Pick Your Poison (20 page)

24

I stared up at the house, feeling groggy and disoriented. How had I landed here? I remembered climbing the stairs . . . the floor was wet, the door was swaying in the wind, and—

What was that noise? It sounded like my name. Or had I damaged my brain and now suffered from hallucinations?

No. I definitely heard a human voice coming from above me.

“Abby?”

“I’m in the bathtub,” I croaked.

And I
was
in the bathtub. Well, half in the bathtub. One leg dangled over the mangled faucet, and my backside rested in three or four inches of muddy water. I rose up on my elbows.

Steven was standing above me where the bathroom used to be. “Are you okay?” he said.

“Yes, but we’ll definitely start here with the redecorating.” I attempted to extricate myself from the pile of jagged porcelain and shattered lumber. But moving wasn’t as easy as it had been prior to my plunge into renovation hell. I hurt. Everywhere.

“How did you end up down there?” he called.

“Obviously I fell, idiot.” But I was the one who felt like an idiot.

“Don’t move. I’m coming down!”

At that point I became aware of the persistent and extremely annoying rain, which, despite the summer heat, was probably contributing to the chills threatening to shake me silly.

After bringing the ladder from the garage and propping it on the side of the house, Steven hoisted me carefully from the tangled pile of beams, fixtures, and broken ceramic tile, then helped me climb down.

“You’re bleeding,” he said quietly, wiping my forehead with the heel of his hand once we stood on the soggy lawn.

“That’s probably mud,” I argued, but then my knees buckled. He caught me, saying gently but firmly, “Shut up. I know blood when I see it.”

My teeth started chattering and waves of tremors began in my shoulders, spreading to my arms and legs as he lifted me and carried me to his truck. After a few minutes passed, I noted with relief that all limbs remained attached to my body and I had all my teeth.

The drive back to Houston was a blur. Thank goodness he didn’t take me to the hospital. Injuries aside, I would have died of embarrassment. Most folks fall
in
the bathtub, not
into
it.

Kate paled when she opened the front door and saw Steven supporting me. I could imagine how I must have looked. Luckily I seemed to have sustained only a puncture wound to my butt from a nail and a gash on my forehead. Nothing seemed to be broken, but my hero insisted he had to help me upstairs, and I didn’t have the energy for a dispute.

“Despite appearances, I’ll survive,” I reassured Kate as Steven walked me up the stairs. “To the bathroom. Okay?”

“Sure.” He steered me left at the landing, with Kate following close behind.

“Let’s be real careful before we go in, though. I discovered today that bathrooms have this strange way of disappearing.”

“This is all my fault,” Steven said. “I knew that section of the house was unstable. I should have blocked off the stairs so you wouldn’t go up there.” He helped me sit in front of the vanity.

Webster appeared, wagging his tail. Apparently he considered mud and blood a delightful combination and began licking my legs.

“I’ll be picking up tarps to seal off the damage as best I can,” said Steven. “Otherwise the rain will saturate the entire second floor. I’ll tow your car back, Abby, but before I leave, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider and visit a hospital?”

“Positive. Thanks for everything,” I said.

He left.

I gratefully took the towel Kate offered and wiped my face.

“Tell me what happened,” she said. “Looks like a bomb exploded in your immediate vicinity.” She stooped and pulled my shoes off.

“The bathroom succumbed to the fatal allure of gravity, requiring only my one hundred and twenty pounds to reach that decision.” I took off my shirt, and thank goodness Webster enjoyed sniffing that filthy, tattered remnant better than running his snout over my body.

Kate turned on the bathwater.

“Bubbles. I need lots of bubbles.” I stood on unsteady legs and finished undressing.

“Once I help you in, I’m calling the doctor.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I’ll sit in this wonderful, fully appointed tub—a far cry from my previous experience in the bath—and recover immediately.”

“Abby, for God’s sake, you just fell off a house!”

