“He’s a friend, like you are,” I said.
Steven abruptly gripped my shoulders. “I love you, Abby, and not like a friend. And one day you’ll be back with me, where you belong.”
I stepped back, away from his grasp. “This is too intense, okay? Can we drop it?”
“Sure. Sorry.” But that small fire of desire in his eyes remained.
As for me, I felt nothing but regret.
19
The next afternoon Kate was free, so she and I turned our attention to the safe-deposit box. We’d driven in Kate’s 4Runner to Willis’s office first, picked up the needed paperwork to gain access, and were now on our way to the small bank located south of the city near the Space Center. A thick layer of rolling gray clouds covered the sky as the slow-moving storm marched ever closer.
“Refresh my memory on what those happy weather people are saying,” I said. “Will this become a hurricane?”
“Probably won’t get that strong before the thing slams into us,” said Kate. “Which exit do we take again?”
“NASA Road One. About two more miles down the freeway,” I said. “The summer’s been so dry, when the skies do open up, it will be like a cow peeing on a flat rock.”
“Let’s hope the rain waits until tomorrow,” Kate said. “We have that country-club thing Aunt Caroline arranged, remember?”
“I remember,” I said.
“Terry’s coming over about six and we’ll leave from our house.”
“With all the construction on the interstate, we should plan on forty-five minutes’ travel time,” I said.
“You bringing Steven?” Kate asked.
“No way. Slow down, Kate. Here’s the exit coming up.”
“Right or left once we get off?”
“Right, then over the freeway.”
We found the bank without problems, and after wading through yards of red tape—paperwork no doubt designed to discourage any but the most tenacious person from removing anything of value from inside the four walls of Community Savings—we carried the safe-deposit box to a cubicle.
But if I thought a miraculous revelation, complete with videotaped documentation, would rise from the depths of that small metal receptacle, I was mistaken. We found an unlabeled computer CD. Nothing else. Still, I held out hope that my theory about Daddy was correct and this CD would reveal something about Ben’s presence at our house.
When we arrived home, I hurriedly stuck the CD in the computer while Kate ran upstairs to shower. But did I find any evidence connecting Ben and Daddy? Not a chance. The CD contained a spreadsheet and word processing program, and an ancient one, at that. All my slaving over mounds of canceled checks for this!
I rushed through the program once more, noting that the word processor seemed to lack all the features of the one he’d eventually marketed. Maybe he’d copied the original onto this CD as some sort of keepsake. But why? He’d never seemed the least sentimental about the software he created. Maybe this was a rough draft of sorts, or maybe he’d removed aspects of the program for updating. As far as I knew, he could have been planning to get back into software after all these years.
One thing balanced my discouragement, though: Aunt Caroline would be more disappointed than I was. We had found no money in that box. Not one penny.
The Pines Country Club, hidden in the lush forests north of Houston, was perched on a manicured rise near a man-made lake. For business purposes, Daddy considered membership a necessity, so we’d appeared regularly, dressed up like poodles in a dog show. Tonight I made sure not to wear the “plump” dress, opting instead for a one-shoulder forest-green number. I even dug out the panty hose, but passed on the high heels. Nothing would make me submit to that self-punishing throwback to foot binding.
Walking up the path to the club with Terry and Kate leading the way, I smiled, breathing in the smog-free air. The night was almost cool. I glanced up at the tall trees and first few stars, thinking maybe I’d move up this way once I was ready to sell the house in River Oaks. But before I could consider this possibility further, a chance look to my right had me doing a double take.
I saw the silhouette of a man I recognized, leaning against a tree on a small rise.
“Uh, Kate?” I said.
She and Terry stopped and turned.
“Tell Aunt Caroline I’ll be in shortly. I’d like to enjoy this glorious night for a few moments by myself.”
Kate looked at me skeptically. “Everything okay?”
“Sure. Be right in. Promise.”
They went on, and I strode over to confront the man.
As I got closer, I saw his mouth working the ever-present gum. “Hi,” he said.
“Hi? Is that all you have to say?” I stopped in front of Sergeant Kline, arms folded across my chest.
“What did you expect?”
“I want you to tell me why you’re still following me.”
“I have a job to do. Let’s leave it at that. But since you spotted me, answer me one question. Why are you here?”
“I do have a life,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows, waiting for the real answer. “Okay,” I said. “If you must know, this is a business dinner.”
“Ah. For CompuCan. I get it.”
Smarting from the knowledge that he obviously still suspected me of something, I said, “Is there anything about my life you don’t know?”
“I don’t know how you like your coffee.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” I said, exasperated.
“I thought maybe you and I could get coffee. The expensive kind, for the rich kid.”
“That’s a pretty condescending way of asking me out. You are asking me out, right?”
“You game?” he said.
I didn’t reply, weighing his possible intentions. Did he think I had withheld something about Ben? Or could he possibly want to share my company?
He grinned. “Please?”
I had to smile, too. “Okay, but I have to make this dinner. I’m obligated.”
“No problem. I can meet you right here in, say... two hours?” he said.
I agreed and left, feeling his gaze on my back all the way to the front door—an uncomfortable, but at the same time interesting, feeling.
When I entered the club, the maître d’ led me to Aunt Caroline’s table, the scent of designer perfume overwhelming whatever pleasant aromas might have wafted from the kitchen. Most of the time the food served here was excellent, but since most guests remained preoccupied with who was eating with whom, the cuisine went mostly unappreciated. The dimly lit dining room, its tables dressed in starched white cloths and crystal, hummed with quiet conversations.
Aunt Caroline was holding court at the best spot in the room. Willis, the board of directors of CompuCan, and their spouses, along with Kate and Terry sat near the picture windows overlooking the lake. Aunt Caroline’s peek-a-bosom dress of black crepe—probably purchased at Nieman Marcus, or Needless Markups, as I preferred to call that particular store—seemed wildly inappropriate for a woman on the shady side of sixty.
My late arrival didn’t win any points, and she made sure I knew it. Terry bailed me out with a story about how the SWAT team had recruited him this afternoon to help with a paranoid woman threatening to drop her
