Where There's Smoke (26 page)

She opened her desk drawer and withdrew a large business checkbook.

"Find a place to live and have a telephone installed so that we can reach you at any time.
 
We never know when an emergency will arise.
 
If the phone company requires a deposit, have them call me."
 
She wrote out the check, tore it from the book, and handed it to him.

Three hundred dollars, made out to him, just like that!
 
He didn't know whether to be elated or affronted.
 
"I don't take charity."

"Not charity, Mr. Cato.
 
An advance.
 
I'll take fifty dollars out of your first six paychecks.
 
Will that be satisfactory?"

He wasn't accustomed to kindness and trust and didn't know how to respond.
 
With Hap it was easy.
 
Generally men didn't have to express themselves to other men.
 
They seemed to understand one another's feelings without having to vocalize them.
 
But with a woman it was different, especially when she was looking at you with crystal blue eyes the size of fifty-cent pieces.

"That's fine," he said, hoping he didn't sound as awkward as he felt.

"Good."
 
Coming to her feet, she smiled and extended her hand.

Bowie stared at it for a moment and had an insane impulse to wipe his hand on his pants leg before touching hers.
 
He gave it a swift shake and immediately released it.
 
She quickly reclaimed it.
 
There was a second or two of uncomfortable silence, then they both began to speak at once.

"Unless you "Until "You go ahead," she said.

"No.
 
Ladies first."

"I was just going to say that unless you have any questions, we'll look forward to your reporting to work tomorrow."

"And I was going to say until tomorrow."
 
He pulled on his hat and moved toward the door.
 
"It'll feel good to be doing real work again.

I sure appreciate the job.
 
Thank you, Miss Tackett."

"You're welcome, Mr.
 
Cato."

Halfway through the door, he halted and turned back.
 
"Do you call all the men who work for you by their last names?"

The question seemed to catch her off guard.
 
Rather than speak, she shook her head rapidly.

"Then call me Bowie, okay?"

She swallowed visibly.
 
"Okay."

"And it's Boo-ie, like Jim Bowie and Bowie knife.
 
Not Bowie like David, the rock star."

"Of course."

Feeling dumb for bringing it up what the hell difference would it make to her how he pronounced his name?-he touched the brim of his hat and made tracks.

Chaptercr Ten. the roast too dry, Key?"

Janellen's question roused him from his deep brooding.
 
He sat up straighter, looked across the dinner table at her, and smiled.

"Delicious as always.
 
I'm just not very hungry tonight."

"That's what happens when you fill up on whiskey," Jody interjected.

"I had one drink before dinner.
 
And so did you."

"But I'll stop with one.
 
You'll go out and get drunk tonight, like you do every night."

"How do you know what I'll be doing tonight?
 
Or any other night?

Furthermore, what do you care?"

"Please," Janellen exclaimed, covering her ears.
 
"Stop shouting at each other.
 
Can't we have one meal together without an argument?"

Knowing his sister's anxiety was deeply felt, Key said, "I'm sorry, Janellen.
 
You've served a great meal.
 
I didn't mean to spoil it."

"I don't care about the meal.
 
I care about the two of you.
 
Mama, your face is as red as a beet.
 
Did you take your medication today?"

"Yes I did, thank you kindly.
 
I'm not a child, you know."

"Sometimes you act like one when it comes to taking medicine," Janellen gently chastised.
 
"And shouting across the dinner table is something you never allowed us kids to do."

Jody pushed aside her plate and lit a cigarette.
 
"Your father didn't allow arguments at the dinner table.
 
He said it spoiled his digestion."

Janellen brightened at the mention of their father.
 
She had only foggy memories of him.
 
"Do you remember that, Key?"

He laid down the law about such things," he replied, smiling for his sister.
 
"Sometimes you remind me of him, you know."

"You're kidding?"
 
A blush of pleasure crept up her slender throat and over her face.
 
She was pathetically easy to please.
 
"Really?"

"Really.
 
You've got his eyes.
 
Doesn't she, Jody?"

"I suppose.

She wouldn't even agree with him on an obvious and insignificant point, but he refused to let it bother him.
 
"All three of us kids inherited the Tackett blues.
 
I used to hate it when people said to Clark and me, You boys have the prettiest eyes.
 
Just like your daddy's."

"Why did you hate it?"
 
Janellen asked.

"I don't know.
 
Made me feel like a sissy, I guess.
 
Being told that anything attached to him is pretty' isn't what a little boy wants to hear."

"Your father didn't mind hearing it," Jody said crisply.
 
"He loved having people fawn over him.
 
Especially women.

Ever guileless and naive, Janellen said, "You must have been very proud to have such a handsome husband, Mama."

