Pick Your Poison

by Leann Sweeney

  “Right. As for what’s-his-name, the ex,” Kline said. “He says he came for those blueprints you handed over to him last night, but I’ve learned about his DUIs and drunk-and-disorderlies. Not exactly your model citizen. Are you sure that’s all he came for?”

  “I happened to be in the kitchen when he arrived, so he had no chance to go upstairs without me seeing him. As you saw firsthand, he’s still protective, despite the divorce, so don’t judge him too harshly.”

  “I leave judging to the judges. Just filling you in on the work we’ve done since I left this morning.”

  “Did you get any sleep at all?” I asked. That morning after Ben was killed, this guy could have hired on as an extra in Night of the Living Dead. But after what couldn’t have been more than an hour or two of sleep, he sounded downright energetic.

  “Nada,” he answered.

  “You sound awfully alert, while I’m feeling like I’ve been run over by a mobile home pulling a horse trailer.”

  He laughed. “I’ve consumed more bad coffee than one human can safely tolerate, but other than that, I’m revived. I’ll let you know if any leads turn up.”

  I hung up, liking the idea that he intended to stay in touch. Liking it plenty. I mean, the guy was a hunk, and he was even laughing at my jokes now.

  Terry arrived for a late dinner that evening, and we ate our grilled tuna out on the patio by the pool. The amber antimosquito torches surrounded us, flickering against a starry sky. Kate had already called and told him about last night, making him once again hesitant to help me with my plan to investigate Parental Advocates. But I was certain that finding Feldman might lead us not only to Ben’s killer but maybe Cloris’s, too, and after a little pleading on my part, he finally succumbed. His renewed cooperation then resurrected the guilt I felt over the business cards now in my purse. But they were still staying in my purse.

  “Hon, you look exhausted,” said Terry, reaching over and resting a hand on Kate’s cheek. He brought her to him and kissed her briefly.

  “Abby needs to tell her gentlemen friends to call at more reasonable times,” said Kate. “I missed school, thanks to everything they stirred up.”

  “Steven and Kline? Gentlemen friends?” he said.

  “I didn’t invite them,” I said. “And I hope you’re using the adjective ‘gentlemen’ loosely. Did you know Kline put a tail on me, Terry?”

  “Nope. Those Homicide dicks tell no secrets. Besides, they know Kate and I are a couple, so they wouldn’t say anything. By the way, what was your cat doing in the attic in the first place?”

  “Someone must have left open the attic door,” I said. If I could remember the last time I saw Diva, maybe I could pinpoint when the room was trashed.

  “I can narrow the field,” said Kate. “Aunt Caroline was all over the house Saturday—she and her strong-man, Hans.”

  “You mean the guy she found in the yellow pages—listed under ‘recreational facilities’?” I said.

  Kate smiled. “That’s the one.”

  “So you think Aunt Caroline’s our culprit?” I said.

  “Don’t tell her I was the one who fingered her,” Kate said. “She still likes me.”

  I smirked. “Maybe I can change that. I think you should share the joy of genuine animosity.”

  Kate and Terry laughed and then we cleared the table. After we finished the dishes, they went to catch a movie and I tackled the chaos in the guest room. I carried packing crates upstairs and Diva soon joined me, the lure of a box too enticing to refuse.

  But instead of finishing up quickly, I found that the task stirred memories, and the work took much longer than I expected.

  I hadn’t seen many of the photographs in years. I quickly set aside the ones of my mother in her wheelchair. I didn’t want to think of her like that. I only wanted to know her as I had for the last thirty years, as the woman Daddy spoke of so often and had loved so much.

  Instead, I confronted my father’s smiling face in the albums, his healthy grip enclosing the small hands of Kate and I as we stared adoringly up at him in front of the Alamo or Disneyland. Those photos brought a fullness to my chest I hadn’t felt since that day he collapsed in front of me.

  I turned more pages and witnessed the progression of men through Aunt Caroline’s life, each a blur in my memory. None of them ever stayed around long.

