Powersat

Matagorda Island, Texas

I was almost noon when April caught a faint trace of jasmine perfume and looked up from her computer screen. A pert, freckle-faced redhead was standing in front of her desk, smiling at her, wearing a white T-shirt and hiphugging shorts.

“Mr. Randolph’s not in,” April said. “Can I help you?”

“Randolph went to Washington, didn’t he?” asked Kelly Eamons.

“He should be back tomorrow,” April replied guardedly.

“Actually, I came over to talk with you, not Randolph.” Before April could reply, she fished a slim wallet from the back pocket of her shorts and flipped it open. “I’m Special Agent Kelly Eamons, Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

April got to her feet. She was several inches taller than Eamons, leggy and sleek. With the desk between them they looked like a high fashion model and a bouncy Texas cheerleader. If she’s carrying a gun, April thought as she looked over Eamons, I can’t see where it might be.

“Why do you want to talk with me?” April asked. “I’m only Mr. Randolph’s executive assistant.”

Eamons surveyed April with clear blue-green eyes. “I bet you know more about what’s going on in this outfit than your boss does.”

Warily, April said, “That’s an old cliché, Agent Eamons: the all-knowing secretary.”

“Call me Kelly. And don’t pretend to be modest.”

Without smiling back at her visitor, April said, “All right. What do you want to know?”

“Why don’t we talk over lunch?” Eamons suggested.

“I was planning to eat here at my desk.”

“Let’s go to the motel. The food’s not much, but I’ve got an expense account. Let Uncle Sam treat.”

Wondering if it was a suggestion or a demand when an FBI agent invited you to lunch, April shrugged and answered, “Okay. Why not.”

Eamons let April drive to the motel in her Sebring, the top down and the warm, humid air blowing in from the Gulf tousling their hair. The dining room was almost completely empty despite the fact that the nearest competing restaurant was a ferry ride away in Lamar. They took the booth at the end of the row; only one other booth was occupied.

“Catfish?” Eamons asked, looking up from the one-page menu. “Is it fresh, do you think?”

April said, “Look, Kelly, you don’t have to put on an act with me. I’ll tell you everything I know. I don’t need the down-home routine.”

Eamons looked genuinely surprised. “But I love catfish! I was practically raised on catfish.”

“Where?”

“Little town called Kildare Junction, up in Cass County. Not far from Texarkana.”

“You’re from Texas, then?”

“Born and bred. Went to Longhorn U., down in Austin.”

April relaxed a little. But only a little. When the barmaid sauntered over to their booth, Eamons ordered the catfish. April asked for a salad.

“Somethin’ t’drink?”

“Cherry Coke, please,” said Eamons.

“I’ll have iced tea,” April said. “Unsweetened.”

“You’re a southern gal, too,” Eamons said as the waitress left. “Virginia?”

“You’ve read my personnel file.”

“Not yet. It’s your accent. I like to peg people by their accents. Southwestern Virginia, maybe? Hill country.”

April had to admit she was right.

“Can I buy you ladies a drink?”

April looked up and saw a technician she knew, smiling shyly at them, a bottle of beer in his left hand. Wally Berardino, she recalled. From the electronics group. Computer specialist.

“We’ve already ordered, Wally,” she said gently.

“Oh.” To Eamons, he said, “Do I know you? I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

Before April could think of what to say, Eamons flashed a bright smile and said, “I’m new here. Lookin’ for a job.”

Berardino shook his head sadly. “Man, you’ve come to the wrong place. We’re all wondering when the ol’ ax is gonna fall.”

Eamons’s smile did not diminish by a single milliwatt. “Well, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

“Guess not.” Berardino seemed to run out of things to say. He smiled back at Eamons and walked slowly back to the bar.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea to let everybody know I’m from the Bureau,” Eamons said in a near whisper. “It intimidates people. Especially guys.”

April said nothing. Their meals came and they talked while they ate. Actually April did most of the talking, prodded by an occasional question from Eamons. By the time they had finished their lunches, April was feeling depressed.

“So Dr. Tenny was killed and then Pete Larsen was found dead—”

“Hanged.”

“Then local police called it suicide.”

“But you don’t think it was.”

“I don’t know what to do,” April blurted, surprised by how awful she felt. “I want to help Mr. Randolph but I just don’t know what to do.”

Eamons nodded sympathetically. “That’s perfectly all right. It’s not your problem, it’s mine.”

“But I want to help!”

For a long moment Eamons said nothing, studying April with those light blue-green eyes of hers. At last she asked, “Do you really want to help?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

Now April hesitated a moment. Then, “I liked Dr. Tenny. He was like a big gruff uncle to me. And I dated Pete Larsen. He wasn’t a ball of fire but if somebody killed him, murdered him, I want the bastard caught and punished.”

“And Dan Randolph?”

A ripple of electricity ran through April. She can see right through me, she realized.

“Randolph’s the one who needs your help, isn’t he?” Eamons asked gently.

April nodded, not trusting herself to speak without blubbering that she loved Dan.

“All right,” said Eamons softly. “I think you can help. It might be dangerous, though.”

“Tell me what I’ve got to do,” said April.