Family Fortune

“Is that it?” The aide sounded relieved and at his nod rushed out, leaving Cale to contemplate what an asshole he’d been the past few days. That was the word, all right. He’d heard it muttered by one of the nurses. Tomorrow he’d apologize. To the nurses, to Leland and maybe even to that pushy TV reporter.

The telephone beside his bed rang. “Hiya! Hey, Patsy...I’m doing great. Improving every day,” he fibbed to his sister. One of the three girls called every night to check on his progress. No sense worrying them.

“The bridesmaids’ dresses cost how much? Whatever you decide, kitten. Sure. If you want buckets of mums at the church, fine. Have ’em send me the bill.”

Caleb tucked the phone into the hollow of his shoulder. “Of course I’ll walk you down the aisle. Who said I wouldn’t? Gracie? She called Doc Forsythe?” Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. “Quit crying, puddin’. Listen to me. You know doctors are full of double-talk. Have I ever lied to you girls? That’s right. Never.”

Easing back, Caleb listened to additional plans for the late-October wedding and injected appropriate responses. It was now September 5. His head spun. A few minutes later, the excited twenty-one-year-old rang off. Cale gripped the receiver for a long time, attempting to add in his head the costs she’d listed. Patsy, his middle sister, a homebody who’d practically been their mother’s shadow, had been the most affected by her death. Patsy did poorly in school. Having a husband and a house of her own was all she’d ever wanted. He wouldn’t let his troubles affect her heart’s desire.

It would be all right. By her wedding, he’d be good as new. Better than new. His contract would be signed and money wouldn’t be an issue. Replacing the receiver, he lay down and let the throaty notes of the saxophone transport him to a zone free of stress.

CHAPTER TWO

THE NEXT MORNING, Crystal hopped off the streetcar at the end of its route, near the heart of the business district. Juggling her purse and saxophone case, she waved goodbye to the regulars and prepared to walk the two blocks to Lyon Broadcasting. She could have driven to work. For that matter, she had access to a chauffeur-driven limo. She happened to believe that one less car on the congested roads kept at least a trace of hydrocarbons out of the environment. Besides, she loved the eclectic group of people who used public transportation.

Margaret sometimes teased her saying she ought to write a book about the offbeat assortment of daily commuters. Crystal responded by suggesting Margaret do an exposé on the family. That reminded her—at their last meeting, Margaret had given her the key to a safe-deposit box. She said it contained her will and other documents important to the family. Her instructions were that Andrbé given the key in the event of Margaret’s death.

Crystal recalled thinking that Paul’s death had sparked a morbid sense of urgency in Margie. She’d been adamant that the contents of the box be made public only if she, André and Gabrielle died simultaneously. A thought as gruesome as it was unlikely.

Crystal opened the wrought-iron gate that had guarded Lyon Broadcasting for fifty years. Dam, she wished Margaret would call home! Her continued absence was disturbing everyone.

Going directly to her office, Crystal breathed easier once she determined there’d been no further activity in the bank account. Then she set to work compiling reports for the end-of-the-month board meeting. Margaret would surely return for that.

As Crystal came to the figures from the sports department, she remembered the promise she’d made Skip—to call Nate Fraser and check on Tanner’s retirement.

If she hadn’t been so tired, she might have verified the rumor with Tanner last night. Certainly he’d provided an opportunity. At the end of visiting hours, a nurse’s aide had flagged her down and said Tanner wanted—no, demanded she stop by his room.

Crystal had declined. She wasn’t a masochist. But after she’d boarded the streetcar home, it struck her that maybe he wanted to break the news of his retirement. She’d told him she worked for WDIX, and maybe he wanted to arrange an interview to announce it. In that case, Nate would have her head for missing out on a real coup. Hmm. She’d better go see Nate right now and in person. She didn’t stop to wonder how Tanner knew she’d remained in the hospital.

Entering the noisy newsroom, Crystal wove her way among the cubicles to Nate Fraser’s domain. His four walls were weighted down by sports memorabilia. Crystal knew he’d once played for the Vikings and had won a Heisman trophy, which impressed most people. Crystal and Nate didn’t have a lot in common, unless their endless arguments over his expense account could be considered common ground. Other than that, she liked his wife Jill, a lot. In fact, they’d become fast friends after Gabrielle had introduced them.

