Pushing Up Bluebonnets yrm-5

by Leann Sweeney

  I'd called Richter and left a message with Eva for him to call me. I needed a picture of JoLynn for comparison with those I was searching through on the Web. I began a file, saving any missing person's profile and photo that could possibly be JoLynn's—tedious swivelchair detective work and the part of the job I swear I'm allergic to.

  Richter didn't get back to me until almost three o'clock and said he had only a family photo from last Christmas, the one time she'd agreed to be photographed. He said he'd been in Houston this morning to visit JoLynn and could have brought it then but would give me a copy when Kate and I came for dinner.

  An hour later, dressed in black slacks, a lacy white tank and the platinum and diamond necklace Jeff gave me for my birthday, I drove to Kate's house. She, too, lived in West University, so that was the short part of the trip. Then we were off to the Magnolia Ranch. I filled her in on yesterday's visit there and told her the plan to interview each family member alone.

  When we finally reached our destination and I drove down the winding driveway to the house, I said, "Hope you have your shrink brain in gear, Kate. The way Richter talks, you're gonna need all your skills tonight."

  Eva answered the door dressed in a white uniform, her gray hair pulled back so tight she looked like she'd had a face-lift. She even had a starched little maid's cap set back on her crown. After looking me up and down, unsmiling, she appraised Kate—who had chosen a red sundress with a wide patent leather belt. That's when Eva's expression softened. Kate's beauty can make anyone smile and she has style while I have clothes.

  "Come in, please," Eva said.

  Without a word, Eva led us through the house to the porch, where several people were drinking wine. A large glass bowl sat on a high round table and was half-filled with ice and mounded with peeled shrimp. No one was partaking. There was still plenty of daylight left and Otto, the cook who had served us yesterday, was working away at a stainless barbecue grill and prep center just outside the porch. That setup would take up my entire backyard.

  Kate and I stood in the doorway with no one acknowledging our presence. Then, before I made a fool of myself by standing among these rude people and shouting, "Hi, I'm Abby and this is Kate. We're not invisible," Scott Morton came in behind us and saved me from myself.

  "Abby and Kate. I'm so glad you're helping us," he said.

  Heads turned. Disdainful looks came our way. The porch, with its spinning fans and glassed-in elegance, seemed to grow chilly enough to freeze the balls off a billiards table.

  "Come and meet my parents," Scott said. But I could tell the hostile atmosphere made him nervous and fidgety.

  Kate whispered, "This ought to be fun."

  "Yeah," I answered through the side of my mouth. "Fun as chasing armadillos."

  Scott introduced his parents to Kate and me as "Mom and Leo." "Kate, this is my mother. She's Uncle Elliott's sister. That reminds me. Maybe someone needs to tell him you two are here." He made a hasty exit—and I felt like following him.

  His mother switched her wineglass from right hand to left and extended her diamond-loaded fingers. "Adele Hunt. This is my husband, Leopold."

  I squeezed her hand, but got nothing in return. She then greeted Kate with the same flipperesque shake. Leopold was more enthusiastic, maybe because Kate's cleavage had his full attention. Adele was obviously younger than her brother, Elliott, but Leopold was at least sixty.

  Adele wagged a finger between Kate and me. "Which of you will be the interrogator?" Her bloodred lips formed a smile that said "I hope you know who you're dealing with."

  "We'll probably both have questions," I said.

  "I see. A double-your-fun twin killing." She sipped her white wine, her eyebrows raised knowingly at me.

  Twin killing? She knew we were twins? What exactly had Elliott Richter told his family? My life history? Probably. And he'd no doubt researched Kate as soon as he knew she would be coming this evening.

  Kate said, "Are you concerned about meeting with us, Mrs. Hunt?"

  "Adele only worries about the stock market," Leopold said. "People never intimidate her."

  "And Leopold only worries about the level of Glenlivet in the bottle he keeps in his office," Adele countered, again with her nasty smile.

  I nodded at Adele. "Can't wait to talk to you after dinner." Then I took Kate's elbow. "Guess we'd better introduce ourselves to the rest of these folks."

