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  “I know, the dreaded western-inspired-theme-dressing curse of the Longhorn Ball Chairwoman.” Images of former Chairs paraded through Amanda’s mind—women in alligator belts and python boots, women in leather halter tops who were too old or heavy to wear them, even women in regular dresses topped off with concho belts. She shivered at the thought. “But why did they have to have Susie arrested?”

  “As I understand it, Susie got the idea in her head that she could stay on and run the Ball a second time, especially after she’d ‘raised’ ”—Elizabeth used air quotes—“four point one million dollars. Heck, she didn’t raise any four point one million. Sometimes she even says it’s five million. I’m like, at least get your story straight.

  “Her husband gave three and a half million, and there were a few bucks in the till from the previous year. I don’t think anybody gave a dime to the Longhorn Ball last year. Susie claimed she had commitments for major donations that never appeared. They had two parties a week—a Longhorn Ball record—mostly given by retailers. Normally the Longhorn Ball wouldn’t have even accepted auction donations from most of these retailers, as they were hardly Longhorn Ball material. But she’d allow them to host a party in exchange for, say, a ten-thousand-dollar donation. They’d have the party and never send in their check, and Susie wouldn’t pursue it.”

  Again, Amanda knew exactly what her mother was talking about. It’s considered very smart marketing for high-end retailers to compete for what had been, prior to Susie’s year, the few, coveted opportunities to host events for these groups, as these women were definitely their target market. It is considered an honor, almost a coup, to be granted this privilege, but it comes with an equally impressive price tag—usually in the form of a significant auction item, as well as the large cash donation. The two parties a week were excessive, but the worst thing was that many weren’t the type of retailers they would’ve normally even asked for a silent auction item. When these lesser known, or worse yet, “pedestrian” type retailers would never send in their check after hosting a party, Susie was so irresponsible and unorganized, she wouldn’t pursue it and still sent them their sponsorship packages complete with Ball tickets.

  “She sold auction packages that she didn’t have contracts for. Once the buyers had paid, she couldn’t provide the goods or services because they were not officially procured donations. She was trying to curry favor with everyone from maître d’s to retail salespeople, so she gave away more free passes than she sold Ball tickets. She then provided false figures of expected guests to everyone, including the valet parking company, the caterer, and even the company that provided those golf-tournament-style portable restrooms—all in hopes of saving a dollar or two. They ran out of food and drinks, the lines for the ladies’ room were thirty minutes long, and it took forever to get your car. The outcome was a total disaster, as it embittered longtime supporters, sponsors, and vendors.

  “Not to mention,” Elizabeth went on, “that for the first time in Ball history, the Chairman was drunk, dancing on a table at the end of the night. You know the saying, the higher a monkey climbs up a tree, the more you see of its ass? She was hoping to clean up her mess by chairing a second year in a row. After all that, she had the audacity to think she could hang on to her position for another year. The nerve!”

  “But I still don’t understand why they had her arrested,” Amanda said, taking a sip of her coffee. As self-absorbed as her mother was, it was just nice to be sitting in the kitchen of the house where she grew up, listening to gossip. At least it was gossip that wasn’t about her, Amanda told herself. That was refreshing.

  “The Ball committee took a vote,” Elizabeth continued. “They passed a new rule that said that no individual could run the Ball two years in a row. They had to go to that extreme measure because Susie wouldn’t have let go of that thing if they’d held a gun to her head. And then Susie hired lawyers, and I mean junkyard-dog lawyers—can you imagine, hiring lawyers to go up against the committee of the Longhorn Ball? This is supposed to be volunteer work. It was insane! And her lawyers actually took the thing to court, claiming that Susie was grandfathered into chairing it for a second year because the vote to pass that rule had been taken after she had already committed to running it again.” Elizabeth smacked her palm against her forehead. “I swear, that girl. The engine’s running, but nobody’s been driving for God knows how many years.”

