Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“You always were a few bricks shy of a load,” said Steven.

I said, “What makes you think—”

“Hold on, Abby.” Terry put a hand on my arm. “I already told you I’ve put out feelers at the precinct and courthouse. I may hear something any day about Feldman.”

Steven said, “Let her throw her money away, Terry. Interfering with Abby when she wants something is like standing in front of a runaway locomotive.”

Breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed, Terry said, “Sounds as if you guys need to clear up some issues if you expect to work effectively on this house project together. I can help. I know several good marriage and family counselors who could—”

“Our marriage is over,” I snapped, sticking my ring hand in my skirt pocket. “There’s nothing left to counsel.” I thought I’d gotten past the bitterness, but apparently not.

Steven closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked at me. The green sea was calm. “I apologize. I promised I’d help fix this place up, and I’m following through on my commitment. I’ve got things to prove, to you and to myself. Are you okay with that, Abby?”

I felt my shoulders relax. “Yes. Sorry if I went off on you.”

Steven smiled. “Good. Now, there’s a problem with the house we need to discuss.”

By gosh, wasn’t he improving on his apologies?

Kate’s mouth had the white-ringed traces of her reaction to witnessing what she thought she wouldn’t have to listen to again. “Is it safe to leave you two together?” she asked.

“I agree not to call Steven things like sawdust-head. He, in turn, must not tell me I have the mentality of a screwdriver or that if I had twice as much sense I’d still be a half-wit. He actually told me that once, by the way.”

Steven smiled. We all smiled. Storm over.

After Kate and Terry left, I said, “What’s this problem?”

“Come over here and I’ll show you.”

I walked across the room and we both knelt to better view the blueprints.

He tapped a spot on the paper. “This upstairs bathroom was added on above the mudroom, which was also an addition.”

“You mean that little laundry room leading from the back door into the kitchen?”

“Right. Don’t know what fool approved those plans, but old houses rarely had extra bathrooms way back when, thus the need for the addition. Never would have put one there myself, though. Too many heavy fixtures and not enough support. We should tear out the tub and commode and start over.”

“Put in a shower, maybe?”

“That’s an option, but I’d prefer to make this a closet and relocate the bathroom here.” He fingered another spot on the plans.

“Sounds like a good idea.” I could feel the warmth of his body where our shoulders touched and remembered how we used to make love after we’d fought and made up. I was feeling like one of Pavlov’s dogs, my body conditioned for pleasure after pain. When would I stop wanting him?

I stood, knowing I had to put space between us before I did something stupid.

But before I could move, he grabbed my hand. “I meant what I said. I am sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.” I gently withdrew and stepped back. “I have to go. I promised I’d pick up contracts from CompuCan.”

“Ah, yes. Keep the Rose money machine cranking out bucks. Who knows when you might want to blow off ten thousand dollars.”

CompuCan basically runs itself, but since Kate and I had inherited the business, I visited the corporate offices in downtown Houston on a regular basis. After I returned from Galveston, I drove there and spent an hour chatting and meeting new faces, then picked up the documents that I’d come for.

While waiting for the elevator, I decided I shouldn’t leave the building without sticking my head in at Willis’s office two floors down.

Several minutes later, his secretary waved me through the reception area. As usual, my stomach lurched at the breathtaking view of sleek corporate castles displayed through the wall of windows behind Willis’s desk. He’d spared no expense decorating the place. A wet bar gleamed with Waterford crystal decanters and glasses to my right. Barrister bookshelves lined the wall to my left. Three leather wing chairs surrounded a rectangular coffee table near the window, and a humidor was open and ready to serve clients. Willis would never think of smoking. He worried too much about his health, but clients were a different story.

“This is a surprise,” he said, rising. “What brings you up here?”

“I couldn’t ignore CompuCan any longer, although the staff’s doing great without my help.”

“What have you been up to, little lady?” He came around and sat on the desk’s corner.

I chose a tapestry-covered client chair facing him and set my paperwork and purse on the floor. “Still trying to find out about Ben and the adoption angle.”

“You have enough to handle without adding in detective work, don’t you think?”

“You mean, besides which best-seller I’ll read this week?”

“That restoration, for one thing. It’s a major project.”

I nodded. “True. Steven tells me the bathroom is ready to fall into the first floor.”

“See? You need to focus on the house, on making the place into something you’ll be proud of, even make a profit on. Real estate is a very sound investment.”

“I’m not giving up on finding Feldman. I want to keep my promise to Ruth to help hunt down this killer.”

Willis shook his head. “When you start something, you clamp onto it like a pit bull, don’t you?”

“Do you know how down and dirty the adoption business can get, Willis? I never realized we deal in human beings in this country. You deal cards... or stocks and bonds. You don’t deal babies . ”

“Money can buy almost anything,” he said.

“I refuse to believe that. And you know what else? I don’t think I’d even shed a tear if every penny I inherited disappeared tomorrow.”

“That’s because those billions of pennies won’t disappear. Playing what-if is not like being without . Your father and I knew about being without. We were so poor, the hogs wouldn’t eat our slop. Being poor means being powerless, and groveling for what you need leaves a nasty taste in your mouth—one that never goes away.” Willis’s eyes glistened. “Until you die, of course. Like poor Charlie.”

Seems he was still struggling with grief as much as I was. “I know you loved Daddy,” I said.

“Charlie was my first client,” he said. “And God, I was so green. We both were. Lost our shirts more than once trying to make deals, thanks to either my stupidity or his impulsiveness. But we hung in there. Back to Feldman, though. How do you expect to find him after all these years?”

“I was thinking of talking to one of the more traditional adoption agencies. See if anyone there has ever heard of Feldman. Maybe Catholic Charities or—”

“Since when have you acquired an interest in religion, Abigail?” said Aunt Caroline from the open office door.

“Come in, Caroline,” said Willis. “Abby was in the building, so she dropped by.”

She wore a peach suit today, and her white hair held a blue hue. New dye job.

“You mentioned Catholic Charities?” she said. “Getting philanthropic as you age, dear?” She took the seat next to me.

“I’m still less than half as old as you,” I said sweetly.

She chose to ignore my remark—this time. “If not philanthropy, does this mention of a charity have something to do with your insistence on pursuing criminals?” She leaned forward and placed her handbag on Willis’s desk.

“I’m pursuing the truth, and I have a few questions for you. Remember when you and Hans came over the other day?”