Pushing Up Bluebonnets

signatures. But I'd promised Cooper Boyd I'd do what I could to help identify his mystery woman.

I went to my office and scanned and enhanced the xeroxed card, and printed out one copy for Aunt Caroline and one for me. Then I took two file boxes with my saved correspondence into the kitchen.

'Get comfortable. This will take some time,' I said.

But she'd already brought in a throw cushion from the living room and tucked it between her back and the chair.

She maintained slow-paced but intense interest in those letters and I asked her to speed up more than once. This wasn't story time at the library, though some of those letters did read like Shakespearean tragedies. Adoption is usually a wonderful thing and some of my cases have produced reunions that turned out to be dreams come true. But not everyone gets what they expect when they search for secrets in their past.

In the three hours that followed, Aunt Caroline and

I compared that small sample of handwriting over and over. I kept glancing her way wondering if this task was making her fatigued. Her doctored skin held up, but her shoulders slumped and she had to use lens solution several times. Plus she drank enough water to float the battleship Texas and that meant a hundred trips to the bathroom.

'This seems like an exercise in futility,' I finally said. I was getting even more worried about her. We were almost done and Jeff and I could finish this tonight after Doris went to bed. Yes, there was a much-anticipated sleepover planned. Besides, I didn't want Aunt Caroline asking me when I would need to start 'cooking' for the expected company.

'We're not quitting now, Abigail. It's only four o'clock. We can get the rest done in the next hour.'

'But—'

'I have twelve letters in my 'maybe pile.' How many in yours?' she said.

'Only six.'

'Let's plow through the rest and then revisit those remaining letters,' she said.

There was no arguing with Aunt Caroline—not ever. But even I was getting tired. 'How about chocolate to get us through this, then?'

She tilted her head and squirted more lens solution in her eyes. 'Chocolate sounds wonderful.'

Two Ghirardelli dark bars later, Aunt Caroline and I were revived. She was downright giddy with energy.

We started in again and I could understand why fingerprint experts used to be able to spot a matching print just by looking at it. It's because they'd compared that print over and over with hundreds of samples.

The same thing happened to me when I picked up my second letter after our chocolate fix. I let out a 'Yes, ma'am,' and stood up with my arms raised, like a football fan whose team had scored the winning touchdown as the clock ran down.

'You found it?' Aunt Caroline said. 'Let me see.'

She started to grab for the letter, but I stepped away from her outstretched hand. 'There could be fingerprints on this. Chief Boyd might be able to match them to the mystery woman.' I walked to the kitchen drawer where I keep the Ziploc bags. Using my thumb and index finger, I carefully put the letter in a bag and walked back to the table.

'I'll read it to you,' I said.

But this time, she was able to snatch the bagged letter before I could blink. She should consider pickpocket school, I decided.

She read:

Dear Ms. Rose,

I learned about you from a Houston TV morning show. I am adopted and would like to find my birth family. If you could help me, I would very much appreciate it. Please let me know what you charge and use the enclosed stamped envelope for your answer.

Yours truly,

JoLynn Richter

'May I please have that back? I need to call Chief Boyd.'

But Aunt Caroline was squinting, her gaze traveling between the letter and the copy of my business card. Then she leaned back. 'I think this is the same handwriting.'

I wanted to say, 'Um, yeah, 'cause it's as plain as the hand on the end of your arm,' but I did appreciate her help and instead said, 'Glad you agree. Now, I've got to phone Chief Boyd and then start dinner. Can I get you anything before you go?'

Aunt Caroline started to rise and I could tell she was a little hurt that I seemed to be kicking her out—which I sort of was.

But when her eyes rolled back and she crumbled to the floor, I quickly realized her expression had nothing to do with hurt feelings.

3

Terrified, I hurried over and knelt beside my aunt, fearing she'd had a heart attack. That's how my daddy— her brother—had died. Just keeled over and never took another breath. But when my shaking hand felt for a pulse, I discovered her heart was pumping hard and steady.

Resting a hand on her cheek, I said her name, then got close to her face to make sure she was breathing. She smelled like she'd been chewing Juicy Fruit gum all day and that's when I knew what was wrong. I do occasionally read my Prevention magazines—Kate had given me a subscription as a Christmas gift.

I leaned back on my heels and whispered, 'You're a diabetic, Aunt Caroline.'

She was starting to come around and I wasn't about to let her run this rodeo. I pulled my cell from my pocket and called 911 before she fully opened her eyes. By the time the paramedics took her away, she was still almost as quiet as a sparrow in a hawk's nest, not hollering for them to leave her alone like I would have expected. She didn't even seem to know where she was. That meant she was definitely sick and I was definitely feeling guilty about that giant chocolate bar she'd eaten right before she passed out.

I'd given this information to the paramedics, mentioned the fatigue and the hundred drinks of water and told them I'd be at Methodist Hospital as soon as I made some phone calls. No 'cooking' tonight. Heck, now I even felt guilty about lying to Aunt Caroline about that.

I called Kate first—she's a psychologist and was still at her office in the Medical Center. I told her what happened. She was upset, wondering immediately why she hadn't picked up on the symptoms. She had a client who was diabetic, after all. I decided we both needed to shelve the guilt trip and said I'd meet her at Methodist Hospital. Jeff was next on my call list, but he wasn't available, as usual, so I left a message. I was about to call Loreen, Doris's caretaker, when someone knocked on the door. I checked the security monitor and saw Loreen and Doris standing on the stoop holding hands.

I opened the door and they stepped in out of the heat. After Doris gave me a big hug, she hurried off to find Diva. Meanwhile, I told Loreen what had happened.

I said, 'I have to go to the hospital, but if you could please stay here with Doris, order pizza and—'

'I'm so sorry, Abby, but I can't. You know that guy I was telling you about? The one I met at the post office?'

'Yes—Wyatt, right?'

'He's taking me out dancing tonight. That's why I brought Doris a little early. I need time to go home and get ready.' She smiled, unable to hide her excitement. 'Any other time, but—'

'Oh, I understand. That's great about Wyatt.' I was happy for Loreen. Though she'd had a rough life as a street kid, she was a quality human being who loved Doris as much as we did. But why did the first date since I'd