“I’m willing, but I’m not guaranteeing anything,” she said.
We entered the house after a cursory knock, Webster leading the way through the narrow hall to the living room. Terry had been slowly modernizing the old house, but he had yet to work on the living room. Brocade drapes and floral wallpaper clashed with his black leather sofa, contemporary end tables, and sleek entertainment center.
Terry, dressed in his usual khakis and polo shirt, emerged from the kitchen, and Webster greeted him by barking and doing a few whirligigs.
“Hi, fella,” he said, rubbing the dog’s head. Terry grinned at me. “And hello, Abby. Didn’t know you were coming for dinner, too.”
“Never miss a chance to visit with my favorite soon-to-be brother-in-law,” I said.
His eyes turned in amused inquiry to Kate. “What does she want, Kate? More police info, I suppose?”
“Me?” I said. “Ulterior motives? Never.”
He laughed. “I’ll set another plate for supper.”
He had fixed fruit salad, grilled chicken, and poppy-seed muffins, and we ate in the dining room, whose walls bore the scars of recently stripped wallpaper.
While we ate, I told him about Feldman, Hamilton, and the plan I’d devised to learn more about Parental Advocates. Once we’d finished the meal, Terry sat back in his chair, considering what I’d said.
I pushed pineapple tidbits around my plate, feeling his resistance, even though he hadn’t come right out and said he wouldn’t help me. Kate wasn’t doing any generous lobbying in my favor, which bothered me. But she loved the guy and certainly knew how to handle this situation better than I did.
Indeed, the affection and respect between Kate and Terry was obvious. Love and respect. If I’d only weighed their importance before I married Steven. Passion and Bud Light weren’t exactly the best foundation for a lasting relationship.
Kate picked up the pitcher and we passed the iced tea around, refilling our glasses.
“Why didn’t you ask me for help before you went wandering around Galveston?” Terry finally said.
I added a lemon slice to my drink, saying, “Are you in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, Terry? Remember that day in your office when you said you couldn’t help me?”
He said, “I was a little ticked at you, remember?” “I know. I’m sorry.” I attended to the frayed edge of my napkin.
He went on, saying, “And you’ve gone a little overboard again. I mean, is it a good idea to follow a woman who may have been conducting an entirely legal business transaction?”
“She didn’t know she’d been followed,” I said.
“There’s no give-up in you, is there?” He sighed. “I suppose I could check a couple of sources at HPD and see if they know anything about this Feldman guy.”
“Maybe he’s been dead for years,” said Kate. “Or he moved away.”
“Hamilton said he was retired. And if he’s still in the area, maybe I can find him.”
“Okay,” Terry said. “So you find him. But if the man’s guilty of anything, he certainly won’t tell you.” Terry’s tone, edging closer to condescension, reminded me of an earlier conversation with Willis Hatch. Why did all the men in my life think they had to protect me?
Figuring I needed a time-out before I shot myself in the foot with Terry, I said, “Talk to him, would you, Kate? I’m going to the bathroom.”
“Use the one in my bedroom,” said Terry. “That hall bath is torn up.”
And so was Terry’s bedroom, though not from re-modeling. He was plain messy, something Kate might have a problem adjusting to. The comforter was wadded at the end of the bed, and dirty clothes littered the floor.
I, however, considered this a point in the man’s favor. I never trusted neat men. Neat men called their mothers on odd-numbered days and collected stamps. Dodging a trail of towels, I made my way to the bathroom. A minute later, when I moved a shirt strewn over the sink so I could wash my hands, three or four business cards fluttered from the pocket. I picked them up.
Police-issued business cards. An embossed gold shield was prominent in the upper center, and beneath this was printed,
Hmm. These could prove useful. I pocketed them and returned to the dining room.
“Guess what?” said Kate. “Terry’s agreed to help with your plan to find Feldman.”
“Really?” I said, genuinely surprised. “How’d she convince you?”
“By being Kate.” He smiled and squeezed her hand. “I think she’s right, though. There’s nothing illegal about checking out Parental Advocates by pretending to seek their services. Investigative reporters do things like this all the time. A little playacting, right? Besides, you are practically family. Tell me where and when, and I’ll be there, Abby.”
“Thanks... I’ll call you when I’m ready to execute the plan.” I ran my fingers over the edges of the small rectangles in my pocket. “But are you absolutely positive?”
“Sure,” he said. “It’s not like I’ll be impersonating a police officer or anything. Now, that can get you in big trouble.”
14
The following morning I was finishing a bagel in the kitchen and listening to the Weather Channel reporter banter about the possibility of the tropical storm becoming a hurricane. She bubbled with anticipation as pictures of those upper-level disturbances and low-pressure systems came in via satellite. She was orgasmic about potential ratings, rather than the storm, was my guess. Folks would be glued to their televisions up and down the coast. When she got to the important part, I jotted down the coordinates of the storm, making a mental note to check our supply of batteries and bottled water.
Kate had gone out for the Sunday paper, and when she returned, she noticed what station I was tuned to. “When should we expect the duck drencher’s arrival?”
“Not sure. It’s a slow mover. Meanwhile, I have more pressing concerns.”
“Like what?” she said. “I was hoping we’d loaf by the pool today.”
“Sergeant Kline called, and in his best evil-mannered delivery, he suggested I come and see him. Today.”
“Doesn’t sound like fun,” Kate said. “Did he say why he wants to talk to you?”
I shook my head. “Maybe I’ll be calling you from jail for bail money.”
“Should you phone Willis? Have him meet you downtown?”
“I was kidding. I can handle a few questions without benefit of counsel.”
“I could go with you for moral support,” she said.
“I’m a big girl. By the way, have you seen Diva? She’s pulled another disappearing act.”
“She always comes back when she gets hungry,” said Kate, gathering up the newspaper and her green tea before heading for the pool deck.
With my visitor sticker plastered to my cotton camp shirt, I made my way down a narrow carpeted aisle bordered on both sides by partitioned cubicles in the Homicide division at HPD. Phones were ringing, computers whirring, and I heard more than one pager beeping as I made my way to where Sergeant Kline sat behind a desk piled with folders and papers. He indicated a plastic chair and I sat across from him, again confronting that unwavering stare.
After I refused the gum he offered, he folded a stick into his mouth, chewed a second, and said, “I have a few concerns. This shouldn’t take long.”
“Shoot,” I said. “Or is that a bad word to use in a police station?”
He didn’t smile. “First off, this case has few leads.” He leaned back in his chair and rested one foot on the edge of the desk.
