Yellow Rose Mysteries 02 - A Wedding to Die For (21 page)

20

“I like your cat,” said an unfamiliar female voice. “Very friendly, but a little clumsy.”

I took a step back, wondering how quickly I could get to the phone.

“I have a gun, so don’t think about calling for help,” the woman said. She’d been sitting in one of the wicker chairs in the shadowed corner, but now stood. I saw a flash of silver in her hand.

As Daddy used to say, there is nothing more convincing than the business end of gun. I didn’t move.

She walked to the center of the room until she was under the ceiling fan light—and I was suddenly glad I hadn’t made that call.

“I’ve been dying to meet you,” I said, “but please don’t take that literally.”

Laura Montgomery smiled with all the self-assurance holding a weapon can provide. She wore a green sweater, the shoulders soaked with rain. Not exactly warm enough clothing for tonight’s weather, but you don’t need many warm clothes in Jamaica, so her wardrobe was probably limited. She’d skipped the hat, and curved tendrils of damp hair clung to both cheeks. Her gun hand was mottled by the cold—a small-caliber gun, similar to the .22 Daddy bought me for my sixteenth birthday, the one I wished was in my pocket rather than in my office.

“Now that the newlyweds are gone, I hope you’ll take a little friendly advice,” she said.

“Friendly? With a weapon in your hand?”

“I wasn’t sure what kind of welcome I’d receive. After all, I did break into your house. Damn easy by the way.”

“Turnabout is fair play,” I said.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Nice little place you’ve got in Jamaica,” I said, adding a tad of my own arrogance.

Her voice edged with anger, she said, “You are a very busy young woman. That’s why we need to talk.”

“You don’t need a gun for that. I’m happy to sit down and—”

“No, thank you. We’ll talk right here, right now.”

“Okay. You’re the boss.”

“Tell me what your relationship is to my daughter.”

“Simple. She hired me to find you.”

That cracked her “I’m tough-as-nails” demeanor.
“What?”

“You heard me. I’ve been looking for you for months. She wanted her mother at her wedding. Apparently she got her wish.”

“S-she knew about me?” I’d apparently pressed her panic button because her face had paled.

But I was a little confused. “That’s why you came out of hiding, right? To attend your daughter’s wedding?”

“Yes, but not because—are you saying she knows
everything
about me? Knew I was there that day?”

Ah. Now I understood. “No. She doesn’t know much of anything yet—how you’re a fugitive, how you’ve been following her. That kind of information has to wait for just the right moment, and with her father murdered and her uncle dead, now is not the time.”

“I’m truly sorry about all that’s happened,” she said, but I sensed she was distracted, was trying to figure something out.

“You’re sorry?” I said. “Sorry you killed them?”

She flinched, stared at me. “From what I overheard between the three of you here tonight, someone else wants to take responsibility for those deaths. And that’s the best news I’ve had since I arrived in Texas. I can go home now.”

“Go home?” I offered a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t think the police will let that happen.”

Renewed fear flickered in her eyes. “So you’ve told them about me?”

“I sure tried to tell them, but that’s a long story. Maybe we can make a little deal here. You tell me what I want to know, and maybe I’ll delay reporting your reappearance to the police.”

“A deal? If you think I killed two men, what’s to stop me from killing you?” She raised the gun a few inches to emphasize the point.

What
would
stop her? I was reading desperation in her tense face and scared eyes, and desperate people do crazy things. The only defense I had was what I had learned in the last few weeks, so I kept talking. “You care way too much about your daughter to kill one of her friends—and I am her friend.”

That got her. Her shoulders sagged. “I didn’t even know she was alive until a few weeks ago.”

“You thought she died at birth.”

“And I suppose you also know that bastard stole my daughter? She was the only reason I ran before my court date. I wasn’t about to have a baby while I was in prison, have my child end up in foster care. And it turns out, she was the only thing that could bring me back here. I swear, if James had been in the room when I learned how he’d taken my child, I would have killed him with my bare hands.”

And I believed her. Revisiting her anger had her tensing up, and her grip on the gun seemed viselike now. Did she even know how to use it? An untrained person holding a gun is about the scariest thing on earth. “Listen, I don’t plan on running for the phone or screaming for the neighbors, so could you put the gun down?”

