Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Wait a minute, back up. CD? Safe-deposit box? Did I miss something?”

“That key. Remember?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. So you didn’t find any exciting secrets?”

“No. Only a spreadsheet and word-processing program Daddy wrote.”

“The one I used when I got myself so messed up with the IRS?”

“That’s the one. Maybe someday I’ll figure out why that CD deserved royal treatment. But forget about that. I have proof Hamilton is connected to Feldman, and might even have his phone number.”

“What do you mean, you might have his phone number? Either you have a phone number or you don’t.”

“I got the numbers off Hamilton’s speed dial. Trouble is, I don’t know who they belong to, and I still don’t know where Feldman lives. But I’m close.” I stuffed a bread stick into my mouth.

“Slow down before you choke yourself. So how did you manage all this in one day?”

“Kate helped me. She visited Hamilton’s office and jotted down the numbers when Hamilton left for a moment.” Okay, so it was variation on the truth.

I washed the last crust away with a gulp of tea as the salads arrived. I started in, avoiding his eyes. He could usually tell when I was lying. But if Kate was sworn to secrecy, so was I. Besides, I couldn’t tell him about the security guard and leave out the naked part. The last thing Steven wanted to hear after that wingding on the lawn with Jeff was about me prancing around in my underwear again. If I wanted him to accept that a romantic relationship between us was no longer possible, I’d better not agitate him.

An hour later we were on our way back to Houston, rain sprinkling intermittently. I yawned as the rhythm of the windshield wipers threatened to put me to sleep. Exhaustion had been lurking beneath my hunger, and now that I’d eaten, I could hardly keep my eyes open.

Steven said, “If this storm turns out as bad as they’re predicting, we’ll be wading through the halls of that Victorian like ducks. I’ll come back tomorrow and secure those windows, but it may not help much.”

“I’m coming back, too. Should I meet you?” I said.

“I’ve got another job, but I could catch you over there, say, late afternoon. What’s going on? You still hunting Feldman?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re convinced you can crack the case, huh? You always were the most stubborn human I ever laid eyes on. And the best-looking, too.” He reached over and placed his hand over mine.

“I agree about the good-looking part, but stubborn belongs to you, hands down.”

He laughed. “I won’t argue. Don’t pass out from surprise, but if it’ll win you back, I’ll agree to anything.”

I gently pulled my hand from under his. “Steven, listen... I don’t love you anymore. At least not like that.”

“You told me I owned stubborn, right? You’ll see I’ve changed and you’ll find that love again. It’s only turned up missing for a while.” He stared at the misty road ahead, and the rest of the drive was very quiet.

The next day a steady, slow rain fell, foreshadowing tropical storm Carl’s assault on the Gulf Coast. I delivered to CompuCan the contracts I’d signed, this time passing on a visit to Willis’s office. But I ran into him on the elevator. He said he was meeting Aunt Caroline for lunch and asked me to join them.

Why would I want to willingly subject myself to double torture? But the words no, thanks hadn’t made it past my tonsils before the doors slid open and there stood Aunt Caroline.

“Abby! Just the person I wanted to see.” Her smile was as wide as that of a small dog with a large bone.

“How scary,” I said. “You hardly ever want to see me. Kate maybe. But not me.”

“I need to speak with you about the business, so let’s talk over lunch.”

Business. Couldn’t very well wiggle out of that one, so I agreed. We ate at Carrabba’s Italian Grill, and between bites of linguini I soon found out what this “business” involved. Monkey business. She wanted me to hire that muscle-brained Hans person.

We haggled through the meal, and Willis kept silent for the most part, concentrating on his pollo Marsala . I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened had I not shown up at CompuCan today. Would the manager have found some job for Hans?

When reasoning with Aunt Caroline didn’t work, I suggested Hans could work for Willis as a courier, but this idea didn’t pass muster with either of them. So finally I played my trump card: I mentioned all the valuable items Aunt Caroline had taken from our house.

“I’ve put off selling for now, Aunt Caroline, so if you persist in your demand that I hire Hans, I insist you return everything. Sort of a trade, you see, because I’m certain I’d lose money trying to create a job for him. About the only thing he’d be good at is squeezing naphtha out of mothballs.”

This got her wheels spinning. Hans might not be around forever, but the art and antiques would only escalate in value. She knew the fishing expedition was over. Time to cut bait.

Then Willis said, “How’s my little detective doing? Have you moved on to more sensible endeavors?”

“Little detective? Could you be more condescending, Willis? But I’ve made progress, thank you very much. In fact, after I leave here, I’m following up on a lead. I’ve finally confirmed that Feldman and Helen Hamilton are linked. She happens to work in a house he owns.”

“So what does that prove?” asked Aunt Caroline, now staring at her pouting lips in the compact she’d removed from her purse.

“That proves the man is still doing what he did thirty years ago—making money off human tragedies.”

Willis said, “Aren’t you being overly dramatic? Things aren’t as one-sided as you may think. These days pregnant women can shop around for agencies that provide the best financial support if they want to give up their baby. This Parental Advocates operation sounds perfectly legal to me.”

“I don’t care if they have an endorsement from Dr. Spock’s ghost. Something’s not right there.”

“So what is this lead, Abigail?” Aunt Caroline asked.

“Feldman or Hamilton or both of them are connected to some sort of home for expectant mothers, and I’m betting the place isn’t exactly the Westin Galleria Hotel. I’m going to pay them a visit. And by the way, Willis, this Hamilton woman may start asking questions about Kate or me. If by chance she reaches you, tell her nothing.”

“Why would she be calling me?” he asked.

This perked Aunt Caroline up. “Yes, why, Abby? What have you done?”

“She managed to get Kate’s real name, and I’m afraid she may be resourceful enough to find out everything about us, including our lawyer’s name,” I said.

“And you think this woman might be a criminal? How did you let this happen?” said Aunt Caroline.

I should have never agreed to do lunch with them. Having Hans take laptop orders for CompuCan would have been a less painful alternative. I took a deep breath and managed to say in a fairly controlled voice, “It’s been pleasant. And now I have to go.”

The gray-haired woman who answered the door at the Ellen Fulshear Home for Young Women smiled back at me and nodded at the bouquet of flowers in my hand.

“For Susan, right?” she asked. She was large, with soft, fleshy arms folded on a wide stomach.

“Yes,” I answered, then squeezed my eyes shut and rubbed the space between them, leaning on the door frame for support.

“Are you all right?” She opened the screen door, concern replacing her laugh lines.

“It’s this weather. When the barometer dips, I suffer with horrible sinus headaches.”