  My eye caught a woman who I assumed was Piper, Richter's new daughter-in-law. She was fashionably, or rather sickly, thin, her arm around the waist of a broadshouldered man with a very fine butt. I assumed this was Matthew, Richter's son. They were talking with a tall man standing beside a wildly overdressed woman in her twenties. I mean, I'm all for free expression, but she was wearing a spangled blue gown better suited to a Las Vegas show.

  I took a deep breath and pulled Kate along with me.

  Their little circle parted a tad when we approached them. We introduced ourselves and learned the tall man was Ian McFarland, Adele's second husband—his emphasis definitely on second in his charming British accent. His companion was not the daughter he shared with Adele, the one Scott told me about, but rather a young woman named Cinnamon. Mental note. Do not name any future offspring after spices.

  Matthew and Piper offered the same cool reaction we'd received from Adele, but Ian and his "date" actually seemed happy to see us.

  Ian looked at us and said, "You've no drinks, do you? How atrocious." Then the fair-haired Ian yelled, "Eva, you slacker. Where are you when we need you most?"

  But Estelle appeared, also dressed in a white uniform. At least she'd toned down the makeup. Eva didn't make an appearance. Maybe the word slacker had sent her running to the kitchen to spit in Ian's salad. Estelle quickly brought Kate and me glasses of white wine.

  Meanwhile, I glanced over at Adele and saw her appraising Cinnamon with disgust, but when she spotted me looking at her, she put a hand on her husband's arm and drew close to him. Oh yeah, this was gonna be some show tonight.

  Piper looked healthier up close, her highlighted shoulder-length hair tucked behind her ears and secured with turquoise-studded barrettes. They matched the low-slung silver and turquoise belt she wore over a pale yellow sleeveless dress. Matthew was muscular, with the same blue eyes as his father.

  "This Poirot-like visit with you sounds like such fun, Abby," Ian said. "You and your sister work as a team, I assume?"

  "At times," Kate answered.

  Ian focused on her, his gaze admiring. "And what might you do at other times, Kate?"

  Cinnamon nudged Ian's side with her elbow. "Sugar, would you get me some of that shrimp no one else seems to want?"

  His eyes still on Kate, Ian said, "Certainly, sweetheart." He walked toward the ice-filled bowl.

  Piper and Matthew had stepped a few feet away and were practically feeling each other up. His hand rested on her nearly invisible butt and she had drawn close enough to breathe in his exhaled CO2. She might pass out if they stayed that way too long.

  "You two live around here?" Cinnamon adjusted the built-in bra on her gown, which practically thrust her breasts right out of her sequined bodice. She didn't seem to care.

  But before we could engage in small talk, Scott reappeared with Richter at his side. All previous surliness in the room evaporated and white-tooth smiles shone on the family's golden-egg man. Richter took charge at once, insisting we all enjoy the shrimp and the wine and the beautiful summer evening for the next few minutes. Dinner would be ready in fifteen.

  I headed for that bowl of shrimp like I had to get there before this roomful of sharks consumed everything including me.

  12

  After a fabulous dinner, Kate and I were escorted by Richter to the library at the end of that long corridor with all the closed doors. A huge bay window with cushioned seating was flanked by loaded shelves. Someone had set up an old writing desk in the center of the room and I let out a sigh at the comfort of having at least a thousand books sur
round us. We each took a mahogany armchair with upholstered tapestry seats and readied our notebooks for the first test. And it sure felt like a test. A test like the SATs. A test that would require focus and every one of my brain cells working.

  That's why I'd cut off the wine after a taste of the wonderful Syrah served with our grilled steak, mushrooms in Marsala and skewered vegetables. I decided during the salad phase of the meal that Richter had not exaggerated about his family. By the end of dinner, I was sure Cinnamon was the only sane person besides Scott. She'd fended off barbs left and right—less-thansubtle remarks about her dress, her thick Texas accent and even her dark roots. That last one came from—who else?—Adele, who had hair so red I was certain her hairdresser's fingers were permanently stained.

  Kate hardly said a word and made sure she chose a spot at the dinner table as far from Ian and Leopold as possible. I couldn't be sure this was the usual male behavior in the Richter house—to gawk at someone as lovely as Kate—but I suspected it was.