But she was so wound up she started waving the weapon instead, riding her emotions like some freaked-out kid on a roller coaster. “Can you believe what he did to me? How could anyone be that cruel? I lost my daughter and thought it was somehow my fault she died. I believed I deserved what happened, thought I had to be punished for the crime I’d committed.”

Adrenaline spilled into my blood and made my skin prickle with the tension. Keeping my eyes on the .22, I said, “I realize Megan was raised by your worst enemy, but—”

“Her name was
Claire
.”

“Right,” I said softly. “Claire. But she’s very much alive. A beautiful young woman. Kind and loving. And I know she wants to meet you in the worst way.”

Obviously not the right words. She pointed the gun at my chest. “That will never happen. You will not tell her about me.”

“Okay. Sure. But—”

“Liar,” she spat. “You’ll tell her the first chance you get if I let you live.”

“So kill me, then,” I said, sounding braver than I felt. “But one way or another, she’ll find out. She’s determined to learn the truth about you, and if I’m dead, she’ll find someone else to help her.”

We stared at each other for what seemed an hour, but it had to be only a few seconds. Then she relaxed the gun hand, letting it drop to her side. “He made me pay for what I did to him. For twenty long years.”

“But he’s gone now and maybe you and Megan can—”

“No. My daughter couldn’t possibly forgive me for what I did. I’m a common criminal.” Her eyes had misted, and she blinked several times until they cleared.

“And couldn’t possibly forgive your affair with her father?” I asked, wanting to add,
And couldn’t forgive you for killing him?
But that question might rile her up enough to make her point that gun my way again.

She nodded. “Believe it or not, I used to love that asshole.”

“And he was Megan’s biological father, right?”

She nodded.

“Listen, I promise to help you work things out with your daughter, but I need all the facts. How did you know about the wedding? How—”

“Abby?” came a muffled voice from the vicinity of the kitchen. Aunt Caroline’s voice. Damn her to hell!

My aunt started pounding on the back door, saying, “I know you’re home.”

As far as Laura Montgomery was concerned, Aunt Caroline might as well have been the FBI. She whirled and rushed out the terrace door into the darkness, shattered glass crunching underfoot, clothespins spinning on the tile after her retreat.

A part of me wanted to run after her, tackle her, make her tell me more, but a loud voice in my head overruled this idea. “Let her go for now,” it said.

So I closed the terrace door and went to let my stupid aunt in. She was the last person I wanted to talk to, especially since she’d just screwed up my chance of finishing the job I was hired for.

“Abby, what’s wrong?” she asked as soon as I let her in.

“Nothing. So glad you dropped by.” No hiding the sarcasm. I was too pissed off. I headed for the coffee-pot to refill the mug I’d emptied on my jeans earlier, not trusting myself even to be civil.

“No coffee for me, thank you. I can’t stay.”

Now, there’s the best news I’ve had all day.

“I see you’re upset,” she said. “You’ve got those little furrows between your eyebrows. Do you know how expensive it is to cosmetically repair damage that could be avoided if you’d pay attention to your emotions, Abigail?”

“No, but I’m sure you do,” I said wearily. “Listen. I’ve had a long day. Why are you here?”

“I found you some work, just as I promised.” She smiled like she’d just invented Coca-Cola.

“I told you not to do that,” I said.

“But Libby needs your help. You remember my friend Libby?”

I nodded, stirring sugar into my coffee. Libby had a fake British accent and carted an Irish wolfhound around in her Mercedes.

“She adopted a new puppy from the shelter—got a schnoodle if you can believe it. Schnoodles are very in. Anyway, this dog has seizures, and Libby feels it’s her responsibility to find the original owner and see if there are more puppies who might be afflicted. She hopes to then find them homes with owners who have the resources to—”

“You want me to work a
dog
adoption case?” I said through tight lips.

“Why yes. You fancy yourself an investigator and—”

“I don’t investigate dogs . . . or cats or birds,” I said, my voice rising. “And if she adopts an elephant with hives, I won’t do that case, either!”

Aunt Caroline stepped back, looking indignant. “How ungracious of you, Abigail. I taught you to be—”

“Save it,” I said.

