The Golden Chance (9 page)

Halfway to the barbecue pits two large, muscular-looking dogs came bounding through the crowd. They clustered around Nick, who played with their ears for a few minutes and spoke to them quietly.

“Looks like they remember you,” Darren observed.

“What kind of dogs are they?” Phila asked warily as the black-and-tan dogs turned their broad heads in her direction.

“Rottweilers,” Nick said.

“I knew it,” Phila muttered. “Killer dogs.” She tried to step back when the animals thrust their inquisitive noses into her hands, but she wasn't quick enough. With a sigh of resignation she gingerly patted their heads. They seemed overjoyed at the attention and eagerly demanded more.

“How about that?” Darren said. “They're taking to you right off, Phila. They don't usually do that. Normally it takes them awhile to accept a stranger.”

“They're probably just sizing me up for dinner,” Phila said. “Figuring the easiest, quickest way to tear out my throat. What are their names? Bruno and Devil?”

“Cupcake and Fifi,” Nick told her.

“Oh, sure.”

“It's true. My father bought them just before I left. He named them.” Nick pushed his glasses higher on his nose and smiled faintly as he watched the dogs' antics. “Darren's right. You've got them eating out of the palm of your hand. Very unusual.”

“I can't tell you how thrilled I am,” Phila said. The rottweilers laughed up at her, tongues lolling, as if she had said something very funny. “They remind me of you.”

“Crissie Masters hated the dogs,” Darren said quietly.

“Crissie was terrified of dogs,” Phila explained coldly. She gave the rottweilers a last pat and tried to step back.

“Come on, let's get that food we were talking about,” Darren said, leading the way. “How about a beer, Nick?”

“Sounds good.”

The dogs danced around Phila's heels all the way to the barbecue pits. She finally gave up trying to discourage their attention. It was not the first time she'd found herself in this position. Animals and kids frequently reacted this way around her.

People were standing three-deep near the barbecue pits, but the crowd parted almost magically as Nick, Phila and Darren approached. When the last hungry guest stepped aside, a big, broad-shouldered man in his mid-sixties was revealed. He held a spatula in his right hand as he supervised the half dozen other men dressed in chef's aprons.

Phila recognized the nose immediately as the silver-haired man turned to glance in her direction. She also recognized the cool gray eyes and the high, blunt cheekbones. Reed Castleton. She felt Nick's arm tighten around her shoulders, but his voice was as calm as ever when he spoke.

“Hello, Dad.”

Reed nodded once casually but there was an intensity in his hooded gaze as he examined his son. “Heard you were coming back. Glad you could make it to the picnic this year.” The words sounded stilted but genuine. “This is Miss Fox, I take it?”

“Phila, this is Reed Lightfoot. My father.”

“How do you do?” Phila said, carefully polite. She wasn't sure what to expect. Crissie had said very little about Reed Lightfoot.
He's always out on the golf course. Stays out of Hilary's way
.

“Nice to meet you, Phila,” Reed said, flipping a meat patty with a deft movement. There was an awkward silence before he added, “You two want a burger?”

The question seemed to be directed at Nick, but when he failed to respond to it Phila automatically stepped in to answer. “That sounds great,” she said.

Reed nodded, obviously glad to have something constructive to do. “We'll get you fixed up here. Eleanor, where are you? We need more buns over here.”

“I'll have one of the caterer's people bring out some more, Reed.”

Phila glanced around to see a polished-looking woman in her early sixties approaching them through the crowd. She had a clever little nautical cap perched atop her discreetly tinted beige-blond hair, and she was wearing a red-white-and-blue silk top over a pleated white silk skirt. Her smile was vague, but polite. Her pale blue eyes went immediately to Nick.

“Nick, dear! You're here. It's so good to see you, darling. We heard you were due to arrive today, and we're all so delighted.”

Nick released Phila to accept Eleanor Castleton's hug. “Hi, Eleanor. Good to see you again. Meet Philadelphia Fox.”

