Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

“You want me to work a dog adoption case?” I said through tight lips.

“Why yes. You fancy yourself an investigator and—”

“I don’t investigate dogs... or cats or birds,” I said, my voice rising. “And if she adopts an elephant with hives, I won’t do that case, either!”

Aunt Caroline stepped back, looking indignant. “How ungracious of you, Abigail. I taught you to be—”

“Save it,” I said.

She pulled her fur collar up around her chin. “I came here with the best intentions, hoping to show you that I’m willing to embrace the new working girl Abby. Obviously you don’t appreciate my efforts, and so I will bid you good night.”

She, too, departed into the night, leaving me frustrated and angry.

And then there was the guilt. How did she manage to be such an idiot and still make me feel like everything wrong between us was my own doing?

The next morning, after I’d rethought the events of last night, I knew I had to report that Laura Montgomery had returned to the States. Since she had been arrested, though not tried for the embezzlement, that meant the statute of limitations didn’t apply. She was still wanted by the authorities. If I had any intention of moving beyond provisional PI status in the future, I had to play by the rules. I called Angel for advice, and he told me that since Montgomery had fled from a Dallas jurisdiction, I could report my “sighting” on-line. And, since the case was cold, Angel figured it would probably take the Dallas cops at least a week to put someone on it, pull the files, and get back to me. In other words, this approach would buy some time.

Next I called Kate at her office. With Megan’s mother making an appearance, it was time to tell my client what I had learned. That DNA results I’d been so eager to get didn’t even matter anymore, but Kate’s presence when I spoke to Megan did. The receptionist said Kate would be free for lunch at eleven thirty, which gave me an hour to get my act together and make it to the Medical Center. I also needed to find out what had become of Roxanne the Confessor, and once I was on the road, I called Megan to find out.

But she didn’t answer. Travis did.

“Hi, Travis. So what happened with Roxanne’s confession last night?”

“When we got home and told Sylvia what Roxanne had done, all three of us went down to the police station. Roxanne refused to see us. Fielder told us Roxanne is not under arrest, but she decided to keep her overnight as a material witness.”

“No arrest. Obviously Fielder wasn’t convinced by this confession—at least not yet.”

“Yeah. Not yet.”

“Fielder’s probably being careful this time after what happened when she hauled you in. Does Roxanne have a lawyer?”

“Apparently she refused legal help, too. Megan’s hoping Fielder will let her out in time for Graham’s visitation tonight. Sylvia’s decided he should be buried next to his brother—which I don’t get since they weren’t exactly best buddies—but I’m not making those decisions.”

“How’s Megan today? I’m concerned about her. She looked so tired and pale last night.”

“I’m pretty concerned myself. I wanted to talk to you about—” He paused. “Hang on. I hear her coming down the stairs.” A second later Travis said, “Hey, Meg. It’s Abby.”

Megan got on the line. “Did Travis tell you they kept Roxanne overnight?”

“He did, but maybe Fielder wanted to give Roxanne some time to rethink her confession.” I’d reached the Medical Center and had to pay attention to traffic or get myself killed. “If it would make you feel better, I’ll swing by the Seacliff Police Station later and see if I can find out anything.”

“Abby, you’ve helped so much already and—”

“Consider it done. I’ll see you at the funeral home this evening and give you a full report.” Megan gave me the time and location—the same as her father’s services—and I clicked off the phone and plugged it into the recharger.

Maybe tonight I could get Travis alone. Get his opinion on when I should tell Megan everything I’d learned. Would she be happy to know she’d been adopted by her biological father or angry he hadn’t told her the truth? And would she be happy to know her birth mother was alive or disgusted the woman was a fugitive? I had no way of knowing.

Finding a spot in the parking garage of Kate’s building proved as challenging as always, and after my fifth trip around winding narrow lanes and concrete pillars, I slipped into a spot meant for a “compact” car. Absurd. Ninety-nine percent of the vehicles in Houston are SUVs or trucks.

Kate was waiting in the reception room when I arrived in her tenth floor office. She wore blue today, a pale cashmere sweater and navy wool slacks. The colors complemented her creamy skin and dark hair, and I decided it felt good to see a rested, happy female for once. Rather than go out for lunch, she suggested we order Chinese, and we went to the family therapy room after she called King Food.

I love the therapy room. It’s the most comfortable, homey place imaginable. The lighting casts a pink glow over the spacious area—according to Kate pink is the most calming color. Two sofas and four armchairs surrounded an oval coffee table, and classical music played in the background today rather than Kate’s usual favorite, Jazz. Me? I would have opted for Dave Matthews if I came for a head shrinking. His music is about as real as it gets.

We sat in the “big chairs” as I call them, two huge overstuffed cranberry chairs you could get lost in. I removed my shoes and tucked my feet up.

Kate said, “I see you’ve been using the arnica gel. Your face looks so much better.”

“You were right about that stuff. Worked like a charm. Wish I had a magic fix for this case. Yesterday was chock-full of surprises.”

I brought her up to snuff and had just finished when the receptionist brought in the food.

After she was gone, I said, “Kate, I could use your support when I sit Megan down and tell her all this.”

“I planned on being there.” She pushed her rice around with her chopsticks. “But I have another concern for now. This confession of Roxanne’s. That girl is unstable, Abby.”

“My guess is she’s not guilty of anything besides being as nutty as a bag of ballpark peanuts.”

“You think she’s protecting Travis with this confession?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on in her mind, but she did confess right after she found out Travis had been brought in for questioning.”

“So maybe she is protecting him?”

“One thing I know for sure about Roxanne is how much she cares for Megan and Courtney. If that means protecting Megan’s relationship with Travis by going to jail, I think she’d be more than willing to take the fall.”

“If she does get arrested, I’m worried how Courtney will handle it. Emotionally, she’s very fragile right now,” said Kate.

“Fragile? That’s an adjective I never would have chosen for Courtney.” I was eating with a good old fork, a far more sensible utensil than chopsticks. I speared a piece of sweet-and-sour pork and loaded it up with the yummy pink sauce before putting it in my mouth.

“I talked to Courtney late last night, and believe me, she’s not the same girl you met. I’m visiting her this afternoon, by the way.”

“She’s lucid?” I said.

“Lucid and depressed. But that’s what I expected at this point.”

I planted my fork in my untasted glob of white rice and left it there. “You know what? Roxanne’s confession came on the heels of Travis’s episode with Fielder, but it also came soon after she visited her sister yesterday. Maybe it’s not Travis she’s protecting.”