  "What is wrong with these people?" Kate asked after Richter left us alone to await our first interview. "No one mentioned JoLynn or asked how she was doing. Not even Scott."

  "Maybe Richter told them to keep their mouths shut about her until we talked to each of them alone. His wishes are their commands, if you didn't notice."

  "Even a gecko crawling up the window would have noticed that dynamic, Abby. It's all the other stuff going on that set my head spinning."

  "Dynamics," I said. "Yup, plenty of dynamics—which is only a few letters different than dynamite."

  There was a rap on the door. Then Elliott Richter entered with a young woman in tow. "Simone, please cooperate with these ladies," he said. "Your mother was telling me you're wanting a new lens for your camera, and I can make that happen if you help sort out what happened to JoLynn." Richter faced us. "This is my sister Adele's daughter. If she gives you any trouble, let me know."

  Simone plopped on the chair across from us. She had a camera bag with her and clutched it tightly in her lap. Skintight denim capris hugged her legs, and she wore an off-shoulder peasant blouse. Her pale makeup was so much lighter than her bronze shoulders and arms, she reminded me of a mime. She kept her focus on her camera case.

  In a quiet tone Kate said, "We missed you at dinner."

  "Someone missed me? That would be a first," Simone said. "Anyway, eating here is bad for the digestion. Sorta makes you want to puke."

  "You're talking about the family hostility?" Kate said.

  Simone lifted her head, met Kate's gaze. "I take it you're the shrink."

  Kate nodded.

  Simone slid down in the chair, her legs crossed at the ankles. "This isn't about what goes on here. This is about JoLynn. Ask away."

  "What can you tell us about her?" I said.

  "All sweet on the surface, but might be an act," she answered.

  "Really? How do you know?" I said.

  Simone started twisting a strand of her parti-color hair—a mix of reds, purples and browns. "She won't talk to any of us except to smile and say hello and goodbye. Her room looks like a convent closet. But obviously someone didn't like her because she's lying in a hospital half dead."

  "Maybe it wasn't JoLynn that this somebody didn't like. Maybe she learned something while living here that made her a target," I suggested.

  "You mean she found out something about us?" Simone laughed. "Ooooh. Something evil lurks in the hearts of the Richter clan. Something besides self-serving arrogance."

  Kate said, "You sound like a very bright girl. Insightful. Are you in college?"

  "I start at U.T. the end of the month," she said. "Some stupid freshman orientation. I know how to get around. Why do I need an orientation?"

  Kate ignored the attitude. "You like photography. Do you plan to do something with that?"

  "If Mom and Uncle Elliott will get off my case, yes. Everybody has to work for the company. Well, not this girl."

  Even though she still sounded insolent, Kate was getting her to open up. Yup, Kate was good at that, so I shelved my impatience and let her continue.

  "Sounds like you know a lot about your family. You mentioned they're self-serving. Who's the best at that?"

  "That's easy. Big daddy, of course. Dear Uncle Elliott. When the rest of us weren't worshipping him enough, he found someone else to kneel at his feet. Little JoLynn, bless her heart."

  "And how does that make you feel?" Kate asked.

  "Oh, no. We're not heading down that road. I have my own shrink, thank you very much."

  "We can change the subject." I tried to sound as pleasant as my sister. With this girl, I found that difficult. "But you're young enough that you haven't worked for your uncle yet?"

  "No. I work for my father—that's Ian McFarland by the way," Simone said.

  "And Mr. McFarland works for Richter Oil and Gas?" I said.

  "Yes, but I have nothing to do with those freaks. My father is a brilliant man. There's more to his life than consulting with Uncle Elliott. He does research. He writes papers." She wasn't looking at us again but rather examining a nail bitten to the quick.

  "You live with your father, then?" Kate asked.

  "Don't I wish? But what does that have to do with JoLynn? No, wait. I'll answer myself. Absolutely nothing."

  "You're angry, Simone," Kate said. "Is JoLynn the reason? Because you understand that she's badly hurt, that she might die."

  Simone blinked several times. "Are you trying to see if I flinch? If I care?"

