Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Feldman?” questioned Aunt Caroline. “You’ve lost me, Abby.”

If only that were true, I thought. “Feldman may have arranged an adoption for Cloris Grayson—her real name was Connie Kramer—about thirty years ago. I think I told you about her.”

“Oh, right. The day you showed me the key,” Aunt Caroline said.

For some reason her demeanor had changed. Suddenly she seemed... almost subdued. Tired of holding her shoulders back all night so the entire dining room could appreciate her boobs, maybe?

“Anyway,” I went on, “I met Judge Hayes and learned that the rumors Terry heard from some old bailiff might be true. Hayes could have been taking money from Feldman, and was perhaps involved in illegal adoptions. I’m wondering if both Cloris and Ben died because they tracked Feldman down and threatened to expose him as a baby stealer.”

“But you said this woman has Alzheimer’s, right?” said Terry.

I nodded.

“How reliable can she be, then?” he said.

“I only know I believe her,” I replied.

Willis piped up with, “She’s basically senile?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I have a question,” Aunt Caroline said. “Why did this woman change her name?”

“You mean Cloris? I’ve thought about that myself, and I’m not sure,” I said. “But I filled out an application to acquire my own adoption records, and one question on the form asks if the birth mother used an alias. I’m guessing it’s not an uncommon practice. She did run away from her family, after all.”

You could have heard an ant sneeze; that was how quiet it got.

Willis finally found his voice. “W-why did you request your adoption records, for heaven’s sake? I have everything you need in my office. All you had to do was ask.”

“Just testing the system,” I said. “Wondering how the adoption registry worked and what you got back for your twenty bucks.”

“Twenty dollars?” said Aunt Caroline, who looked like she’d been zapped by a stun gun. “Quite a bargain. You know I’m awfully tired. Willis, could you please take me home?”

“Certainly,” he said, popping out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

They were out the door faster than wind can snuff a match.

Kate’s mouth hadn’t closed. She still looked shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d requested those records?”

I leaned back in my chair, surprised by everyone’s reaction. “I didn’t think it was all that important.”

“You know how sensitive Daddy was about the adoption,” Kate said. “I remember once asking him about our biological parents, if he thought they died instantly in that crash, and even though he answered me, his next question was whether I thought he was a good enough father. He seemed so... hurt that I even asked about them.”

“He’s past being hurt, don’t you think?” I snapped back.

“Don’t you see that Aunt Caroline and Willis were reacting to what they consider yet another betrayal of Daddy?” she said.

I stood, angry now. Maybe irrationally angry, yes. But Kate seemed to have jumped the imaginary fence to their side, and I was feeling betrayed myself. I said, “Daddy’s dead, and I refuse to feel guilty about wanting control of my life.”

I marched away, Kate hot on my heels.

“Wait,” she cried.

I stopped, fingering my beaded bag and not making eye contact.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. Now let’s go home.”

“I have a ride. Don’t wait up for me,” I answered. I whirled and left her standing there, knowing I’d feel guilty later, but for now, not caring.

I had time for a few deep breaths before meeting up with Jeff Kline in the parking lot. We stopped for cappuccino at a tiny coffee bar on Montrose Boulevard. His beeper sounded as soon as we sat down with our cups, so he excused himself to make the call in a more private corner.

I swirled a stick covered with rock candy into the foam, breathing in the wonderful aroma, watching the cinnamon blend into the coffee. I needed this reprieve from family interference.

“Do you need to leave?” I asked when he returned.

“No. My partner had a few questions about a case we’re working. I’m supposed to be off tonight, not even on call, but for Homicide cops, real days off exist only in theory. No one’s figured out how to actually make them happen.” He held the rock candy up for examination and instead added three bags of sugar to his cup.

“You’re off duty? You aren’t officially assigned to follow me tonight?”

“Did I say I was following you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Let’s drop it,” he said. “I can’t discuss the case.” He took several swallows of coffee and then produced a new pack of gum from his jacket pocket and offered me a stick.

I refused by shaking my head. “You know, I’ve learned a few things since we last spoke.”

“And what have you learned?” he asked, smirking.

I explained about the adoption angle, Feldman, and Judge Hayes, and finished by saying, “I really thought we could help each other out, especially since you no longer consider me a suspect, but I’m wondering now if you haven’t changed your mind.”

“You’re not a suspect. You’re also not my partner. End of discussion.” He said this in a far friendlier tone than he would have on the first day we met, but I must have pouted anyway, because he leaned toward me and said, “I asked you out on an impulse, and I hate making mistakes probably as much as you do. Don’t turn this into one, okay?”

“You keep saying you can’t tell me anything, but do you have any idea how frustrated I am?” Okay, I was whining, and thus had moved a rung below pouting. “Ben didn’t deserve to die, and he wasn’t a murderer, either. I’m not sure I can explain this, but for the first time in years, I’m certain of something... and if I let go of this investigation, it’s like... like I’m giving up on Ben.”

“Very noble, but I’ll let you in on something. If a murder’s not solved in the first eight hours, twenty-four hours max, you’d have better luck faxing it to America’s Most Wanted and letting the media have at it. I can think of a few exceptions, but that’s the unpleasant truth.”

“So this is already a cold case?”

“No. Cloris’s murder is a cold case.” A tense silence followed; then Jeff said, “You know, I really do appreciate your concern. In fact, I’m amazed a privileged little heiress like yourself cares enough about a middle-class guy like Ben Grayson to go hunting up people from the past and pursuing the clues. Pretty impressive.”

“Privileged little heiress? Is that how you think of me?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well... I don’t think of myself like that. Sounds more like a description of Aunt Caroline.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’re right.”

“You know Aunt Caroline?”

He smiled. “I know your whole life story. Parents died. Adopted with your twin by Charlie and Elizabeth Rose at the age of six weeks. Mom died when you were three. Auntie helped Daddy raise you. Graduated from the University of Houston. Married Bradley four years ago. Divorced last year.”

I sat back. Hearing him recite these things made me feel so... strange. More surprised than angry, really. “What else do you know about me?”

“That would take us into forbidden territory. So let me return to my lesson on murder in the big city. As I’ve told you already, I have to be selective about where I concentrate my energy. Usually you find relatives and neighbors out there destroying each other, and most of them leave plenty of evidence. But the Grayson murders? Hell, I spent a whole day finding out his real name. I can’t waste twenty-four hours on every murder. I’d never solve anything. We bank on percentages and statistics in Homicide... and the probability a perp will screw up or brag to half the city about the crime.”