  Willis made his regular appearances in the pictures as well—at Christmases or birthdays, usually alone, but occasionally with some strange female. The nannies were familiar, some Kate’s favorites and some mine. But one thing stood out, page after page—Daddy’s enduring grin. His lighthearted smiles diminished as the strain of my collapsing marriage appeared in all our eyes in the newer photographs.

  The camera truly doesn’t lie.

  Christmas . . . right before the divorce. We stood side by side, mouths forced into bleak crescents, my gaze not toward the lens but focused on the longneck in Steven’s hand. I skipped past those pages, eager to forget, then piled the albums in boxes, wishing I could pack the sadness away as well.

  I missed Daddy . . . missed him terribly. He always insisted he was the small end of nothing, whittled down to a point, said we were specks of dust in the big picture. But if that were so, why did he occupy such a huge part of my heart?

  A tear escaped, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, shifting my attention to bags and boxes of clothes.

  16

  Terry had agreed to be my husband on the visit to Parental Advocates, and we held hands when we walked into the foyer-office for our appointment the next day. Kate, who would wait for us at the Victorian, assured us when we dropped her off that we indeed looked like we could be a married couple. This time I was in full costume, my old wedding band burning on my finger. I hated the thing.

  We decided I would play the “I’ll do anything for a baby” role, and Terry would act like the skeptical consumer. I had done a little acting in college, but I felt none of the exhilarating tension I had experienced before a stage performance. With my palms sweating and my mouth feeling wiped dry inside, I was plain scared.

  Hamilton wore an emerald-green tailored shirt, and her newly cut hair was feathered around her face, a style that softened her angular features. Thin wasn’t always flattering, but she’d made a successful adjustment.

  She reached across her desk and offered her hand to Terry. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Deer.” She nodded at me. “Good to see you again, too.”

  She folded her hands in front of her and smiled expectantly. “You’ve had a chance to fill out the paperwork, I assume?” she asked.

  Terry said, “We’ll get to that, but I’m sure you won’t mind a few questions, Ms. Hamilton. See, I’m not ready to commit to anything in writing.”

  “As I explained to your wife, putting things in writing in this business can cause problems, and that’s why we only ask for the family history, which is promptly shredded after we put the information into our computer. We do this for your protection, so you won’t be tracked down years later by the birth mother.”

  “Is this how all adoption agencies work?” asked Terry.

  Her eyes shifted for an instant. “Basically, yes. But don’t let me alarm you. We protect your investment and do ten times the business a charitable operation might in a given year.”

  “Ten times?” I said, not bothering to hide my surprise.

  She nodded. “You’re fortunate to live in Texas. The baby market is booming here.”

  I kept my eager smile in place, even though I didn’t feel the least like smiling. If I truly did want to adopt, her words might be music. But markets for babies didn’t excite me. It sounded as if we were talking about racehorses, not children.

  I said, “So our chances are good?”

  “Like anything worth having, it depends on what you’re willing to spend, both monetarily and time-wise. This agency specializes in privacy, and we will serve you well, but surely you understand I’m unwilling to discuss details un
til I have a cash commitment.”

  “How much cash?” asked Terry.

  “The processing fee is ten thousand.”

  “What do I get for my processing fee?” he asked, sounding wary.

  “Part will pay for adoption insurance. Then we meet with you for several hours and assess exactly what you’re looking for in an infant. I assume you want a white child, or you wouldn’t have come to us.”

  “You only deal in Caucasian infants?” I asked. I knew for a fact she didn’t, after what I’d seen the day I followed her, but I was curious to see if she would tell the truth.

  “We have a few black couples, but we’re talking supply and demand, aren’t we?”

  I could read her demeanor, and she didn’t need to add, “Black babies aren’t profitable.” It was getting harder to keep my fake smile in place.

  “Are you ready to work with us, then?” she asked, focusing on Terry and ignoring me.

