Beads of Doubt Read Free

Camden.”
    My mother was right. Since the first revelation of Ron’s extramarital activities, Beth has lost twenty-one pounds with only forty-five to go. By her count. She has cut her hair in a style that looks like a modern version of the old shag, and she’s started spending money on a new wardrobe for herself. A first. Used to be that Beth spent money on everyone but herself. Today she was in beige crop pants with a sage green T-shirt. In her hand were sunglasses that looked like something purchased from the estate of Jacqueline Kennedy.
    “How are you doing?”
    “I’m lovely, thank you. We are having a few problems getting ready for tonight, though.” The paper-thin wrinkle on her forehead creased a tad further. “Kitzi, I’ve asked the driver to keep the tent six feet from the flower beds. That way people won’t be forced into them if they walk around the tent.”
    “Excellent idea.”
    She looked down at the paper on her clipboard. “I have also told him that I expect someone to replace the damaged plants by two this afternoon.” She dropped her voice and leaned closer to us. “It’s early enough that if the plants don’t arrive, we can do the replacing before the opening cocktail party this evening.”
    My mother is half terrier and half Dresden doll. She can be so precious and petite, I can’t help feeling protective. And I’ve seen her terrify a whole crew of burly workmen. Come to think of it, she’s done that to me, too. It’s when she wants everything to be “nice.” Her nice stands for absolutely-no-kidding-downright perfect. An impossible standard she demands of herself and the rest of us. I try to disappear when she’s in one of those moods—not to protect myself, but to keep family harmony.
    “I’ll pick up some flowers while I’m out,” I said.
    She noticed the keys dangling from my fingers and frowned. “You can’t possibly think of leaving right now. The caterers will be arriving, and the chairs and tables are going to be delivered. There are a thousand things to be done.”
    For the moment, everything we could do was already taken care of, but apparently she was in one of her moods. I should have been tipped off by the clipboard. “Mother, don’t worry. Several of the women from the OCO will be here shortly. Plus the volunteers from the Bead Society. They’re in charge of this.” OCO is the Ovarian Cancer Organization, the official sponsors of the Bead Tea.
    “Kitzi, it is our responsibility to be here and help.”
    “I won’t be gone long; I just need to run out and see a lawyer.”
    “What lawyer? And why in the world would you schedule an appointment today?”
    “Something just came up. It’s for Houston.” My mother is a sucker for Houston, as are most older women. Especially his mother, my aunt Miranda, who always says that he is the light of her existence. When we were kids and she said it, I always thought he was a pretty dim bulb and she must live in a cave, but I never said it out loud. Well, maybe once or twice to Houston, but never to her.
    “Is he all right?” my mother asked. “He’s not hurt—”
    “Nothing like that. Just some legal thing with some silly deadline.” I was not going to let my mother worry about Houston taking over the Manse. If I loved the Manse, she obsessed over it. Six years ago, when the doctor told her that she needed to turn it over to someone else because it was killing her, she was devastated. As tough as it was on her, though, she did it all in her own inimitable style.
    The Manse is actually owned by a family corporation created by my grandfather. Every member of the family is a stockholder, and provisions were made for new members who joined the clan either by birth or marriage. Divorce is figured in, too. I don’t understand the numbers of voting shares or the percentages, but that’s never been an issue. It certainly wasn’t the day my mother gave up residency.
    She’d had her lawyer send out meeting notices to