Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“Okay. You’ve got a point.”

“And besides, I overheard Feldman on the phone before I left his house, telling someone the police had visited.”

“Okay, so he believed you, but he may have killed a man right here a couple weeks ago—a well-publicized crime, with you and your sister’s pictures in the Chronicle . What’s to say he didn’t snap to who you were after he called us?”

“I suppose he could have, but that still wouldn’t have given him time to mess with those boards. He would have had to follow me,” I said. “But I never considered the publicity. His wife, Helen Hamilton, the woman who runs Parental Advocates, may have realized who Kate and I are because—” I stopped. I couldn’t tell Jeff about Daddy’s lies until I told Kate.

“Go on.”

Damn. Now I had to tell him something . I decided on a watered-down version of the truth. “Kate visited Hamilton, pretending to be a prospective client. And, well... she gave Hamilton a check. We got it back, but Hamilton made a copy.”

“This check had her real name on it?” he said.

I nodded.

“I can’t believe this.” He uttered a sarcastic half laugh and shook his head. “If Feldman and his wife are involved in Ben’s death, they now know your sister was scrounging for information—probably know you were, too.”

“Yes, but—”

He withdrew his hand from mine. “This check scam was your idea, right?”

“Please let me—”

“That first time I saw you, I told myself you were trouble. Pegged you as stubborn and driven from the beginning, despite your damn seductive eyes. But did I keep my distance? No, I had to go—Oh, forget it.” He turned away, chewing ninety to nothing on his gum.

Seductive eyes? Wow. “Go on. I think I was going to like the next part.”

He looked at me, unsmiling. “We’ll deal with personal matters later. Stop messing in police business. You and Kate could be in danger.”

I leaned against my pillow. I’d already figured that much out, so why did he have to remind me?

“No more meddling,” he continued. “I’m still working this case and you’ll have to be patient, understand?”

“I understand. Now... how about the personal stuff?” I nudged the fingers that rested tantalizingly close to my thigh.

He took a deep breath. “Later.” He stood, emptying his wad of gum into a wrapper. “Patience, Abby. Lie here tonight in the dark and concentrate on becoming more patient.”

But after he left I asked myself why would I think about patience when the memory of his fine blue eyes was the only thing capable of distracting me from the disturbing truths about the past?

The next morning I learned the term rude awakening held genuine meaning. I felt like a parakeet that got caught in a badminton game. Every atom hurt. After easing out of bed, I stood under the shower until my prunish fingers warned me to cease and desist. It seemed to take five full minutes to get down the stairs, and when I finally shuffled into the kitchen, Kate was preparing to leave for school.

She smiled. “Need a wheelchair?”

“Yeah, go ahead and smile. You can use your facial muscles without feeling like you’ve been pulled through a knothole backward.” I slowly approached the coffeepot.

“It’s a good day to stay home in bed anyway, because tropical storm Carl has stalled above us and we’ll see nothing but rain.” She opened the refrigerator and said, “Before you have coffee, drink this shake to soothe those achy muscles.” She poured something thick from the blender into a glass and brought the concoction over to me.

It was green. My sister expected me to drink a green milkshake at ten o’clock in the morning. “Can I tackle this after my coffee?”

“I suppose. But don’t go dumping it down the sink,” she warned. “And I expect you to relax while I’m gone.”

Webster barked at the door as she left, then turned to me, tail wagging, rear end wiggling.

“How’d you like a nice, big milkshake, fella?” I asked, holding the glass near his nose.

He sniffed briefly, then ambled to the back door, where he lay down and pretended to be asleep. If our canine garbage disposal wasn’t tempted, I wasn’t risking it either.

I spent the next two hours on-line researching Jane and Morris Mitchell, the people who were supposed to be my biological parents. The couple had indeed died in a plane crash, but the article from the El Paso newspaper archives reported that they were survived by a ten-year-old son. No twin infant girls. I then placed a call to Aunt Caroline, and told her I needed to see her immediately, saying I’d had an accident—which was true.

She arrived within thirty minutes and knocked at the back door. I’d made it halfway there when she let herself into the kitchen and propped her umbrella against the wall.

“What happened, Abigail?” she asked, squinting at my forehead. “Did you and Steven finally come to blows after all your years of off-again, on-again romance?”

“This has nothing to do with Steven and everything to do with you.” I stared her straight in the eye.

She shifted her gaze, flicking at her sleeve before removing her raincoat and draping it over the back of the chair.

“I’ve uncovered some disturbing information,” I said. “I learned yesterday that Kate and I were deceived for a very long time.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

But I could tell she knew. “I know about the adoption, so you can quit lying.”

Her gaze slid away again.

I went on. “Kate and I were stolen from our mother. She was murdered because she tried to find us, and I want answers.”

“You can’t possibly know she was killed because of anything Charlie may have done.”

“I want the truth!”

She gripped the back of the kitchen chair, then came around and lowered herself onto it. She suddenly looked old, the scars from her face-lifts, just visible where her jaw met her ears, standing out white despite her foundation makeup.

“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me exactly how it happened. How he fooled us all those years. You can start with the pictures. The ones Daddy showed us of the people who were supposedly our parents.”

Aunt Caroline stared at the table. “He got real pictures of the people that died in that plane crash. Went to El Paso for them. He knew you’d have... questions.”

“Why did you go along with this hoax?” I said, proud of maintaining my even, rational tone despite the rage whirling like a small tornado inside me.

“I didn’t have any choice. As I told you the other day, I had been less than discreet in my life.”

“I see. Daddy had more on you than those letters in the attic, huh? Was it an entire dossier, Aunt Caroline?” I was repulsed at the thought of my father blackmailing his own sister.

“I warned him this would happen. I told him he should tell you the truth. But he insisted you’d never find out.”

“And of course you never considered telling us yourself, because you’ve never had a clue about doing the right thing.”

“You are being unreasonably vicious. You and Kate never wanted for anything,” she said, her voice rising. “He gave you everything! He worshiped you. Oh, he threw money at me, that’s true, but none of the love he showered on you and Kate after Elizabeth died. Every time I suggested he come clean, he’d say ‘Keep your mouth shut, Caroline, and you’ll be well cared for.’ ”

“He paid you to keep his secrets. You must be so proud.”

She didn’t reply, just looked at her hands, twisting one ring.

“Did he kill her?” I said quietly.

She jerked her head up. “Are you crazy? He’d never do anything like that. I know this is a shock, but—”