“Come in, Lupe,” Sarah Jo said at the housekeeper’s soft knock. “Here’s our tea.”
While Lupe was arranging the silver service on the tea table, Alex asked conversationally, “You mentioned home, Mrs. Minton. Kentucky, right?”
“Yes, horse country. Hunt country. I loved it so.”
Her wistful gaze drifted toward the window. The panorama didn’t offer much to please the eyes, just miles of dun-colored earth, until it blurred into the horizon. They watched a tumbleweed roll across the stone patio and land in the swimming pool. The landscaping around it was as dead and brown as a cotton field after harvest.
“It’s so barren here. I miss the green. Of course, we have acres of irrigated pasture for the horses, but somehow, it’s not the same.” Her head came back around slowly and she thanked the maid with a nod. Lupe withdrew. “How do you take your tea?”
“Lemon and sugar, please. One lump.”
Sarah Jo practiced the ritual that Alex thought had died two generations ago. She did it meticulously. Her pale, translucent hands moved fluidly. Alex realized then why the custom had died in contemporary America. No one would have the time.
“Sandwich? Cucumber and cream cheese.”
“Then, by all means,” Alex replied with a smile.
Sarah Jo also added two tea cakes to the small plate before passing it to Alex, who had spread a lacy napkin over her lap. “Thank you.”
She sipped her tea and pronounced it perfect. The sandwich was only a sliver of crust-trimmed bread, but the filling was cool and creamy. She hoped her stomach wouldn’t make a rude noise when it greedily devoured the inadequate portion. She had slept through breakfast; it had seemed superfluous to eat lunch so soon before teatime.
Starting on one of the tea cakes, she asked, “Have you returned to Kentucky often for visits?”
Her hostess prepared her own tea and stirred it idly. “Only twice, for my parents’ funerals.”
“I didn’t mean to bring up a sad topic.”
“I have no family left, except for Angus and Junior. Anybody with character learns to live with losses.” She replaced her cup and saucer on the table so carefully that the china didn’t even clink. Keeping her head lowered, she looked up at Alex from beneath her brows. “Only you haven’t, have you?”
Alex returned the uneaten half of the sugar cookie to her plate, knowing intuitively that they had reached the reason behind this invitation to tea. “Haven’t what?”
“You haven’t learned that it’s best to let the dead remain dead.”
The lines of battle had been drawn. Alex returned all the tea implements to the silver tray, even the spiderwebby napkin from her lap. “Are you referring to my mother?”
“Precisely. This investigation of yours has upset my entire household, Miss Gaither.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience. The circumstances make it unavoidable.”
“Thugs vandalized my property, threatening the health and life of every horse we own or board, thereby our livelihood.”
“That was an unfortunate incident. I can’t tell you how truly sorry I am for it,” Alex said, appealing to the wo
man to understand. “I had nothing to do with it. You must believe that.”
Sarah Jo drew a deep breath. The ruffles around her neck quivered with suppressed indignation and dislike. Her hostility was so palpable that Alex wondered again what possible reason she had had for inviting her here. The need to apologize had been a ruse. Apparently, Sarah Jo wanted to vent a long-harbored grudge.
“How much do you know about your mother and her relationships with Junior and Reede Lambert?”
“Only what my grandmother told me, coupled with what I’ve gathered since talking to people here in Purcell.”
“They were like a unit,” she said, lapsing into a faint, reflective voice, and Alex realized that she had slipped into her own private world. “A little club unto themselves. You rarely saw one without seeing the other two.”
“I’ve noticed that in candid shots in their high school yearbooks. There are lots of pictures of the three of them.” Alex had pored over the photographs on those glossy pages, looking for clues, anything, that might benefit her investigation.
“I didn’t want Junior to get so deeply involved with them,” Sarah Jo was saying. “Reede was a hoodlum, the son of the town drunk, of all things. And your mother… well, there were many reasons why I didn’t want him to become attached to her.”
“Name one.”