She pulled her fur collar up around her chin. “I came here with the best intentions, hoping to show you that I’m willing to embrace the new
working girl
Abby. Obviously you don’t appreciate my efforts, and so I will bid you good night.”

She, too, departed into the night, leaving me frustrated and angry.

And then there was the guilt. How did she manage to be such an idiot and still make me feel like everything wrong between us was my own doing?

21

The next morning, after I’d rethought the events of last night, I knew I had to report that Laura Montgomery had returned to the States. Since she had been arrested, though not tried for the embezzlement, that meant the statute of limitations didn’t apply. She was still wanted by the authorities. If I had any intention of moving beyond provisional PI status in the future, I had to play by the rules. I called Angel for advice, and he told me that since Montgomery had fled from a Dallas jurisdiction, I could report my “sighting” on-line. And, since the case was cold, Angel figured it would probably take the Dallas cops at least a week to put someone on it, pull the files, and get back to me. In other words, this approach would buy some time.

Next I called Kate at her office. With Megan’s mother making an appearance, it was time to tell my client what I had learned. That DNA results I’d been so eager to get didn’t even matter anymore, but Kate’s presence when I spoke to Megan did. The receptionist said Kate would be free for lunch at eleven thirty, which gave me an hour to get my act together and make it to the Medical Center. I also needed to find out what had become of Roxanne the Confessor, and once I was on the road, I called Megan to find out.

But she didn’t answer. Travis did.

“Hi, Travis. So what happened with Roxanne’s confession last night?”

“When we got home and told Sylvia what Roxanne had done, all three of us went down to the police station. Roxanne refused to see us. Fielder told us Roxanne is not under arrest, but she decided to keep her overnight as a material witness.”

“No arrest. Obviously Fielder wasn’t convinced by this confession—at least not yet.”

“Yeah. Not yet.”

“Fielder’s probably being careful this time after what happened when she hauled you in. Does Roxanne have a lawyer?”

“Apparently she refused legal help, too. Megan’s hoping Fielder will let her out in time for Graham’s visitation tonight. Sylvia’s decided he should be buried next to his brother—which I don’t get since they weren’t exactly best buddies—but I’m not making those decisions.”

“How’s Megan today? I’m concerned about her. She looked so tired and pale last night.”

“I’m pretty concerned myself. I wanted to talk to you about—” He paused. “Hang on. I hear her coming down the stairs.” A second later Travis said, “Hey, Meg. It’s Abby.”

Megan got on the line. “Did Travis tell you they kept Roxanne overnight?”

“He did, but maybe Fielder wanted to give Roxanne some time to rethink her confession.” I’d reached the Medical Center and had to pay attention to traffic or get myself killed. “If it would make you feel better, I’ll swing by the Seacliff Police Station later and see if I can find out anything.”

“Abby, you’ve helped so much already and—”

“Consider it done. I’ll see you at the funeral home this evening and give you a full report.” Megan gave me the time and location—the same as her father’s services—and I clicked off the phone and plugged it into the recharger.

Maybe tonight I could get Travis alone. Get his opinion on when I should tell Megan everything I’d learned. Would she be happy to know she’d been adopted by her biological father or angry he hadn’t told her the truth? And would she be happy to know her birth mother was alive or disgusted the woman was a fugitive? I had no way of knowing.

Finding a spot in the parking garage of Kate’s building proved as challenging as always, and after my fifth trip around winding narrow lanes and concrete pillars, I slipped into a spot meant for a “compact” car. Absurd. Ninety-nine percent of the vehicles in Houston are SUVs or trucks.

Kate was waiting in the reception room when I arrived in her tenth floor office. She wore blue today, a pale cashmere sweater and navy wool slacks. The colors complemented her creamy skin and dark hair, and I decided it felt good to see a rested, happy female for once. Rather than go out for lunch, she suggested we order Chinese, and we went to the family therapy room after she called King Food.

I love the therapy room. It’s the most comfortable, homey place imaginable. The lighting casts a pink glow over the spacious area—according to Kate pink is the most calming color. Two sofas and four armchairs surrounded an oval coffee table, and classical music played in the background today rather than Kate’s usual favorite, Jazz. Me? I would have opted for Dave Matthews if I came for a head shrinking. His music is about as real as it gets.

