Pick Your Poison

“You have enough to handle without adding in detective work, don’t you think?”

“You mean, besides which best-seller I’ll read this week?”

“That restoration, for one thing. It’s a major project.”

I nodded. “True. Steven tells me the bathroom is ready to fall into the first floor.”

“See? You need to focus on the house, on making the place into something you’ll be proud of, even make a profit on. Real estate is a very sound investment.”

“I’m not giving up on finding Feldman. I want to keep my promise to Ruth to help hunt down this killer.”

Willis shook his head. “When you start something, you clamp onto it like a pit bull, don’t you?”

“Do you know how down and dirty the adoption business can get, Willis? I never realized we deal in human beings in this country. You deal cards... or stocks and bonds. You don’t deal babies.”

“Money can buy almost anything,” he said.

“I refuse to believe that. And you know what else? I don’t think I’d even shed a tear if every penny I inherited disappeared tomorrow.”

“That’s because those billions of pennies won’t disappear. Playing what-if is not like being without. Your father and I knew about being without. We were so poor, the hogs wouldn’t eat our slop. Being poor means being powerless, and groveling for what you need leaves a nasty taste in your mouth—one that never goes away.” Willis’s eyes glistened. “Until you die, of course. Like poor Charlie.”

Seems he was still struggling with grief as much as I was. “I know you loved Daddy,” I said.

“Charlie was my first client,” he said. “And God, I was so green. We both were. Lost our shirts more than once trying to make deals, thanks to either my stupidity or his impulsiveness. But we hung in there. Back to Feldman, though. How do you expect to find him after all these years?”

“I was thinking of talking to one of the more traditional adoption agencies. See if anyone there has ever heard of Feldman. Maybe Catholic Charities or—”

“Since when have you acquired an interest in religion, Abigail?” said Aunt Caroline from the open office door.

“Come in, Caroline,” said Willis. “Abby was in the building, so she dropped by.”

She wore a peach suit today, and her white hair held a blue hue. New dye job.

“You mentioned Catholic Charities?” she said. “Getting philanthropic as you age, dear?” She took the seat next to me.

“I’m still less than half as old as you,” I said sweetly.

She chose to ignore my remark—this time. “If not philanthropy, does this mention of a charity have something to do with your insistence on pursuing criminals?” She leaned forward and placed her handbag on Willis’s desk.

“I’m pursuing the truth, and I have a few questions for you. Remember when you and Hans came over the other day?”

“I remember.”

“Did you go into the attic?”

“The attic?” she said, with overplayed innocence.

“Yes. The one you go through the closet to get to.”

“What could she possibly want in the attic, Abby?” said Willis.

“I’ll do the asking,” I said sharply. “What were you looking for, Aunt Caroline?”

She fussed with the lace peeking out high on her thigh, the tight, translucent skin on her face burning with color. “When I was young, I made a mistake and wrote things to a man. Private things. Take it from me, Abigail, if you have something to say to a lover—if you ever have another—don’t be foolish enough to declare it in writing. You see, I happened to be married to my second husband at the time, and this other man I fancied, the one I’d written to, decided my letters might be worth something to my husband.”

I couldn’t keep from smiling. She was more than capable of penning some real scorchers. “Go on. I’m waiting to hear about the attic.”

She glanced at Willis, who encouraged her with a nod. “Your father bailed me out. Paid the blackmailing scum. But Charlie kept those letters, kept them because... well, let’s say he had his reasons.”

“What reasons?” I pressed.

“To keep me in line. He said I’d cost him too much money over the years.” She folded her arms and her mouth drew tight. “But I never forgot about them, and when I had an opportunity Saturday, I found them. Who knows what hands they could fall into with the two of you moving out and stirring up a mound of dust better left swept under the rug?”

I wondered who she thought gave a flip about her ancient history. “And what did you do with them?”

“I destroyed them.” She raised her chin.

“Good move—but do me a favor, Aunt Caroline? The next time you go snooping around, clean up your mess. We ended up calling the police because we thought we’d had a break-in. You and your boyfriend left that attic a wreck, and what’s more, you forgot to close the door. Diva got stuck in there and—”

“Wait a minute,” Aunt Caroline said, shaking her head. “I didn’t disturb anything. I found the letters almost immediately, second box I looked in. Granted, I may have left the door ajar, but it wasn’t intentional.”

“Sure. If you say so,” I said. If she was telling the truth, that meant someone had come in after she left and torn the place up. I didn’t believe it for a minute. Either she was lying or good old Hans went back up there when she wasn’t looking, hoping to find something of value for himself.

“You have my admission, Abigail. Now could we please change the subject? Or would you prefer to humiliate me further in front of Willis?”

I glanced at him. He shook his head as if to tell me to leave well enough alone. “Okay, we can drop this. For now,” I said.

“Good,” said Aunt Caroline. “I’m hosting a dinner for the CompuCan board of directors tomorrow. Could you please show up this time? I will be entertaining the executives, as I have done in the past, but you and Kate should make an appearance. The country club, eight o’clock. Perhaps you could accompany Willis?”

“I’d be delighted to escort Abby,” said Willis.

“I... I sort of have a date,” I lied.

“A date? Not that do-nothing ex-husband, I hope?” said Aunt Caroline.

“Steven is not a do-nothing. He happens to be a very successful contractor.” Successful might be stretching the truth a hair, but I felt the need to defend him.

“Oh, I understand your attraction to him. Always have. There’s something sexy about those redneck types. Feel free to bring your gentleman friend, whoever he is.”

“Okay,” I said, and sighed. Now I’d have to make up another lie when I showed up without a man.

17

After returning home from CompuCan and my enlightening visit with Aunt Caroline, I decided to try on-line resources before contacting Catholic Charities. I logged on to the Texas Central Adoption Registry, and learned that only adoptees born in Texas, their siblings, and birth parents could even request information. And I discovered two other interesting facts. A list of thirty-three “voluntary child-placing agencies” on the site did not include Parental Advocates, but there were eighty-six such agencies in Texas. Why were those other fifty-three not included? Even more interesting, any out-of-business agency was required by law to forward their adoption records to the registry. This told me that even if Feldman had retired, perhaps in some file, somewhere, lay evidence of Cloris Grayson’s child. But who could access that information now that both Cloris and Ben were dead? No one. And maybe someone wanted it that way.

Chewing on the pencil I’d been using to jot notes, I considered hacking into the system to find Cloris’s records, if they existed. After all, any system was vulnerable.

Then I rose abruptly.

Not a good idea. The last thing I needed was to be arrested for a cybercrime involving a government