Eleanor turned to Phila, her smile still gracious but her eyes cold. “Of course. Miss Fox. You were a friend of Crissie Masters, I believe?”

“That's right. She was my best friend. Like a sister, in fact.” Might as well get the cards on the table at the start of the game, Phila decided. She already knew how Eleanor Castleton felt about Crissie.
She hates my guts. But that's okay. I'm not real fond of her, either
, Crissie had said once.

“Such a dreadful accident,” Eleanor said dismissively. She turned toward an attractive, slim, black-haired woman whose striking dark eyes were on Phila. “Vicky, dear, meet Phila Fox. Crissie's friend.”

“How do you do, Miss Fox? I'm Victoria Castleton, Darren's wife.”

“How do you do?” Phila said quietly as she held out her hand and silently remembered Crissie's description of this clan member:
Handpicked by dear Eleanor to be an asset to her son's political career
.

Victoria Castleton looked at Nick and smiled warily. “Hello, Nick. Good to see you again.”

“Hello, Vicky.” Nick nodded toward her. “Where's Jordan?”

“I'm here,” announced a small boy as he stepped out from behind the shelter of his mother's legs. “Who're you?”

Nick went down on his haunches. “I'm Nick. You don't remember me, but I remember you. The last time I saw you, though, you were only about two years old and only about that high.” He held his palm out about a foot above the grass.

“I'm big now.” Jordan grinned proudly, standing beside Nick's hand to demonstrate the difference in height. He looked up at Phila. “Hi.”

“Hi, yourself. My name is Phila.” The boy's self-confidence spoke for itself, she thought. This was a child who had always received a great deal of love and attention; a boy who was sure of his place in his family and therefore sure of his welcome from others. The children she usually worked with rarely demonstrated this kind of comfortable confidence. She caught herself on that last thought. She would not be working with such children in the future. Her career was finished.

“D'you like seaweed?” Jordan asked.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Phila answered readily. “I like seaweed a lot.”

“I got some in my room. Wanna see it?”

“Some other time, Jordan.” Victoria took her son's hand and tugged him back a step from Phila. “Phila and Nick want to eat now.”

“I believe the hamburgers are ready,” Eleanor Castleton said smoothly. She picked up two plates and handed them to Nick and Phila. “Do help yourselves to salad and all the trimmings.”

“Thanks, Eleanor.” Nick took his plate and steered Phila toward the potato salad table.

“Lots of real genuine regret over Crissie's death there,” Phila muttered. “Such a
dreadful
accident.” She added, mimicking Eleanor Castleton's dismissive tone.

Nick scooped potato salad onto Phila's plate. “You'd better get realistic about this business, Phila. You can't expect her to feel a lot of sorrow over Crissie's death. Your friend made Eleanor's life hell while she was here.”

“It's wasn't Crissie's fault Burke Castleton cheated on his wife twenty-six years ago.”

“You're absolutely right, of course,” said a new voice from behind Phila. The newcomer spoke with a hint of a New England accent. “It was not her fault at all. But don't expect Eleanor Castleton to ever admit it. She's put a lot of effort into polishing the Castleton image.”

Phila knew who the speaker was without being told. When she turned around she was not surprised to see a sleek thoroughbred of a woman with chestnut-red hair and emerald-green eyes. She was dressed in beautifully cut camel-colored trousers that emphasized her long legs and an off-white silk blouse, an elegant outfit that perfectly complemented her features. She wore a gold wedding ring on her left hand.

“Hello,” Phila said.

“Hello, Phila. I'm Hilary Lightfoot.” Hilary put out a perfectly manicured hand. “I want to tell you how sorry I am about Crissie. She was a fascinating creature, bright and full of life. I miss her.”

Phila accepted the long-fingered, long-nailed hand. “Thank you, Mrs. Lightfoot. It's a pleasure to meet you. Crissie liked you.” This was the only member of the clan Crissie had liked, Phila recalled, and because Crissie had liked her, Phila was prepared to like Hilary Lightfoot, also.

