Leann Sweeney - Pushing Up Bluebonnets

Aunt Caroline rolled her eyes and waved her hand in the air. "Oh, for crying out loud, let's get this over with. Move on, young woman."

I heard murmurs of agreement and thought, Oh my God. If Judith doesn't wrap this up soon, Aunt Caroline might just lead a diabetic rebellion.

Kate owed me. Owed me big-time.

After we left the store, the torture continued in the car and ended only when I dropped Aunt Caroline off. I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed for home. My aunt had told me in no uncertain terms never to arrange anything like that grocery tour again without her approval—an approval that would never come, of course. I didn't even bother to remind her that Kate set this up. Aunt Caroline wanted a scapegoat and I allowed her the privilege just to cut her diatribe short. I was lucky I didn't get pulled over for speeding in a residential neighborhood, but I couldn't get away from her fast enough.

My paranoia about the strange shopper hadn't gone away and I watched my rearview and side mirrors plenty during the drive. Houston traffic, unfortunately, makes it very difficult to pick up a tail. But in West University Place, where I live, it would be a lot harder for someone following me to remain anonymous. But I never saw any suspicious-looking vehicles and pulled into my driveway extremely glad to be home.

I called Kate as soon as I got in the door, and her receptionist, April, said she was in session, but she'd give her the message to call me. After sampling cheese, nectarines and chips and salsa at the store, I wasn't hungry. I decided to check my e-mail while I waited for Kate's call. I was hoping she and I could do dinner and I could bring her up to speed on my interesting, if flawed, day, maybe get her take on Kent Dugan's behavior.

Diva appeared from some hiding place as I went to my office. She stretched, blinked away sleep and then followed me to the computer. When I connected to my server and my e-mail box came up, I saw Penny's message with the attachments. The foster-kid pictures. Damn, I'd forgotten all about them.

After I downloaded the photos, I viewed them in a slide show. I examined face after beautiful face, black, brown, white in equal numbers, the kids' first names and case numbers beneath their pictures and alongside little biographies. Sometimes brothers and sisters appeared together and their bio stated they wanted to be adopted to the same home. I felt so sad, even though most of these kids were smiling for the camera. What had they gone through? What had they seen or experienced that children shouldn't have to endure? Did these kids ever find permanent homes or had they aged out of foster care?

And then, when I got to the 2003 pictures, there she was. Elizabeth. Case number 48932.

I stopped the slide show and stared at a teenage JoLynn . . . or rather Elizabeth. No smile on her young face. Her bio was brief. She was fifteen, loved books and wanted to be a librarian. She liked Brad Pitt and the beach and wouldn't mind a home where there were small children. She was a good babysitter.

I sat back in my chair. Another piece of the puzzle? Or another mystery to solve? I picked up the phone and called Penny.

Lucky for me, she was in her office. "Hi, Abby. Did the pictures help?"

"Yes indeed." I gave Penny the name and case number. "Is there any way you can get me a last name? If she was adopted, that means she has a family who would want to know about her medical condition."

"Hmmm. What year was that file from?"

"It was 2003," I answered.

"She could sign a release—but that won't work, will it? She's in a damn coma, poor thing."

"Isn't this a special circumstance?" My tone was pleading, a little pathetic sounding, to be honest. "We need to know everything we can about this girl. Her past might have something to do with how she ended up nearly dead. Maybe she had a parent or guardian who abused her and that person didn't want her to ever talk about it to anyone."

"Or didn't want her revealing why she ended up in the system," Penny said. "Okay, I've now made this a special circumstance. I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

I thanked her and hung up, then returned to reading other e-mail so I wouldn't have to look at that heartbreaking picture of the girl we knew as JoLynn.

When the phone rang a half hour later, Kate was on the other end, not Penny.

I said, "I wanted to fill you in on the case and my absolutely wonderful experience with Aunt Caroline today. Are you free for dinner?"

"I do have a break from seven to eight—I know that's late, but everyone in Houston seems to be having meltdowns today. Then I have group therapy from eight to nine. We can order in something, maybe from the vegetarian place I love?"

"Can we compromise on the comfort of pizza? It's been that kind of a day." She agreed and I hung up, already thinking about parking in the Medical Center again. Might as well end the day on another frustrating note.

We compromised on two medium pizzas, since Kate didn't want pepperoni "leaking" over to her vegetarian side of the pie. I enjoyed every slice and talked as we sat on one of the couches in Kate's family therapy room.

"So you've figured out that Kent Dugan is not a nice man." Kate closed her pizza box and wiped her mouth with a napkin. I noticed she'd eaten only one small slice. "I hope you'll take the chief's advice and steer clear, Abby. Let Boyd handle him."

"Even though Dugan knows more about JoLynn than he's telling, I'm definitely keeping my distance. I've already screwed up enough trying to investigate him."

"You found out about the copy machine and laminator," Kate said. "That's important."

"True. I'll bet he made the fake inspection and registration stickers as well as the driver's license for JoLynn."

"Why would he make her a fake ID?" she asked.

"That's what we need to find out," I said. "I only know it can't be a coincidence that she lived with someone who could have made those forgeries for her."

"What if she really is Dugan's sister?" Kate checked her watch. We had only an hour together and our time was almost up.

"Then why introduce herself as his wife?" I said. "And I'm not only taking Dugan's word on that. Roberta Messing believed they were married."

"Could all this be part of some bigger fraud?" she said.

I considered this. "You mean Dugan has known all along where she was, that he sent her to bilk Richter out of his money?"

"I hadn't thought it through that far, but yes, that could be the answer," she said.

I sighed. "Why do I not want to believe the girl in that hospital bed would move into a stranger's house so she could take him for as much as possible?"

"You saw a comatose young woman, a helpless, battered girl. Our only knowledge of her before her car wreck comes from the Richter relatives and the veterinarian. Some of those folks thought she was a sweet, gentle book lover. Some thought she was a manipulator. If we conclude who she is and what she's like without firsthand information, that's not really fair to her, is it?"

I smiled. That was it. "Thank you, Doc. You're absolutely right. I always trust my instincts on whether a new client is sincere, but JoLynn and I have never actually met. I only know her through everyone else's perception."

Kate stood. "People are never one-dimensional and they do love to keep secrets. JoLynn is probably no different. It's a fascinating aspect of human nature, one that has kept me very busy today. Now, could you help me clean up before my clients start arriving for therapy?"

"Sure. But you didn't eat much." I picked up my empty pizza box and Diet Coke can.

"I wasn't all that hungry." She walked over to the open kitchenette door and dumped her box in the garbage can. Then she held out a sponge in exchange for my trash. "Wipe the crumbs off the table, would you?"