Leann Sweeney - Shoot from the Lip

“I think you’ve already figured that out, hon.”

“Dammit. I should have checked up on him myself.” I grabbed a napkin and spit out the now flavorless glob of gum.

“My opinion? Aunt Caroline was the best person for that job,” Jeff said. “You should be grateful.”

“For once, I am. And now I plan to find out everything I can about this guy before I walk into Aunt Caroline’s house tomorrow.”

When I arrived home, I went upstairs, peeked into Kate’s room and found her already asleep, with Webster curled at her feet. I was hoping that meant she hadn’t been out with Roark or Foster or whoever the hell this man was. I shed my clothes, put on one of Jeff’s T-shirts and headed back down to my computer, shushing the meowing Diva, who followed me.

I booted up and used the database I rely on when all else fails. I had two names, a city, an approximate age and a line of work for Roark. I immediately learned that the only Clinton Roark in the area was retired and lived in Huntsville. Harrison Foster, on the other hand, had two known addresses in Houston-one an apartment and one a home in the Memorial Park area. I was able to learn some of this because his wife had filed for divorce two months ago, and initial divorce filings are public record. Her name was Beth, and she was seeking sole custody of their child.

I also learned that Harrison Foster was not a drug rep, but owned his own software development company specializing in medical office and hospital products. If Aunt Caroline had Foster followed, it would have been easy enough for any PI to find all this out. He was probably living in the apartment, since the lease was signed around the same time Beth Foster had filed for divorce.

I sat back and considered why this man would want to con Kate. My guess was that he would take a financial beating in this divorce and wanted to hook up with someone who could help him continue to live the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to. And Kate could certainly do that.

Had he planned to cheat her out of a generous chunk of change and split? I smiled. Yeah, he must think Kate was as dumb as a box of rocks and that she’d invest in whatever fake new drug or nonexistent business he’d enthusiastically told her about. But he’d hit on the wrong girl if he thought that would work. Even if she’d fallen with a thud for this guy, she was too smart to buy a black cat with a stripe down its back from anyone, Mr. Dimples included.

I felt better now, even though telling Kate wouldn’t be easy. And making sure Aunt Caroline didn’t tell her first might be like trying to drink out of a fire hose. But I’d deal with that tomorrow, after I found exactly what Aunt Caroline had on Harrison Foster.

The next day I overslept and had time for only a quick shower. Kate had long since gone to work by the time I left to hand over the newest GPS tracker to DeShay, and I was relieved not to have to face her this morning, knowing what I now knew.

I checked under my car bumpers before I pulled out, but found nothing. I decided it was long past time to organize the garage so I could actually fit my car in there. Leaving the Camry in my driveway had obviously created serious problems. It really boiled my water that someone had been lurking around and stuck those things on my car whenever they wanted. I still suspected Kravitz, no matter what he said to the contrary.

I drove downtown, and DeShay was ready for me, since I’d called ahead-if ready meant a morose man sitting in his cubicle up to his hairline in paperwork. I was a welcome distraction. He wore a navy suit, a silver-and-blue tie and a starched shirt. I guessed correctly that he had court today.

“This afternoon,” he told me.

“Bummer,” I said. The one thing DeShay hated about working homicide was the dress-up part. I gave him the plastic grocery bag containing the second GPS device.

“You think you can find any prints on this besides mine?” I asked.

“Doubt it, but we’ll try. Even the batteries had been wiped clean on the other one. I talked to tech this morning, and they said whoever planted the thing buried the e-mail address they used to connect to the Internet and watch where you went.”

“Having both devices might be more helpful, especially if tech can find a common link,” I said. “E-mail is very tricky, yes, but if you search-”

“Abby, what did you call me and Jeff once? Luddites?”

I laughed. “Yes. You remembered the lingo. That’s a step in the right direction.”

“I know how to write reports, check databases and stuff like that on my computer, but I’m still a Luddite and don’t plan on changing until the bosses make me. Jeff told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said technology is a great tool, but us homicide investigators have to deal with the people first. Murder is a people problem, and you learn the most from the humans, whether they’re dead or alive.”

“Jeff’s right. Now, get ready to hear some good news in the people department. I found Christine’s friend-the ex-prostitute.” I summarized yesterday, told him Loreen, aka Fiona, was holed up with Jeff. I also gave him the info on the notebook. “After I deal with my aunt, who is probably feeling very neglected since I started working this case day and night, I’ll call Emma, see if she remembers any notebook like the one Loreen described.”

“White can handle that,” DeShay said.

“No, I can do it. I’ll go over to the storage unit with Emma and-”

“Abby, handing over the GPS monitor is one thing, but that notebook could lead us directly to whoever might have killed Christine. We could use it in court, and we don’t want to mess with the chain of evidence.”

I knew he was right. “It’s just that I promised Loreen no police. If White does find the notebook, then-”

“Let’s not play what-if. You got us a lead. That’s what’s important.”

I checked my watch. “I’ve only got ten minutes to get to Aunt Caroline’s house-not enough time. You can bet I’ll pay for this by having to endure an extra dose of hostility. Gotta run.”

“The real drama queen in your family is your aunt?” He grinned.

“Are you implying I’m a drama queen, too?”

“Nope. You are the busiest, most headstrong person I’ve met besides my granny. Now get out of here.”

I nodded, hurried out of the offices to the elevator and jogged to my car.

My aunt lives in an older, established neighborhood with big, expensive houses, where she knows everyone on the block. And they probably know her better than she knows herself. This time of morning, the streets were wonderfully quiet compared to the frenzied freeways. But when I turned onto her street, a good twenty minutes past the time we agreed on, I saw that the chaos of an emergency had disrupted the peace.

An ambulance, a patrol car and my aunt’s open door and shattered front window made my stomach lurch. A uniformed policeman tried to wave me away, but I called out the window that my aunt lived at the address where obviously something very bad had happened. He told me to pull over to the curb.

“What’s your aunt’s name?” he asked when I met him on the sidewalk.

“Caroline Rose. Is she okay?”

Just then the paramedics pulled a stretcher out the front door and onto the walkway.

My hand went to my mouth and I pushed past the cop, starting to run toward them. Aunt Caroline’s neck was immobilized, and I could see blood on her forehead.

But when I heard her shout, “Abigail, you’re late!” I almost laughed with relief. She sounded strong, not to mention as furious as a bear with a sore ass.

The stretcher had been pulled into the ambulance before I could get to her. Then the cop caught up with me and took me by the arm.