Dead Giveaway

by Leann Sweeney

  Burl shifted in his chair, avoiding eye contact with both of us. ''Okay, he said Verna Mae was stupid to think she could pass you off as theirs. Said he wasn't having any black baby in his house for one more second.''

  Will stared at his hands, his long fingers intertwined and white-knuckled with tension. ''That's what I figured. Thanks for being honest.''

  A tense silence followed before I said, ''Guess we're done here.'' I started to get up, then remembered the blanket. ''You really don't need that blanket now, right?''

  ''I collected the blanket as evidence during an executed search warrant, so yes I do,'' Burl said evenly.

  ''But it probably has nothing to do with Verna Mae's death.''

  ''Probably is your key word, Abby. If I give it up and the blanket turns out to be even remotely connected to the murder, the thing's worthless as evidence.''

  ''How could an old blanket be connected to her murder?'' Damn, I hate to hear no. Made me want the stupid thing even more.

  ''Don't know, but the blanket stays with me, and when I have proof it's not important, then it's yours with Will's permission. I learned long ago, you collect evidence, you keep evidence until you're sure it's worthless. I'm a careful man, Abby Rose, a trait that's served me well in the police business.'' The country charm had been turned off. He meant business.

  ''A few pictures wouldn't break your chain of evidence, would it?'' I had to leave with something, because that DNA test might turn out far different than what we expected. Besides, that blanket was linked to Will's past, if not to his birth parents. I was learning to be careful myself.

  Burl sighed. ''Guess pictures wouldn't hurt.''

  While Burl unfolded a step stool and climbed up to reach one of the stacked file boxes, Will looked at me.

  ''I'm glad she didn't keep me,'' he said. ''I'm telling my mom and dad how much I love them the minute I get home.''

  I patted his knee. ''Good idea.'' I took my camera phone from my purse.

  After cleaning off his desk, Burl laid out several sheets of blank white paper and placed the creamcolored blanket on these.

  I snapped off a few shots.

  Will leaned forward for a better look. ''You think this was mine? It doesn't look all that old.''

  ''The blanket itself is well-preserved, but check out the label.'' Burl turned over one corner so I could photograph the label.

  The small rectangular piece of satin had yellowed with age, and the stitching on the edges was frayed. Underneath the embroidered words HANDMADE FOR POSH PRAMS I now saw something else—100% HANDSPUN NEW WOOL. I'd had little chance to notice this the first time, seeing as how Burl had commandeered the thing almost immediately. If the word ''posh'' didn't make it sound expensive, ''hand-spun wool'' certainly did.

  ''You sure I can't have this?'' I said.

  Burl smiled. ''Your cop friend wants it, all he has to do is ask and I'll turn it over properly to preserve the chain of evidence.''

  ''Okay.'' I held up my phone. ''The pictures will do for now, and we do appreciate your help.''

  ''My pleasure. Great to meet Will all grown up.'' He carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box. On paper taped to the box lid he wrote down the date and time he'd accessed the contents.

  ''You want to take your keys, Will?'' I nodded at the envelope still lying on the desk.

  Will shook his head. From the look on his face, you'd have thought he was eight years old and I'd asked him to open up the closet where the boogeyman lived. ''No. Could you, like . . . deal with them for now?''

  I picked up the envelope. ''Sure. But your parents might want to get a lawyer on this.''

  Will released an audible sigh of relief. ''Yeah. Sure. Whatever.''

  We said good-bye to Burl and left.

  I'd had a notion to stop at Verna Mae's house, but I decided Will had been given plenty to chew on today. The house could wait.

  8

  By the time I dropped Will off at his home early Monday evening and explained about the money part of the inheritance to his mother, my stomach was complaining about missed meals. I'd eaten nothing since breakfast. I called Jeff's cell, hoping we could grab a bite together, but he said he wouldn't be leaving work for several more hours. He was chasing Verna Mae's money trail.

  I decided to stop by Kate's house for the company, but only after picking up a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and a Diet Coke. Who knows what might be on the menu at her place. Probably yellow gooey vegetables or enough bulgur wheat to feed a barn full of chickens for a month.

  When I arrived, I discovered that vegetables would have been glorious in comparison to what was truly on the menu. Our Aunt Caroline's baby-blue Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway. If not for Terry Armstrong, Kate's significant other, I would have floored the Camry and hightailed it home, but Terry was returning from a walk with Webster, their border collie. A very slow walk, no doubt, since Webster is so lazy he wouldn't wake up from a nap even if a herd of sheep got into the living room.

  Terry spotted me, waved and smiled. Yup, I had to stop. Either that, or be ratted out to Kate and Aunt Caroline that I'd been in the neighborhood and split.

  When I climbed out of the car, Terry released Web

  ster's leash, and the dog came running to greet me. ''What's with him?'' I asked. ''He hasn't run anywhere since he found a body in my greenhouse last summer.''

  Terry is about six-four with an easy smile, lean frame and a spirit as kind as my sister's. ''Didn't Kate tell you?''