  “You mentioned adoption insurance,” Terry said, skipping over her veiled reference to the processing fee she was itching to get her hands on. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “We connect you with an independent insurance broker. If you lose out on the first birth mother we match you with, you are insured for the ten thousand. So you see, the processing fee is actually covered if there’s a disaster. We can start all over.” She smiled as if she’d just invented water.

  “And what’s the actual cost of the insurance?” he asked.

  Her smile shrank to a tight pucker. “Twelve hundred.”

  “And the rest of the ten grand is just to meet with you people? That doesn’t even include the actual cost of the adoption?” he said.

  I didn’t think he was acting anymore. He sounded too astounded.

  “That’s correct,” she said. “Each adoption is unique, sometimes quite complicated.”

  “Darling,” I said quickly, “it’s worth it. They’ll find us the perfect baby and make sure we don’t lose her.” I smiled at Hamilton. “We want a girl.”

  “Can I set up a meeting?” she said, switching her pitch to me.

  “Yes. We’re ready,” I replied.

  Terry put a hand on my shoulder. “I’m not forking over ten thousand dollars until I know more about this company. Do you have lawyers? Doctors? Where do these mothers come from? How do we know we won’t get some poor child with AIDS or—”

  “I’m sorry,” said Hamilton. She still sounded pleasant, but her steel-gray eyes hardened. “What is it you do for a living, Mr. Deer?”

  My throat tightened. I’d forgotten to fill Terry in on his background. Please say “computers,” I begged silently. The whole frigging world does something with computers.

  Thank goodness Terry slithered away from a direct answer. “I’ll save my answers for the expensive processing meeting, if we decide to go ahead. After all, you people have ten thousand dollars to earn.”

  “Touche,” said Hamilton. “I only wanted to point out that you wouldn’t give away computers, would you? So you can’t expect us to provide valuable counseling services free of charge.”

  So she did remember what I had told her the other day. She was slick, all right.

  I said, “Did you notice Ms. Hamilton’s computer, darling? It’s one of the brands you sell. And she has a point, because I’m sure she paid good money for it.” Though I was cueing Terry, the computer itself interested me: a CompuCan model, with the ribbonlike cable I recognized—very expensive. Wired for special electronics.

  Hamilton said, “I think Mrs. Deer and I are on the same page. But perhaps you need more time to mull things over, which is understandable. I might add, we currently have an excellent supply of babies on the way, and the chances are good you’d find a match. We can’t always offer such variety.”

  So the crop was exceptional this year? This was making me sick.

  When Terry didn’t even nibble on the bait, she stood. “I do have another appointment, but please call on me when you’re ready.”

  We were being dismissed. No money, no more information.

  Terry and I rose.

  She walked around the desk and accompanied us to the door, saying, “Mrs. Deer, since we work on a referral basis, I wanted to ask you again where you heard about Mr. Feldman.”

  That threw me, her bringing up Feldman. “I have confidentiality issues myself, Ms. Hamilton. Especially when my friends have told me not to mention their names.”

  “I understand,” she answered, her face as blank as stone.

  But her eyes held even more suspicion than the last time I’d been here.

  Steven’s truck was parked in front of the house on P Street when Terry and I arrived back there to meet with Kate.

  “He’s probably working on the roof and windows before the storm hits,” I said as Terry and I climbed the porch steps.

  When we got inside, I saw that Steven had brought over the blueprints and they were spread on the parlor floor. He looked up when we came in.

  “So how was your adventure?” he asked. Obviously Steven knew where we’d been.

  “I guess Kate explained. But don’t take it personally, Steven. I divorced Terry, too—in the car on the way back here. He doesn’t want to adopt and I do.”

  “You think this is one big joke, don’t you?” said Steven. “But messing with murder and pretending to be someone you’re not is like bucking in the rodeo without a pickup man.”

  “Since when did my life become a province and you took over as dictator?” I said.

  Terry cleared his throat. “I’ll find Kate while you two finish slinging arrows.”

