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DeShay and I helped Jeff walk to the wheelchair in his hospital room. He was going home after only ten days—or, rather, heading for my house. He didn’t complain as he took each slow step, even though I could tell he was hurting. “Pain is comforting,” he’d told me while he recovered. “Pain means you’re alive.” That was as close as we’d gotten to discussing how near he’d come to dying. Knowing him, we might not ever talk about it again.
I’d done the interview for Kravitz two days after Foster was caught. Makeup was provided by the very talented Sandy Sechrest, who made all of us look like movie stars—all of us being Kate, Aunt Caroline, Emma and me. Loreen had absolutely refused to be interviewed, much less taped.
With cameras and lights taking up most of my aunt’s living room, we answered Kravitz’s questions for several hours. At times the crew dragged chairs from different rooms, moved tables and lamps and had us sit in other spots—sometimes together, sometimes apart, depending on who was talking about what. I was told this would keep the audience from getting bored with the set. I didn’t really care. I wanted to be done.
I was sure most of what Stu taped would end up on the cutting room floor, and thank goodness for that, but I had the feeling Aunt Caroline might be disappointed. She’d lapped up the attention like a cat with a saucer of cream. The deal with Kravitz included a clause that Mary Parsons could air her own interview on the late news after the Crime Time episode was finished. Kravitz was concerned she’d leak something, so the plan was to tape my interview with her on the same morning the Crime Time episode aired in November.
A nurse’s aide arrived and wheeled Jeff to the elevator and out the lobby door to the car that DeShay had parked at the front entrance. A security guard was lurking, perhaps ready to call for a tow truck, but when DeShay flashed his badge, the man understood who the T-bird was waiting for. Everyone knew the story.
The ride home was blessedly quick, and Loreen and Doris were waiting for us at my place. I’d moved them from Jeff’s apartment once Loreen finally believed that Jimmy the pimp hadn’t been outside her house that night. Maybe no one had been outside.
Loreen and Emma had reunited the day after Foster was caught. Emma’s gratitude was obvious, but Loreen didn’t want any credit for doing “what any decent human would do.” She said she’d finally gotten something right for the first time and she was the one who should be thankful.
After ten days, Diva and Webster still weren’t sure about Doris’s aggressive approach to pets, but Loreen was working with her on that.
“Jeffy’s better,” Doris chanted over and over when we came in the door. She did a little clapping, too, and I agreed his arrival was worth the applause.
When Doris held her arms out, ready for a run at her brother to offer one of her infamous hugs, Loreen stopped her by placing a gentle hand on Doris’s arm. “Remember how Jeffy hurt himself? You can’t squeeze him like you do me.”
“That’s right.” Doris hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Jeffy’s got a hole in him. I don’t know how you get a hole in you, but if it makes you walk like that, I don’t want one.”
Jeff and DeShay were moving through the foyer, and he smiled and held out his hand to Doris. “Help me over to Abby’s ... is that a recliner?”
I nodded. “Thought you might be more comfortable there.”
Doris forgot about helping. She ran to the recliner, ready to show Jeff all the chair’s bells and whistles—the remote compartment, the massage options, the little table that you could flip up for your drinks or snacks. She’d been playing with the chair for a week and was quite the expert.
Jeff looked at Loreen. “I can’t thank you enough for taking care of her. She seems so comfortable with you, so happy.”
“She’s sweet. Like the kid I never had.”
“I really appreciate your help,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows and looked expectantly at him. “Loreen lost her job at Purity Maids, hint, hint.”
A bigger smile from Jeff. “Really? Would you consider staying on? I don’t know what your salary was, but—”
“But you’ll get more. Plenty more,” I finished.
Jeff shot me a look, but then he smiled again. He knew we’d work it out.
Epilogue
Kate and I joined Emma and her brothers and sister on a chilly November evening to watch what Crime Time had done with Emma’s story. How would Christine O’Meara fare? Would the slant Kravitz took make HPD look bad? I sure hoped not, considering I got him that copy of Stu’s tape. The confession and Foster’s guilty plea to all the murders probably had more to do with that than my request.
I finally met Scott, Emma’s oldest brother. He seemed reserved with Kate and me, unsure whether he liked all that had gone on and our role in it.
The new home was spectacular, and there had been other gifts besides the landscaping and the houseful of furniture. There were college scholarships for the kids, enough money for Emma to finish her master’s in business, an apartment for Scott at college. Reality Check and Erwin Mayo had kept their word and didn’t skimp. I had to admit, I might have been wrong about them. Perhaps they did want to help people, even though they came across as fake and self-centered.
The place smelled like the new carpet and the lemon-oiled built-in entertainment center. Shannon and Luke were sitting on the floor, busy with their laptops—more of Venture’s generosity. Kate and I sat on the sofa to wait out the twenty minutes until showtime. My TiVo was set to record back home. Loreen and Doris had gone to a recently released preholiday animated film. Doris did not need to see or hear what had happened to her brother.
Jeff had insisted on returning to work, to desk duty that he hated, but it was better than the recliner he’d grown tired of. He and DeShay had plenty of paperwork piling up.