We sat in the “big chairs” as I call them, two huge overstuffed cranberry chairs you could get lost in. I removed my shoes and tucked my feet up.

Kate said, “I see you’ve been using the arnica gel. Your face looks so much better.”

“You were right about that stuff. Worked like a charm. Wish I had a magic fix for this case. Yesterday was chock-full of surprises.”

I brought her up to snuff and had just finished when the receptionist brought in the food.

After she was gone, I said, “Kate, I could use your support when I sit Megan down and tell her all this.”

“I planned on being there.” She pushed her rice around with her chopsticks. “But I have another concern for now. This confession of Roxanne’s. That girl is unstable, Abby.”

“My guess is she’s not guilty of anything besides being as nutty as a bag of ballpark peanuts.”

“You think she’s protecting Travis with this confession?” Kate asked.

“I don’t know what’s going on in her mind, but she did confess right after she found out Travis had been brought in for questioning.”

“So maybe she
is
protecting him?”

“One thing I know for sure about Roxanne is how much she cares for Megan and Courtney. If that means protecting Megan’s relationship with Travis by going to jail, I think she’d be more than willing to take the fall.”

“If she does get arrested, I’m worried how Courtney will handle it. Emotionally, she’s very fragile right now,” said Kate.

“Fragile? That’s an adjective I never would have chosen for Courtney.” I was eating with a good old fork, a far more sensible utensil than chopsticks. I speared a piece of sweet-and-sour pork and loaded it up with the yummy pink sauce before putting it in my mouth.

“I talked to Courtney late last night, and believe me, she’s not the same girl you met. I’m visiting her this afternoon, by the way.”

“She’s lucid?” I said.

“Lucid and depressed. But that’s what I expected at this point.”

I planted my fork in my untasted glob of white rice and left it there. “You know what? Roxanne’s confession came on the heels of Travis’s episode with Fielder, but it also came soon after she visited her sister yesterday. Maybe it’s not Travis she’s protecting.”

Kate offered an “I don’t think so” look. “What could Courtney have said that would send Roxanne off to martyr herself?”

“I don’t know. But I’m fresh out of ways to find out who killed James and Graham. If she’s got any ideas. I’d love to hear them. Mind if I tag along?”

Kate frowned, seeming none too thrilled with this request. She finally said, “Courtney would have to agree to see you. And if she starts to decompensate—she’ll be experiencing plenty of ups and downs in the next few days—you’ll have to leave the room right away.”

“Yes, ma’am, Dr. Rose. You have my promise.”

We drove in separate cars since the private psychiatric facility was about halfway to Seacliff. I planned on visiting the funeral home this evening and I wouldn’t have time to make two trips back and forth to Houston.

The psych hospital was a sprawling redbrick building surrounded by live oaks and plenty of shrubbery. And the obligatory ten-foot-high chain-link fence. The only thing missing was razor wire.

“Who’s paying for this? Sylvia?” I asked as we walked a concrete path toward a set of double glass doors.

“Believe it or not, Courtney has medical insurance,” Kate said.

“She has a job?” I said, surprised.

“No, she told me her father paid for her coverage.”

“I know for certain
he
didn’t have a job. Wonder how he afforded it.”

“Maybe you can ask Courtney,” Kate said, reaching for the door.

My sister was greeted by the staff with smiles and hugs, and there were introductions all around. I was provided with one of those stick-on visitor badges and then we walked down a long corridor to Courtney’s room.

Stopping outside number 120, Kate said, “Let me ask her if she wants to see you . . . and at some point I will need time alone with her.”

“Why don’t you do that now? I see some chairs down the hall where I can park it until you two are done talking.”

“You sure?” Kate looked amused.

“You think I can’t handle a few crazy people?” Kate glanced around and whispered, “Keep your voice down. I’ll come and get you if Courtney okays a visit.”

“Gotcha,” I answered.

She knocked on Courtney’s door, cracked it an inch, then slipped inside.

I headed for the chairs stacked outside what turned out to be a game room. The place was empty, so I went to a card table and sat down in front of a deck of cards. I started shuffling, but before I could lay out a round of solitaire, a heavy woman with red cheeks and a serious wheeze sat across from me.

“You new?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m not a patient,” I said.

Her hair was thinning, and she wore a purple and gold LSU T-shirt. “Then I’m not, either.” Her thick drawl wasn’t Texan—more like the deep south.

