Leann Sweeney - A Wedding To Die For

Might as well get this over with.

I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door.

If this had been a year ago, she would have marched right in, but she didn’t. She just stood there. “Thank you for answering, Abigail. I know you don’t want to see me, but I have missed you. Missed you very much.”

Was this early-morning pilgrimage to seek my forgiveness her substitute for church this morning? I gestured with my head for her to follow, and we walked toward the kitchen, Diva leading the way.

Going through the house was like navigating an obstacle course on a reality television show, and Diva had her usual fun, leaping alongside us from one packing crate to another. Though I had moved in more than a month ago, boxes sat untouched everywhere. We reached the kitchen, where my small stack of cookbooks sat on one chair and clean but unfolded laundry took up the other. I moved the books.

After taking off her cashmere coat with the fur collar, she placed it on the back of the chair. Aunt Caroline then sat and set her Gucci bag by her feet. She wore a fuzzy peacock sweater with some kind of gaudy beaded strands decorating the neckline.

Still saying nothing, and hoping the silence would make her squirm a little, I fed the cat and started the coffee. Only then did I toss the clothes off the other chair into an already overflowing basket near the door to the laundry room. Most of them ended up on the tile and I checked Aunt Caroline’s reaction, considering this a test. She flinched a little, but offered no criticism.

Was this newfound restraint an act?

“I had a hard time locating you, Abigail,” she said, fingering one strand of beads.

“Kate tell you where to find me?” I asked.

“No. Your policeman friend led me here. I hear you’re involved with him.”

“Is that right?” Instant anger burned in my gut. I could cope with jealousy—after all that was my responsibility—but if Jeff had been talking to Aunt Caroline behind my back, then—

“And he didn’t tell me anything, if that’s what you think. I had him followed since following Kate seemed... invasive.”

I blinked. “And following Jeff isn’t invasive?”

She smiled one of her face-lift afflicted smiles. “He’ll understand. He’s probably used to it.”

“Right, except he does the following,” I said.

“Same difference. Anyway, I did learn a few things after what happened last summer,” she said. “I may have been less than honest with you in the past and—”

“Less than honest? I swear you’d lie even if the truth sounded better.” Was I being harsh? You betcha. After a few decades of deception I figured I owed her about as much respect as a coyote owes a jackrabbit.

“Can I finish?” she said.

“Go on.”

“I’m willing to work on those... less than desirable aspects of my personality.” She said the last few words so fast I nearly didn’t catch them.

“And so you have Jeff followed to accomplish that goal?”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “The detective I hired said there’s nothing wrong with following people. Can you forgive me for my past mistakes?”

“I don’t know.” I chewed on a cuticle, already feeling myself weakening. Heck, she was pushing seventy. And grudges made you run even if no one was chasing you. I didn’t want to run.

“Please consider the possibility,” she said, her eyes moist.

I stood abruptly, a tiny, unwelcome lump in my throat. “Coffee?”

Her features relaxed as much as the Botox would allow. “I’d love coffee.”

We sipped and made small talk about her latest charity event. Then Aunt Caroline said, “I’m aware you left CompuCan. They miss you.”

Kate had told me my aunt still sat on the board of Daddy’s old company. “Right,” I said. “They miss me bumbling around like I knew what I was doing. I have a new job.”

“Doing what?”

“I find people,” I replied, avoiding eye contact. I had a working person’s job now, not a token appointment from an inherited business. I was guessing she wouldn’t approve and for some stupid reason, her approval still seemed important. Old habits die hard.

But she surprised me by actually sounding interested. “So tell me more. Is this a computer job? Because despite your protestations, you’re very good with computers.”

“The job does involve plenty of Internet searches, but actually... I’m a private investigator specializing in adoption.”

She slowly nodded. “I see. And have you had much work?”

“A few cases so far, but I have to build my reputation and—”

“I could help. Give me some business cards and tell me where your office is. I have plenty of friends who would be more than—”

“That’s not necessary, Aunt Caroline. In Texas, you have to—how do I put it?—apprentice with a licensed investigator.”

“So you’re an intern? You’re not even getting paid?” Ah, the old Aunt Caroline hadn’t completely disappeared after all.

“I do get paid,” I snapped.

She held up both hands. “Sorry. I’m being judgmental and I vowed not to do that. Do you work downtown?”

“Angel’s allowed me to work out of my home with my own little branch of his agency. It’s called Yellow Rose Investigations, though technically I’m employed by him. He’s sent me a few clients and I’m advertising on my own as well.”

She looked around. “You work here ?”

“I have an office in the front of the house in what was supposed to be the formal living room. I’m done with formal anything, Aunt Caroline. This is what I want.” I spread my arms and nodded around the room, hoping she understood this was a warning. I didn’t want any of her snooty society friends sending me business.

“This place is, well, very like you,” she said, nodding again. “But if you plan to redecorate, remember the traditional look never goes out of style.”

“I’ll remember.” This visit was dragging on way too long.

“And if you’re at peace with this new lifestyle, that’s wonderful.”

At peace? I wondered if I’d ever be at peace with her, but running away wouldn’t solve that problem. I’d accept her back into my life if only to quit running from the past. But that didn’t mean I’d ever forget how she’d betrayed Kate and me.

Angel Molina mopped a hefty bite of blueberry pancakes through the puddle of syrup on his plate. I’d finished my omelet and was nursing a mug of coffee while he worked on his second stack. Angel’s a strapping, soft-spoken man with steel-colored hair pulled straight back into a ponytail. He usually wore white shirts that looked fresh from the dry cleaner and today was no exception. A longtime Texas Ranger who went private, he took me under his wing after Jeff arranged for us to discuss my future as a PI.

“Now, fill me in on this case,” Angel said after swallowing a mouthful of pancakes. “The client’s that sweet little girl I sent to you, right?”

“Yes. Megan Beadford.” I explained what had happened yesterday, then said, “I thought she’d forget the whole mother hunt after her adoptive father was murdered, but she wants me to keep looking. Trouble is, I’ve got next to nothing to go on.”

Angel dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin and checked the pristine shirt for traces of breakfast. Satisfied he hadn’t spilled anything, he said, “You brought the file?”

I handed a thin folder across the table. We were sitting in a back booth of Angel’s favorite twenty-four-hour restaurant. Sunday’s after-church crowd, replete with screeching, whining children, filled every table. Another throng of adults and toddlers swelled out the door waiting for their turn at breakfast mania.