Pick Your Poison

child—a boy supposedly possessed by the devil—off the walkway spanning the freeway between the amusement park and the parking lot. Luckily, he’d talked her out of hurting the poor kid.

Meanwhile, his heroic tale seemed to activate Aunt Caroline. Always willing to drop her line and troll for whatever she could hook, she now took what I considered a disturbing interest in Terry. Kate noticed, too. This flirtation continued on through appetizers and salad, and then finally managed to ruin my stuffed flounder. I even refused dessert.

Once the last of the board people departed, I’d had about all I could stand. Aunt Caroline needed to be distracted, so I said, “You’ll be interested to know I tracked down the safe-deposit box.”

Predictably, her gaze strayed from Terry to me. “And what did you find?”

“A software program Daddy created back when such pursuits interested him.” I nodded as the waiter offered more coffee.

“That’s all?” said Willis. Unlike Aunt Caroline, he didn’t seem the least bit disappointed.

“Yes,” I answered. “A copyrighted program, Willis. We’re not looking at stolen software or any other cryptic explanation for his hiding this CD, are we? I mean, I’m certain we even have a duplicate of that on disk at the house.”

“I have no clue why he would do such a thing,” said Willis.

“Did this particular program generate exceptional revenues?” asked Aunt Caroline, leaning forward and revealing even more cleavage.

“All Daddy’s software made a profit,” I said. “And you already got your slice of that pie.” I wondered then if she’d had help from her plastic surgeon with those extremely perky breasts.

But before I could ask, Kate must have picked up on the edge in my voice, because she tried her own brand of distraction. “Abby was telling us in the car about the progress she’s made on Ben’s murder. Tell them about the judge you met today.”

“Uh, Kate. Why would they care?” I said.

“I’d love to hear, Abby,” said Aunt Caroline. “Is this someone I might know? Because several of my friends have husbands who are judges, and—”

“I don’t think this is the time or place to discuss the murder case,” I said sharply. “Mainly because some of you”—I raised my eyebrows at Willis—“think I’m crazy to pursue Ben’s killer.”

“I have never, for one minute, considered you crazy,” said Willis. “I may have cautioned you, but that doesn’t mean I’m not interested. Please tell us what you’ve found out.”

He did seem genuinely interested, so I said, “The judge’s name is Eugenia Hayes, and she was elected to family court in Galveston several decades ago. Poor thing is living on borrowed time, with a couple late payments added on. Her son says she has Alzheimer’s and her story was fragmented, but she knew Feldman and didn’t much care for him.”

“Feldman?” questioned Aunt Caroline. “You’ve lost me, Abby.”

If only that were true, I thought. “Feldman may have arranged an adoption for Cloris Grayson—her real name was Connie Kramer—about thirty years ago. I think I told you about her.”

“Oh, right. The day you showed me the key,” Aunt Caroline said.

For some reason her demeanor had changed. Suddenly she seemed... almost subdued. Tired of holding her shoulders back all night so the entire dining room could appreciate her boobs, maybe?

“Anyway,” I went on, “I met Judge Hayes and learned that the rumors Terry heard from some old bailiff might be true. Hayes could have been taking money from Feldman, and was perhaps involved in illegal adoptions. I’m wondering if both Cloris and Ben died because they tracked Feldman down and threatened to expose him as a baby stealer.”

“But you said this woman has Alzheimer’s, right?” said Terry.

I nodded.

“How reliable can she be, then?” he said.

“I only know I believe her,” I replied.

Willis piped up with, “She’s basically senile?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I have a question,” Aunt Caroline said. “Why did this woman change her name?”

“You mean Cloris? I’ve thought about that myself, and I’m not sure,” I said. “But I filled out an application to acquire my own adoption records, and one question on the form asks if the birth mother used an alias. I’m guessing it’s not an uncommon practice. She did run away from her family, after all.”

You could have heard an ant sneeze; that was how quiet it got.

Willis finally found his voice. “W-why did you request your adoption records, for heaven’s sake? I have everything you need in my office. All you had to do was ask.”

“Just testing the system,” I said. “Wondering how the adoption registry worked and what you got back for your twenty bucks.”

“Twenty dollars?” said Aunt Caroline, who looked like she’d been zapped by a stun gun. “Quite a bargain. You know I’m awfully tired. Willis, could you please take me home?”

“Certainly,” he said, popping out of his chair like a jack-in-the-box.

They were out the door faster than wind can snuff a match.

Kate’s mouth hadn’t closed. She still looked shocked. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d requested those records?”

I leaned back in my chair, surprised by everyone’s reaction. “I didn’t think it was all that important.”

“You know how sensitive Daddy was about the adoption,” Kate said. “I remember once asking him about our biological parents, if he thought they died instantly in that crash, and even though he answered me, his next question was whether I thought he was a good enough father. He seemed so... hurt that I even asked about them.”

“He’s past being hurt, don’t you think?” I snapped back.

“Don’t you see that Aunt Caroline and Willis were reacting to what they consider yet another betrayal of Daddy?” she said.

I stood, angry now. Maybe irrationally angry, yes. But Kate seemed to have jumped the imaginary fence to their side, and I was feeling betrayed myself. I said, “Daddy’s dead, and I refuse to feel guilty about wanting control of my life.”

I marched away, Kate hot on my heels.

“Wait,” she cried.

I stopped, fingering my beaded bag and not making eye contact.

“You’re right,” she said. “I’m sorry. Now let’s go home.”

“I have a ride. Don’t wait up for me,” I answered. I whirled and left her standing there, knowing I’d feel guilty later, but for now, not caring.

I had time for a few deep breaths before meeting up with Jeff Kline in the parking lot. We stopped for cappuccino at a tiny coffee bar on Montrose Boulevard. His beeper sounded as soon as we sat down with our cups, so he excused himself to make the call in a more private corner.

I swirled a stick covered with rock candy into the foam, breathing in the wonderful aroma, watching the cinnamon blend into the coffee. I needed this reprieve from family interference.

“Do you need to leave?” I asked when he returned.

“No. My partner had a few questions about a case we’re working. I’m supposed to be off tonight, not even on call, but for Homicide cops, real days off exist only in theory. No one’s figured out how to actually make them happen.” He held the rock candy up for examination and instead added three bags of sugar to his cup.

“You’re off duty? You aren’t officially assigned to follow me tonight?”

“Did I say I was following you?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Let’s drop it,” he said. “I can’t discuss the case.” He took several swallows of coffee and then produced a new pack of gum from his jacket pocket and offered me a stick.

I refused by shaking my head. “You know, I’ve learned a few things since we last spoke.”

“And what have you learned?” he asked, smirking.

I explained about the adoption angle, Feldman, and Judge Hayes, and finished by saying, “I really thought