Pushing Up Bluebonnets

makeover. Reminded me of Richter's housekeeper Estelle.

'He gets angry?' I said. 'I know my boyfriend has a real temper. Calls me names, throws things.' Did I just tell the biggest lie of my life? Oh yes.

'He doesn't get mad much, but boy, when he does, look out. If my mee-maw knew I was with a man who used those words—you know, the really bad cuss words? Anyway, she'd yank me by the hair all the way back to Lufkin. That's where I'm from. I was Miss Lufkin in the Miss Texas USA pageant and Kent saw me on TV. Said he wanted to meet me.'

'He went to Lufkin to find you?' I asked.

'Well, not exactly. I work for Ace Printing. I'm the receptionist—actually my boss calls me his right-hand girl.' She smiled, looking as proud as punch. 'Anyway, Kent found me somehow and came calling at the office. We hit it off right away.'

She was almost done with her makeup and I needed a little time to check the place out, so I said, 'Do you have another bathroom besides this one? I had one too many cups of coffee.'

'Sure. Out the bedroom and at the end of the hall.'

I walked back into the hallway and saw the open powder room door. But there were two other closed doors on the way there, one on each side. I opened the one on the right. A guest room, this one all brown and tan and as orderly as the other rooms. There was nothing homey about this place. It just seemed so cold.

I carefully shut the door and tried the one on the left. But seeing that the traditional bedroom doorknob had been replaced with a keyed one, I knew it would be locked—and it was. Was this where they threw their junk mail, magazines, orphan slippers, empty boxes, Christmas decorations and all the other stuff that cluttered my place? I didn't think so. No, there was something else in there, something maybe even Georgeanne didn't know about.

I heard Georgeanne in the bedroom then and rushed down to the blue and white powder room, closed the door and quickly flushed the toilet. I ran the water a few seconds and then came out. She was waiting for me at the living room entry.

'I really have to get to work,' she said.

'Sorry if I've kept you,' I answered. I glanced into the kitchen on my left as I walked toward her. Black appliances, mottled gray granite countertops, all of it blending with the living room visible through a passthrough bar. Nothing unusual, just more neat-freak ambience. 'I promise I won't tell Mr. Dugan I dropped by. He has enough on his mind right now.'

Georgeanne smiled. God, she looked like a clown now and smelled like a bottle of cheap perfume. 'Thanks. Maybe we can have lunch one day and you can tell me what it's like to be a detective because, you know, I think that is so very, very cool.'

'Sounds like a plan,' I said as we left the condo together.

Her car was in the garage and mine was parked at the curb. I left first and headed toward the freeway, but then took a turn down a street to my right when I saw the garage door open in my rearview mirror. I waited for a few minutes and then drove back to the condo, went past it about a block and parked. I wanted to know what was in that room.

18

I figured there had to be windows in both extra bedrooms of Dugan's place and I jogged back down the sidewalk—the jogging for the benefit of the man and woman walking toward me with their twin Scotties. I figured I needed an excuse for being in the neighborhood, since I sure wasn't dressed for delivering religious literature. The Scotties started lunging and barking their heads off as I approached, so I made a detour for the street to avoid losing a chunk of my leg. The man mouthed 'Sorry' as they pulled their pets quickly past me.

After I returned to the walkway, I glanced back to make sure they weren't looking before I made a hard left into Kent Dugan's driveway. I hurried past the garage to the locked-room side of the house. The window's vertical shades were shut, but fortunately even a blind hog stumbles over an acorn every once in a while. One slat was twisted enough that I could see into the room— make that see into part of the room. A copy machine stood against the left wall, and not your standard HewlettPackard ink-jet, either. Laser and color, maybe? And there was a laminator, the type I recognized from my high school days when I'd help the librarian laminate posters for the teachers. It was almost as big as the copier. What kind of consultant needed office equipment like this? Did he publish manuals or something?

I turned my head and pressed the other side of my face against the window, trying to get a glimpse of anything else in the room while I considered the laminator thing.

But then I noticed I had a problem.

Kent Dugan was standing next to the garage, head cocked. 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

Uh-oh. Think fast, Abby. 'I—I was, well, you didn't answer the door, and I thought maybe you saw me through the peephole and decided you didn't want to talk to me—which I perfectly understand. I wanted to ask you a few questions.'

'Really? Well, you know what? I could have you arrested for trespassing.' His anger was probably being broadcast all over the quiet neighborhood. 'What's your interest in Elizabeth, anyway? How did you know her?'

'I—I—' My gaze wandered beyond Kent to the sidewalk.

The Scottie walkers were back and they had slowed to take in this unpleasant confrontation.

Dugan followed my stare. He sounded perfectly nice and in control when he said, 'It's nothing, Mr. and Mrs. Lewis. I'm just a little upset because they found Elizabeth and she's hurt and now I have an unexpected visitor.'

'They found your wife?' Mrs. Lewis said. 'That's wonderful news. Will she be okay?'

'That's not clear yet. I'll let you know.' He turned back to me and quietly said, 'How's about we go inside and discuss this problem privately, Abby.'

The couple took this as a cue to be on their way. Besides, those Scotties might rip the couple's arms from their sockets if they didn't get on with their walk.

Dugan, meanwhile, marched around the garage toward the front of the condo and I followed.

He opened the door, his anger almost palpable. Did I really want to go in there with him? Not exactly, but since I'd been accompanied by two police officers last night, and Dugan certainly didn't fall off the stupid truck, I figured he'd mind his manners.

Once we were both inside, he gestured to the living room. 'Sit down. And then I want you to tell me why they won't let me in to see my wife. See, I was turned away at the hospital.'

'She's not your wife, so maybe that has something to do with the hospital's decision.' I wasn't taking any attitude from this guy without giving some back.

Dugan's lips pressed together. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts. As his expression relaxed, my guess was he was considering it might be wise to keep his enemies closer than his friends—that is, if he had any friends besides Georgeanne.

He walked over and sat down, pushed his hair off his forehead and leaned back. He looked tired . . . and frustrated. 'Sorry I went off on you. I'm worried about her, that's all.'

But I wasn't about to sympathize with a man I trusted about as much as I trusted my ability to hoist a baby elephant. I remained standing. 'Apology accepted. Maybe you're ready to share more of what I'm sure you know about Elizabeth. Does she have a last name, by the way?'

He raised one eyebrow, offered his best photo-shoot shy smile. 'You won't believe this, but she never told me. We hooked up instantly. The attraction didn't last for her, but I still care. Anyway, after she moved in, she would introduce herself as Elizabeth Dugan to people we met.'

'You're right. I don't believe you. In fact,' I said, 'I don't like you, I don't trust you and I'm leaving.'

I started to go, but he stopped me with his next words. 'I thought you wanted to ask me questions, Abby Rose— adoption PI. You're that Abby, right?'

I tried to will down the flush creeping up my neck and attacking my cheeks. Didn't work.