  Steven turned his flushed face toward Terry. “You’re as bad as she is, Terry. You work for the police, don’t you? Isn’t what you two did today on the hot side of the law?”

  “It’s not illegal. And the visit proved enlightening. In fact, I may call up the Galveston County district attorney and ask her to take a serious look at this Parental Advocates agency.”

  “Not yet,” I said quickly. “Let me find out about Feldman before you send Hamilton into a panic.”

  “Maybe you should listen to Steven,” said Kate. She’d come in through the dining room. “Sergeant Kline might not be working as fast as you like, but—”

  “I’m not giving up, Kate,” I said. “In fact, I may take ten thousand dollars over to Parental Advocates tomorrow and see if a few greenbacks will persuade Hamilton to discuss Mr. Feldman.”

  “What?” came the simultaneous cry from Kate and Steven.

  “You always were a few bricks shy of a load,” said Steven.

  I said, “What makes you think—”

  “Hold on, Abby.” Terry put a hand on my arm. “I already told you I’ve put out feelers at the precinct and courthouse. I may hear something any day about Feldman.”

  Steven said, “Let her throw her money away, Terry. Interfering with Abby when she wants something is like standing in front of a runaway locomotive.”

  Breaking the uncomfortable silence that followed, Terry said, “Sounds as if you guys need to clear up some issues if you expect to work effectively on this house project together. I can help. I know several good marriage and family counselors who could—”

  “Our marriage is over,” I snapped, sticking my ring hand in my skirt pocket. “There’s nothing left to counsel.” I thought I’d gotten past the bitterness, but apparently not.

  Steven closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked at me. The green sea was calm. “I apologize. I promised I’d help fix this place up, and I’m following through on my commitment. I’ve got things to prove, to you and to myself. Are you okay with that, Abby?”

  I felt my shoulders relax. “Yes. Sorry if I went off on you.”

  Steven smiled. “Good. Now, there’s a problem with the house we need to discuss.”

  By gosh, wasn’t he improving on his apologies?

  Kate’s mouth had the white-ringed traces of her reaction to witnessing what she thought she wouldn’t
have to listen to again. “Is it safe to leave you two together?” she asked.

  “I agree not to call Steven things like sawdust-head. He, in turn, must not tell me I have the mentality of a screwdriver or that if I had twice as much sense I’d still be a half-wit. He actually told me that once, by the way.”

  Steven smiled. We all smiled. Storm over.

  After Kate and Terry left, I said, “What’s this problem?”

  “Come over here and I’ll show you.”

  I walked across the room and we both knelt to better view the blueprints.

  He tapped a spot on the paper. “This upstairs bathroom was added on above the mudroom, which was also an addition.”

  “You mean that little laundry room leading from the back door into the kitchen?”

  “Right. Don’t know what fool approved those plans, but old houses rarely had extra bathrooms way back when, thus the need for the addition. Never would have put one there myself, though. Too many heavy fixtures and not enough support. We should tear out the tub and commode and start over.”

  “Put in a shower, maybe?”

  “That’s an option, but I’d prefer to make this a closet and relocate the bathroom here.” He fingered another spot on the plans.

  “Sounds like a good idea.” I could feel the warmth of his body where our shoulders touched and remembered how we used to make love after we’d fought and made up. I was feeling like one of Pavlov’s dogs, my body conditioned for pleasure after pain. When would I stop wanting him?

  I stood, knowing I had to put space between us before I did something stupid.

  But before I could move, he grabbed my hand. “I meant what I said. I am sorry.”

  “I’m sorry, too.” I gently withdrew and stepped back. “I have to go. I promised I’d pick up contracts from CompuCan.”

  “Ah, yes. Keep the Rose money machine cranking out bucks. Who knows when you might want to blow off ten thousand dollars.”

  CompuCan basically runs itself, but since Kate and I had inherited the business, I visited the corporate offices in downtown Houston on a regular basis. After I returned from Galveston, I drove there and spent an hour chatting and meeting new faces, then picked up the documents that I’d come for.