  If she wanted to convince me that she didn't, she wasn't succeeding. Concern had crossed her face, even though she was trying hard to hide it.

  I said, "Did she talk to you about her life before she came here?"

  "We weren't best buds," Simone said.

  "Your uncle mentioned a lens for your camera," Kate said. "I'm guessing you'd like to be able to buy your own equipment."

  I was wondering about this abrupt change in direction, but when I saw Simone's reaction to the question, I understood. Her fingers with their chewed-down nails fiddled with the camera-case strap and her face softened so much she looked like a different girl.

  "Yes, but I'm not very good yet," Simone said. "I couldn't make a living at this."

  "Is that where you were tonight? Taking pictures?" Kate said.

  "Summer sunsets are awesome," she said. "And they teach you a lot about lighting and angles because you have to make adjustments if you want to get a shot that really captures all the hues. There's so much to learn about shooting directly into light."

  "And so you missed dinner," I said.

  "Yeah. Is there anything else? Because I don't know anything about JoLynn. We hardly spoke."

  Why didn't I believe her? "She never seemed scared? Worried?" I said.

  Simone stood. "Who would notice something like that in this place?"

  I'd clearly pushed her buttons again because she turned and strode out of the room.

  After the door slammed shut, I said, "You, my dear Simone, would notice something like that."

  "And that's why she wanted out of here," Kate said.

  "What's with all the anger?" I said.

  "Maybe she felt overshadowed or threatened by JoLynn, though you'd never get her to admit it in this setting with all those self-serving others hanging around the house."

  Before I could respond, someone rapped on the door. The smiling Ian came in carrying a quarter-filled brandy snifter and greeted us both by kissing our hands. He sat in his daughter's vacated chair.

  "Simone give you a bit of hell, did she?" he said.

  "Why do you say that?" Kate asked.

  "She left the house in rather a hurry. Emotional girl, but I do love her very much."

  "I believe she decided we were invading her privacy," I said.

  "There is no privacy in this family, something she has yet to fully understand. I fear they'll run her off one of these days, just as they did Katarina."

  "Who are they?" I said
.

  Ian glanced around the room. "This is a much more pleasant setting after that god-awful, tense dinner, though I feel like I've walked into an episode of MI-5 on the BBC. Rather like domestic surveillance being conducted in person by you two lovely ladies. You think JoLynn's little mishap could be terrorism?" Amusement twinkled in his eyes.

  "Interesting you should change the subject and interesting you should jump to that conclusion," I said.

  "Oh, we're all somber, are we? Guess I should put on my serious face. How can I be of help?"

  "How long have you worked for Elliott Richter?" I said.

  "Let me see," McFarland said. "Katarina was ten and Matthew was four, so that would mean twenty-nine years. Elliott and I have made a great team. But the poor chap's endured far too much tragedy. Awful luck."

  "And how well did you know JoLynn?" I asked.

  "Hardly had any contact with the girl. Bit of a shrinking violet compared to the rest of the family. But Elliott was smitten, that's for certain."

  Kate leaned forward, her arms folded in front of her on the desk. "Smitten in what way?"

  Ian pointed a long, well-manicured finger at Kate. "You're the psychiatrist?"

  "Psychologist," she corrected.

  "Too bad. I was hoping you might help me out with a bit of Ambien. I always have trouble sleeping after a visit here."

  "You didn't answer my question," Kate said.

  "If you're considering incest on the part of Elliott— which is where I believe mental-health experts love to go first—I'm afraid it wasn't like that. Adoration. Blind paternal love. That's what I'm speaking of."

  "What did Richter say or do to make you come to that conclusion?" I asked.

  "What didn't he say? 'JoLynn is sweet, so much like her mother.' 'JoLynn thinks she might want to help children in Africa.' 'JoLynn is thinking about college, but she never finished high school.' 'JoLynn refused the BMW I wanted to buy her, can you imagine that? None of you would have refused.' Meanwhile, his other drooling heirs were out on the job while JoLynn was home admiring the swimming pool—or perhaps the swimming pool attendant? Quite an attractive young woman, our JoLynn. Looked very much like Katarina."