Free Veiled Threats by DEBORAH DONNELLY Page B

a puppet's, between phrases. “But yourfather has hung me out to dry. I can't let him do that, can I? I can't let him ruin me. What do
you
want?”
    This last was directed at Theo and me.
    “Can I give you some help to your car, Mr. Guthridge,” said Theo. It was not a question.
    “No, you cannot,” Guthridge began, but I cut him off with a placating smile. Crook or not, I felt sorry for him.
    “Excuse me, Mr. Guthridge, but Nickie's fiancé is looking for her.” I took her arm and guided her away, leaving Theo to his evicting. Senator Bigelow's amplified voice said something about values, and everyone applauded again.
    “You didn't have to do that, you know,” said Nickie, stopping and shaking off my hand. “He has the right to talk to me.”
    “Well, yes,” I said. I could hear Guthridge behind me, calling Theo a thug. “But I thought it would be better if—”
    “And I have the right to talk to him.” She turned back toward her godfather, and I was suddenly weary of the whole family.
    “So talk to him! But if your father sees you together … oh, hell.”
    Her father had seen Guthridge already. He was striding around the edge of the crowd, getting redder in the face with each step. Theo moved away from Guthridge with the now-you're-in-trouble smirk of a schoolyard tattletale.
    “Keith, I will thank you not to bother my daughter.” Parry kept his voice down, but I could see that a few people at the edge of the crowd were being distracted from the senator's speech.
    “I would thank you to tell your daughter the truth!” roared Guthridge.
    Parry, his face a dangerous dark crimson, took a step forward,as if to stifle this intolerable noise. Guthridge raised both mottled hands in alarm, forgetting that one hand held a drink. The wine splashed up along his sleeve and flicked drops into his eyes. Theo laughed.
    “You're going to regret this, Douglas, I swear to God.” Guthridge was shaking. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his face, as if the wine were tears.
    “Gentlemen, there are reporters here.” I stepped between them, wondering if I was about to get slugged by a banker. “You're both going to regret this conversation if it shows up in the papers tomorrow.”
    As if on cue, the applause rose and fell, cameras flashed near the gazebo, and a woman's voice called out, “Senator, what about unemployment in the rural counties?”
    Parry closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself, and just then Ray Ishigura arrived like the Seventh Cavalry in a Beethoven sweatshirt and mirror shades. He beamed at each of us impartially and took Nickie's hand, blissfully unaware of the tension or, more likely, determined to ignore it.
    “Want some dessert, sweetheart?”
    Nickie had used up her bravado. “Sure. Bye, Uncle Keith.”
    Guthridge watched her go with dull pain in his eyes.
    “I never meant to upset you,” he repeated softly. OK, I thought, either this man is the world's best actor, or somebody else tampered with the Mustang. Or, of course, nobody did. Maybe I should forget the whole thing. But forgetting about Michelle wasn't going to be easy.
    An impassive young woman, evidently from Guthridge's staff, came up and spoke to him in an undertone. He followed her back to the driveway, Theo slipped away, and I was left with Douglas Parry.
    “She invited him to the wedding,” he said, shaking his head. “God
damn
the man.” Then, searching for another topic, he said, “But today is going fine, Carnegie, just fine. And Nickie says she loves the dress you found her.”
    “It suits her perfectly,” I told him, as we walked back to the terrace. A high white haze was beginning to obscure Mount Rainier and soften our shadows on the grass. “She'll be lovely.”
    “You should have seen Julia on our wedding day,” he said quietly. “She was a picture.”
    Not Grace, but Julia. Interesting. I couldn't find an answer to that, but he didn't seem to need one. We walked past the buffet tent, where