“I was on the phone with Abigail for an hour today,” he told Cole, changing the subject from Jenny and choosing something familiar and safe as he crossed the living room to open the blinds. The direct sunlight had passed over his house hours ago and would now be shining on the back deck.

“Does she know that Brad’s being threatened with blackmail?” Cole asked. Few people knew about the blackmail threats to Brad, but Cole was a trusted confidant of most TCC board members and had been brought into the loop.

Mitch shook his head. “Not yet. At least not that she mentioned. She has some strong opinions on the design for the new clubhouse.”

Brad and Abigail were locked in a bitter fight for the upcoming presidential election at the Texas Cattleman’s Club. Mitch was pretty sure that Abigail would have spoken up if she knew that Brad was receiving vague, threatening notes that talked about exposing his “secret.”

“Whatever it is, it’s going to come out sooner or later.”

“I’m betting sooner.” Mitch opened the refrigerator and snagged two icy cold imported beers. “That’s the thing about secrets.”

“That’s the thing about secrets,” said Cole, an oblique look in his eyes as he accepted one of the chilled, green bottles. He twisted off the cap and tossed it into the trash.

Ignoring Cole’s dire tone, Mitch opened his own bottle and headed for the back deck. He settled into a padded chair beneath the shade of the awning, propping up his right arm to relieve the stress on his shoulder.

The deck provided a view across the seventh green of the Royal Golf Club. Two men were putting in the distance, while a foursome, two men and two women, made their way to the eighth tee. A breeze rippled the leaves on the perimeter oaks, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass.