Leann Sweeney - Pick Your Poison

“But you started out looking for me?”

“When I called your house, Kate told me about the CD, and I knew that meant trouble, so—”

“What do you mean, you knew that meant trouble?”

“Despite what you think, I have been working this case, Abby. I’d already researched the financial status of all the suspects and—”

“All the suspects? Who are you talking about, besides Feldman?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’ll never finish. I distinctly remember telling you I’d handle this. You didn’t trust me.” He glanced my way, his face reflecting the green glow of the dashlights.

“I’m sorry. You did say that. I feel so stupid... so used.”

“You’re not stupid. Not by a long shot.”

“Minor consolation. Go on. You followed Steven. Then what?”

“Talk about feeling stupid. He had Feldman’s body in the truck bed the whole time I was tailing him. Course, I had enough to do to keep his taillights in sight in that storm, much less recognize that load in the rear was a corpse.”

“Why didn’t you follow him straight to P Street?” This time I couldn’t stop the yawn. I clutched the blanket closer.

“Steven had no problem with high water, since he was in a truck. But I needed a rudder and a sail, the way the streets were filling. I detoured to the police station, figuring since I knew where Steven was probably headed, I could catch up with him later. No one—including him—was leaving the island anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And some of us really wanted to.”

“Be thankful for that sister of yours, is all I can say.”

“Thank goodness for Kate,” I said, smiling. Then I turned my head and leaned against the headrest. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

Later, with Jeff helping me up the stairs, I told Kate, who was following behind, that I felt as cold as a brass commode in the shade of glacier.

I remember stripping off my wet clothes and falling on the bed. Then sleep took over.

The next morning, Diva was rubbing against my ankles as I sat at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee in both hands. Sun splashed through the windows and promised I wouldn’t have to look at another raindrop for a while.

I had awakened sometime in the night to find Kate and the cat curled together at the foot of my bed, with Webster stretched out on the floor next to us all.

I had considered getting up and showering, but the next time I opened my eyes it was morning, and all my visitors had deserted me.

Kate and Terry were currently arguing over the pancake recipe, and I was waiting for those fat pain pills to work their magic. Their main dispute was apparently whether whole-wheat flour would produce light enough results.

“You’ll never win, Terry,” I said. “If you marry Kate, reconcile yourself to brown rice at the wedding ceremony, too.”

There was a loud knock at the back door, and Webster growled in response.

“Aren’t you brave when the person has so clearly announced their presence?” I attempted to stand, but discovered my muscles had another idea. If I thought I was hurting yesterday before slamming a softballsize bruise onto my hip and wading through that monsoon, I had no idea what pain was about.

Kate took pity on me and answered the door.

It was Jeff.

Kate greeted him with a hug, saying, “We owe you so much.”

“I just mopped up. Abby did most of the dirty work.” He pulled out the chair next to mine. “You almost look human this morning.”

“Almost?” I said.

“Hey, that’s a compliment,” he said.

Kate and Terry, meanwhile, had resumed their squabble.

“Could we pass on the difficult decisions?” I asked. “Unless you’d like semi-whole-wheat griddle cakes, Jeff?”

“Those two doughnuts I ate an hour ago will carry me until dinner,” he said.

Kate said, “Do you realize the calorie count of one doughnut equals—”

“Six pieces of toast with jelly,” I finished.

“Ask me if I care,” he said.

“A man after my own heart,” I replied.

“I will have coffee, though,” said Jeff.

Terry poured two cups and joined us at the table, followed by Kate, who carried the compromise plate of melon slices.

She said, “Abby’s been mum, saying she wanted to wait until you arrived, Jeff. So don’t keep us in the dark any longer. We want details.”

I said, “As I recall from our conversation last night, Jeff, you were saying how you followed Steven to Galveston. And that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Right,” said Jeff, “I’d been investigating the finances of anyone potentially involved in Ben’s death. Trouble was, I made an incorrect assumption that set me back a few days.”

“You mean your assumption that Ben had killed Cloris?” said Terry.

“No. I agreed with Abby that Ben probably didn’t kill his wife. I’d turned my focus to Willis and Caroline, figuring they had the opportunity to tamper with the roses. And then there was Steven, who hung around here even in the middle of the night.”

“So you suspected Steven from the first?” asked Kate.

“Along with the aunt and the lawyer. You see, banks won’t talk about their customers unless they’re persuaded by a federal judge that it’s in their best interest to cooperate, so I wasted a fair amount of time obtaining Caroline’s bank records first. Your father paid her regularly. So regularly, for so long, she probably lost out when your father died. Willis’s finances seemed straightforward enough, but Steven? Active accounts. Very active. He made so many deposits and withdrawals I had to take a closer look.” He sipped at his coffee, then took out his Big Red and offered it around, without takers.

Terry said, “So what put you onto Steven, Abby?”

“When Kate said she lent Steven the CD, I went looking for it.” I explained what happened after I left Steven’s office.

“So that’s when you pegged him as the killer?” asked Kate.

“Of course not. Like the fool I’ve been since the moment I laid eyes on that man, I didn’t want to believe the worst about Steven, only the semiworst. So I went to Feldman’s house, still thinking Feldman did both killings. Once I arrived at his place, I found Helen Hamilton frantically gathering her belongings and Feldman missing. Hamilton told me his disappearance was a pretty darn ominous development, since he had this weird complex. She said he never left the house—that he hadn’t been outside in years.”

“It’s called agoraphobia,” said Terry.

“State trooper picked her up, by the way,” said Jeff. “She confessed to pocketing more money than Texas allows for these adoptions.”

“She may not have known everything about Feldman and Steven,” I said, “but she knew enough to run. Something’s been bugging me, Jeff. Why did Steven go to his office instead of coming straight to P Street with the body?”

“You know those miniwarehouses by his office?” he said.

“Sure,” I said.

“He rents a space there. He loaded a couple bags of cement and headed back to P Street. Cement . Now that concerned me, so I followed him.”

“Cement?” said Kate, looking puzzled.

I shuddered. “You know, that handy body-sinking stuff.”

“But if he planned on killing Feldman, why not bring the cement with him when he went to Feldman’s house in the first place?” asked Terry.

“He swore to the Galveston cops that Feldman’s death was accidental,” said Jeff. “Which may be true. We found evidence Feldman hit his head on a coffee table. Anyway, Steven needed to dispose of the body and went back for the cement.”

“He mentioned it was an accident,” I said. “But don’t count on me testifying on his behalf. I have another question, Jeff. What made you take a boat ride down to P Street during a flash flood?”