Lady Be Good (Wynette, Texas #2)(26)

“Nonsense. You’re going to be with me all evening, aren’t you? How can anything happen?” She headed for the lobby doors.

“That’s not the point,” he said, coming up behind her. “Go change your clothes, then I’ll take you to a great Mexican restaurant for dinner.”

“Are you afraid that being seen with a fast-looking woman is going to ruin your reputation?”

“This is about you, not me.”

“I think I’ve made my point.” She smiled to show there were no hard feelings and headed for the parking lot. On her way, she began clipping three tiny sets of fake-pierced hoops behind the silver studs in her ear-lobes.

He came after her. “I’m not taking any responsibility for this. Next time you chat with Francesca, you make it real clear that I did everything I could to talk some sense into you.”

She waited until he was backing out of the handicapped spot. “Who’s the Antichrist?”

“A person who’s name I won’t speak.” He changed the subject. “How did your visit to the Historical Society go? Did you find out anything new about Lady Sarah?”

“More confirmation that she was an astute observer. Her account of the railroad celebration agrees with all the other sources, but she gives much more detail.”

He asked about the methods she used for her research, and she found herself talking all the way to the restaurant. When she saw where they were, she was embarrassed. “Sorry. Sometimes my enthusiasm runs away from me.”

“I don’t mind,” he replied, as they headed toward the front door. “I like history. And I like it when people enjoy their work. Too many poor slobs spend their lives doing things they hate.” He held the door open for her. “I’ll bet you were a good teacher before the fleshmongers got hold of you and turned you into a Head Mistress.”

She smiled. “I love the classroom. But being headmistress has its compensations.”

“All those furs and diamond bracelets.”

“St. Gert’s is a wonderful old place, but she needed to be modernized. I’ve loved the challenge.”

“She?”

“It’s hard to explain. The school has this wonderful personality, like a cozy old grandmother. St. Gert’s is very special.”

He regarded her curiously, then the hostess came up to them, greeted him by name, and led them to their table.





Chapter 6

The restaurant had been built in a rambling old house with creaky floors and small rooms painted in earth tones. Accompanied by the delicious scents of spicy food, they made their way to one of the rear rooms. Some of the diners called out greetings to Kenny, while others stood to get a better view. This, combined with what had happened earlier at the mall, made Emma realize exactly how big a celebrity Kenny Traveler was. The knowledge made her uneasy. What terrible thing had he done to make him vulnerable to Francesca’s blackmail?

The hostess showed them to a back corner table covered in a dark green cloth slashed with awning stripes of orange and red. The walls in this room were rough brown stucco decorated with turn-of-the-century Mexican advertising posters.

A waiter appeared with a basket of chips and salsa. Kenny sent him back for the spicier version, then ordered a Dos Equis for himself and an extra large margarita for her.

“Just a large will do.”

“Extra large,” Kenny said to the waiter, who nodded and disappeared, obviously eager to please the restaurant’s celebrity client.

“Why do you keep changing my orders? I don’t want to drink that much.”

“You keep forgetting about those needles. In a couple of hours you’re going to be getting that tattoo you’re so dead set on, and, from what I hear, it’s going to hurt like hell. I seriously recommend you undertake the process semi-drunk.”

Emma definitely didn’t like needles, and she decided he had a point. She began to study the menu, then set it aside. What was the use? He’d order for her anyway.

She was right. The waiter arrived with their drinks, and Kenny dictated an order so large and complex, she had no idea what she’d be eating. When the waiter finally disappeared, she repeated the question he kept ducking. “Are you ready to tell me who the Antichrist is?”

“Are we back to that again?”

“Male or female?”

He sighed. “Male.”

“You’ve known him long?”

“Way too long.”

“Is he connected with your business life or your personal life?”

“You might say.”

She thought about asking if he was bigger than a bread box. “Just tell me!”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “Your good friend’s husband, that’s who.”

“Dallie?”

He winced. “Don’t say it! I can’t stand hearing that name.”

“Even I know he’s a famous golfer, but—”

“Just about the most famous golfer in the world. He’s won all the majors at one time or another and more regular tour events than anybody can count. Next year he turns fifty, and he’ll start tearing apart the senior tour.”

“But I thought Francesca mentioned that he was the president of some kind of professional golfing organization.”