Scott paced in the space connecting the living and dining areas, a longneck Bud Light in his hand. With his mother’s history of alcoholism, I wondered if Emma worried about him. He wasn’t even legal drinking age yet.
Emma came into the living room with chips and salsa, set them on the coffee table and sat in one of the new tub chairs. I’d already grabbed a Diet Coke from the kitchen, while Kate stuck with water.
“One of my half brothers called me today,” Emma said. “Raul. He and Xavier Junior want to meet me.”
“How do you feel about that?” Kate asked.
“I feel wonderful,” Emma said. “I’d love to see my new dining room table filled with brothers and sisters.”
A short, awkward silence followed. We knew that might not include one sister. Beth Foster and the daughter her husband had stolen seemed to have disappeared. Probably fleeing the media, if they had any sense. I may have unearthed the truth, but I’d fallen short. Emma wanted to meet the child she’d help bring into the world, but Amy’s place at the table might never be filled.
“You look rested, Emma,” I finally said, wanting to change the dark mood that had descended on the room.
“I am at peace, because of you and Kate. Thank you again so much,” she said.
We spent the time until the show started talking about Shannon’s good grades, Luke’s successes on the football field and Emma’s plan to return to school. Finally Scott, a few minutes before showtime, came and sat with us.
He looked at me and said, “I want to thank you, too. For helping my sister. You and Dr. Rose risked your lives. I’m sorry I didn’t come here and, like, be here for everyone. I didn’t think she was doing the right thing.”
“Takes a strong person to admit they were wrong, Scott,” Kate said. “I believe that’s even more proof what a fantastic job Emma did raising the three of you.”
“The show is starting,” Shannon said.
We all turned our attention to the TV.
Kravitz began the narrative on an airplane, said he was heading to Houston, Texas, to cover an amazing and complex story of deceit, murder and a family who wouldn’t give up until they learned th
e truth about a sister lost to them years ago.
Truth, I thought, smiling to myself. You did do the right thing, Paul.
I hadn’t been aware of the tension in my shoulders, but once he spoke those words, I sat back and enjoyed every minute of Crime Time. He presented the story concisely and with plenty of those cliffhanging questions before each commercial break. The demolished house and the tiny grave made it on the air; so did much abbreviated interviews with Kate, Emma, Aunt Caroline and me. Don White spoke for the police and was more charming than I imagined he could be, maybe because his partner was amazing everyone in rehab. When the clips of the hostage situation were shown, Kate bowed her head, but then footage of a shackled Harrison Foster being transferred to court for arraignment followed, and she watched intently. But her back was ramrod straight, her hands joined a little too tightly in her lap.
We learned new information as well. Harrison Foster wasn’t his real name, and he did have a secret past, as Kate and I had suspected. He was Howard Nolen, and the unsolved murders of his parents in a small Nebraska town were added to his terrible resume.
I glanced again at Kate when this was revealed. She was blinking back tears. I hated this, hated seeing her in so much pain. I’d heard her pacing in the night one too many times and guessed she had delayed moving into her new house because she didn’t want to be alone. Not yet. The wounds Foster had inflicted were perhaps too fresh, too raw.
When the show ended, Emma said, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“They did a decent job.” I welcomed a chance to talk about their take rather than analyze Kate’s reaction in front of everyone. “Now you can talk to the Today show or Good Morning America. You said they’ve been calling.”
“Oh, no,” Emma said. “No more television for me.”
“I’ll do the talk-show rounds,” Luke offered.
“You will not,” Emma said. “None of you will. Haven’t you learned anything from my mistakes?”
Scott rose. “I’ve got to drive back to school tonight. Paper due.”
“Not after you’ve been drinking,” Emma said. “Get up early tomorrow.”
I thought I caught a look of relief on his face before he said, “Whatever.”
He started toward the hall that led to the bedrooms, but a knock on the door stopped him.
Shannon, who’d been lying on her stomach on the floor typing on her laptop, sat up. “More reporters?”
Emma sighed. “Probably.”
“I’ll get rid of them,” I said.
But when I cracked the door, I saw Beth and Amy Foster standing on Emma’s front porch.
“Is ... is this where Emma Lopez lives?” Unlike Emma, Beth Foster looked like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Amy, Shannon’s clone, seemed dazed. These two probably felt like they’d been sitting in the middle of a stampede for weeks.
“Emma,” I said. “You’ve got visitors.”
She cocked her head, reluctant to go to the door. “Who?”
“See for yourself.” I widened the door and said to these brave souls who had come calling, “I think both of you are welcome here.”
Kate and I left an hour later, but Amy and Beth remained. They had begun to warm up to everyone only after awkward introductions. No one spoke about Beth’s husband, and I didn’t think they would. Not now, anyway.
“You did what you promised,” Kate said, once we were on the road. “You found their sister.”
“Yeah. That feels good. This case has been all about sisters, hasn’t it?” I was giving her an opening to talk.
But what she said surprised me. “I’m not running back to Terry, even if you and Aunt Caroline think I should. The safest option isn’t always the best.”
“You think that’s what I expect?” Her defenses were still up.
“I-I don’t know what you expect,” she answered.
