Hunting Houston

by Sandy Steen

  “Yeah, well. You know how mothers are.” She glanced away, feeling awkward.

  “Relax.” He slipped an index finger under the fallen strap and eased it back onto her shoulder. “She can’t see through the telephone.”

  Abby grinned, and jumped at the easy out he had unknowingly offered. “Guess we’re all still kids when we deal with parents. All those old rules just pop right to the surface again. Like it’s up to you to make sure guys respect you. You know,” she said, linking her hands together in an almost-childlike way. “Stuff like that.”

  Houston leaned over and kissed her cheek in a very tender, gentlemanly fashion. “Yeah. Stuff like that.”

  “We, uh, never did get to the pizza.”

  “I’m not really hungry anymore.” Not for food, anyway, he thought, gazing at her mouth. But he didn’t intend to press the issue after seeing how skittish she was after the phone call.

  “There’s a microwave in the kitchen. I guess we could, uh—”

  “Heat it up?”

  “If…if that’s what you really want.”

  “What I want,” he said, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, “is to make love to you…”

  Abby held her breath.

  “When it’s right. Right place. Right time. I won’t lie and tell you it wouldn’t have happened today, but for that call.”

  “I’m-”

  He touched a finger to her mouth. “You wanted it as much as I did.”

  Abby licked her lips. “Yes.”

  He placed his thumb beneath her chin to tilt it up. “We’re going to be good. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” She knew they would be better than good.

  “The anticipation only makes it sweeter.” He kissed her quickly, then walked to the door. “Will you go to dinner with me tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pick you up at eight?”

  “Yes.”

  He blew her a kiss, and left.

  Abby stared at the closed door for a long time, wanting to call him back. Wanting to call back the moment, his kiss, everything. Everything she’d had before the phone call.

  Brax’s call. Abby sighed.

  She went to the cabinet in the credenza and flipped the On switch to the fax machine. Then she picked up. the phone and dialed the office number.

  Brax answered immediately. “Hall, here.”

  “Sorry about that, but I couldn’t talk.”

  “I got your drift. How come I couldn’t reach you by fax?”

  “I turned the machine off. My guest might have thought it a bit odd for someone on vacation to bring their fax machine with them.”

  “Oh, yeah. Smart girl.”

  “Thanks.”

  After a pause he said, “Aren’t you going to ask what was in the message you didn’t receive?”

  “Sure. What was it?”

  “Nothing…now,” he said, clearly put off.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, Leland did owe some sizable dollars to some people in Las Vegas. We’re talking major bucks, here.”

  “Did?”

  “Yeah. He paid up. Same goes for a bookie in Lahaina and one in Hilo. Looks like we struck out.”

  “Great. Any idea where he got that kind of money?”

  “Nope. Not so far, but we’ll keep checking. How you doing on your end?”

  “So-so.”

  “You know, Miss Abigail, we may have come to a dead end on this one. It’s possible.”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve still got the feeling that we— that everybody—has overlooked something.”

  “Maybe you’re right. But we’re running out of time. We can’t stay on this forever, if we don’t come up with something substantial.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, guess you can hang in there for a while longer. Let me know what’s happening.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t turn off that damn machine again,” he ordered.

  “I won’t,” she assured him and hung up.

  Brax was right, Abby thought. She was running out of time.

  In more ways than one.

  Chapter 10

  She thought about canceling the date several times throughout the day. She thought about it, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t because, truthfully, she didn’t want to. Truthfully, she wanted to be with Houston.

  She’d done some stupid, careless things in her life, and this ranked right up there with the worst of them. For all her determination not to allow herself to become emotionally dependent on Houston, she had done precisely that.

  The problem was, now she wouldn’t have it any other way. Now, she knew the truth. She was in love with him.

  When it had happened, she wasn’t sure, but there was no doubt about it. She loved him.

  And he was right. They would be good together. They would be great, if only…

  “If only he forgives you for being a liar,” Abby said out loud.

  Just a minor difficulty. All she had to do was tell him the truth.

  Oh, yes. The truth. That she had come to Maui to investigate him. That she had lied from the start. But not to worry. She didn’t think he was guilty. In fact, she was willing to stake her professional reputation on his innocence. Oh, and by the way, she thought his partner was guilty as sin. That he had probably paid someone to blow up the boat, and oops, had killed his wife in the process.

  Yeah. Right.

  Knowing that she would have to tell him sooner or later, Abby admitted her cowardice in opting for later. Besides, she couldn’t tell Houston about her suspicions of Gil. Not without proof. Which, unfortunately, she didn’t have.

  She had gone over the file again after talking to Brax. Nothing. Not one damned thing. She was beginning to hate the sight of that file. As it was, she could practically recite the thing from memory. But, most infuriating of all was that no matter how many times she read it, nothing jumped off the page and said, “Here’s what you’ve been looking for.” Nothing, absolutely nothing rang any bells.

  Frustrated, Abby went to the kitchen for one of the sodas left behind from the abandoned pizza lunch, and popped the tab. The can was halfway to. her mouth when it hit her.

