Leann Sweeney - Shoot from the Lip

Then Kate took the phone from Emma and arranged to have a rental car delivered to the hotel-this over Emma’s protests when Kate told them to bill her. After we’d arrived home, my sister and I were asleep within a half hour. It had been a long day.

Today I would search for any of Xavier Lopez’s surviving relatives, and after devouring my blueberry muffin, I booted up my computer. Since Lopez had died at a young age, around thirty-three, his widow was probably still alive. The obituaries of fallen heroes, I soon learned, are easy to find, especially those related to a news-grabbing event like the marine barracks attack in ’83. It was one in a string of terrorist bombings that year, which offered more than a hint of what we now faced in the twenty-first century.

When I found Lopez’s obit, I sat back in my swivel chair and said, “Uh-oh. More surprises.” The article listed the surviving relatives as not only his widow, Gloria, but his two children, Xavier Junior and Raul. Did Emma know about them, too? She had to if she’d read the same obituary I was reading. Yet she’d failed to mention them. I wondered why.

I also wondered if Sergeant Lopez had been divorced or estranged from his wife at the time of his death. Was that why he shared a house with Emma’s mother? Or had he never even lived with Christine O’Meara? Emma had only her mother’s side of the story to rely on.

Diva slinked into my office and jumped on my keyboard. I lifted her onto my lap before she had a chance to dislodge a key and carry it away and stroked her soft calico coat. I returned to work and learned that Sergeant Lopez had been buried in his hometown, San Antonio. That seemed like the logical place to look for Gloria Lopez.

“Diva? You settled in? ’Cause I’m about to take us on what could be a long ride on the Internet to find a woman named Gloria.”

She closed her eyes and began to purr. This was her favorite part of my job.

By the time I heard Kate coming downstairs, ready to leave for work, I’d located Gloria Lopez-now Gloria Wilks. This particular Internet surf had taken only an hour. The woman was a prominent figure in San Antonio, active in charity work while playing a visible, supportive role to her lawyer and Texas senator husband, Neal Wilks. A politician’s wife. Great. If she didn’t already know about her late first husband’s love child, she might feel like shooting the messenger when I called.

Kate poked her head in the door. “I’m off. Let me know how Emma’s feeling after you talk to her.”

“Sure. I’m hoping the TV people will leave her alone to recover.” I then explained about Xavier Lopez’s family and how I had Gloria Wilks’s phone number on the screen in front of me and planned to call her.

Kate said, “You’re delivering this information over the telephone? What if the woman has no idea Emma exists?”

“She’ll be shocked, sure, but at least she’ll be ready when Crime Time or the newspaper reporters show up on her doorstep.”

“You should tell her in person. You can take a South-west flight, be there in forty-five minutes.”

“Kate, maybe face-to-face is a better way to handle this situation, but I don’t want to leave Houston even for a couple hours. Paul Kravitz was coming into town last night, if you remember.”

She sighed. “I can see I won’t win this argument. You have the protective instincts of a big sister-which you’ve never been, by the way, since I’m sure I was born before you.”

I sat back and smiled at Kate. “I’m pretty certain the midwife who delivered us would tell us I came first. But I do feel like Emma’s almost a sister. How did that happen so quickly?”

“Because she’s a lot like you. Smart, kind, stubborn… but if I go on, your head will swell to the size of a watermelon. Time for me to get to work-and the same for you.” She blew me a kiss and was gone.

I looked at my computer screen, wondering how to approach the problem of Mrs. Wilks.

Call her, Abby. See how she reacts and respond accordingly.

I picked up the phone and was surprised when she answered right away, sounding polite and warm as only Texans can over the phone.

“I’m not sure how to start, so I’ll get right to it,” I said. “My name is Abby Rose, and I’m a private investigator with Yellow Rose Investigations.”

“Private investigator?” Polite turned to wary in a flash. “If this is about Senator Wilks, perhaps you should call his office.”

“This isn’t about your current husband.” I tried hard to sound nonthreatening, or so I thought.

“Not about my current husband? Are you calling about Xavier?”

“Yes. Do you have time to talk? Or are you too busy?”

“I have time,” she said. “But if you’re a private investigator, someone hired you to make this call, correct?”

“Yes. A young woman named Emma Lopez,” I said.

“Lopez? I’m guessing that last name is no coincidence.” Her tone had gone way past wary. She sounded downright hostile now.

Why? But then I understood. “You know who Emma is, don’t you?”

“I know my husband had a period of time when he was weak. He had a problem with… Well, you obviously don’t need me to tell you what you already know. How much money does this girl want to remain silent about my late husband’s indiscretion? Because I don’t want his memory sullied.”

“Trust me. This isn’t about money.” I sure didn’t blame her for being upset, but she hadn’t heard the worst yet.

“What do you want, then?” she said. “Because everyone wants something.”

“To warn you.” I continued before she could interrupt. “As I said, I’m a private investigator, but what I didn’t say is that I specialize in adoption searches. I recently took on a case that I hoped would lead to finding a child who had either been placed in foster care or adopted out by CPS fifteen years ago. That child was Emma’s sister. Events turned tragic very quickly, however, and Emma Lopez’s life story will be on national television next month-due to a situation that has nothing to do with your late husband, by the way. But his name is certain to be mentioned, and the photo she has of her father will also be aired. She wanted you to know, wanted you to be prepared for the publicity.”

Silence followed. A long silence. Finally I said, “Are you still there, Mrs. Wilks?”

“Why would she do this for me? We’ve never even met.”

“Because she’s a considerate, sensitive young woman,” I said quietly.

“And she doesn’t want more money?”

“More money? Now I’m confused.”

Gloria Wilks sighed heavily. “Before Xavier was blown to bits by those contemptible terrorists, he sent me a letter, told me to take care of Emma should anything happen to him. He hated Beirut. With the violence escalating, I think he knew he’d die there.”

“Take care of Emma how?” I’d assumed he bought the house before he left the country.

“He told me he bought her a house and set up a trust to cover the yearly taxes and insurance, but he’d only had enough money to purchase a place in a poverty-stricken neighborhood. He wanted her to have as much as we could offer. After he died, I sent what money I could to Emma’s mother for her care. But about ten years ago, the checks stopped being cashed, so I stopped sending them.”

“That’s about the time Emma was placed in foster care and the house was empty,” I said. “You see, Emma’s mother abandoned her and her brothers and sister.”

A small silence this time. “Th-that would have upset Xavier very much. Maybe I should have tried harder to find out why the money was returned… but-”

“You don’t need to explain. But one thing you could do now might help Emma more than anything. Maybe she could meet her half brothers.” Why I said this, I didn’t know. Guess I’m a reunion junkie.