“The answer is no, okay? You ready to talk yet? About ... him?”
“Not really.”
I reached over, found her hand and squeezed it tightly. “That’s okay. I can wait.”
And I could.
Read on for an excerpt from
PUSHING UP BLUEBONNETS
another Yellow Rose Mystery
by Leann Sweeney.
My daddy used to say there’s news and then there’s sit-down news. When I received the call from a small-town police chief named Cooper Boyd asking me to help him identify a car wreck victim, I was glad I was already seated in the big leather chair in my home office.
“Oh my God,” I said. “Is it Kate? Or Jeff? Or—”
“Ma’am, the victim is female. Who is Kate and when did you see or speak to her last?”
My heart was racing now. “Kate Rose is my twin sister. She has dark brown hair and brown eyes. She went to work this morning and I talked to her before she—Oh God, what happened?”
“Okay. Take a deep breath. Obviously this woman is not your sister. The accident happened last night and I should have told you that first.”
Now that my thoughts were no longer focused on worst-case scenarios, I noticed Boyd’s voice sounded like he’d gargled with axle grease this morning.
“This wasn’t exactly an accident,” he went on. “I’ve come from Pineview near where the wreck occurred. They had to life-flight the young lady to the Texas Medical Center. She’s in a coma.”
“W-will she pull through?” My pulse slowed a little but the coffee I’d just finished was still sloshing around after being stirred by panic.
“Doctors aren’t saying much,” he answered.
“You said Pineview? I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s in far northwest Montgomery County. You know anyone up that way? A client? A relative? A friend?”
The word client caught my attention. “You must know more about me than my name. Why do you think I can help you identify this person?”
“The victim had your business card in her possession, ma’am. Yellow Rose Investigations, right? And adoption reunion is your specialty?”
“Yes,” I said.
“See, her having your card is one of two things we know about her.”
“And the other?” I asked.
“Someone wanted her dead.”
I closed my eyes, pictured a young woman—not her face of course, since I’m no psychic—but I could imagine her body tangled in the wreckage of an automobile. It didn’t help the swirling in my gut. “And she had my card?” was all I could manage in response.
“Yes, Ms. Rose.”
“Okay, I’m worried she might be one of my former clients, even though I’m pretty sure I’ve never done a search for anyone from Montgomery County. But she could have just moved there or—”
“Listen, I need your help now,” he said. “This young woman probably has relatives who should know she’s in critical condition. Think you could meet me in the hospital lobby?”
“I—Yes. Sure. Which hospital?”
“Ben Taub.”
“Of course.” Ben Taub has one of the best trauma centers in the country. “I can be there in fifteen minutes. How will I know you?”
“I’m in uniform. Brown and gold.” He disconnected without a good-bye.
Since it was August and hotter than hell’s door handle, I was dressed in shorts and a tank top. I decided that wasn’t suitable hospital attire and hurried upstairs, my cat, Diva, on my heels. I quickly changed into lightweight capris, a sleeveless cotton blouse and summer clogs.
“What the heck do you think this is about?” I asked Diva as I applied lipstick. No time for any other makeup to cover my usual crop of summer freckles, which had appeared despite the gallon of sunscreen I’d gone through since May.
Diva answered my question with several insightful meows. Too bad the cat whisperer wasn’t around to interpret her answer.
As I stepped outside and went through the back gate to the driveway, I wondered if I’d ever had so much as a letter from a client from Pineview. I sure couldn’t remember, but there
were times when I couldn’t even remember the Alamo.
Using the remote on my key chain, I turned off the car alarm on my new silver Camry. I’d had a superduper special-order car alarm installed; it beeped a reminder to engage it whenever I parked. No one got near my car without that thingee making enough noise to embarrass thunder. I’d had a little trouble on a case last year with a very bad man sticking GPS devices under my bumper every time I wasn’t looking, and I wasn’t about to have that happen again.
Five for Fighting’s latest CD started playing as I turned the key and started the ignition. The drive took only ten minutes, and that meant I had five minutes to find a parking place in the Medical Center—a definite challenge. But since it was nearly noon, most of the morning appointments were over, and I located a spot pretty fast. Then I walked the long path to the hospital.
The air-conditioning made the lobby almost as cold as my ex-husband’s heart. Guess hospitals have lots of stuff that might smell a whole lot worse without AC. I spotted the man in the brown uniform with gold trim and approached him. Then we shook hands.
“Abby Rose,” I said.
“Thank you for coming.” Boyd reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to me. “This is a copy of what we found under the woman’s front seat. We sent the actual card to the crime lab for fingerprinting.”
It was my business card, all right—front and back. Someone had scrawled the words adoption search and do this today on the back. The card appeared smudged and wrinkled, and this condition made the copy a poor one.
I looked at Boyd, who was average height with a red-blond crew cut. He was graying at the temples but didn’t look much older than fifty. “Can you give me more details? I could have had some contact with this person in the last few years, but as I said, I don’t remember your town.”
“What kind of details do you want?” he said. His drawl had to be East Texas. Very pronounced.
“You’re sure this was a murder attempt?” I asked.
His jaw muscles tightened. “Yes, ma’am, I’m certain.”
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