“Don’t remind me.” I slowly descended into the hot, soapy water and knew what heaven was about.

“I’m calling. I don’t care what you say.” She stomped out, pulling a reluctant Webster, who bade a fond farewell with a longing look at the offensive shirt on the floor.

If calling the doctor would occupy Kate for a while, that was fine by me. I didn’t want to slap her with the truth about Daddy. Not yet. I had a row or two to hoe with someone else first.

I had just settled into bed when Kate entered and handed me a snifter half-filled with amber liquid.

“What concoction is this, Dr. Kate?”

“Brandy,” she said.

“Where’s the chamomile tea? The feverfew? The valerian root?” I said, accepting the glass. I was thinking that all this attention for a few bumps and bruises was making me more uncomfortable than I already was.

“This occasion requires something more potent. And brandy is medicinal.”

I sipped, and since I rarely drink alcohol after my experience with Steven’s problem, the brandy had an immediate effect, both soothing and warm. I set the half-empty snifter next to me and readjusted the quilt over my knees.

“When I explained to the doctor what happened,” Kate said, “he thought you should go to the emergency room, but I told him you wouldn’t cooperate. He insisted you come to his office tomorrow for a tetanus shot, though.”

“He insisted? And will he have a medical tantrum if I don’t obey? Or maybe send me to noncompliantpatient jail?”

“Humor me if not him, Abby. I’m guessing that was a very nasty, dirty nail that stabbed you in the patoot.”

The doorbell saved me from pronouncements of the fate awaiting me if I refused medical care, although I had to admit a tetanus shot was probably a good idea.

“That’s Terry,” Kate said. “Mind if he comes up?”

“Invite the neighbors, if you want. But they may have to watch me sleep, because I’m damn tired.”

As it turned out, Terry wasn’t alone. Jeff Kline was with him, and he definitely looked irritated once I explained about my fall without grace.

Terry hadn’t eaten, which was closer to an emergency than my own accident, so he and Kate went down to the kitchen, offering to bring me up something in a few minutes. They left Jeff and me alone, and he wasted no time getting to the point.

“Busy today?” he asked, propping his feet on the tapestry-covered footstool near my bed. His inquiring eyebrows, not to mention the snide slant to his tone, confirmed this would not be a pleasant conversation.

“Besides examining the plumbing on P Street?” I said, trying to sound innocent.

“Before that.” Out came the gum.

I was beginning to understand about the gum—how the quantity and chewing speed increased proportionately with his level of agitation. I shifted off my aching rear end and said, “This sounds like an interrogation, Sergeant.”

“Darn right, Abby. Or should I call you Police Consultant Abby? I had no idea we had an Unsolved Crime division. Very creative.”

“Oops.”

“I could have come here with a warrant for your arrest.”

“How did you find out?”

“All you care about is how I found out?” he said. “You’re not even sorry? Not even grateful you won’t be arrested? You’re just bothered by
getting caught
?”

“Arrest me if you think I’ve committed a crime,” I said, surprised I had the energy to raise my voice. “But if you’d done your job, I wouldn’t have been at Feldman’s house in the first place.” I snatched up the snifter and downed the rest of the brandy in one gulp. And choked.

Not content with my failed attempt at self-destruction earlier in the day, I now threatened to drown in my own secretions. What an attractive picture I must have presented—bruised and scraped practically beyond recognition, and now turning blue from lack of oxygen.

Jeff pounded my back, and when it was obvious I’d survive another brush with death, he switched to rubbing circles and massaging my neck. I relaxed against his strong, kneading fingers.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “Kate said you didn’t break anything, but you look miserable.”

“I’m okay. And I’m sorry for flying off the handle. I should never have taken Terry’s business cards, and I probably deserved to fall off the house, and—”

“Quiet, Abby.”

“But Jeff, you don’t understand. I can’t drop this investigation until I find out—”

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 maintaining 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.”