“Really, I’m not a patient. I’m waiting to visit someone.”

“Who? Bill?”

“No.” I dealt my hand, hoping she’d leave. Her scent reminded me of a perfumed poodle and her heavy breathing made me nervous. I sure hoped they had medical doctors here, too, if she wheezed herself unconscious.

“Bill has wife issues, and I thought you might be the girlfriend. I’m Amelia, by the way.” She extended a plump hand.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Abby.” We shook hands, and it was all I could do to not pull back too quickly. Her flesh was, well . . . squishy.

“
The
Abby. Courtney’s Abby?” Her eyes bulged with interest.

I wasn’t sure it was a good idea to admit I was
the
Abby, but she had my attention. “You know Courtney?”

“Honey, we all know each other in this place. She was hoppin’ mad at you when she was admitted the other day. Screaming and hollerin’ to beat the band once the drugs started to clear her system. You put her in here, right?”

“I think she put herself in,” I answered.

“She has father issues,” Amelia said, nodding.

“What does that mean?” I flipped three cards to start my game.

“Her father got murdered and that poor girl is thinking it’s all her fault. I don’t usually feel sorry for the druggies, but I do for her. Puny thing, too. Needs a big pot of red beans and some boudain.”

“She said her father’s death was her fault?” I asked.

Amelia coughed a few times, then pulled a tissue from her sleeve and spit into it. “Damn asthma. Anyway, Courtney is sorta like Owen—he was here last time I was in. Owen was a druggie with father issues just like Courtney. But I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for
him
. Especially not after he punched me.”

The last time? And he
punched
her? Maybe this wasn’t the right person to be talking to.

I was considering wandering back toward Courtney’s room, but Amelia reached across the table and poked me in the chest. “I can tell what you’re thinkin’, and you can just quit passin’ judgment, girl. I have a lithium regulation problem. That’s why I have to be admitted here more than most other folks.”

I stood. “Sure. I understand. And now I think I’ll go see about Courtney.”

“Guilt issues?” she said.

“You mean Courtney?” I said.

“No. You.” She raised her nearly nonexistent eyebrows knowingly.

Now how in hell did she peg me as the guilt-ridden type? I didn’t want to know, so I started down the hall.

“I’ll tell you about Courtney if you’ll sit with me for a spell,” she called.

I stopped.

“Please? I don’t get many visitors.”

I reluctantly returned to the table. Though she might not have reliable information, she obviously paid attention to the patients here. Maybe she knew something.

Amelia gathered up the cards and placed a protective hand over the deck. “Courtney talked plenty yesterday. Cried a lot too—but not that gulpin’, outta-control kinda crying like most first timers. She just needed to talk. She was missing her father, wishing she could have prevented his death. Once the drugs wore off, it’d finally sunk in she’d never see him again.”

“She probably hasn’t been herself for months,” I said, “and I imagine it was pretty tough when she woke up in the real world and had to deal with his murder.”

Amelia smiled. “You ever consider becoming a therapist, girl?”

“No, ma’am. We already have one of those in our family. So tell me your other insights into Courtney.” Her information might not be helpful, but it was sure interesting.

“Things changed when that oddball sister showed up. Courtney got all sad and stoic. You talk about cryin’? That sister was one big whiney, sniveling baby. Sometimes I wonder how I land in here time after time and someone like her gets to walk around like she’s actually normal.”

“She
did
just lose her father,” I said, wondering why I felt the need to defend Roxanne.

“You’re right. I was being insensitive. See, that’s why people are put off by me. Anyway, I did hear Courtney tell her sister not to do it when the sister was leavin’.”

“Not to do what?”

“I don’t know. Courtney just said, ‘We’ve caused enough trouble, so don’t do it.’ ”

We’ve caused trouble?
What did that refer to?

Just then I heard Kate call my name, and a second later she peeked around the corner of the game room. “Hi, Amelia,” she said.

Amelia beamed. “Hi, Dr. Rose. You look so fine today, but then you look fine every time I see you.”

Kate thanked her and then addressed me. “You can see her now. She’s doing pretty well.”

I stood. “Thanks for your help, Amelia.”

She nodded and picked up the cards while I followed Kate.