Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

When we arrived home, I hurriedly stuck the CD in the computer while Kate ran upstairs to shower. But did I find any evidence connecting Ben and Daddy? Not a chance. The CD contained a spreadsheet and word processing program, and an ancient one, at that. All my slaving over mounds of canceled checks for this!

I rushed through the program once more, noting that the word processor seemed to lack all the features of the one he’d eventually marketed. Maybe he’d copied the original onto this CD as some sort of keepsake. But why? He’d never seemed the least sentimental about the software he created. Maybe this was a rough draft of sorts, or maybe he’d removed aspects of the program for updating. As far as I knew, he could have been planning to get back into software after all these years.

One thing balanced my discouragement, though: Aunt Caroline would be more disappointed than I was. We had found no money in that box. Not one penny.

The Pines Country Club, hidden in the lush forests north of Houston, was perched on a manicured rise near a man-made lake. For business purposes, Daddy considered membership a necessity, so we’d appeared regularly, dressed up like poodles in a dog show. Tonight I made sure not to wear the “plump” dress, opting instead for a one-shoulder forest-green number. I even dug out the panty hose, but passed on the high heels. Nothing would make me submit to that self-punishing throwback to foot binding.

Walking up the path to the club with Terry and Kate leading the way, I smiled, breathing in the smog-free air. The night was almost cool. I glanced up at the tall trees and first few stars, thinking maybe I’d move up this way once I was ready to sell the house in River Oaks. But before I could consider this possibility further, a chance look to my right had me doing a double take.

I saw the silhouette of a man I recognized, leaning against a tree on a small rise.

“Uh, Kate?” I said.

She and Terry stopped and turned.

“Tell Aunt Caroline I’ll be in shortly. I’d like to enjoy this glorious night for a few moments by myself.”

Kate looked at me skeptically. “Everything okay?”

“Sure. Be right in. Promise.”

They went on, and I strode over to confront the man.

As I got closer, I saw his mouth working the ever-present gum. “Hi,” he said.

“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” I stopped in front of Sergeant Kline, arms folded across my chest.

“What did you expect?”

“I want you to tell me why you’re still following me.”

“I have a job to do. Let’s leave it at that. But since you spotted me, answer me one question. Why are you here?”

“I do have a life,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the real answer. “Okay,” I said. “If you must know, this is a business dinner.”

“Ah. For CompuCan. I get it.”

Smarting from the knowledge that he obviously still suspected me of something, I said, “Is there anything about my life you don’t know?”

“I don’t know how you like your coffee.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” I said, exasperated.

“I thought maybe you and I could get coffee. The expensive kind, for the rich kid.”

“That’s a pretty condescending way of asking me out. You are asking me out, right?”

“You game?” he said.

I didn’t reply, weighing his possible intentions. Did he think I had withheld something about Ben? Or could he possibly want to share my company?

He grinned. “Please?”

I had to smile, too. “Okay, but I have to make this dinner. I’m obligated.”

“No problem. I can meet you right here in, say... two hours?” he said.

I agreed and left, feeling his gaze on my back all the way to the front door—an uncomfortable, but at the same time interesting, feeling.

When I entered the club, the maître d’ led me to Aunt Caroline’s table, the scent of designer perfume overwhelming whatever pleasant aromas might have wafted from the kitchen. Most of the time the food served here was excellent, but since most guests remained preoccupied with who was eating with whom, the cuisine went mostly unappreciated. The dimly lit dining room, its tables dressed in starched white cloths and crystal, hummed with quiet conversations.

Aunt Caroline was holding court at the best spot in the room. Willis, the board of directors of CompuCan, and their spouses, along with Kate and Terry sat near the picture windows overlooking the lake. Aunt Caroline’s peek-a-bosom dress of black crepe—probably purchased at Nieman Marcus, or Needless Markups, as I preferred to call that particular store—seemed wildly inappropriate for a woman on the shady side of sixty.

My late arrival didn’t win any points, and she made sure I knew it. Terry bailed me out with a story about how the SWAT team had recruited him this afternoon to help with a paranoid woman threatening to drop her child—a boy supposedly possessed by the devil—off the walkway spanning the freeway between the amusement park and the parking lot. Luckily, he’d talked her out of hurting the poor kid.

Meanwhile, his heroic tale seemed to activate Aunt Caroline. Always willing to drop her line and troll for whatever she could hook, she now took what I considered a disturbing interest in Terry. Kate noticed, too. This flirtation continued on through appetizers and salad, and then finally managed to ruin my stuffed flounder. I even refused dessert.

Once the last of the board people departed, I’d had about all I could stand. Aunt Caroline needed to be distracted, so I said, “You’ll be interested to know I tracked down the safe-deposit box.”

Predictably, her gaze strayed from Terry to me. “And what did you find?”

“A software program Daddy created back when such pursuits interested him.” I nodded as the waiter offered more coffee.

“That’s all?” said Willis. Unlike Aunt Caroline, he didn’t seem the least bit disappointed.

“Yes,” I answered. “A copyrighted program, Willis. We’re not looking at stolen software or any other cryptic explanation for his hiding this CD, are we? I mean, I’m certain we even have a duplicate of that on disk at the house.”

“I have no clue why he would do such a thing,” said Willis.

“Did this particular program generate exceptional revenues?” asked Aunt Caroline, leaning forward and revealing even more cleavage.

“All Daddy’s software made a profit,” I said. “And you already got your slice of that pie.” I wondered then if she’d had help from her plastic surgeon with those extremely perky breasts.

But before I could ask, Kate must have picked up on the edge in my voice, because she tried her own brand of distraction. “Abby was telling us in the car about the progress she’s made on Ben’s murder. Tell them about the judge you met today.”

“Uh, Kate. Why would they care?” I said.

“I’d love to hear, Abby,” said Aunt Caroline. “Is this someone I might know? Because several of my friends have husbands who are judges, and—”

“I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss the murder case,” I said sharply. “Mainly because some of you”—I raised my eyebrows at Willis—“think I’m crazy to pursue Ben’s killer.”

“I have never, for one minute, considered you crazy,” said Willis. “I may have cautioned you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested. Please tell us what you’ve found out.”

He did seem genuinely interested, so I said, “The judge’s name is Eugenia Hayes, and she was elected to family court in Galveston several decades ago. Poor thing is living on borrowed time, with a couple late payments added on. Her son says she has Alzheimer’s and her story was fragmented, but she knew Feldman and didn’t much care for him.”