Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Oh, hi.” I sat up.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” I said.

“We found no identifiable prints last night. Lots of smudges on those dusty boxes, but my fingerprint expert thinks the perp wore gloves.”

Diva crawled into my lap and climbed halfway up my chest, rubbing her head on the hand holding the receiver. “Why would anyone be interested in a bunch of old family mementos?”

“Maybe they were looking for something else. Did you give any thought to the question I posed last night about how this person found the attic?”

“As far as I know, that attic could have been messed up for months. I haven’t been up there since right after Daddy died.”

“I checked the reports, thinking maybe my crew made that mess after Ben’s murder, but the person assigned to search upstairs said everything was in order that day.”

“So,” I said. “This must have happened in the last week.”

“Right. As for what’s-his-name, the ex,” Kline said. “He says he came for those blueprints you handed over to him last night, but I’ve learned about his DUIs and drunk-and-disorderlies. Not exactly your model citizen. Are you sure that’s all he came for?”

“I happened to be in the kitchen when he arrived, so he had no chance to go upstairs without me seeing him. As you saw firsthand, he’s still protective, despite the divorce, so don’t judge him too harshly.”

“I leave judging to the judges. Just filling you in on the work we’ve done since I left this morning.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?” I asked. That morning after Ben was killed, this guy could have hired on as an extra in Night of the Living Dead . But after what couldn’t have been more than an hour or two of sleep, he sounded downright energetic.

“Nada,” he answered.

“You sound awfully alert, while I’m feeling like I’ve been run over by a mobile home pulling a horse trailer.”

He laughed. “I’ve consumed more bad coffee than one human can safely tolerate, but other than that, I’m revived. I’ll let you know if any leads turn up.”

I hung up, liking the idea that he intended to stay in touch. Liking it plenty. I mean, the guy was a hunk, and he was even laughing at my jokes now.

Terry arrived for a late dinner that evening, and we ate our grilled tuna out on the patio by the pool. The amber antimosquito torches surrounded us, flickering against a starry sky. Kate had already called and told him about last night, making him once again hesitant to help me with my plan to investigate Parental Advocates. But I was certain that finding Feldman might lead us not only to Ben’s killer but maybe Cloris’s, too, and after a little pleading on my part, he finally succumbed. His renewed cooperation then resurrected the guilt I felt over the business cards now in my purse. But they were still staying in my purse.

“Hon, you look exhausted,” said Terry, reaching over and resting a hand on Kate’s cheek. He brought her to him and kissed her briefly.

“Abby needs to tell her gentlemen friends to call at more reasonable times,” said Kate. “I missed school, thanks to everything they stirred up.”

“Steven and Kline? Gentlemen friends?” he said.

“I didn’t invite them,” I said. “And I hope you’re using the adjective ‘gentlemen’ loosely. Did you know Kline put a tail on me, Terry?”

“Nope. Those Homicide dicks tell no secrets. Besides, they know Kate and I are a couple, so they wouldn’t say anything. By the way, what was your cat doing in the attic in the first place?”

“Someone must have left open the attic door,” I said. If I could remember the last time I saw Diva, maybe I could pinpoint when the room was trashed.

“I can narrow the field,” said Kate. “Aunt Caroline was all over the house Saturday—she and her strong-man, Hans.”

“You mean the guy she found in the yellow pages—listed under ‘recreational facilities’?” I said.

Kate smiled. “That’s the one.”

“So you think Aunt Caroline’s our culprit?” I said.

“Don’t tell her I was the one who fingered her,” Kate said. “She still likes me.”

I smirked. “Maybe I can change that. I think you should share the joy of genuine animosity.”

Kate and Terry laughed and then we cleared the table. After we finished the dishes, they went to catch a movie and I tackled the chaos in the guest room. I carried packing crates upstairs and Diva soon joined me, the lure of a box too enticing to refuse.

But instead of finishing up quickly, I found that the task stirred memories, and the work took much longer than I expected.

I hadn’t seen many of the photographs in years. I quickly set aside the ones of my mother in her wheelchair. I didn’t want to think of her like that. I only wanted to know her as I had for the last thirty years, as the woman Daddy spoke of so often and had loved so much.

Instead, I confronted my father’s smiling face in the albums, his healthy grip enclosing the small hands of Kate and I as we stared adoringly up at him in front of the Alamo or Disneyland. Those photos brought a fullness to my chest I hadn’t felt since that day he collapsed in front of me.

I turned more pages and witnessed the progression of men through Aunt Caroline’s life, each a blur in my memory. None of them ever stayed around long.

Willis made his regular appearances in the pictures as well—at Christmases or birthdays, usually alone, but occasionally with some strange female. The nannies were familiar, some Kate’s favorites and some mine. But one thing stood out, page after page—Daddy’s enduring grin. His lighthearted smiles diminished as the strain of my collapsing marriage appeared in all our eyes in the newer photographs.

The camera truly doesn’t lie.

Christmas... right before the divorce. We stood side by side, mouths forced into bleak crescents, my gaze not toward the lens but focused on the longneck in Steven’s hand. I skipped past those pages, eager to forget, then piled the albums in boxes, wishing I could pack the sadness away as well.

I missed Daddy... missed him terribly. He always insisted he was the small end of nothing, whittled down to a point, said we were specks of dust in the big picture. But if that were so, why did he occupy such a huge part of my heart?

A tear escaped, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, shifting my attention to bags and boxes of clothes.

Terry had agreed to be my husband on the visit to Parental Advocates, and we held hands when we walked into the foyer-office for our appointment the next day. Kate, who would wait for us at the Victorian, assured us when we dropped her off that we indeed looked like we could be a married couple. This time I was in full costume, my old wedding band burning on my finger. I hated the thing.

We decided I would play the “I’ll do anything for a baby” role, and Terry would act like the skeptical consumer. I had done a little acting in college, but I felt none of the exhilarating tension I had experienced before a stage performance. With my palms sweating and my mouth feeling wiped dry inside, I was plain scared.

Hamilton wore an emerald-green tailored shirt, and her newly cut hair was feathered around her face, a style that softened her angular features. Thin wasn’t always flattering, but she’d made a successful adjustment.

She reached across her desk and offered her hand to Terry. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Deer.” She nodded at me. “Good to see you again, too.”

She folded her hands in front of her and smiled expectantly. “You’ve had a chance to fill out the paperwork, I assume?” she asked.

Terry said, “We’ll get to that, but I’m sure you won’t mind a few questions, Ms. Hamilton. See, I’m not ready to commit to anything in writing.”