Best Kept Secrets(124)

She appeared not to have any knowledge of the letter that

had been waiting for Alex when she had returned from Austin,

but Alex felt sure that she must. "I won't place you in a

position of having to lie for your husband, Mrs. Plummet,

but I should warn you that Reede has the letter and considers

it a police matter. I feel certain he'd make an arrest if I receive

another one."

She hoped the subtle threat would work. By the time she

reached her car, however, her mind had already moved forward

to her interview with Reede's alibi.



The two-story frame structure reminded Alex of the Prohibition-era

roadhouses she'd seen in gangster movies. It had

no signs out front and was invisible from the highway, but

there were several commercial rigs in the parking lot, along

with a few pickup trucks, and even a recent-model Cadillac.

The stone sidewalk was bordered with valiant, dusty pansies.

A series of steps led up to a deep veranda. There was

an old-fashioned pull bell next to the front door. Muted

honky-tonk music wafted through the walls, but the windows

appeared to have been blacked out; she couldn't see through

them.

The door was answered by a bear of a man with a full,

salt-and-pepper beard covering the lower two-thirds of a face

as florid as a sirloin steak. He was wearing a white tuxedo

shirt and black satin bow tie, over a full white apron. He was

also wearing a fearsome, intimidating frown.



"I--" Alex began.

"Are you lost?"

"I'm looking for Nora Gail Burton."

"Whaddaya want with her?"

"I want to talk to her."

"What about?"

"It's personal."

He squinted suspiciously. "You selling something?"

"No."

"You got an appointment?"

"No."

"She's busy."

He started to close the door, but a man approached it on

his way out. He squeezed between them, doffing his bill cap

to Alex and muttering thanks to the doorman. Alex took

advantage of the interruption and stepped over the threshold

into a formally decorated vestibule. "I'd like to see Ms.

Burton, please. I promise not to take too much of her time."

"If you're looking for work, miss, you'll need to fill out

an application and provide pictures. She doesn't see a girl

until she's looked over her pictures."

"I'm not looking for work."

He considered her for another long moment before coming

to a favorable conclusion. "Name?"

"Alexandra Gaither."

"Wait right here, you hear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't move."

"I promise."

He retreated toward the back of the house, moving along

the staircase with a grace and lightness of tread unusual for

a man his size. His order for her to stay put had been so

emphatic that it had nailed her shoes to the floor. She didn't

think anything could prise her away.

Within seconds, however, the music beckoned her toward

its source. Low conversation and soft laughter lured her

toward the violet brocade drapes that separated the hallway



from the room beyond. The edges overlapped so she couldn't

see anything. Raising her hand tentatively, she pushed them

apart and peeked through the slit.

"Ms. Gaither."

She jumped and spun around, dropping her hand guiltily.

The bearded giant was looming over her, but his soft, pink

lips were twitching with amusement.

"This way," the mammoth said. He led her behind the

stairwell and stopped in front of a closed door. After giving

it three sharp raps, he pushed it open and stepped aside for

Alex to enter. He closed the door behind her.

Alex had expected the madam to be reclining on satin

sheets. Instead, she was seated behind a large, functional

desk banked by metal file cabinets. From the number of

ledgers and folders and stacks of correspondence scattered

across the desk, it looked as though she conducted as much

business here as in the boudoir.

Nor was her clothing what Alex would have expected.

Instead of a scanty article of lingerie, she was wearing a

tailored wool business suit. She was, however, elaborately

jeweled, and all the pieces were genuine and exquisite.

Her hair had been bleached snow-white and looked like a

sculpted mound of cotton candy. Somehow, though, the outdated

style suited her. Like her sister Wanda, her figure gravitated

toward plump, but she carried that well, too. Her

complexion was her best feature. It was flawless, smooth,

and milky white. Alex doubted it had ever been exposed to

the damaging West Texas sun.

The blue eyes with which she assessed Alex were as calculating

as those of the cat that was occupying the corner of