  Amanda grinned for what felt like the first time since she had left California. She hated to admit it, but it was satisfying to hear of another woman who had made a bigger mess of her life than she had. How encouraging.

  “So what happened then?”

  Elizabeth gave a disgusted look and had another sip of her coffee. “The committee hired lawyers of their own, and they got an injunction, or whatever you call it, against Susie staying on. They even had the locks changed, and when Susie wouldn’t vacate the office, they got an injunction to get her thrown out of there, too. She wouldn’t go, so the committee called in the police to get her out of there. I guess that’s when you happened on the scene.”

  “I guess,” Amanda said. “So who’s going to run the Ball now?”

  “Beats me. That Longhorn Ball is so messed up, I don’t think you will find anyone who’s willing to take it on.”

  “Oh, and that’s not all,” Amanda interjected, pleased and not feeling guilty to have a gossipy tidbit of her own. “You’ll never guess who’s working at Ann Anderson’s office.”

  “Heather Sappington,” her mother said, stealing her thunder.

  “You knew that?”

  “Of course I knew that,” Elizabeth said indignantly. “Why would you think I wouldn’t know that? Ann’s mom and I have been friends forever.”

  “Why would Ann hire her?”

  “I don’t know,” Elizabeth said, waving a hand dismissively. “Pity more than anything else. That girl just can’t get a man to marry her. Propose, yes, but marry her, no.”

  “I don’t even see what men see in her,” Amanda said. “I don’t mean to gossip—”

  “Well, I do. That girl has quite a reputation for being wild. You know what they say about Heather, ‘Bible in one hand, vodka bottle in the other.’ Good men like women who are spiritual, but they can still be amused by a pro-series party girl. With Heather, they get both in one package. But I guess the package gets tiresome, because she gets as far as the engagement party, but she never makes it to the altar.” Elizabeth rubbed at a dim spot on her china coffee cup and shook her head. “She may know how to work it,” she added, “but she’s about as pretty as homemade soap.”

  Amanda couldn’t help but smile. “Is it true that she kept the rings from each of the men she’s been engaged to?” she asked. It wasn’t in her nature to inquire into other people’s private business, but there was something so pleasant about sitting with her mom and chatting, having an amiable conversation for the first time in longer than Amanda could recall. God’ll forgive me, I hope, she told herself.

  “She cashed in the first couple of rings,” Elizabeth said conspiratorially, “and I think she lived off the proceeds for a few years. Somehow she really gets guys to pony up when it’s time to go to the jeweler.”

  Amanda nodded. “That rock on her finger I saw today was pretty incredible.”

  Elizabeth grinned. “You mean Ira?”

  Both women laughed. “I’ve met Ira,” Elizabeth said. “He’s a pretty impressive guy, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but I swear, Mom, I’m not tryin’ to be ugly—putting a ring like that on Heather’s finger is like puttin’ perfume on a pig! I mean, what are these guys thinking?”

  “It’s not ugly, it’s true!”

  They laughed again.

  Then Elizabeth turned quiet, as if someone might be eavesdropping. “You know she’s got a problem with diet pills. She’s always running off to some doctor or other to get another prescription. I hear she’s got like six different doctors writing scrips. Of course, the fact that she
drinks like a fish on top of the diet pills only adds color to all her reported ‘episodes.’ ”

  “I think she mentioned she had a doctor’s appointment today,” Amanda said with a nod. Suddenly she thought of something off-topic. “Mom, that black Mercedes in the driveway—you didn’t tell me you were thinking about a new car.”

  “I wasn’t. It’s actually for you.” Elizabeth’s tone betrayed a sense of wonder. “I wondered when we were going to get around to this subject. Is there something you’d like to tell me?”

  “What? No! For me? What do you mean it’s for me?”

  “Some young man from the dealer came and dropped it off while you were out. Said it was a welcome-home gift for you.”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. “A Maybach? That’s quite a welcome-home gift. Who could it possibly be from?” she murmured.

  “There was a card,” Elizabeth said, sauntering into the living room to get it.