“Call me Hilary.” She withdrew her hand from Phila's and turned to Nick, who was munching potato salad. Her expression was serene but oddly unreadable. “Hello, Nick.”

Nick nodded once. He did not offer his hand. “Hilary.”

“I was surprised to hear you had decided to return.”

“Were you?” Nick bit into a pickle and glanced out over the throng. “Quite a crowd this year.”

“It gets bigger every year. One of these days we may have to start limiting the invitations to just friends of the families.” Hilary followed his gaze. “This business of inviting the whole town is getting awkward, not to mention expensive.”

“Castleton & Lightfoot can afford it.” Nick's voice was neutral, but Phila thought she detected an undertone of annoyance.

“True, but it's hardly worthwhile.”

“The Fourth of July picnic is a Castleton & Lightfoot tradition. I don't see Dad ever giving it up.” Nick took a sizable bite out of his hamburger, his eyes still on the crowd.

“Reed is leaving more and more of the important decisions in my hands these days,” Hilary told him quietly. “In fact, you might be interested to know that at last year's annual meeting he turned both his shares and yours over to me to vote. He trusts me to do what's best for the firm.”

“He's always trusted you, hasn't he, Hilary?”

“Why shouldn't he trust me? I've always had the best interests of C&L at heart, unlike you.”

Phila edged closer to the relish tray and concentrated on slathering her hamburger bun with mustard and pickles. She could feel the eerie crackle of emotional tension around these two and it sent shivers down her spine. It also raised a few interesting questions. She wondered just what Nick's relationship with Hilary had been. It was obvious he hadn't wasted any money on Mother's Day cards for his father's wife during the past few years.

Darren wandered over, a couple of cans of beer in his hands. He handed one to Nick as Hilary nodded at Phila and moved off into the crowd.

“Here,” Darren said. “Figured you could use one of these.”

“You figured right.” Nick took the can and popped the tab.

“Since you're here,” Darren said easily, “you can give us a hand with the fireworks later.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“I knew there would be fireworks,” Phila said under her breath.

Nick looked at her. “I've got a feeling the ones tonight are only the beginning.”

The first crackling display of pyrotecnics lit up the evening sky at precisely ten o'clock that night. Phila sat cross-legged on the lawn in front of one of the colonnaded porticos to watch. She was surrounded by the women of the Lightfoot and Castleton clans. The only male in the group was young Jordan, who was so excited he could not sit still.

The townspeople sprawled across the wide lawn. Some were drinking a final can of beer, and others were trying to put away one more slice of apple pie. The dogs had stuffed themselves and were laying supine nearby. Somehow one of them, the one called Fifi, Phila thought, had managed to get her head lodged on Phila's lap.

Nick had vanished along with his father, Tec Sherman and Darren.

“Do all the Castleton and Lightfoot males get involved with the fireworks?” Phila asked Vicky, who was sitting next to her.

“It's a tradition,” Vicky explained, her tone brusque. She looked at her bouncing son. “In a few years Jordan will get to help stage the fireworks display.”

“Next year, next year, next year,” Jordan chanted and then shrieked as another flash of color filled the night sky.

“Fireworks are dangerous,” Phila said with a frown. “Basically, they're explosive devices. Small bombs. They're supposed to be handled by experts.”

“Reed and Darren and Nick are experts. So was Burke.”

“Is that right? Where did they all get this expertise?” Phila glanced up again as a starburst of red exploded overhead.

“Oh, every Castleton and Lightfoot male does his military service,” Vicky said. “I suppose when Jordan is out of college he'll go into the Marines or the Air Force for a while.”

“Another tradition?” Phila asked dryly.

“You wouldn't believe how many traditions these families have established in just two generations. My people have lived in Virginia since the seventeen-hundreds and we don't have as many rites and rituals as the Castletons and the Lightfoots.”

“Nick and Darren went into the service?”

“Their fathers would have kicked them out of the business if they hadn't done their military duty. Don't worry. They all know what they're doing around explosives and firearms.”