That was when my impatience caught up with me. Helen Hamilton was coming out of the house she’d entered only a short while ago. I scurried to a nearby mimosa and stood behind the tree, but mimosas aren’t exactly live oaks and I’m not exactly Kate Moss. I definitely had a camouflage-deficit problem.
When Hamilton descended the porch steps and I saw what she was carrying, my hand flew to my mouth. A baby. A baby in a car seat. Guess the “client” couldn’t quite come to her. And then I wondered why she hadn’t told the truth. Adoptions and babies go together, so—
“Hey! White lady!” said the little kid from the beige house. His words seemed to echo through the waves of heat zigzagging off the blacktop.
Damn! Hamilton might hear him and spot me.
I grabbed the kid by his tiny shoulders and moved him in front of me, ducking so his chest was between me and her. I put my finger to my lips. “Shhh, I’m playing hide-and-seek.”
His dark eyes grew wide with the pleasure of conspiracy.
I peeked over his shoulder. She was putting the baby in the car and did glance our way, but quickly refocused on the infant, whose tiny wail drifted across the lawn. Her high heels clicking on the pavement, Hamilton then walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door.
The boy said, “Lady, you gotta listen!”
I covered his mouth with my hand and whispered, “Don’t give me away. It’s her turn to hide, and maybe I can see where she’s going.” I continued watching Hamilton, ready to head for my car and follow when I thought it was safe.
The boy twisted free, took my face in his small, square hands, and pulled my head so we were eye-to-eye. “But, lady,” he said, those soft, wide eyes close to my nose, “James Franklin is stealing your car.”
A second passed before I grasped what he’d told me; then I started running like Satan’s breath was on my neck.
I didn’t know if Hamilton saw me bounding across the grass. I didn’t know if she saw the kid right alongside me, taking three strides to my one. I wouldn’t be finding out where she was taking that baby, and about then I didn’t care.
I felt momentary relief when I saw that my car wasn’t gone, and was about to deliver a lecture about lying little brats when I noticed the open driver’s-side door.
A pair of what had to be size-fourteen athletic shoes rested on the curb. Shoes with feet in them. And legs attached. The remainder of this person’s body was wedged under the dash of my car.
“Hey! You!” I shouted, hurrying toward the Camry.
Obviously James Franklin’s give-a-damner was broken. He kept right on with his hot-wiring activities.
“Get the hell out of my car!” I shouted, giving the nearest size-fourteen a good kick.
“Yeah. Get the hell out of her car,” came the small voice beside me. I noticed the kid had his hands on his hips just like me.
My kick got James Franklin’s attention—unless he was afraid of a five-year-old with an attitude. When his ugly mug appeared, his eyes bloodshot and looking in every direction at once, I should have known “Get the hell out of my car” would have about as much impact as a dart hitting an elephant.
Sure, he got out, but he was swinging my saddlebag of a purse, the one I’d left on the front seat.
I have reasonably sound reflexes. I ducked.
A mistake. My purse met the little guy on the downside, right on the head, sending him sprawling onto the sidewalk.
“Will-iam!” the kid screeched.
But apparently William had already heard the commotion, because while I knelt next to the screaming child, William tore after the retreating James Franklin, calling the thief a nasty name, which included references to a maternal parent. The car thief-turned- purse snatcher was running like a bullet with feet, my bag clutched to his chest.
I turned my attention to the whimpering boy, unsure how to handle him. “What’s your name, kid?”
He didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere. But his nose was running, his face was streaked with tears, and his lower lip trembled.
“Sho . . . mar . . . i,” he said, the syllables separated by sobs.
“I’m sorry, Shomari, I shouldn’t have ducked.” And then, since I didn’t know what else to do, I hugged him.
His thin but strong arms came up and around my neck and I picked him up. Snot and tears joined the sweat on my shoulder as I carried him over to the much cooler porch and sat down.
