Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

Willis cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m meeting Simon Holloway for eighteen, though he probably won’t be able to finish nine holes in the afternoon heat. He eats porterhouse steaks and slurps Manhattans for lunch. No wonder he can’t even walk back and forth to the golf cart.”

“Thanks for coming over,” said Kate.

Kate and I walked Willis to the front door and I said, “By the way, who handled our adoption, Willis?”

He stopped at the door, looking like he’d just put on barbed-wire Jockey shorts. “What? Where did you pull that question from?”

“Just wondering.”

“I handled the legalities,” he said, his tone curt.

“So you didn’t go through an agency called Parental Advocates?”

“We dealt with your biological family’s lawyer directly after the plane crash.”

“And that lawyer’s name wasn’t Samuel Feldman?” I said.

He stared at me, eyes narrow. “Oh. I remember you mentioning Feldman and how he was somehow connected to Ben’s past. Is that what you’ve been up to today? Digging up skeletons?”

“I was thinking Ben may have sought Daddy out because Cloris used the same adoption agency years ago.”

“Cloris used an adoption agency?” Kate said. “When did you find that out?”

“I’m not sure she even did. And the adoption angle might have nothing to do with why Ben came here, but it’s better than no explanation at all. I have another question, Willis.”

He checked his watch. “I really should have left here by now.”

“This won’t take a minute. Do you need a license to run an adoption agency?”

“No license is required that I’m aware of. Texas has more liberal adoption laws than most states.”

“What do you mean by liberal?” I asked.

“Can we leave this alone? I have to go.” He turned the knob.

“Does liberal mean it’s okay for someone to pay a birth mother?”

“Is this a roundabout way to ask about your own adoption? Because I assure you, Charlie and Elizabeth did everything in their power to provide you and Kate with a good home. If you start questioning their—”

“Who says I’m questioning anything they did?” But his defensiveness had me wondering. Now was not the time to press him, however. I’d already flustered him enough. So I said, “Actually, Willis, I’m asking all these questions because I’m thinking of adopting. I figure I’ve had plenty of experience raising Steven.”

“I take it you’re joking, but whatever you’re up to, I advise you not to upset the wrong people. Adoption means money to some, and when you mess with their money, they often react unpleasantly. I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”

He left and Kate closed the door. “What have you been up to, Abby? Because if I know you, you didn’t get that sunburn on a Galveston beach.”

“It’s a long story, and I’m dying to share the details.”

We went arm in arm back to the kitchen, fixed iced tea, and moved out by the pool so we could enjoy the tiny breeze that blessed us today. I recounted my interview with Hamilton and my first attempt at shadowing someone.

“That kid who tried to steal your car could have had a gun, Abby! What were you thinking?”

“Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”

“And I suppose you’re not done with Helen Hamilton?”

“She’s connected to Feldman, and Feldman is connected to Cloris and Ben.”

“Sounds like you made her plenty suspicious with all your questions.”

“I figure she’ll get less suspicious when I return with a husband and some cash.” I smiled.

Kate didn’t.

“He won’t go for this,” said Kate as we pulled into Terry’s driveway a few hours later. His small brick home was on a tree-lined street in one of my favorite sections of the city, near Rice University.

Kate hopped out of the SUV and went around to open the back gate on her 4Runner. She let Webster out and he bounded toward the front door, stopping briefly to lift his leg and spray the huge oak in the front yard. He likes Terry’s house. Not as much square footage to wear him out.

“I know Terry will be reluctant to help me, and that’s why you have to convince him,” I said.

“I’m willing, but I’m not guaranteeing anything,” she said.

We entered the house after a cursory knock, Webster leading the way through the narrow hall to the living room. Terry had been slowly modernizing the old house, but he had yet to work on the living room. Brocade drapes and floral wallpaper clashed with his black leather sofa, contemporary end tables, and sleek entertainment center.

Terry, dressed in his usual khakis and polo shirt, emerged from the kitchen, and Webster greeted him by barking and doing a few whirligigs.

“Hi, fella,” he said, rubbing the dog’s head. Terry grinned at me. “And hello, Abby. Didn’t know you were coming for dinner, too.”

“Never miss a chance to visit with my favorite soon-to-be brother-in-law,” I said.

His eyes turned in amused inquiry to Kate. “What does she want, Kate? More police info, I suppose?”

“Me?” I said. “Ulterior motives? Never.”

He laughed. “I’ll set another plate for supper.”

He had fixed fruit salad, grilled chicken, and poppy-seed muffins, and we ate in the dining room, whose walls bore the scars of recently stripped wallpaper.

While we ate, I told him about Feldman, Hamilton, and the plan I’d devised to learn more about Parental Advocates. Once we’d finished the meal, Terry sat back in his chair, considering what I’d said.

I pushed pineapple tidbits around my plate, feeling his resistance, even though he hadn’t come right out and said he wouldn’t help me. Kate wasn’t doing any generous lobbying in my favor, which bothered me. But she loved the guy and certainly knew how to handle this situation better than I did.

Indeed, the affection and respect between Kate and Terry was obvious. Love and respect. If I’d only weighed their importance before I married Steven. Passion and Bud Light weren’t exactly the best foundation for a lasting relationship.

Kate picked up the pitcher and we passed the iced tea around, refilling our glasses.

“Why didn’t you ask me for help before you went wandering around Galveston?” Terry finally said.

I added a lemon slice to my drink, saying, “Are you in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, Terry? Remember that day in your office when you said you couldn’t help me?”

He said, “I was a little ticked at you, remember?” “I know. I’m sorry.” I attended to the frayed edge of my napkin.

He went on, saying, “And you’ve gone a little overboard again. I mean, is it a good idea to follow a woman who may have been conducting an entirely legal business transaction?”

“She didn’t know she’d been followed,” I said.

“There’s no give-up in you, is there?” He sighed. “I suppose I could check a couple of sources at HPD and see if they know anything about this Feldman guy.”

“Maybe he’s been dead for years,” said Kate. “Or he moved away.”

“Hamilton said he was retired. And if he’s still in the area, maybe I can find him.”

“Okay,” Terry said. “So you find him. But if the man’s guilty of anything, he certainly won’t tell you.” Terry’s tone, edging closer to condescension, reminded me of an earlier conversation with Willis Hatch. Why did all the men in my life think they had to protect me?

Figuring I needed a time-out before I shot myself in the foot with Terry, I said, “Talk to him, would you, Kate? I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Use the one in my bedroom,” said Terry. “That hall bath is torn up.”

And so was Terry’s bedroom, though not from re-modeling. He was plain messy, something Kate might have a problem adjusting to. The comforter was wadded at the end of the bed, and dirty clothes littered the floor.