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“I’ve…moved. I have a new place. It’s smaller, and a little shabby, but it’s homey. You’ll like it. I have a sofa that folds out into a bed. I can sleep there and you can have the bedroom.”
    Leta paused. “I’d love to see you. But I don’t know about getting on an airplane. I’ll have to think about that. You and Tate and I could go on the town, if I did. It might be fun, at that!”
    Cecily hesitated. “Tate and I aren’t speaking, Leta,” she said tautly.
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œI found out who’s been paying all my expenses.”
    â€œIt’s some foundation, isn’t it?” Leta asked in all innocence. “What would that have to do with you and Tate not speaking? So, who’s really behind it?” she added in a teasing tone. “Is it some gun runner or maybe one of those international terrorists we read about?”
    Leta didn’t know that Tate had been supporting her! Well she couldn’t discuss it on the phone. Time for that when she flew out to South Dakota.
    â€œI’ll tell you all about it when I get there,” Cecily promised. “See you soon.”
    â€œOkay. Take care, baby.”
    â€œYou take care, too.” She put down the receiver. Leta was going to be hurt that her “children” were at war. She frowned, remembering what Leta had said about losing some tribal funds. She wondered what was going on at Wapiti.
    Â 
    Saturday came and Colby was unexpectedly back in the country, so she asked him to go with her to Senator Holden’s birthday party. He agreed, but he sounded solemn. When he came to pick her up, she could see how tired he was.
    â€œI shouldn’t have asked you,” she said gently, knowing better than to ask him what was wrong.
    He shrugged. “It beats sitting at home, thinking.” He smiled wanly. “I’m bad company. But I’ll give it a shot.”
    They left Cecily’s apartment and drove to the Senator’s residence.
    Cecily stared around her at the elegant company of politicians, millionaires and other guests assembled in the huge ballroom of Senator Matt Holden’s Maryland home. Her upswept medium blond hair was neatly done and her knee-length black cocktail dress, while off the rack, was tasteful. But her pale green eyes were restless. She felt vulnerable without her glasses. She hadn’t wanted to bother with them, since Colby was driving. And she hated the worry of trying to wear contact lenses. Besides, who did she need to see, anyway? She and Colby had arrived just in time to wander through the buffet and nibble at the delicious spread. There was everything from caviar to champagne.
    Now that they’d finished eating, she wished he would hurry back with the coffee. She was uncomfortable among people whose casual conversation centered around investments, foreign travel and upcoming appropriation bills. She didn’t travel in monied circles. As she studied the people around her being offered drinks by a white-coated, white-gloved waiter, she grinned to herself thinking that her usual companions these days were skeletons. She glanced at the tureen in the waiter’s hands and had an attack of conscience.
    She draped her small evening bag over one shoulder and wandered quietly through the room of guests, nodding and smiling politely at people she knew mainly from the nightly news. She was in glittering company, but she was a stranger, alone in this packed gathering. She’d have been more at home in her office at the museum. Or on the reservation with Leta.
    It was an unusually quiet cocktail party, she thought, and conversation was muted and somber around her. Recent turmoil in Washington, D.C., had thrown a shroud over the celebration of Senator Holden’s birthday. Holden was the senior Republican senator from South Dakota, a fiery, difficult man who made enemies as easily as he ran the Senate Committee on