Programmed for Peril

whatever she thought necessary to destroy Trish and Foster’s relationship, including defaming her mental strength and launching a campaign of physical and psychological sabotage. Her ally in it all was her malleable, erratic brother, whose talents were more than adequate to the electronic magic so far shown. Couldn’t Foster see?
    He heard her out, stretched on his back, hands behind bead. When she was finished he sat up. “I really don’t think she and Nicholas are involved,” he said.
    Trish’s temper flashed. She fought to control it. “How can you doubt me? Hours after I accused her she was on the phone to you, telling you I was a nut case!”
    “She didn’t say—”
    “Never mind the exact words she used, Foster.” She glared at him. “And why do you always defend her?”
    He shrugged. “Just my normal fair-mindedness.”
    “I think, considering that I’m about to become your wife, you ought to bag your fair-mindedness once in a while, and maybe take my side.”
    He stared at her, his eyes behind their lenses round and cool. “That’s difficult to do when you’re so far off base.”
    “How do you know I am?” she shouted. “What makes you so cocksure about what Lois would or wouldn’t do?” His shrug was infuriating, too.
    From somewhere behind the shield she raised to hide her emotions flashed a single revealing outburst. “She still means something to you, doesn’t she, Foster?”
    “I asked you to marry me, didn’t I? That should answer your question.”
    “Well, it doesn’t. I think sometimes you still—feel for her.”
    “Nonsense!” He tried to hug her, but she shoved him away.
    “That woman has risen up like a dark shadow over everything we have together.”
    “Trish—”
    “You better be damned sure you love me, not her.”
    “I do. But when you talk as stupidly as this...”
    They argued. The volume of their voices had never reached so high during their earlier petty squabbles. Neither the lovely lake nor the perfect sky calmed them. Melody’s sweet music in the distance went unheard as, over the next twenty minutes, Trish found her way to tears and Foster to silence.
    The ride home was too quiet, broken only by the child’s oblivious chattering. Their uneasy parting was lightened little by promises to talk again after they had calmed. Having no one else in whom to confide, Trish rushed to her mother. She was having iced tea on the screened porch with loyal Stoneman Gore. Marylou quickly saw her daughter’s emotional state. She sent Stoneman and Melody off together for frozen yogurt.
    She made Trish sit beside her and lifted the pitcher. Lemon slices floated; condensation dewed the polka-dotted clay. “In Savannah where I grew up, iced tea was considered a steadier,” she drawled. “Of course, we often used to add a drop or two of whiskey. Let’s try it without right now, shall we?” She gave Trish a brimming glass.
    The tale of the quarrel rushed out of her, and with it a few tears. She hated them. Marylou was so expert at making her suffer for her weaknesses.
    “Well you might cry, my dear. You’re doing a splendid job of trying to undo all the good you’ve managed for yourself before now.”
    “Mother, someone’s trying to stop me from marrying Foster!”
    “And you’re helping that someone right along, aren’t you?”
    “I am?”
    “You are, and I can’t believe that hasn’t somewhat dawned on you. You’re a bright girl—at least on paper.”
    “Mother!”
    Marylou waved away Trish’s protest. Her brow creased along its sole skeptical line. “I can’t believe that at this late date I have to teach you lessons about being a woman.”
    Trish eased into blubbering and hated herself for it. She sucked in deep, steadying breaths.
    “Calm down now, dear. Try to look at the situation from a neutral point of view. What happens to you? Someone starts Playing pranks on your business—”
    “Pranks! They were so much more than—”
    “Hush! Just listen to me. Some pranks. Nothing more. What do you do? You imagine that Lois Smith-Patton— who’s from a very nice family, you have to agree—is behind it. No proof, of course. What more do you do? You go to her and expose your troubles. She uses what you tell her against you, of course. Then you complete the debacle by quarreling with Foster. In short, you did everything wrong. You must see that, child.”
    “I’m not a child!”
    “That very much remains to be seen. Since you wasted those