“Could I have your address?” I asked.
“Nineteen forty-five Bay Street. But no visitors after seven,” she said.
“I have a delivery. When’s a good time?”
“We’re used to deliveries here,” she said, then laughed. “Of course, ours take nine months. You can come after eight in the morning. Let me guess. Flowers for Susan?”
“Why, yes, but how did you know?”
“That young man of hers won’t leave her alone.”
I said good-bye and hung up, smiling. Maybe my luck had changed.
Kate shook her head. “Abby, you’ve got to quit pretending you’re someone else. With my name, address, and phone number in Hamilton’s hands, we probably haven’t heard the end of her, and—”
“I merely told the lady I had a delivery.”
“Yes, but—”
“It’s not my fault if people jump to conclusions. I didn’t tell the security guard I was sitting in my lawn chair at my house, either. But don’t mention what happened today, especially to Terry. I did steal a videotape and break a window. That’s probably a misdemeanor, but—”
“Who do you think helped you with your misdemeanor? And who do you think could never justify that misdemeanor to Terry in a million years? Oh, no. I won’t be confessing this to anyone.”
“Ah, fodder for blackmail. I’ll remember that,” I said with a grin.
“Remember, that goes both ways.”
Hard to believe my sister, who’d never let a lie past her lips, was worried Terry would find out. I liked it, though. A bonding experience, I decided.
Five minutes later we hurried out to the car, the rain little more than a mist now, but before we were even in the Camry, Steven arrived.
“Got that bathroom torn up for me, Abby?” he called, climbing out of his truck.
“That’s a laugh. You want to see a disaster, hand me a few tools. Didn’t you already put a day’s work in over here?” I said.
He came over, nodded at Kate in greeting, then said, “I need to check a few dimensions before the crew pulls those fixtures next week. You ladies had dinner yet?”
“Is that an invitation?” The Snickers bar hadn’t put a dent in my hunger pangs.
Kate said, “We’ll have to pass, Steven. I promised Terry I’d meet him in town, and I’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” She cast an anxious glance at her watch as she climbed into my car.
“Maybe next time, Steven.” I opened the door and slipped behind the wheel.
“I don’t want to eat alone, Abby. I’ll bring you home,” he pleaded.
I was hungry, and still feeling the excitement of the afternoon’s adventure. Why not?
Then a voice deep inside whispered, Because it’s not a smart move.
But I chose to listen to my grumbling stomach instead. So Kate drove on home alone and I went with Steven.
* * *
Not until we reached the restaurant did that inner voice start sounding more ominous. Steven had chosen a place complete with candlelight and panoramic ocean view. I was afraid before long he’d be humming “When I Fall in Love” and pressing his knee against mine under the table.
The hostess seated us by the window, and I saw the gulf roiling and frothing in response to the huge, swirling mass of clouds churning overhead.
“That’s an angry sea,” I said.
“I’d love to be out there while everything’s all stirred up,” said Steven.
“You’ve lived half your life in a storm. Doesn’t it feel good to be stable, regularly employed, and sober?” I regretted the words before they were barely out of my mouth. Why couldn’t I keep these brilliant insights to myself?
“I guess so,” came his halfhearted reply.
The waiter approached and I spoke quickly, thankful for the interruption. “We’re ready to order. I’ll have the red snapper, house dressing, and iced tea.”
“Scampi for me, the rest the same,” said Steven.
The waiter returned momentarily with our drinks and a basket of bread sticks. I squeezed lemon into my tea with one hand and nabbed a bread stick with the other.
“Been a while since you saw a meal?” said Steven, watching me with amusement.
“Sorry, but hungry is not something you get better at with practice. Besides, I had a busy day. Made progress, even. After the disappointment of finding a useless CD in the safe-deposit box, I—”
“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.
22
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.”
“I have some aspirin. Would that help?” She stepped back so I could enter.
Like Daddy would have said, easy as stepping in East Texas mud. Can’t slam the door in someone’s face if they’re already inside.
She led me down a hallway, and I managed to catch a peek in the living room, where three very pregnant young women sat on a worn-looking velour sofa watching television.
We entered a country kitchen, and the smell of something wonderful cooking in a giant pot on the stove enveloped me. Chicken and dumplings maybe? The woman unburdened me of the flowers I had picked up at the local grocery store, and I sat at a gigantic table covered with a red-checked cloth. The woman placed a tall glass of lemonade in front of me. She then started struggling with the childproof cap on the aspirin bottle she’d pulled from a cupboard near the sink.