Jody rolled the smoldering tip of her cigarette against the rim of the ashtray.
 
"Your father could be very charming."
 
Her face softened.

"The day Clark the Third was born, he brought me six dozen yellow roses.
 
I fussed at him for being so extravagant, but he said it wasn't every day that a man had a son."

"What about when Key was born?"

Jody's misty vision cleared.
 
"I didn't get any flowers that day."

After a tense silence, Key said very quietly, "Maybe Daddy knew you wouldn't like them.
 
That you'd only throw them out."

Janellen reacted quickly.
 
"Mama explained why she threw out your flowers, Key.
 
They made her sneeze.
 
She must have been allergic to them."

"Yeah, she must have been."

He didn't believe it for a minute.
 
Earlier in the week, vainly looking for a way to make peace with Jody, he'd brought her a bouquet.

Janellen had arranged the flowers for him in a vase and placed it on the dresser in Jody's bedroom while she was out with Maydale.

The next morning, he'd found the flowers in the garbage can outside the back door.
 
It wasn't so much that she'd thrown them out that had rankled him, but that she hadn't even acknowledged them until he presented her with the wilted evidence and asked for an explanation.

Calmly, coldly, she'd told him the bouquet had given her hay fever.

She hadn't said that they were pretty and that it was a pity she couldn't enjoy them.
 
She hadn't thanked him for the gesture.

Not that he wanted or needed her thanks.
 
He would survive without it.

It just made him damn mad that she thought him stupid enough to accept her lame excuse for rebuffing a gift from him.

Rather than give her the satisfaction of seeing him hurt and angry, he acted as nonchalant now as he had that morning he'd tossed the bouquet back into the trash can.

Jody broke another lengthy silence.
 
"How's the new man doing?"

Janellen practically dropped her coffee cup.
 
It clattered noisily against the saucer.
 
"He he's doing fine.
 
I think he's going to work out well."

"I still haven't seen his references."

"I'm sorry.
 
I keep forgetting to bring them home.
 
But his supervisor reports that he's doing the job well.
 
He's never late and is very conscientious.
 
He gets along with the other men.
 
Doesn't make trouble.
 
I've had no complaints."

"I still can't figure why Muley up and quit without giving notice."

Janellen had told Key the circumstances of Muley's severance but had asked him not to tell Jody.
 
Her reaction to a trusted employee turning thief was likely to be volatile and a threat to her high blood pressure.
 
Key had agreed.

He also knew that Bowie Cato was an ex-con who'd barely had time to lose his prison pallor.
 
Even before Janellen introduced them, Key had seen him at The Palm.
 
Hap had given him the scoop on Cato.

Key nursed no prejudice against former inmates.
 
He'd spent a few days in an Italian jail himself a few years back.
 
Cato was friendly but not ingratiating.
 
He kept to himself, did his job, and avoided trouble.

That could not be said of very many men who didn't have prison records.

Jody's viewpoint on social reform wasn't exactly liberal.
 
She had a low tolerance for mistakes.
 
She wouldn't welcome having an ex-con on the payroll, so the less she knew about Cato's background, the better for everybody.
 
Muley was gone; Janellen had found a qualified replacement.
 
That was the bare-bones story they'd given her.
 
But apparently Jody smelled a rat.
 
This wasn't the first time she'd broached the subject.

Key kept his expression impassive and hoped Janellen would do the same.

But lying didn't come easily to her.
 
Under her mother's incisive stare, she fidgeted with her silverware.

"Cato isn't from around here?"

"No, Mama.
 
He grew up in West Texas."

"You don't know who his people are?"

"I think they're deceased."

"Is he married?"

"Single."

Jody continued staring at her daughter as she puffed on her cigarette.

After what seemed an endless silence, Janellen glanced nervously at Key.
 
"Key's met him.
 
He thought he was all right."

Damn!
 
He didn't want to get caught in the cross fire.
 
But he went to his sister's rescue.
 
"He's a nice guy.

"So's Santy Claus.
 
That doesn't mean he knows an oil well from his asshole."

Janellen flinched at her mother's crude phraseology.
 
"Bowie knows a lot about oil, Mama.
 
He's worked in the business since he was a boy."

As long as he'd already been drawn into it, Key furthered his sister's cause.
 
"Cato is doing his job.
 
Janellen likes him and so do the other men.
 
What more could you want?"
 
He knew, of course, what his mother wanted: Jody wanted to be young, healthy, and strong; she wanted to be at the controls of Tackett Oil and Gas and resented Janellen's hiring an employee without consulting her.
 
If she'd hired a reincarnation of H. L. Hunt, Jody wouldn't have liked him.