  Amanda sat there, amazed. A car? For me? A welcome-home gift? Her first thought was that her ex might have given it to her as a way of saying “no hard feelings,” but that made no sense. There were plenty of hard feelings—enough to last a lifetime.

  Coming back into the kitchen, Elizabeth handed her an envelope, which Amanda tore open. The card read: “I heard it would be a while before your car was shipped from California. Welcome home. Let’s celebrate at Al’s at 7:30.”

  The card was unsigned.

  Elizabeth looked expectantly at Amanda, waiting for an explanation of the mystery suitor’s identity.

  Amanda shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know that anybody even knew I was back in town. But after today’s Bible study, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  “Somebody out there knows and likes you,” her mother said, her tone tart again. “And judging by that car outside, a lot.”

  “I guess.”

  “Looks like Gigi’s going to be babysitting tonight,” Elizabeth said, putting on a martyr’s face.

  “Looks like you are!” Amanda said, getting up to go back outside. She wanted to get a second look at that car.

  Chapter 5

  So much to talk about, so little time. As soon as Heather had given Amanda the keys to her rental home and went to one of her six doctors to get a new prescription, she called Sharon Peavy, leader of the Bible study, and made plans to meet at the Starbucks at Hillside Park Village as soon as Heather could get off work.

  They met at a quarter to five and ordered lattes, which sat before them at a table Sharon chose, right where the picture windows looked out on the Hillside Park Village parking lot. The Starbucks was beloved because it had such a magnificent view, from its floor-to-ceiling picture windows, of the entrance to the parking lot. That might not sound like much, and in fact, there was absolutely nothing scenic about it. But it did allow those sitting in Starbucks to gaze out on the cars coming in and out of the outdoor shopping mall, the oldest and most prestigious in Dallas with all the top-name boutiques, and see who was driving what, and with whom, and where. Indeed, the table Sharon had chosen was ground zero for Hillside Park gossip, because there were few things more interesting than who was driving, shopping, dining, or just simply hanging out with whom.

  “Well, well. Guess who’s back in town?” Heather asked quietly, scanning the coffee shop to see if there was anyone present whom she would not have wanted to hear her brand of talk.

  “Mmmm, Amanda Vaughn,” Sharon said, in the same conspiratorial low tones. “Oh, honey—I heard all about it at Bible study.”

  Heather reached for her latte. Then, realizing that the last thing she wanted was a two-hundred-degree beverage on a one-hundred-degree day, let it sit there. She spun the cardboard holder around the cup and bit her lip.

  “I just gave her the keys to her house this afternoon,” she said.

  “Which house?”

  “The Harrington place. Four bedrooms, fabulous kitchen looking out onto the family room/play area—”

  “Solarium, media room, six thousand square feet,” Sharon finished for her. “Mmm-hmm. I saw the listing.”

  Heather looked puzzled. “That’s a five-million-dollar house!” she exclaimed. “No offense, but what are you doing looking at houses with that kind of price tag? You can’t really afford it, can you?”

  Suddenly she wondered if maybe Sharon had won the Texas lottery, or perhaps she had a new sugar daddy who could be persuaded, somehow, to give her the down payment on a new house. Maybe if he was real wealthy, high-profile, and married, she could wrangle him into buying the house for her in cash. For a moment, Heather’s hopes rose about Sharon’s potentially higher socioeconomic status. That would be a pretty nice commission for Heather.

  But Sharon shook her head. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” she asked, a little embarrassed by just how much she knew about the Harrington property. She tapped her foot uneasily against the table’s metal base and looked away. The house had sat on the market for eight months because its owner, Tom Harrington, had been a little too emotionally attached when setting the asking price. So few nice houses came on the market in Hillside Park that many buyers were happy to pay a premium just to live in the neighborhood—it was that desirable. But Tom’s timing had been poor, and he had slapped that luxury premium on the asking price just at the point when the market was starting to head south.