  ''Tell me what?'' Webster planted his feet on my waist and sniffed at my Chick-Fil-A bag.

  ''Our boy is hypothyroid. He's been on medicine for a week, and we can already tell the difference.''

  We started walking down the driveway toward the back door. ''I always said something was wrong with him.''

  ''You know Kate. She wouldn't trust any ordinary vet, but she found this woman who uses natural medicine and chiropractic. Webster's now beginning to act like a real border collie.''

  I stopped. ''You're kidding. Webster's seeing a chiropractor?''

  ''Hey, between that, the medicine and the acupuncture, he's improving every day,'' he said.

  ''Acupuncture, too?'' Still, I had to admit Webster was a new dog. He beat us to the back gate, and once we came in through the kitchen, he hurried to his water dish and began lapping like he'd done a marathon in the desert.

  As Terry led me into the living room, I took a deep breath to help prepare me mentally for an encounter with my aunt. Kate was curled up in a corner of the leather sofa, and Aunt Caroline sat across from her on the love seat. Since learning last year that my aunt had lied to Kate and me all our lives about our illegal adoption, Kate had generously forgiven her, but I hadn't. Didn't know if I ever would.

  ''Hey, Abby,'' Kate said, her dark eyes lighting up.

  Aunt Caroline smiled. I believe she'd be a perfect candidate for some talk show centered around people addicted to plastic surgery, because she'd had plenty and then some.

  ''Abigail. What a nice surprise,'' she said.

  ''Hi, Aunt Caroline. You're looking . . . bright.'' She was floral today. Flowered silk shirt in pink and fuchsia, matching skirt. Heck, she even had a fake poppy in her white hair. She looked like The Secret Garden gone bad.

  Terry cleared his throat. ''Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.'' He strode through the room, Webster on his heels. I heard them climb the stairs and wished I was going with them.

  Instead I sat on the couch, set my drink on the glass coffee table and started in on my sandwich. Nothing like deep-fried chicken on a buttered bun to make the company more tolerable.

  ''How many fat grams are you consuming this evening, Abigail? You won't keep that handsome policeman interested long if you . . . Well, you know what I mean. Or has that little infatuation ended?''

  ''They're very much in love,'' Kate said quickly, probably knowing I was ready to spit a pickle in Aunt Caroline's direction.

  ''In love? As in cohabiting?'' Aunt Caro
line asked, her carefully penciled brows rising.

  ''That's not really your business,'' I answered as sweetly as I'm capable of. How I wished we were living together, but Jeff still kept his apartment despite spending seventy-five percent of his time at my place.

  Aunt Caroline held up her hands in surrender. ''Sorry. I just don't want to see you hurt again. You have an ex-husband in jail, if you've forgotten. . . . But, wait. What an idiot I've been. That's why you've taken up with someone the exact opposite of Steven.''

  ''That someone is the most honest, sensitive man I've ever met, and to repeat, this is none of your business.'' Though I wanted to tell her to burn her tongue on her own potpie, I managed to stay calm.

  ''Aunt Caroline, is something bothering you?'' Kate asked. ''Because I think you're trying to press Abby's buttons tonight.'' My sister, always the shrink, was attempting to analyze Aunt Caroline. Like it would do any good.

  Maybe Kate's insight had an impact, however, because I noticed tears in Aunt Caroline's eyes. Made me wish my give-a-damner was broke, but it wasn't. She was sad, and for some foolish reason, that bothered me.

  ''You're right, Kate. I am upset. Hans has left me.'' She blinked hard, not letting the tears escape.

  ''I am so sorry,'' Kate said. ''You really cared for him.''

  Yeah, I thought. Because he was about forty years younger than you and allowed you to live in fantasyland. ''That's too bad,'' I heard myself saying. He had kept her busy and, well, yes, happy.

  ''I apologize, Abigail. I didn't mean to 'press your buttons,' as Kate so aptly put it. I suppose I am a little jealous. Sergeant Kline is . . . Well, let's put it this way: I wouldn't mind if he ate crackers in my bed.'' She smiled.

  I laughed, mostly because the image was absurd. Then she and Kate joined me in a good guffaw. Tension broken.

  ''Maybe I should start over,'' Aunt Caroline said. ''Kate tells me her practice is thriving. What about your job, Abigail? Any new cases?''

  ''As a matter of fact, yes. And since you bring it up, maybe you can help me with something.'' I put my half-eaten sandwich in the bag. ''There's this blanket that might be a clue to the parents in an abandoned-baby case I'm working. The label says the blanket was made for Posh Prams. Could Posh Prams have been a local business or a store, say about twenty years ago? Because I found nothing even close to that name in the yellow pages.''

  Aunt Caroline sat back and picked up her glass of white wine from the end table beside the love seat. She sipped, obviously thinking. ''Sounds British. Never having had children of my own, it's not a store I would have visited, though I do like the name. Have you been to the Village? That British import shop that's been there forever? They might know.''

  ''Aunt Caroline might be onto something, Abby,'' Kate said. ''It's a place to start.''