The man glanced up when she appeared in his door. “What’s wrong now?” he barked, cracking his nut-brown knuckles one after the other.

“I thought you’d given up trying to intimidate me, Nathan.”

“Can’t help it if your mama didn’t train you right, white girl.”

Shaking her head, Crystal dropped into a chair. “Shall I phone Jill and tell her how you talk at work?” Nate’s brilliant and beautiful Creole wife currently served on the U.S. president’s council for the advancement of race relations. Nate doted on her.

He looked sheepish. “For a woman who detests sports, you play hardball, Miz Crystal. If you aren’t here to hassle me about greenbacks, what is on your mind?”

“Verifying a rumor that Caleb Tanner’s ending his football career.”

Nate catapulted from his chair. “Not our prize quarterback?”

Crystal nodded.

Nate’s eyes glittered with interest. Then he plopped back into the chair, crossed his arms and scowled. “You wouldn’t be jivin’ me, would you?”

“So you can’t confirm it? Shoot. That means I’ll have to brave Tanner’s room again to get Skipper’s football autographed.” She stood up and moved toward the door.

“Wait.” He rounded the desk fast for a big man. “This is no joke? You’ve been in Cale’s hospital room?”

“Yes, and I don’t relish going back. He’s obnoxious and—”

Nate stopped her midsentence. “Every sportscaster in town’s been trying to get past those battle-axes at the nurses’ station. The docs, Cale’s agent and the spokesperson for the Sinners all issued a standard no-comment.” Nate reached around her, shut the door and gently urged her back into her chair. “This is serious. Tell Papa Nate what gave you the wild idea Cale’s cashing in his cleats.”

She inspected her nails. “There’s probably not a shred of truth to the rumor.”

“Let me be the judge.” He listened intently as Crystal explained how she came to be at the hospital and ultimately in Tanner’s room.

“The skinny dude you saw Cale throw out on his ear sounds like Leland Bergman, his agent. So Cale’s in mega-pain? This kid—he’s sure the tech said Cale’s career is in the toilet?”

“Not quite in those delicate words,” Crystal drawled. “But that was the gist.”

“Well, well, well, well.” He rocked forward and back, singsonging the word. After a stretch during which neither of them spoke, Nate grabbed his phone. He made several calls, presumably to- sources, all the while indicating Crystal should stay seated.

“What did you find out?” she asked when at last he hung up and rubbed his palms together excitedly.

“My source believes the Sinners are quietly casting the waters in hopes of landing a new quarterback.”

“Then I guess that’s that.” Crystal got to her feet. “Don’t you. feel the slightest bit of compassion for Mr. Tanner? After all, an injury forced you out of pro sports.”

“Of course I sympathize with his situation.”

“Could’ve fooled me. You look delighted.”

“I am that. My top sportscaster, Jerry Davis, took a job in L.A. If we work fast, we might entice Cale to replace him.”

Crystal, who’d again started for the door, glanced over her shoulder. “An announcer? The man’s like a buffalo in a china shop. You can’t polish his rough edges enough to put him on camera. He wears a gold stud in one ear, for Pete’s sake.”

“The guy’s got a great voice.”

“He bellows.”

“He can charm the frogs off their lily pads.”

Crystal tapped her toe impatiently. “He has the manners of an orangutan.”

Nate smirked. “Yeah. He’ll fit right in. And since you, lovely lady, have access to the man, you’re going to hire him for us before a competitor hears he’s on the loose.”

“Me?” She tried to bolt, but Nate beat her to the door and held it shut with a ham-size palm. “Do your own dirty work,” she snapped. “I’ve got other shrimp to peel.”

“No one else in the media can get near the man,” he said, trying to wheedle.

“Yeah, well, he tossed me out and probably ruptured something doing it.”

“Didn’t you say that later on, he wanted you to stop by his room? I bet he intends to apologize. Cale’s got a rep for being real nice to the ladies. Tell you what. Give me an hour to put together an employment offer and get André’s okay. I’ll have to talk to Michael McKay in Human Resources, too.” He stroked his chin. “Ought to have it ready for you to run over to Tanner by eleven or so.”