Dead Giveaway

After cleaning off his desk, Burl laid out several sheets of blank white paper and placed the creamcolored blanket on these.

I snapped off a few shots.

Will leaned forward for a better look. 'You think this was mine? It doesn't look all that old.'

'The blanket itself is well-preserved, but check out the label.' Burl turned over one corner so I could photograph the label.

The small rectangular piece of satin had yellowed with age, and the stitching on the edges was frayed. Underneath the embroidered words HANDMADE FOR POSH PRAMS I now saw something else—100% HANDSPUN NEW WOOL. I'd had little chance to notice this the first time, seeing as how Burl had commandeered the thing almost immediately. If the word 'posh' didn't make it sound expensive, 'hand-spun wool' certainly did.

'You sure I can't have this?' I said.

Burl smiled. 'Your cop friend wants it, all he has to do is ask and I'll turn it over properly to preserve the chain of evidence.'

'Okay.' I held up my phone. 'The pictures will do for now, and we do appreciate your help.'

'My pleasure. Great to meet Will all grown up.' He carefully folded the blanket and returned it to the box. On paper taped to the box lid he wrote down the date and time he'd accessed the contents.

'You want to take your keys, Will?' I nodded at the envelope still lying on the desk.

Will shook his head. From the look on his face, you'd have thought he was eight years old and I'd asked him to open up the closet where the boogeyman lived. 'No. Could you, like... deal with them for now?'

I picked up the envelope. 'Sure. But your parents might want to get a lawyer on this.'

Will released an audible sigh of relief. 'Yeah. Sure. Whatever.'

We said good-bye to Burl and left.

I'd had a notion to stop at Verna Mae's house, but I decided Will had been given plenty to chew on today. The house could wait.

8

By the time I dropped Will off at his home early Monday evening and explained about the money part of the inheritance to his mother, my stomach was complaining about missed meals. I'd eaten nothing since breakfast. I called Jeff's cell, hoping we could grab a bite together, but he said he wouldn't be leaving work for several more hours. He was chasing Verna Mae's money trail.

I decided to stop by Kate's house for the company, but only after picking up a Chick-Fil-A sandwich and a Diet Coke. Who knows what might be on the menu at her place. Probably yellow gooey vegetables or enough bulgur wheat to feed a barn full of chickens for a month.

When I arrived, I discovered that vegetables would have been glorious in comparison to what was truly on the menu. Our Aunt Caroline's baby-blue Lincoln Town Car sat in the driveway. If not for Terry Armstrong, Kate's significant other, I would have floored the Camry and hightailed it home, but Terry was returning from a walk with Webster, their border collie. A very slow walk, no doubt, since Webster is so lazy he wouldn't wake up from a nap even if a herd of sheep got into the living room.

Terry spotted me, waved and smiled. Yup, I had to stop. Either that, or be ratted out to Kate and Aunt Caroline that I'd been in the neighborhood and split.

When I climbed out of the car, Terry released Webster's leash, and the dog came running to greet me. 'What's with him?' I asked. 'He hasn't run anywhere since he found a body in my greenhouse last summer.'

Terry is about six-four with an easy smile, lean frame and a spirit as kind as my sister's. 'Didn't Kate tell you?'

'Tell me what?' Webster planted his feet on my waist and sniffed at my Chick-Fil-A bag.

'Our boy is hypothyroid. He's been on medicine for a week, and we can already tell the difference.'

We started walking down the driveway toward the back door. 'I always said something was wrong with him.'

'You know Kate. She wouldn't trust any ordinary vet, but she found this woman who uses natural medicine and chiropractic. Webster's now beginning to act like a real border collie.'

I stopped. 'You're kidding. Webster's seeing a chiropractor?'

'Hey, between that, the medicine and the acupuncture, he's improving every day,' he said.

'Acupuncture, too?' Still, I had to admit Webster was a new dog. He beat us to the back gate, and once we came in through the kitchen, he hurried to his water dish and began lapping like he'd done a marathon in the desert.

As Terry led me into the living room, I took a deep breath to help prepare me mentally for an encounter with my aunt. Kate was curled up in a corner of the leather sofa, and Aunt Caroline sat across from her on the love seat. Since learning last year that my aunt had lied to Kate and me all our lives about our illegal adoption, Kate had generously forgiven her, but I hadn't. Didn't know if I ever would.

'Hey, Abby,' Kate said, her dark eyes lighting up.

Aunt Caroline smiled. I believe she'd be a perfect candidate for some talk show centered around people addicted to plastic surgery, because she'd had plenty and then some.

'Abigail. What a nice surprise,' she said.

'Hi, Aunt Caroline. You're looking... bright.' She was floral today. Flowered silk shirt in pink and fuchsia, matching skirt. Heck, she even had a fake poppy in her white hair. She looked like The Secret Garden gone bad.

Terry cleared his throat. 'Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.' He strode through the room, Webster on his heels. I heard them climb the stairs and wished I was going with them.

Instead I sat on the couch, set my drink on the glass coffee table and started in on my sandwich. Nothing like deep-fried chicken on a buttered bun to make the company more tolerable.

'How many fat grams are you consuming this evening, Abigail? You won't keep that handsome policeman interested long if you... Well, you know what I mean. Or has that little infatuation ended?'

'They're very much in love,' Kate said quickly, probably knowing I was ready to spit a pickle in Aunt Caroline's direction.

'In love? As in cohabiting?' Aunt Caroline asked, her carefully penciled brows rising.

'That's not really your business,' I answered as sweetly as I'm capable of. How I wished we were living together, but Jeff still kept his apartment despite spending seventy-five percent of his time at my place.

Aunt Caroline held up her hands in surrender. 'Sorry. I just don't want to see you hurt again. You have an ex-husband in jail, if you've forgotten.... But, wait. What an idiot I've been. That's why you've taken up with someone the exact opposite of Steven.'

'That someone is the most honest, sensitive man I've ever met, and to repeat, this is none of your business.' Though I wanted to tell her to burn her tongue on her own potpie, I managed to stay calm.

'Aunt Caroline, is something bothering you?' Kate asked. 'Because I think you're trying to press Abby's buttons tonight.' My sister, always the shrink, was attempting to analyze Aunt Caroline. Like it would do any good.

Maybe Kate's insight had an impact, however, because I noticed tears in Aunt Caroline's eyes. Made me wish my give-a-damner was broke, but it wasn't. She was sad, and for some foolish reason, that bothered me.

'You're right, Kate. I am upset. Hans has left me.' She blinked hard, not letting the tears escape.

'I am so sorry,' Kate said. 'You really cared for him.'

Yeah, I thought. Because he was about forty years younger than you and allowed you to live in fantasyland. 'That's too bad,' I heard myself saying. He had kept her busy and, well, yes, happy.

'I apologize, Abigail. I didn't mean to 'press your buttons,' as Kate so aptly put it. I suppose I am a little jealous. Sergeant Kline is... Well, let's put it this way: I wouldn't mind if he ate crackers in my