  They were right. I should have thought of this myself. The store they were talking about was in Rice Village, which wasn't actually a village, but several streets near the university lined with expensive specialty stores and yuppie hangouts like the Gap and Banana Republic.

  ''Okay, I'll check it out. Thanks,'' I said.

  Aunt Caroline seemed pleased I'd actually accepted her suggestion without an argument, but who better to ask about a store that included the word ''posh'' than her?

  We small-talked for a few more minutes, and then Aunt Caroline had to leave for some charity organizing committee meeting.

  Once she was gone, Kate said, ''How is the case going? Will holding up okay?''

  I explained what I had learned about the money since we last talked about the case yesterday. ''I'm wondering where her money came from, Kate. Burl Rollins didn't seem to have a clue, but . . . wait a minute.''

  Kate leaned forward. ''What?''

  ''Perhaps Verna Mae was receiving child support from the father of her baby.''

  ''I don't get it. Even if she was Will's biological mother, she didn't keep him,'' Kate said.

  ''True, but what if the father didn't know she'd given Will up? Or what if this man, whoever he was, paid Verna Mae off to keep her quiet about having his child?''

  Kate sat back and considered this. ''That would mean he had a giant reason to keep the baby a secret.''

  ''A wife, maybe? Could be Verna Mae came to Houston the night she was murdered to meet with this man, prepared to ask him for more money now that Will had visited her? After all, she could easily tell Will plenty of things about his biological family. Rather than pay up, the guy killed her.''

  ''I guess that's possible,'' said Kate.

  ''Those DNA results can't come back soon enough,'' I said. ''The lab usually gets me results within a few days, but HPD may not get Verna Mae's sample there for comparison right away. Damn, I hate waiting.''

  ''Tell me something I don't know,'' Kate replied with a smile.

  ''In the meantime, I want to take another look inside Verna Mae's house. She could have hidden away more information about Will. You said you'd help, remember?''

  ''Yes, but how—''

  ''I have the keys. The house belongs to Will now. Tomorrow night after work okay for you? Or do you have group therapy this Tuesday evening?''

  ''I'm free. You're sure this is okay? We're not doing something the police won't like?''

  ''Burl handed over the keys, Kate.''

  ''Then I'm game.''

  When I arrived home an hour later, hyped up on the half dozen Diet Cokes I'd consumed, I played with Diva for awhile. She loved chasing the feather-on-astick, and I loved watching her do cartwheels and flip-flops.

  When she finally gave up and dragged her toy into the other room, I went up to my bedroom and was just finishing the whole wash, exfoliate, moisturize routine when I heard Jeff's key in the lock downstairs. Damn. I had on an old T-shirt and cotton undies. Looking like this, even the tide wouldn't take me out.

  ''Abby, you still up?'' he called from the foyer.

  ''You betcha, but what you see is what you get.'' I hurried down the stairs.

  ''You look great to me,'' he replied.

  ''Yeah, that's 'cause you see dead people all day.''

  He laughed and we kissed; then he put an arm around my shoulder. ''I'm hungry. Anything besides cold pizza available?''

  ''Four-day-old Chinese. Very microwavable.''

  ''Great.''

  Thirty minutes later, after the beef and broccoli was gone—and yes, I do eat green vegetables when they're smothered in soy sauce—we cuddled up on the sofa. Jeff took off his shoes, loosened his tie and rested his feet on the antique trunk that substitutes as a coffee table.

  ''You look tired,'' I said.

  ''A few hours in your company and I'll be recharged. How's your end of the case going?''

  I told him about my day, then said, ''Your turn.''

  ''Did I ever tell you how much I hate bankers? They seem to take great pleasure in withholding things; mostly because they can, I guess.''

  ''Are you talking about Verna Mae's money?''

  ''One of our investigative officers figured out someone made regular transfers into her account. Any chance of finding out who's been moving that cash for years is slim or fat, depending on your favorite saying.''

  ''But can't you make them tell you? I mean, you're the cops.''

  ''The money came through the Cayman Islands,'' he answered. ''You'd have to be a head of state before those guys would even think about sharing information without a year of legal wrangling. Anyway, I'm guessing it's no coincidence the payments began a few months after Will was born. I suppose it could have been blackmail payments or—''

  ''Child support,'' I offered.

  Jeff smiled. ''You read my mind. How do you plan to investigate that angle? Because this is your territory.''

  ''About the only clue I have concerning the abandonment is the baby blanket. Burl won't give it up.''

  ''Why?''

  ''Says it was collected during the execution of a search warrant and—''

  ''He's reaching. Hanging onto an old unsolved case. But
technically, he's right. I'll ask him to send it to me if you really need it.''

  ''I have photos. If they don't help, I'll take you up on the offer.''

  Jeff pulled me close and kissed me. ''Enough shoptalk. You're ready for bed. Why not help me get ready, too?''

  ''I can manage that.'' I removed his tie and started on his shirt buttons as we kissed again, but ten minutes later, when we were ready to move to a more comfortable place—like my bed—Jeff's beeper went off and he left to chase another murderer.