A minute later William returned. Perspiration dotted his shaved head and ran in rivers down his neck, joining the widening stains on his T-shirt front.
“Why you come around here making trouble, lady?” he said, tossing my purse toward me.
Even though I was already flushed and sunburned, I felt my face grow even hotter. “I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t have much cash, but I could—”
“You think you can throw your money at us and make this okay? Shomari could have been hurt bad.” He looked at the boy. “You all right, man?”
Shomari nodded, eyes down, fingers in his mouth.
Now I felt like I had taken the hit with the purse.
“So,” William continued, “why don’t you take your purse and your money and your crazy red hair and—”
“Now, wait a minute. I may be a self-serving white bitch, but my hair is not red; it’s auburn.”
His eyes widened, and by gosh if this intense black giant didn’t have a sense of humor. “Lady, you look like you combed that mess with my mama’s skillet.”
I laughed and so did William.
Then Shomari said, “Since you’re not mad no more, William, can she give me some money now?”
I quickly said, “I have gum—will that do?”
Shomari nodded eagerly.
I found two sticks in my purse and gave them to him.
While Shomari unwrapped them, William said, “I need water. Looks like you could use some, too.”
He went into the house and returned with two glasses. “It’s not cold. Momma says you shouldn’t have ice water when you’re overheated. Says it can shock you or something.”
“Wet is all I care about. Thanks.”
Shomari poked my arm and looked up at William. “She was playing hide-and-seek with the white lady who came and took Tannae’s baby.”
“So she gave the boy up.” William shook his head, appearing disgusted.
“I followed the woman over here,” I said. “The one who took the baby. I really parked here because I’m sort of investigating her.”
“Tannae’s brain could use some investigating, too,” said William. “She sold that baby. That’s not what she’ll say, but she sold him, all the same. Got herself a color TV and a private doctor so’s she wouldn’t have to wait down at the women’s clinic. Told everyone at school it was adoption, but everyone knows she sold him. Moma said she’d go straight to hell if she went through with it.”
“This girl goes to your school?” I asked, then finished my water.
“Dropped out when she started to show.”
“Ever hear her mention a man named Feldman?”
“I never heard her say nothing except Gerard Smith knocked her up and wouldn’t give her no money, so she had to go for this adoption thing.”
Shomari had the half-chewed gum in his hands and was trying to make a cat’s cradle with it.
William grunted in irritation. He lifted Shomari by the elbow and stood him up. “Let’s get that stuff off your fingers, man.”
“Sorry again,” I said. “And thanks for getting my purse back.”
He paused by the screen door. “Wasn’t me. Stupid James Franklin ran smack into some big black dude I never seen around here. Guy took back your bag and tossed it to me. Last I saw, he and James were, uh . . . talking.”
“Still, thanks anyway.” I left then, and as I went down the three rickety steps, I heard Shomari say, “Know something, William? She stinks as bad as you do.”
On the way to the Camry I lifted an arm and risked a whiff. Geez.
He was right.
13
On the drive back to Houston, I thought about all I had learned in the last two days, trying to fit these new pieces into the puzzle. One thing linked Ben with Kate and me—adoption. Was that why Ben showed up at our house? Was our adoption and Cloris’s giving up her own baby somehow connected? And since these events happened around the same time, could Parental Advocates be that connection?
I always assumed Willis handled our case, but perhaps Ben sought out Daddy after learning they shared the same adoption broker. And maybe he was in Houston not to find his wife’s killer, but to find a child given up years ago. I had to get with Willis on this. He hadn’t reacted to the name Feldman when I told him all I had learned, but maybe Parental Advocates would ring a bell.
I turned on the radio, pleased with how far I had come with such few clues, just in time to hear the weather report. It seemed our summer drought could end soon. A tropical depression was forming in the gulf, though the disturbance was currently stationary. Since only fools made light of Texas weather, I would have to keep an ear tuned to the news.