  Nothing rang any bells.

  Bells. Bell…

  “Bell,” she whispered. “The ship’s bell.”

  Abby practically tossed the full can of soda into the sink in her haste to get to the file. She dug through the endless stack of papers, searching for—

  “There it is.” She snatched up the copy of Houston’s EUO. “I know it’s in here. Where is it?” Furiously licking her thumb to help her leaf through the pages, she flipped through until she found what she was looking for—what she had been looking for all along. And it had been right under her nose. She found the page, ran her finger over the words until she came to the exact spot…

  Daly: And you actually saw the boat sink? Sinclair: Yes. Yes.

  Daly: Afterward, did you see any debris, or Mrs. Leland’s body?

  Sinclair: Yes, and—and no. I saw the ship’s bell. Or what was left of it.

  Daly: The bell was floating?

  Sinclair: No. It was still bolted to a piece of the hull.

  Daly: How large a piece?

  Sinclair: Small. Maybe one by two feet.

  Daly: You say a bell was attached to it?

  Sinclair: Yes. Standard brass bell. Most ships have them. It was engraved with the ship’s name and the date we went into business.

  Daly: Did you consider picking up the piece of fiberglass, and putting it in the raft with you?

  Sinclair: What?

  Daly: Did you consider picking up—

  Sinclair: You want to know why I didn’t think about collecting debris when I had just seen someone I cared about die?

  Daly: I merely—

  Sinclair: No. I didn’t pick up the damn bell. How the hell can you even ask such a question? Do you know what horror is, Mr. Da
ly?

  The ship’s bell had still been afloat after the explosion. Astonished, Abby read the passage again. How could she have missed this before? How could Gunderson and Brax have missed it?

  She rummaged further through the file until she found the report regarding salvage yards that had been contacted during the initial investigation. None of them had found anything.

  What if it sank? It could have. Minutes or hours after the explosion. Or it could have floated around for days, even weeks, then sunk.

  But what if it didn’t sink?

  And if it didn’t, what if, somehow, someone had picked it up?

  Debris from a destroyed vessel didn’t always turn up immediately. In fact, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for debris to show up much later. Abby was a little surprised that a customary second check of salvage yards hadn’t already been done. But according to the report, it hadn’t.

  That meant that there was a possibility—granted, a slim one—that the piece of fiberglass Houston had described to Daly was either still floating around out there in the Pacific, had washed up on a deserted beach somewhere, or was sitting in some salvage yard.

  Just the thought of the last alternative sent excitement jumping through her body like water hopping on a hot griddle. All she needed was one tiny piece of that fiberglass in order to have it tested. One tiny piece, and the lab could analyze it for traces of explosives. One tiny piece, and she would know if the Two of a Kind had exploded accidentally. Or on purpose.

  For a few euphoric moments, Abby could hardly contain her excitement. But then reality reared its ugly head, and her enthusiasm plummeted. What were the odds that she could find that piece of fiberglass with that particular bell still attached?

  A million to one? A cajillion to one?

  “Damn!” She felt frustrated, thwarted at every turn, and totally inadequate. She wanted to throw something; better yet, break something. At that moment the sound of breaking glass would have been enormously satisfying.

  Abby pitched the file onto the desk none too gently, and sat down hard on the sofa. She yanked up a decorative pillow and whacked it three good licks against one of the cushions.

  After a few moments of deep breathing, she was calmer. If Brax could see her like this, he would pull her off the case so fast it would make her dizzy. Her behavior was so un-Abby-like, he would know in an instant that something was wrong. She had to get hold of herself before she called him. If she could avoid talking to him again, she would, but he was her fastest source of information; or more accurately, the company computers were. They could spit out a list of salvage yards in less time than it would take for her to shower and get ready to go to dinner with Houston.

  She glanced at her watch. It was early afternoon. Once she got the list, if she hustled, she could probably make a lot of phone calls. Experience had taught her that in this kind of work, personal contact often made the difference between being ignored and getting some very pertinent information.

  No big deal, Abby thought, reaching for the phone to call Brax. After all, how long could the list be?

  The list, she discovered an hour later, was three pages long. Two hours, two pages, and one very tender index finger later, she hit pay dirt.

  A small salvage yard in Hilo had acquired a bell shortly after an explosion that loosely fit the description of the one involving the Two of a Kind.

  “Yeah, we got one that pretty much sounds like the one you’re looking for,” Mr. Wallace, the manager of the yard told Abby. “If it’s the one I’m thinking of, it was burned pretty bad. Think it got tossed in the resurrection pile.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He laughed. “Aw, we get a lotta stuff that looks bad when it comes in, but if you clean it up real good, you can sell it. You know, sorta bring it back to life.”

  “Oh, I see. And you think that’s where the bell is? In your resurrection stack?”

  “Pile. Yeah, probably.”

  “Mr. Wallace, could you find it in that pile, and hold it until I can get there to look at it?”

  “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On how long it takes you to get here.”

  “I can be there tomorrow. That fast enough for you?”

