He reached down and took my face in his hands. “Hush.”
I met his eyes and blinked hard, fighting tears.
“Slow down.” He brushed my hair away from the cut on my forehead before pulling back—a withdrawal that came a tad soon for my liking. He said, “Feldman phoned the precinct and complained that an officer harassed him about Ben’s murder investigation. Guess who they routed that call to?”
“Again, I’m sorry.” A few deep breaths eliminated the threat of tears.
“If you suspect this man is a murderer, what’s to keep him from hurting you?”
I didn’t tell Jeff that I wasn’t sure it mattered at this point whether Feldman hurt me or not. I didn’t say anything.
He took my hand. “I’m stuck with an unacceptable emotional involvement in this case and—”
“What do you mean, unacceptable?”
“As the lead detective, I need . . . No, let me rephrase that. I must remain objective. Emotions block the truth. They cloud my instincts. Did it cross your mind that someone could have arranged your tumble today?”
“Arranged it? What makes you think that?”
“Paranoia goes with my job. Seriously, could Feldman have figured out you weren’t a police officer? Could he have tampered with those boards that gave way?”
“He didn’t know I was playacting. If you didn’t tell him any different, he may still think I work for the police. And remember, he called you. Why draw attention to himself by phoning the police if he planned to kill me?”
“Okay. You’ve got a point.”
“And besides, I overheard Feldman on the phone before I left his house, telling someone the police had visited.”
“Okay, so he believed you, but he may have killed a man right here a couple weeks ago—a well-publicized crime, with you and your sister’s pictures in the Chronicle. What’s to say he didn’t snap to who you were after he called us?”
“I suppose he could have, but that still wouldn’t have given him time to mess with those boards. He would have had to follow me,” I said. “But I never considered the publicity. His wife, Helen Hamilton, the woman who runs Parental Advocates, may have realized who Kate and I are because—” I stopped. I couldn’t tell Jeff about Daddy’s lies until I told Kate.
“Go on.”
Damn. Now I had to tell him something. I decided on a watered-down version of the truth. “Kate visited Hamilton, pretending to be a prospective client. And, well . . . she gave Hamilton a check. We got it back, but Hamilton made a copy.”
“This check had her real name on it?” he said.
I nodded.
“I can’t believe this.” He uttered a sarcastic half laugh and shook his head. “If Feldman and his wife are involved in Ben’s death, they now know your sister was scrounging for information—probably know you were, too.”
“Yes, but—”
He withdrew his hand from mine. “This check scam was your idea, right?”
“Please let me—”
“That first time I saw you, I told myself you were trouble. Pegged you as stubborn and driven from the beginning, despite your damn seductive eyes. But did I keep my distance? No, I had to go—Oh, forget it.” He turned away, chewing ninety to nothing on his gum.
Seductive eyes? Wow. “Go on. I think I was going to like the next part.”
He looked at me, unsmiling. “We’ll deal with personal matters later. Stop messing in police business. You and Kate could be in danger.”
I leaned against my pillow. I’d already figured that much out, so why did he have to remind me?
“No more meddling,” he continued. “I’m still working this case and you’ll have to be patient, understand?”
“I understand. Now . . . how about the personal stuff?” I nudged the fingers that rested tantalizingly close to my thigh.
He took a deep breath. “Later.” He stood, emptying his wad of gum into a wrapper. “Patience, Abby. Lie here tonight in the dark and concentrate on becoming more patient.”
But after he left I asked myself why would I think about patience when the memory of his fine blue eyes was the only thing capable of distracting me from the disturbing truths about the past?
25
The next morning I learned the term rude awakening held genuine meaning. I felt like a parakeet that got caught in a badminton game. Every atom hurt. After easing out of bed, I stood under the shower until my prunish fingers warned me to cease and desist. It seemed to take five full minutes to get down the stairs, and when I finally shuffled into the kitchen, Kate was preparing to leave for school.
She smiled. “Need a wheelchair?”
“Yeah, go ahead and smile. You can use your facial muscles without feeling like you’ve been pulled through a knothole backward.” I slowly approached the coffeepot.
“It’s a good day to stay home in bed anyway, because tropical storm Carl has stalled above us and we’ll see nothing but rain.” She opened the refrigerator and said, “Before you have coffee, drink this shake to soothe those achy muscles.” She poured something thick from the blender into a glass and brought the concoction over to me.
It was green. My sister expected me to drink a green milkshake at ten o’clock in the morning. “Can I tackle this after my coffee?”
“I suppose. But don’t go dumping it down the sink,” she warned. “And I expect you to relax while I’m gone.”
Webster barked at the door as she left, then turned to me, tail wagging, rear end wiggling.
“How’d you like a nice, big milkshake, fella?” I asked, holding the glass near his nose.
He sniffed briefly, then ambled to the back door, where he lay down and pretended to be asleep. If our canine garbage disposal wasn’t tempted, I wasn’t risking it either.