When I turned onto my street in Houston forty-five minutes later, I realized I’d forgotten all about Aunt Caroline’s planned visit today, but the U-Haul in the driveway reminded me. She and a muscular escort were just leaving, and I couldn’t help but focus on my aunt’s tiny white shorts and chartreuse halter top.
“Hello, Abby,” she said when I greeted them on the walkway. “Have you met my trainer, Hans? He’s been helping me load.” She gazed up at him with her surgically correct smile.
“Nice to meet you, Hans.” I looked at Aunt Caroline. “I forgot you were a woman on a mission today. Take everything on your list?” As if she’d miss a straight pin if it took her fancy.
Hans gazed down at me, or should I say at all my body parts, beginning at my feet and ending with my eyes.
“Caroline has told me so much about you,” he said, his voice deep and accented.
Where did she find this one? At the Arnold Schwarzenegger look-alike contest at Cyclone Willy’s Nightspot?
He massaged Aunt Caroline’s naked shoulder, but never took his eyes off my chest.
“Where’s Kate?” I stepped past them.
“She’s in the study with Willis,” said Aunt Caroline. “But where have you been, Abby? You smell like you’ve got goats under each arm.”
I faced her. “Thanks so much for embarrassing me in front of someone I’ve just met. You can be sure I wasn’t over plundering your house.”
“I think we’ll leave before this turns nasty.” She started down the walkway toward the U-Haul.
Hans called over his shoulder, “I like a woman who doesn’t mind getting dirty.” He winked and then followed after Aunt Caroline.
I shook my head as I entered the house. I swear the inscription on Aunt Caroline’s tombstone will read, The only time she has ever slept alone.
Willis and Kate were bent over Daddy’s desk in the study, documents spread in front of them. Kate seemed harried, her hair a tangled mess, a fist on her hip. She was holding a paper in the other hand.
When our eyes met, I realized she might be more than a tad cranky.
“This is not my idea of fun, Abby. Not after a morning of trying to keep Aunt Caroline from calling Allied Van Lines and stealing everything in sight. What took you so long?”
“Glad to see you, too, Kate.”
Her eyes flashed. She had to be the nicest, most flexible soon-to-be therapist this side of the Mississippi, but she was at her irritable worst right now.
“I’m not apologizing,” she said. “Not this time. You deliberately avoided dealing with Aunt Caroline, didn’t you?”
The last time Kate was this pissed off at me was when I went to the prom with the biggest flirt in the senior class just because the guy had a great ass. She believed I’d compromised my values. Actually, I had compromised her values. Great male asses rank right up there with chocolate and French-kissing, as far as I’m concerned.
The tension between us seemed to make Willis uncomfortable, probably because he’d never seen Kate have an almost-tantrum before. I had, of course, but not in a long time.
“Answer me, Abby. Did you purposely stay away?” she said.
“Well, Kate, you’ve spent a gazillion dollars at Rice University so you can call yourself an expert on unconscious motivation. You figure out why I didn’t want to witness the pillage. And by the way, what’s that?” I pointed at the paper in her hand.
“The stupid contract. We had an offer on the house.” She threw the paper on the desk.
I looked at Willis. “Is this the real reason she seems ready to chomp a chunk out of my butt?”
Willis cleared his throat again, impatiently thumbing through other papers. “Bad offer. I’m guessing the prospective buyer wants to see how low you’ll go. The small matter of the recent, uh . . . death in the greenhouse does affect marketability.”
“With Kate’s plans for a serious lifestyle adjustment, maybe we’ll have to cut our losses,” I said.
“Oh,” she said sarcastically. “So if we make a mistake about selling, it’s all my fault?” Her chin jutted a few inches, and her cheeks now raged scarlet.
What in the heck was wrong with her?
I kept my voice level. “You’re entitled to a life of your own with Terry, so maybe we shouldn’t be selling merely to spare me having to care for such a huge place alone. In fact, maybe Willis and Aunt Caroline are right on this one. Selling so soon after the murder could be a mistake.”