  “Yeah. I’ll need a credit-card number to hold it.”

  “Certainly.” Abby gave him a number. “And can you bring it back to life for me?”

  “Extra charge for that.”

  “I understand. But if there’s any engraving on the bell, I need to be able to read it.”

  “It’s your money.”

  It was more than money, Abby thought, after ending her conversation with the salvage-yard manager. It could very well be a man’s freedom.

  She booked a flight to Hilo on the big island of Hawaii for seven the following morning, and a return flight for early afternoon. Then she took a shower and dressed in the caramel-colored linen sundress she had worn the first time Houston took her to dinner. Tonight she added the matching bolero jacket piped in crisp white.

  Dressed for her date, Abby glanced around her bedroom, pausing to run down a mental checklist. She had her reservation. Her laptop computer and fax were tucked away in their respective cases, right beside her bag. She had everything she needed. She was all set, except for one small thing.

  She had to tell Houston more lies.

  She had to find some excuse not to see him tomorrow. An excuse he wouldn’t question; wouldn’t try to talk her out of.

  She thought about telling him she had decided to go to Oahu for the day. But she might have a little trouble making him believe that she wanted to see Pearl Harbor and the Arizona Memorial more than she wanted to be with him. Especially since being away from Houston was the last thing she wanted. She was afraid he would see the lie in her eyes. And if he asked her not to go, what then?

  Standing in the doorway, she stared at the three items ready for travel. It suddenly struck her that putting them in her bedroom so far in advance of her trip was a rather Freudian thing to do. As long as her bags were in here, she had to keep Houston out. Was this her way of making sure she didn’t succumb to all that Sinclair charm? Her way of making certain the date ended with dinner and not breakfast?

  But the idea of sharing breakfast with him was so appealing. Breakfast in bed. Warm croissants, and long, slow kisses. Hot coffee, and hotter passion. That was the way it would be. She knew it. Even now, just the thought of it made her body tingle. Making love to Houston would be like nothing she had ever experienced. It would change everything. It would change her.

  Maybe that was why she had put the suitcase, computer and fax in her bedroom. An insurance policy against the natural disaster known as Houston Sinclair. Only, like most natural disasters, there was little to be done in the way of prevention. For the moment, the best she could do was try to stay out of its way.

  “Stop it,” she hissed, closing the bedroom door. “Just stop it right now.”

  That was when she realized she couldn’t be to him face-to-face. They couldn’t be in the same room without touching each other. Today had proved that. And one touch was never enough. Not for her. Not for him.

  Abby knew she was taking the coward’s way out, but she didn’t care. So long as she didn’t have to be standing in Houston’s arms and lying. Again. Quickly, so she could catch him before he drove in from the mountains, she dialed his number.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello,” she said softly.

  “Abby?”

  “I, uh… I hate to do this at the last minute, but…”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Actually, no.” She kept her voice just above a whisper. “I’ve got the mother of all headaches. Probably a combination of heat, humidity and the pollen from all these gorgeous flowers. Whatever.” She sighed. “My head feels like someone is working on it with a sledgehammer.”

  “Did you take something for it?”

  “Hmm. About ten minutes ago, but it hasn’t kicked in y
et.”

  “Are you lying down?”

  “Hmm.”

  “In bed?”

  Abby’s eyes widened, her throat suddenly dry. “Uh, on the couch.”

  “Oh.” Now it was his turn to sigh.

  “I’m sorry we have to cancel tonight.”

  “We can go to dinner anytime.”

  He sounded so disappointed, she felt low enough to go eyeball-to-eyeball with a snake. “I know, but…”

  “What?”

  “I’m just…really sorry, that’s all.”

  “If it’ll make you feel any better, we’ll call it a postponement instead of a cancellation.”

  “Yes, it does make me feel better.” After a long stretch of silence, she asked, “You won’t starve, will you?”

  “Hey, you’re talking to a rugged individualist, here. I can open a can with the best of them.”

  “Oh, great. Now I really do feel guilty.”

  “Just feel better. I don’t like to think of you in pain.”

  Dear Lord, if he was any nicer, she was going to cry. “I—I need a couple of hours of sleep to knock the edge off this headache, and I’ll be fine.”

  “What about you? You’ve got to eat.”

  “I’ll get something from the restaurant later.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Will I see you tomorrow?”

  “I hope so. But probably not until late in the day. I’d planned to do some shopping for my mom, and pick up something for the girls I work with, you know…” Lies, lies, and more lies. Where would they all end? “Why don’t I call you.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  “Thanks for being so understanding.”

  “You’re welcome, and Abby…”

  “Yes?”

  “If you need anything, call me, please.”

  “You’re sweet—”

  “No, I’m not. Right now, I’d like nothing better than to be snuggled up beside you on that couch.”

  “Oh.”

  He chuckled softly. “Sleep tight, lovely Abby. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  After they hung up, Abby sat for a long time, thinking about all the lies she had already told him. And the lies still left for her to tell before she had proof of his innocence, or of someone’s guilt. And the more she thought about it, the more depressed she became.