I spent the next two hours on-line researching Jane and Morris Mitchell, the people who were supposed to be my biological parents. The couple had indeed died in a plane crash, but the article from the El Paso newspaper archives reported that they were survived by a ten-year-old son. No twin infant girls. I then placed a call to Aunt Caroline, and told her I needed to see her immediately, saying I’d had an accident—which was true.
She arrived within thirty minutes and knocked at the back door. I’d made it halfway there when she let herself into the kitchen and propped her umbrella against the wall.
“What happened, Abigail?” she asked, squinting at my forehead. “Did you and Steven finally come to blows after all your years of off-again, on-again romance?”
“This has nothing to do with Steven and everything to do with you.” I stared her straight in the eye.
She shifted her gaze, flicking at her sleeve before removing her raincoat and draping it over the back of the chair.
“I’ve uncovered some disturbing information,” I said. “I learned yesterday that Kate and I were deceived for a very long time.”
“Whatever are you talking about?”
But I could tell she knew. “I know about the adoption, so you can quit lying.”
Her gaze slid away again.
I went on. “Kate and I were stolen from our mother. She was murdered because she tried to find us, and I want answers.”
“You can’t possibly know she was killed because of anything Charlie may have done.”
“I want the truth!”
She gripped the back of the kitchen chair, then came around and lowered herself onto it. She suddenly looked old, the scars from her face-lifts, just visible where her jaw met her ears, standing out white despite her foundation makeup.
“Tell me,” I said. “Tell me exactly how it happened. How he fooled us all those years. You can start with the pictures. The ones Daddy showed us of the people who were supposedly our parents.”
Aunt Caroline stared at the table. “He got real pictures of the people that died in that plane crash. Went to El Paso for them. He knew you’d have . . . questions.”
“Why did you go along with this hoax?” I said, proud of maint
aining my even, rational tone despite the rage whirling like a small tornado inside me.
“I didn’t have any choice. As I told you the other day, I had been less than discreet in my life.”
“I see. Daddy had more on you than those letters in the attic, huh? Was it an entire dossier, Aunt Caroline?” I was repulsed at the thought of my father blackmailing his own sister.
“I warned him this would happen. I told him he should tell you the truth. But he insisted you’d never find out.”
“And of course you never considered telling us yourself, because you’ve never had a clue about doing the right thing.”
“You are being unreasonably vicious. You and Kate never wanted for anything,” she said, her voice rising. “He gave you everything! He worshiped you. Oh, he threw money at me, that’s true, but none of the love he showered on you and Kate after Elizabeth died. Every time I suggested he come clean, he’d say ‘Keep your mouth shut, Caroline, and you’ll be well cared for.’ ”
“He paid you to keep his secrets. You must be so proud.”
She didn’t reply, just looked at her hands, twisting one ring.
“Did he kill her?” I said quietly.
She jerked her head up. “Are you crazy? He’d never do anything like that. I know this is a shock, but—”
“You don’t know the first thing about it.”
“Please try to understand,” she said. “I know we haven’t agreed on much, but I do love and care for you. I will always consider you my family.”
“If that’s true, which I doubt, I want the rest.” I sat down, every muscle tight with pain and rage.
“Okay. Where to start?” She hesitated, then said, “Charlie and Elizabeth desperately wanted a family, but she couldn’t have children, and because of her illness, because she wouldn’t last more than a few years at most, no agency would allow them to adopt.” “But surely some reputable lawyer rather than a criminal like Feldman could have arranged an adoption? Daddy was a better judge of people than to do business with him.”
“Desperation doesn’t make for clear vision, Abigail. Charlie knew Feldman was . . . an unsavory person, but he wanted to make Elizabeth’s dream of a family come true. He never anticipated that the woman would come looking for you years later.”
“That woman was my mother,” I said.
“Yes. I know. But Charlie didn’t kill her. He made mistakes, granted, errors in judgment, but he wasn’t a killer. Ask Willis. He’ll tell you. He was the one who found Feldman to begin with.”
Of course. Willis.
I pointed my finger at Aunt Caroline. “You can leave, but don’t you dare talk to Kate. She doesn’t know—and I’ll be the one to tell her.”
26
The rain had continued unabated for twenty-four hours and was threatening to send the bayous over their banks and flood the streets. But I had to see Willis before I told Kate the truth. She returned from school early—businesses and colleges were closing up shop because of possible flooding—so I borrowed her 4Runner to better maneuver through any high water, telling her I’d made an appointment for the much-needed tetanus shot. I didn’t feel too guilty about omitting the other part of my itinerary, because I really was going to the doctor.
The nurse at the clinic gave me the shot and samples of an anti-inflammatory medicine after the doctor pronounced me remarkably fit, considering my circumstances. I swallowed a couple of pills before leaving the office, and by the time I reached the CompuCan building, I was almost pain-free.
I paced nervously in Willis’s reception area while he finished with a client, and a few more pieces of the puzzle came together. Why hadn’t I seen through Willis’s attempts to stop me from investigating Ben’s murder, especially after he followed me all the way to Shade the day after it happened?
But before I could answer my own question, Willis opened his office door.
“Why, Abby,” he said, his client passing me on the way out. “I didn’t expect you. Say, what have you done to yourself?”