  Sharon knew about the house for another reason. In her mind, Tom Harrington represented perfection in a man. He was wealthy, he was kind, he was a great husband by all accounts, he was very good-looking, and when he stood on his wallet, he was ten feet tall. She had always had a thing for him.

  Not everyone was as impressed with Tom Harrington as Sharon and Heather, however. Years ago, when everyone had just been out of college a few years, Tom made a business investment with the friend of a friend. They seemed like nice enough people—they were horse people, after all—but it turned out that they were involved with much more than just horses. It seems their business, Pegasus Horse Transport, became well-known for flying more than just horses. Tom and his partners were rumored to be huge drug traffickers and had earned themselves the nickname “The Cowboy Mafia.” When it was discovered there was more to their business, people immediately began to defend Tom, saying he had no idea any of that was going on and if he had, he would’ve never tolerated it. He hadn’t been involved in the day-to-day operations and rarely, if ever, made the quarterly meetings—he would often just conference in. But many others weren’t so quick to let him off the hook. If he didn’t know what was going on, he was just as guilty because he should’ve been more involved, then. Eventually, there were many arrests made and Tom was never even questioned, much less considered a person of interest, but to this day, many people questioned whether or not he was aware of what was happening at Pegasus. In a neighborhood as conservative as Hillside Park, anything drug-related isn’t easily forgotten.

  Heather nodded sympathetically.

  “Did you see Amanda?” Sharon asked. “How does she look?”

  “She looked amazing,” Heather said, shaking her head slightly, as if she couldn’t believe it, as if she was horrified by the thought of it all. “You’d think that somebody who had been through the kind of traumatic stuff she’s been through would look like hell. But she looked incredible. Thin, fit, beautiful, perfectly dressed—just drop-dead gorgeous. No wonder they say all the boys in high school used to call her ‘hell in high heels.’ ”

  Sharon nodded slowly, digesting the bad news that Amanda looked great, and sadly remembering those painful high school days.

  “Oh, perfect. That’s all we need,” she said, dejected, “another attractive single woman here in Hillside Park. This one’s potentially the most dangerous of all. It’s not like she started out like the rest of us.” She furiously smoothed out the wrinkles in her hand-me-down Givenchy skirt. “It kills me to think she’s gonna end up just jumping from lily pad to lily pad.”

  “She’s not exactly single,” Heather said helpfully, test
ing the temperature of her latte again. Still too hot to consider drinking.

  Why she had ordered latte on a hot day like this, she had no idea. She didn’t even like lattes. But they just sounded so sophisticated. And besides, everybody knew lattes had fewer calories. “She’s still technically married.”

  “Sure, darlin’, but not for long,” Sharon said, staring out the window at a Bentley she did not recognize. “Who’s that?” Surely there wasn’t a man who drove a Bentley in this neighborhood that she didn’t know.

  Heather followed her gaze. She studied the car and looked at the license plate, hoping for a clue. It was a Texas vanity plate that read “TH”—something. She couldn’t catch the rest of it as the car blew past.

  The women quietly chorused the initials to themselves, trying to conjure up an identity to go along with the letters.

  “Oh, oh! Tom Harrington,” Heather suddenly exclaimed. “That’s the guy whose house Amanda rented. He developed half of Mexico, you know.”

  “Mmm. I sure wish he’d hurry and get around to the other half,” Sharon cracked. Then, on a more serious note, “Is he still married?”

  “Yup,” Heather replied. She patted her dry lips and debated whether to apply more lip gloss.

  “But is he happy?” Sharon asked sarcastically.

  “Unfortunately. By all accounts.”

  They both laughed hysterically at their own wittiness.

  Sharon nodded philosophically as her fingers tapped out a frustrated rhythm on the plastic cup lid. “Too bad. I’ve always had a thing for him. But what about Amanda? I mean, she does have two children.”

  Heather frowned. “A boy and girl,” she said. “But nobody old enough to be interested in her is going to be scared off by the idea of kids. And I hear they’re really nice kids.”