Pick Your Poison

by Leann Sweeney

  I sighed. “If it will make you more comfortable.” After he turned away, I watched him rock nervously back and forth from his toes to his heels, hat held behind his back.

  I put on my underwear, then said, “I’ve read you get a much better tan if you lie out when it’s overcast. Have you heard that, Officer?”

  “Seems I did once,” he answered, rubbing his bald head with the hand holding the hat.

  Before I lay back down, I spied a smear of blood on my shin, so I placed the magazine over my legs this time. “Okay,” I said. “All clear.”

  He turned and, seeing I was still not fully clothed, pivoted back. “Not exactly all clear,” he mumbled, his earlobes coloring.

  “Come on, Officer. Don’t make me put those sweaty clothes back on. Galveston’s a beach town. People walk around undressed all day.”

  He slowly faced me, obviously pleased with this rationalization. I noticed that his badge said, Guardian Angel Security.

  “Guess you’re right,” he said. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

  He ogled me shamelessly now, but I figured it was a small price to pay for sneaking into closets uninvited.

  “You planning to call the police?” I asked.

  “The Feldmans wouldn’t like that. No cops for them.” He relaxed, leaning against the fence and fanning himself with his hat. “Say, you busy tonight?”

  “Married.” I smiled apologetically. “You say the Feldmans didn’t want you to call the police?”

  “I answered an alarm over at their other house, the one down near the beach, a few months back, and—”

  “They have a beach house, too?” I said, hoping he’d help me out some more. “Funny they never mentioned it.”

  “Yeah, on the west side. Anyway, I answered a call from them about a break-in. ‘No cops,’ Mr. Feldman said. ‘Just get here sooner if there’s a next time and catch whoever is causing trouble.’ ”

  “Hank? What are you doing?” yelled another man from the back door.

  Hank rolled his eyes and sighed with disgust. “Questioning a witness,” he hollered back. “Listen, I better go.”

  I certainly won’t detain you, I thought.

  “If you ever have any security needs, I’m Hank.” He pointed proudly to his badge. “Guardian Angel Security. Give me a call.”

  I waited a good ten minutes before I risked leaving, then sneaked between houses to the next block, where Kate picked me up and told me at least twelve times how she never should have agreed to this caper. We drove to the Victorian so I could clean up, and I exchanged my shorts and shirt for a skirt and blouse from the pile in my trunk. Both Kate and I seemed to always have half our wardrobes in the car, en route either to or from the laundry. We then sat on the floor in the parlor, Kate sipping on the jumbo iced tea we’d picked up on the way over.

  “Despite my bungled detecting job, today’s adventure wasn’t a total loss,” I said, unwrapping a Snickers. “The security guard confirmed the Feldman connection to Parental Advocates. And since I learned the general vicinity of Feldman’s home, perhaps one of the phone exchanges from Hamilton’s office belongs in the West Beach area.”

  “I don’t know how you convinced the security guard you were a neighbor, Abby. I would have blubbered and bawled like an idiot, then raised my hands and said, ‘Take me to jail. I’m guilty.’ ”

  “By the way, Hamilton made a copy of your check. You did give her a check, right?”

  “I had to,” Kate said. “That ice princess just sat there with her hand out after I wrote the thing, so I passed it over. She took it with her when she went for the water, then gave the check back and gave me the ‘cash-only’ spiel.”

  “Hey, I would have passed it to her, too. But I’m afraid that despite my getting away with the tape, she now knows where we live, and who knows what else.”

  Kate closed her eyes and shook her head. “Why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

  “Because we’re doing the right thing.” I picked up the phone book lying next to me and started flipping through the pages.

  “What are you doing?” Kate said. “We’re sixty miles from home, and my nerves are frazzled. We need to leave.”

  “Be patient a little longer, okay?”

  She stood and started pacing. “Okay. Sure. This is what I get for teaming up with you.”

  I soon discovered two of the numbers on my Post-it note were located in the West Beach area. I picked up the phone, dialed, and heard a man’s voice on an answering machine. Feldman, maybe? I hung up and dialed the other number.

  “Ellen Fulshear Home for Young Women,” said the female voice.

  “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.

&
nbsp; “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 a
lternative. 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.”