Pick Your Poison

I looked down at my tattered shorts. They would be impossible to ignore if I were spotted leaving here. I might as well have fugitive printed across my forehead in lipstick. So I did the only thing I could do: I took my clothes off, tossing them under the chair, along with my sandals.

But my underwear would never pass for a bathing suit. Too much lace. So off they came as well. Self- preservation takes priority over modesty any day.

I donned the sunglasses, laid my shirt over the cut on my leg, and assumed the lounge position—something I’d definitely practiced before. I slowed my breathing so the frantic heaving of my chest wouldn’t give me away, then opened the magazine strategically across my torso. Unlike Steven, who was good-looking enough to have a legitimate shot at showing off his body in glossy splendor, this might be my only chance at a staple in my navel.

I closed my eyes, and a second later, as expected, a voice hailed me from the other side of the fence.

“Ma’am? Pardon me for disturbing you, but—”

I opened my eyes, let my mouth fall open in appropriate shock, and allowed the magazine to slip an inch. “Where did you come from?” I said, feigning surprise. “And my goodness, what time is it?” I peered at my watch.

“Uh, I’m really sorry,” he said. He came up to the fence and then, realizing I was naked, focused on the ground. “You didn’t happen to notice anyone running out of your neighbor’s yard within the last ten minutes?”

“No. I must have fallen asleep. Is there a problem?”

“Could be.” He had a five-o’clock shadow and a pot-belly, and he was peeking at me—one eye open, one squeezed shut. “Pretty cloudy for sunbathing. Uh, why don’t I turn around while you put your clothes on?”

I sighed. “If it will make you more comfortable.” After he turned away, I watched him rock nervously back and forth from his toes to his heels, hat held behind his back.

I put on my underwear, then said, “I’ve read you get a much better tan if you lie out when it’s overcast. Have you heard that, Officer?”

“Seems I did once,” he answered, rubbing his bald head with the hand holding the hat.

Before I lay back down, I spied a smear of blood on my shin, so I placed the magazine over my legs this time. “Okay,” I said. “All clear.”

He turned and, seeing I was still not fully clothed, pivoted back. “Not exactly all clear,” he mumbled, his earlobes coloring.

“Come on, Officer. Don’t make me put those sweaty clothes back on. Galveston’s a beach town. People walk around undressed all day.”

He slowly faced me, obviously pleased with this rationalization. I noticed that his badge said, Guardian Angel Security.

“Guess you’re right,” he said. “I didn’t think of it like that.”

He ogled me shamelessly now, but I figured it was a small price to pay for sneaking into closets uninvited.

“You planning to call the police?” I asked.

“The Feldmans wouldn’t like that. No cops for them.” He relaxed, leaning against the fence and fanning himself with his hat. “Say, you busy tonight?”

“Married.” I smiled apologetically. “You say the Feldmans didn’t want you to call the police?”

“I answered an alarm over at their other house, the one down near the beach, a few months back, and —”

“They have a beach house, too?” I said, hoping he’d help me out some more. “Funny they never mentioned it.”

“Yeah, on the west side. Anyway, I answered a call from them about a break-in. ‘No cops,’ Mr. Feldman said. ‘Just get here sooner if there’s a next time and catch whoever is causing trouble.’ ”

“Hank? What are you doing?” yelled another man from the back door.

Hank rolled his eyes and sighed with disgust. “Questioning a witness,” he hollered back. “Listen, I better go.”

I certainly won’t detain you, I thought.

“If you ever have any security needs, I’m Hank.” He pointed proudly to his badge. “Guardian Angel Security. Give me a call.”

I waited a good ten minutes before I risked leaving, then sneaked between houses to the next block, where Kate picked me up and told me at least twelve times how she never should have agreed to this caper. We drove to the Victorian so I could clean up, and I exchanged my shorts and shirt for a skirt and blouse from the pile in my trunk. Both Kate and I seemed to always have half our wardrobes in the car, en route either to or from the laundry. We then sat on the floor in the parlor, Kate sipping on the jumbo iced tea we’d picked up on the way over.

“Despite my bungled detecting job, today’s adventure wasn’t a total loss,” I said, unwrapping a Snickers. “The security guard confirmed the Feldman connection to Parental Advocates. And since I learned the general vicinity of Feldman’s home, perhaps one of the phone exchanges from Hamilton’s office belongs in the West Beach area.”

“I don’t know how you convinced the security guard you were a neighbor, Abby. I would have blubbered and bawled like an idiot, then raised my hands and said, ‘Take me to jail. I’m guilty.’ ”

“By the way, Hamilton made a copy of your check. You did give her a check, right?”

“I had to,” Kate said. “That ice princess just sat there with her hand out after I wrote the thing, so I passed it over. She took it with her when she went for the water, then gave the check back and gave me the ‘cash-only’ spiel.”

“Hey, I would have passed it to her, too. But I’m afraid that despite my getting away with the tape, she now knows where we live, and who knows what else.”

Kate closed her eyes and shook her head. “Why did I ever let you talk me into this?”

“Because we’re doing the right thing.” I picked up the phone book lying next to me and started flipping through the pages.

“What are you doing?” Kate said. “We’re sixty miles from home, and my nerves are frazzled. We need to leave.”

“Be patient a little longer, okay?”

She stood and started pacing. “Okay. Sure. This is what I get for teaming up with you.”

I soon discovered two of the numbers on my Post-it note were located in the West Beach area. I picked up the phone, dialed, and heard a man’s voice on an answering machine. Feldman, maybe? I hung up and dialed the other number.

“Ellen Fulshear Home for Young Women,” said the female voice.

“Could I have your address?” I asked.

“Nineteen forty-five Bay Street. But no visitors after seven,” she said.

“I have a delivery. When’s a good time?”

“We’re used to deliveries here,” she said, then laughed. “Of course, ours take nine months. You can come after eight in the morning. Let me guess. Flowers for Susan?”

“Why, yes, but how did you know?”

“That young man of hers won’t leave her alone.”

I said good-bye and hung up, smiling. Maybe my luck had changed.

Kate shook her head. “Abby, you’ve got to quit pretending you’re someone else. With my name, address, and phone number in Hamilton’s hands, we probably haven’t heard the end of her, and—”

“I merely told the lady I had a delivery.”

“Yes, but—”

“It’s not my fault if people jump to conclusions. I didn’t tell the security guard I was sitting in my lawn chair at my house, either. But don’t mention what happened today, especially to Terry. I did steal a videotape and break a window. That’s probably a misdemeanor, but—”

“Who do you think helped you with your misdemeanor? And who do you think could never justify that misdemeanor to Terry in a million years? Oh, no. I won’t be confessing this to anyone.”