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Grayson Lee wasn’t normally a fearful man.

But even Grayson Lee, a six-foot-two, big time small town lawyer with an Ivy League degree and a cabinet full of hunting rifles; even Grayson Lee trembled at the sight of his wife when she wore a certain expression.

She was wearing it now.  His hands grew slick and his heart thudded in his chest.  “What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Dallas Jean Lee narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, her scowl etched with steel. Storming into their room, she shut the door hard–but with enough control so it barely made a click.  Grayson gulped.  Dallas Jean Lee was like a Texas storm–the louder and crazier it got, the more you knew things would be fine in the morning.

When it got quiet, that’s when hell broke loose.

Whirling around, Dallas Jean eyed her husband as he squirmed on the bed.  “What did you say, Grayson?”

“Say?” he squeaked, running his sweaty palms down his knees.  He suddenly had a flashback to the Principal’s office in elementary school–cemented helpless to a chair while a balding man with a red nose and dislike for children decided your fate.

He was much more terrified of his wife.  This was way worse than the principal’s office.  Clearing his throat, he tried to speak again.  “Darlin’, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t call me darling!” Dallas Jean snarled, baring her teeth.  “What did you say to Clementine Jane, Grayson?  What did you say to her about my dad?”

Grayson blinked, shaking his head.  “Not a word, honey.  Clementine Jane’s been so busy with school and the paper I barely see her.”

“Then why did she ask me if my father’s poker games were illegal?” Dallas Jean drawled, her voice barely above a whisper.  Grayson’s eyes widened.  If Dallas Jean’s eyes got any smaller, they would turn into tiny laser slits hot enough to slice through him with a single glare.

“Honey, I haven’t said a word to her,” he protested, holding up his palms.  “I swear. I’ve never said a word to anyone about your dad’s poker games.  I know what people would say–”

“Precisely.”  Dallas Jean gave him a nasty smile.  “I know how cheap you are, Grayson Lee.  How do I know you’re not trying to sabotage me just so you won’t have to pay for my European excursion?”

Grayson’s jaw dropped.  For the first time, a flicker of anger crossed his face.  “Dallas, I can’t believe you’d say that.  You know me.  I’m competitive, but I’m honorable.  I would never dig up family secrets and sell it to the press.”  Crossing his arms as she eyed him, he pointed out, “Besides, it’s not like it would make me look like an angel.  Why would I drag you down just to take me down with you?”

Dallas Jean frowned.  “Good point.  I never thought of that.”  She sat on the bed, burying her tired face in her hands.  “But who would have said something?  Only you, me, and Adelaide remember what happened–what really happened.  Only we were there.”

“It’s been so long,” Grayson murmured, a ghost of a smile floating across the shadows of his face.  He wrapped an arm around his wife.  “Remember all the late nights…that feeling of excitement as you waited….”

Dallas Jean rested her head on his shoulder and grinned.  “You were such a wimp.”

“I was not a wimp,” Grayson protested, his large hand stroking her platinum hair.  “I simply didn’t have a death wish like you and Adelaide did.”

Dallas Jean sighed.  “Grayson, it’s been  years since Daddy’s games and even longer since he died.  Everyone has forgotten–and the few that remember don’t discuss it anymore.  Who would bring it up now?  And why?”

“I think you’re making this out to be too big of a deal,” Grayson said gently, entangling his fingers in his wife’s wispy curls.  “That was a different time.  If people knew now, I think they would…”

Dallas Jean Lee snorted and shook her head.  “This is Corsicana, sugar.  There ain’t no such thing as time. There’s just the same fear and prejudice that’s always been.  If this got out, we’d be run out of town and you know it.”

Grayson shook his head.  “I think you’re overreacting.”

“You’re underreacting.” Dallas scowled. “Who else could have told her?  It’s got to be someone close–if it was some random person on the street she would have blown it off.  She’s always got people telling her that I was a Vegas showgirl or homicidal maniac–when you work in the press, you deal with the crazies.”

“Same with politics,” Grayson muttered, tapping his chin with the hand not wrapped around his wife.  “Adelaide didn’t say anything?”

Dallas Jean raised an eyebrow.  He nodded, his fingers dancing across his chin.  “Well, what about your Daddy’s old friends?” he asked.  “The ones that played in the games?”

Dallas Jean snorted.  “They just sit in a country club, drinking beer and smoking cigars and talking about the olden days….wait a minute.  George!  George could have talked to her!”

“He was there,” Grayson pointed out.

Dallas Jean fused her lips together, gritting her teeth.  “And he likes to jabber.  Damn it, I’m going to kill him!”  Snarling, she stormed out of their room and downstairs.

Grayson leaned back and sighed in relief.  “As long as it’s not me,” he muttered to the cieling.

***

Adelaide paused at her front door, pressing her ear to the cold wood.  “Who is it?” she called.  Glancing at her watch, she blinked in surprise.  No one should be up at this time of night.

“Shouldn’t you know who it is if you’re psychic?”

Adelaide flung the door open and jammed her hands on her hips.  “Clementine Jane, does your mother know where you are?”  She glanced around, her eyes narrowing.  “How did you get here?  Did you drive?  You don’t have a permit yet!”

“No, she doesn’t know,” Clementine Jane replied.  “I rode my bike, I didn’t drive.  And you can call her right after you tell me what I want to know.”

Pursing her lips together and clucking her tongue, Adelaide ushered her in and shut the door.  Pulling her thin red satin robe closer around her, she swept Clementine Jane into the living room and sat down on the couch next to her.

“If this is about your mother’s campaign, we’re having a big press conference tomorrow,” Adelaide informed her.  “It’s all about her new plan–the Pie, Puppy and Love campaign.  It’s brilliant.  4 p.m.  You should be there.  City Hall.”

“I will,” Clementine Jane replied.  Pressing her lips together, she stared at the woman she had known as an aunt since infancy.  “Adelaide, people are saying things about my mom.  And I need you to tell me if they’re true.”

“About your grandfather’s games?” Adelaide asked.

Clementine Jane nodded.  “Mom told you?”

Adelaide nodded.  “Here’s the thing, Clementine Jane.  Your grandfather was a good man.  Your mother and father are good people.”

“My father?” Adelaide gasped.  “He was involved?”

Adelaide cocked her head.  “Isn’t he the one who told you?”

“No, but…”  Clementine Jane trailed off.  “So he was involved with my mom?”

“So was I,” Adelaide replied.  “And a few other fine folks.  We didn’t do anything wrong, Clementine Jane.  We made what was wrong right, even if the laws at the time didn’t see it that way.  And that’s all I’m going to say about it to you.”  Turning around, she picked up the phone.  “Now, you go in the kitchen and I’ll fix you some empanadas while we wait on Dallas to get here.”  Pressing the ringing phone to her ear, she turned around and gasped.

Clementine Jane was gone, the front door gaping open.

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  Tomorrow we have a new Land of the Flowered Bed and next week, more delightful whimsy!