Her shoulders relaxed and the tension around her mouth eased. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”
Willis said, “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses about something.” His hazel eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “Where have you been, by the way? You’re sunburned.”
“In Galveston, trying to find out about someone. Pretty frustrating day, though.”
“Did this frustration concern Ben’s death?” Willis asked.
“What if it did?”
“You’re carrying this too far, Abby,” he said. “What if you ended up face-to-face with Ben’s killer?”
“Good question.” One I was too tired to consider. I picked up the contract and looked at Kate. “Can we trash this?”
“Please do.” She pushed aside the hair flopping on her forehead. “I’m sorry I overreacted. I’ve been worried about leaving you alone when I go live with Terry.”
“I’ll be alone, whether here or in a smaller place. About time I fended for myself,” I said.
Willis cleared his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’m meeting Simon Holloway for eighteen, though he probably won’t be able to finish nine holes in the afternoon heat. He eats porterhouse steaks and slurps Manhattans for lunch. No wonder he can’t even walk back and forth to the golf cart.”
“Thanks for coming over,” said Kate.
Kate and I walked Willis to the front door and I said, “By the way, who handled our adoption, Willis?”
He stopped at the door, looking like he’d just put on barbed-wire Jockey shorts. “What? Where did you pull that question from?”
“Just wondering.”
“I handled the legalities,” he said, his tone curt.
“So you didn’t go through an agency called Parental Advocates?”
“We dealt with your biological family’s lawyer directly after the plane crash.”
“And that lawyer’s name wasn’t Samuel Feldman?” I said.
He stared at me, eyes narrow. “Oh. I remember you mentioning Feldman and how he was somehow connected to Ben’s past. Is that what you’ve been up to today? Digging up skeletons?”
“I was thinking Ben may have sought Daddy out because Cloris used the same adoption agency years ago.”
“Cloris used an adoption agency?” Kate said. “When did you find that out?”
“I’m not sure she even did. And the adoption angle might have nothing to do with why Ben came here, b
ut it’s better than no explanation at all. I have another question, Willis.”
He checked his watch. “I really should have left here by now.”
“This won’t take a minute. Do you need a license to run an adoption agency?”
“No license is required that I’m aware of. Texas has more liberal adoption laws than most states.”
“What do you mean by liberal?” I asked.
“Can we leave this alone? I have to go.” He turned the knob.
“Does liberal mean it’s okay for someone to pay a birth mother?”
“Is this a roundabout way to ask about your own adoption? Because I assure you, Charlie and Elizabeth did everything in their power to provide you and Kate with a good home. If you start questioning their—”
“Who says I’m questioning anything they did?” But his defensiveness had me wondering. Now was not the time to press him, however. I’d already flustered him enough. So I said, “Actually, Willis, I’m asking all these questions because I’m thinking of adopting. I figure I’ve had plenty of experience raising Steven.”
“I take it you’re joking, but whatever you’re up to, I advise you not to upset the wrong people. Adoption means money to some, and when you mess with their money, they often react unpleasantly. I’ll see you Sunday for dinner.”
He left and Kate closed the door. “What have you been up to, Abby? Because if I know you, you didn’t get that sunburn on a Galveston beach.”
“It’s a long story, and I’m dying to share the details.”
We went arm in arm back to the kitchen, fixed iced tea, and moved out by the pool so we could enjoy the tiny breeze that blessed us today. I recounted my interview with Hamilton and my first attempt at shadowing someone.
“That kid who tried to steal your car could have had a gun, Abby! What were you thinking?”
“Obviously I wasn’t thinking.”
“And I suppose you’re not done with Helen Hamilton?”
“She’s connected to Feldman, and Feldman is connected to Cloris and Ben.”
“Sounds like you made her plenty suspicious with all your questions.”
“I figure she’ll get less suspicious when I return with a husband and some cash.” I smiled.
Pick Your Poison Page 10
