“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.”
“Gentlemen.” Confronting them, meeting them eye to eye for the first time, had a strange and powerful impact on her. Curiosity and antipathy warred inside her. She wanted to analyze them, denounce them. Instead, she behaved in the expected civilized manner and extended her hand.
It was clasped by one studded with calluses. The handshake bordered on being too hard, but it was as open and friendly as the face smiling at her.
“A pleasure, ma’am. Welcome to Purcell County.”
Angus Minton’s face was tanned and weathered, ravaged by blistering summer sun, frigid blue northers, and years of outdoor work. Intelligent blue eyes twinkled at her from sockets radiating lines of friendliness. He had a boisterous voice. Alex guessed that his laugh would be as expansive as his broad chest and the beer belly that was his only sign of indulgence. Otherwise, he seemed physically fit and strong. Even a younger, larger man would be loath to pick a fight with him because of his commanding presence. For all his strength, he looked as guileless as an altar boy.
His son’s handshake was softer, but no less hearty or friendly. He enfolded Alex’s hand warmly, and in a confidence-inspiring voice, said, “I’m Junior Minton. How do you do?”
“How do you do?”
He didn’t look his forty-three years, especially when he smiled. His straight white teeth flashed and a devilish dimple cratered one cheek, suggesting that he behaved no better than any given occasion called for him to. His blue eyes, a shade deeper than his father’s but just as mischievous, held hers long enough to intimate that they were the only two in the room who mattered. She withdrew her hand before Junior Minton seemed ready to relinquish it.
“And over yonder is Reede, Reede Lambert.”
Alex turned in the direction Pat Chastain had indicated and located the fourth man, whom she hadn’t noticed until now. Flaunting etiquette, he was still slouched in a chair in the corner of the room. Scuffed cowboy boots were crossed at the ankles, their toes pointing ceilingward and insolently wagging back and forth. His hands were loosely folded over a western belt buckle. He unlinked them long enough to raise two fingers to the brim of a cowboy hat. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Lambert,” she said coolly.
“Here, sit yourself down,” Chastain offered, pointing her toward a chair. “Did Imogene offer you some coffee?”
“Yes, but I told her I didn’t care for any. I’d like to get to the purpose of the meeting, if we could.”