“My five-year-old grandnephew opens these things in a flash,” she mumbled. “The only ones they keep from the medicine are the arthritics like me.”
“Please don’t bother with the aspirin,” I said. “See, I have a confession. I don’t really have a headache, and I’m not delivering flowers.”
She stopped fiddling with the cap, her face wary, her smile gone. “How’s that, young woman?” she said sternly. “Are you selling something or fixing to rob me? Because if that’s the case, I don’t have much to take.”
“Nothing like that. If you can spare a few minutes, I’d like to explain.”
She poured herself a glass of lemonade and sat opposite me. “Are you in trouble? Is that it?” Despite her irritation, she seemed genuinely concerned.
“I’m troubled, yes, but it’s not what you think. And so complicated, I’m not even sure where to start.”
“The beginning usually works.” Her smile returned.
“I’ve made up so many stories lately, the idea of simply telling the truth seems... strange,” I said.
“If I can, I’ll help you. There’s still a few people in this world you can trust, and I’d like to think I’ve lived long enough to understand most of what human nature is capable of. Tell Sally Jean about this trouble.”
“It’s odd. I’ve never lied this easily before the murder.”
“The murder?” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t murder someone, did you?”
“Of course not. It has to do with Samuel Feldman. I got your number off the Parental Advocates office phone, and I want to ask him a few hard questions, but the only phone number and address I could come up with were connected to the office.”
“I can tell you where he is, but first you need to tell me why I should.”
“You know where he is?” I sat straighter in my chair.
“You must want to see him real bad to sneak in here with your daisies and your fake headache.”
“I think he murdered my yardman. And maybe someone else... a long, long time ago.”
She closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross. “It wouldn’t surprise me one bit. It’s a sad thing to believe that about another person. He’s a cold one, he is. But start at the beginning, Miss... What’s your name, honey?”
“Abby. Abby Rose. And yours?”
“Sally Jean Daniels. All the girls call me Sally Jean, and you will, too. Explain about this murder you say Sam did, may God have mercy on him.”
“I don’t have hard proof, but the story began in a little town north of Houston called Shade....”
By the time I finished my narration, I could tell nothing I’d said surprised her.
“I’ve lived here ages and ages caring for pregnant girls,” she said. “Making sure they eat right and get enough exercise and all that. But not until Melvyn—he was my husband—not until he died did I begin to suspect the only light at the end of my tunnel was an oncoming train.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“I’m not good with math... figures... you know. I never saw the bills. Melvyn worked with Feldman
on the business end of running this place. The Doc—that’s what the girls called my husband—treated the girls; then Sam Feldman paid him for services rendered. But after Melvyn’s funeral, I discovered that even though I’m bad with arithmetic, Melvyn missed more of the basics in addition and subtraction than I ever did.” She shook her head. “A financial nightmare, let me tell you.”
“Wait a minute. Young women giving up their babies for adoption stay here, right?”
“Going on thirty-five years now,” she said.
“And you work for Parental Advocates?”
“That’s what I was trying to explain. If you had said ‘Parental Advocates’ to me six months ago I would have looked at you like you were as nutty as a Corsicana fruitcake. But as I waded through those legal papers after the Doc’s death, I learned how the whole thing works.” She crossed her arms, barely spanning her broad bosom.
“You don’t seem thrilled,” I said.
“This business has changed, nothing like it used to be when Melvyn was alive, that’s for sure. But he left me nothing but a bunch of worthless stock, so I gotta keep working, and this is all I know how to do.”
“I take it Mr. Feldman hasn’t been the best employer.”
“He’s just in it for the money, of course. But he stopped coming here a while back. Grew to be a hermit. We talk on the phone, but I don’t see him anymore, which was working fine for me. But he married that skinny, fast-talking woman right before he took to his house. She’s young enough to be his daughter, mind you. Anyway, she started bringing the girls over here and handling the business. She expects me to run this place like a prison, and I hate her ways. These youngsters have made mistakes, but it doesn’t mean they’ve lost their rights as human beings.”
“Are you talking about Helen Hamilton?” I asked.
She nodded. “The two of them live in the fancy section of town. Do you realize what people pay to adopt a baby these days? Thousands and thousands of dollars, that’s what. Yet my salary’s not much more than when we first started here. Of course, Melvyn and I never did this only for money—not like those two.”
Pick Your Poison yrm-1 Page 18