Best Kept Secrets(2)

if the amount of decoration justified the expense of their

commission. The results were ostentatious, but gaudiness was

one of the edifice's attractions. Atop its dome the national

and Texas state flags flapped in the brisk north wind.

Having worked in and about the state capitol of Austin for

the last year, Alex wasn't intimidated by official buildings.

She took the courthouse steps with a determined stride and



pulled open the heavy doors. Inside, the plaster walls showed

peeling paint and signs of general disrepair. The aggregate

tile floor had faint cracks in it that crisscrossed like the lines

in the palm of an ancient hand.

The ceiling was high. The drafty corridors smelled of industrial-strength

cleaning solution, musty record books, and

an overdose of perfume that emanated from the district attorney's

secretary. She looked up expectantly as Alex entered

the outer office.

"Hi, there. You lost, honey? I love your hair. Wish I could

wear mine pulled back in a bun like that. You have to have

real tiny ears. Wouldn't you know it, I've got jug handles

sticking out from the sides of my head. Do you put henna

on it to give it those reddish highlights?"

"Is this District Attorney Chastain's office?"

"Sure is, honey. Whatcha need him for? He's kinda busy

today."

"I'm from the Travis County D.A.'s office. Mr. Harper

called on my behalf, I believe."

The wad of chewing gum inside the secretary's cheek got

a rest from the pounding it had been taking. "You? We were

expecting a man."

' 'As you can see . . ." Alex held her arms out at her sides.

The secretary looked vexed. "You'd think Mr. Harper

would have mentioned that his assistant was a lady, not a

man, but shoot," she said, flipping her hand down from a

limp wrist, "you know how men are. Well, honey, you're

right on time for your appointment. My name's Imogene.

Want some coffee? That's a gorgeous outfit, so high-fashion.

They're wearing skirts shorter these days, aren't they?"

At the risk of sounding rude, Alex asked, "Are the parties

here yet?"

Just then, masculine laughter erupted from the other side

of the closed door. "That answer your question, honey?"

Imogene asked Alex. "Somebody prob'ly just told a dirty

joke to let off steam. They're just bustin' a gut to know what

this hush-hush meeting is all about. What's the big secret?



Mr. Harper didn't tell Pat why you were coming to Purcell,

even though they were friends in law school. Is it something

to do with ME getting that gambling license?"

"ME?"

"Minton Enterprises." She said it as though she was surprised

Alex was not familiar with the name.

"Perhaps I shouldn't keep them waiting any longer," Alex

suggested tactfully, sidestepping Imogene's question.

"Shoot, just listen to me running off at the mouth. Did

you say you wanted some coffee, honey?"

"No, thank you." Alex followed Imogene toward the door.

Her heart started beating double-time.

"Excuse me." Imogene interrupted the conversation by

poking her head into the room. "District Attorney Harper's

assistant is here. Y'all sure are in for a treat." She turned

back toward Alex. One set of eyelashes, gummy with navy

blue mascara, dropped over her eye in a broad, just-between-us-girls

wink. "Go on in, honey."

Alex, bracing herself for the most crucial meeting in her

life, entered the office.

It was obvious from the relaxed atmosphere that the men

in the room had been expecting another man. The moment

she crossed the threshold and Imogene pulled the transomed

door closed, the man seated behind the desk sprang to his

feet. He ground out a burning cigar in the thick, glass ashtray

and reached for his suit coat, which had been draped over

the back of his chair.

"Pat Chastain," he said, extending his hand. " Treat' is

an understatement. But then, my good buddy Greg Harper

always did have an eye for the ladies. Doesn't surprise me

a bit that he's got a good-lookin' woman on his staff."

His sexist remark set her teeth on edge, but she let it slide.

She inclined her head in acknowledgment of Chastain's compliment.

The hand she clasped in a firm handshake was so

loaded down with gold-nugget jewelry it could have anchored

a fair-sized yacht. "Thank you for arranging this meeting,

Mr. Chastain."



"No problem, no problem. Glad to be of service to both

you and Greg. And call me Pat." Taking her elbow, he turned

her toward the other two men, who had come to their feet

out of deference to her. ' 'This here is Mr. Angus Minton and

his son, Junior."