to spare before work, I
figured it wouldn’t hurt to scope out the post office where Reggie
had dropped the money. It wasn’t too far from my apartment across
the river, so after a quick swing through a nearby c-store for gas
and cold cola, we hopped on the I-30 over to Dallas’s main postal
locale.

The massive building with multiple parking
lots presented far too many opportunities for the blackmailer to
get in and out of the building unnoticed. Thus four eyes instead of
two bettered the odds. The front lot offered the best view, but I
had to drive around several times before a parking spot became
available.

After getting cut off by idiots in big trucks
and frazzled soccer moms a couple of times, I was tempted to pull a
sneaky maneuver that involved using my car as a shovel. ‘Cept I
couldn’t afford the higher insurance premiums that would inevitably
come my way.

Sometimes being a good girl sucked.

Okay, so it was more out of protecting my
baby Corvette from getting a boo-boo than any altruistic endeavors,
but still. What had happened to chivalry? Respect for one’s
elders?

Well that went out my window when the brat
driving a green Smart car tried to zip around me and into the next
available slot. If she’d so much as nudged my baby when I revved
the engine and launched into the parking spot with a squeal of
burning rubber, barely missing the guy in the Chevy who’d vacated
it – let’s just say, forget the Jaws of Life cause you’d have to
opt for a can opener to rescue her sorry carcass when I was
done.

Thank God for good ol’ American-made
horsepower and torque over some stupid sardine can. Someone should
tell her the green looked more like what someone with a bad cold
would blow out of their nose, not something to drive around where
the whole world could see.

Smart car my ass.

Janine trotted across the pavement from the
side lot then sank into my leather seat until her breathing grew
closer to normal. “Do you realize how close you were to clipping
that ugly little car?”

“Hey,” I responded. “If anyone almost clipped
someone, it was snot girl.”

“Sometimes I forget how…um…powerful your
driving can be.”

“It’s not the driver so much as the car,” I
responded, patting the dashboard.

“No-o-o. I think in this case it’s both.”

I could take offense to that but left it
alone to focus on more important matters. The well-earned spot
offered a decent view of the post office front door area as well as
the side parking lot, unless the guy cruising around in a monster
truck decided to set up shop next to my Vette. Some guys will drive
anything massive to overcompensate for what they lack.

And I’m not talking stature. Trust me,
ladies. Size
does
matter in certain departments.

“So what’s the plan?” Janine asked.

I took another careful glance at our
surroundings. “Since we’ve got a good angle on both lots from here,
how about you stay with me and watch the side entrance while I
scope out the front?”

“Roger that.”

“Have you taken a break from romance movies
and started watching cop shows again?”

“Like I have time to watch anything right
now,” Janine grumbled.

Taking a drink of the cold cola, I shut off
the engine while we watched the parade of bodies tromping in and
out of the enormous brick building and the vehicles in the lot
jockeying for position. Sweat immediately beaded on my forehead and
my bare legs tried to repel the sticky leather seats with a layer
of moisture. When the tickle down my back started to turn into
Niagara Falls, I realized what a bad idea I’d had. This was Texas.
In August. A black car in hundred-plus degree weather with a
thousand percent humidity – what had I been thinking?

Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration on the
humidity part. Still, I had to be about one yard shy on fourth down
to think this stunt would garner results. Why would someone risk
being seen taking a wad of cash from a post office box in broad
daylight? They’d most likely come skittering around at night. At
night when it was dark. At night when most residents claimed it was
cooler. Personally, I didn’t think ninety-eight degrees at midnight
was anything to write home about.

I needed a vacation. Somewhere north – say
the Arctic Circle.

Janine flipped down the visor and blotted her
make-up with a tissue. The girl had barely started glistening.
Maybe there was something to her mom’s acclimation insistence.

“So what are we watching for?” Janine asked
before swiping on a fresh coat of lip gloss.

“Anything that seems odd.”

“And who are we watching for?”

“Anyone who stands out.”

“Like him?”

Janine giggled and pointed to a guy who
looked like he was channeling Cruella De Vil – or at least her
hairdo. Maybe some people could pull off the black and white
bouffant combo, but I think it’d be best left to the animators at
Disney. Or a transvestite showgirl – or would that be
show
boy
?

“Uh, no,” I said. “Think someone more from
the socialite syndicate. Someone who would normally send their
lackey to run errands.”

That got me an eye roll to rival a
hormonally-ravaged teenager. “Lackey?”

“What does your family call the household
helpers these days?”

“Their names.”

“Really?”