He made a move to touch my face, but I jerked my head away.
“You put on quite the dog and pony show, don’t you?” I brushed past him into his office and sat down in a client chair.
“What do you mean?” he asked, following at my heels and then perching on the desk.
“Tell me, Willis. How did you keep up this masquerade so long?” I crossed my legs, rotating my foot in agitated circles.
He straightened his tie. “Could you start again? Obviously you’re upset, but I’m not sure why.”
“I pegged Aunt Caroline as a liar and a cheat long ago. But you? No, you and Daddy had me buffaloed. Tell me . . . was he paying you to keep quiet, too, like he paid Aunt Caroline?”
I read sadness in his eyes and wondered if the emotion was for himself or for Kate and me.
His secretary poked her head in the door. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Hatch, I’ll head home. They say we’re in for heavy flooding, and my subdivision entrance fills when the weatherman even mentions rain. Can I get you anything before I go?”
“No, Dolores. Go on.”
I waited until she was gone, then said, “I want answers.”
When he finally spoke, he sounded resigned. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you? I told you not to pursue this, Abby. Now you and Kate have been hurt.”
“What about the ones already hurt? The ultimate hurt. As in dead. Tell me, Willis, did you help Daddy . . . or did he help you?”
“What are you talking about?” Willis looked tired and confused.
“I’m talking about you and Daddy murdering my mother. He wasn’t around to help you with Ben, though. You handled that murder all by yourself, didn’t you? Ben must have been ready to tell Kate and me the truth and so you killed him. Killed him for a stupid thirty-year-old secret.”
He blinked several times. “That’s ridiculous. Where did you ever get the idea that I, or your father, for that matter—”
“You knew Ben’s real identity, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I’ll admit I did, but—”
“If you’re so innocent, if you didn’t kill him, why didn’t you share what you knew with the police?”
“Because I—”
“Oh, I know why.” I stood, leaned close to his face, and poked my finger in his chest. “You were covering up. You had a hand in an illegal adoption, and even if the statute of limitations had long passed, you’d be in serious trouble with the bar. Your reputation would be ruined.”
“You think I’m a killer?”
“You had motive, and you sure as hell had the opportunity to fix up that cyanide trap.”
“I certainly didn’t want you and Kate to find out about the adoption from Ben, but I didn’t kill him, and neither Charlie nor I murdered your mother.”
“I’ve been lied to my whole life. Why should I believe anything you say?”
“Charlie didn’t even know your mother’s name when he adopted you two. He didn’t want to know. I handled the deal with Feldman.”
“Because what you were doing was illegal, right?”
“That, and he feared that if you knew your mother was alive, you’d want to find her one day.” He reached out to touch me and I shrank from his outstretched hand. “You have every right to be angry, Abby, but—”
“Angry? Angry doesn’t begin to cover it.” I turned away, hugging my arms, trying to contain the pain his betrayal had caused.
“Charlie thought he had all the bases covered. Feldman assured us no one would know. Said the mother didn’t want you. So when she showed up . . .” He shook his head. “Charlie was devastated. But I swear he had nothing to do with murder.”
I turned back. “Quit lying, Willis.”
“That’s the God’s truth.”
“So how did you find out she was looking for us?”
“Feldman called. God, Charlie was furious. He blamed everything on me at first. Said I should have researched the mother. But I could tell he realized this was
as much his fault as mine. And then he took off for Galveston to deal with Feldman himself.”
“And not long after Cloris Grayson died. You’re telling me that was all Feldman’s doing? You still insist you and Daddy had nothing to do with her murder?”
“We didn’t know the woman was dead until Ben showed up.”
“Why don’t you just tell the truth? Because I’m going to the police with what I know no matter what.”
“Go ahead. But before you do that, get all the facts,” he said. “I happen to know Ben and your father made some sort of agreement right before Charlie died.”
The room was quiet, in stark contrast to the scene outside, where wind was hurling rain at the windows. Beyond, the sky was as dark as night.
“What kind of agreement?”
“I’m not sure, but I don’t think Charlie would have contacted Feldman. He hated the man.” He shook his head, looking puzzled.
“Did you know Daddy made Judge Hayes resign? Were you sweating bullets that night at the country club while I blabbed on about her?”
“I never knew how Charlie dealt with the, uh . . . problem, until you told us Judge Hayes resigned.”
“Not plausible. You’re a lawyer. You’d have heard about the resignation. And you also know Daddy could have permanently silenced my mother.”
“He couldn’t have killed her, Abby. He didn’t have it in him.”
Willis was good. If I didn’t know the two of them had lied through their teeth for years, he might have pulled off this innocent act.
“Come on, Willis. It’s over. I’m going straight to Jeff. He’ll help me find the proof I need to put you and Feldman away.”
“If you’re hell-bent on proving this theory of yours, I’d take a closer look at the CD from the safe-deposit box. Charlie told me he had kept a record of everything that had transpired since the adoption, and I tried to get my hands on it, but you found it before I did.”
“Are you saying Daddy confessed on that CD? That he imbedded information about the adoption in that program?”
Pick Your Poison Page 21