Pick Your Poison (17 page)

Then a man responded—he was not as close as she seemed to be—but I couldn’t understand either one of them. Could she have brought Feldman with her? Was the man I’d been hunting for in the next room?

Quick steps echoed beyond the door. Then I heard a familiar computer-generated ding. One of them was at the desk on the other side of this door.

And my right shoulder was no more than a foot from the hinges. I could feel my pulse hammering at my neck.

And then I heard her clearly. Sounding exasperated, Hamilton said, “The stupid security system is off. Second time that’s happened. I’ll switch to manual on the way out.”

Her companion said something indecipherable. He must have been standing way on the other side of the room, close to the front door.

Hamilton then said, “I left the copy of the check in the machine. Wait here while I get it.”

A copy of the check? Kate’s check? God, I hoped not.

I made myself as pancakelike as possible, anticipating Hamilton coming on through.

And she did, the open door stopping within an inch of my cheek. Sweat dribbled down the hollow of my back, and I pressed against the wall, holding my breath.

She clacked into the room across from me, came back out quickly, and exited, shutting the hall door.

I slowly exhaled.

“Let’s go,” she said. “I’ve got to find out about this Katherine Rose. She was no more sick than I am.”

Damn.
Kate did write a check, and Hamilton had copied it.

Once again I heard a barely audible reply. After the lock turned, I counted to sixty before stepping out, wanting to be sure they were gone. I cracked the door to the foyer.

Without thinking again.

Hamilton had clearly said she’d activated the security system manually, and as soon as that door opened, an almost imperceptible whine started up. A not-quite-silent alarm.

I was knee-deep in manure now. I needed that videotape and then I needed out of here. The police or the hired security people would be arriving any minute.

I sprinted back down the hall and dragged a chair from the nearby kitchen, climbed up, and ran my hands along the outside of the camera.

Come on, come on! Where’s the tape?

I paused, hands trembling, telling myself to calm down.

After taking a few seconds to slow my shallow, rapid breaths, I was able to locate and remove the palm-size tape.

I hurried into the kitchen and confronted a locked dead bolt. No surprise. But the alarm was already activated, so a broken window wouldn’t matter now. In fact, a broken window would be expected.

I smashed through the nearest pane with a broom, but cut my trailing leg when I climbed out. I felt a sting, then a warm stickiness on my shin.

Dark clouds rumbled angrily above me, but thank goodness the rain hadn’t resumed. I glanced around the small fenced yard, seeking the best escape route. Poor Kate was parked on the next block over, probably close to having a heart attack about now. And maybe I’d just join her.

I pocketed the tape and raced across to the hurricane fence. I gripped the top and I hoisted myself up. But one side of my shorts caught on a protrusion when I came over to the other side.

I was stuck. Hung like wash on the line.

21

Dangling there on that fence, I told myself to forget about the eight ball. I was behind the whole rack.

I glanced toward the house, expecting someone to rush out that back door. Galveston Island is only twelve miles long, so someone should have already arrived in response to the alarm.

I clung to the fence with one hand, and, craning around, I saw that one prong had twisted the fabric of my shorts into a knot when I swung my legs over.

All I could do was let go, hoping the cotton would give. And so I did, and immediately heard the wonderful sound of ripping fabric. I landed on my rear with a thud.

Jeez, that hurt!

I stood, realizing my shorts had split down one side, all the way up to my waist.
Great.
I could run around the neighborhood, clothes torn, leg bleeding, gasping for breath, then maintain my innocence if stopped for questioning.

I crouched behind a large ligustrum alongside the fence, trying to figure out how to deal with this new dilemma. Looking around, I saw a reclining lawn chair ten feet away. A magazine, a pair of sunglasses, and a glass of tea, the ice melted long ago, sat on the ground next to it. The chair and drink had probably been abandoned when the first rain fell earlier.

Hmm . . .
Could I pull this off?

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.”

“Ah, fodder for blackmail. I’ll remember that,” I said with a grin.

“Remember, that goes both ways.”

Hard to believe my sister, who’d never let a lie past her lips, was worried Terry would find out. I liked it, though. A bonding experience, I decided.

Five minutes later we hurried out to the car, the rain little more than a mist now, but before we were even in the Camry, Steven arrived.

“Got that bathroom torn up for me, Abby?” he called, climbing out of his truck.

“That’s a laugh. You want to see a disaster, hand me a few tools. Didn’t you already put a day’s work in over here?” I said.

He came over, nodded at Kate in greeting, then said, “I need to check a few dimensions before the crew pulls those fixtures next week. You ladies had dinner yet?”

“Is that an invitation?” The Snickers bar hadn’t put a dent in my hunger pangs.

Kate said, “We’ll have to pass, Steven. I promised Terry I’d meet him in town, and I’ll be late if we don’t leave soon.” She cast an anxious glance at her watch as she climbed into my car.

“Maybe next time, Steven.” I opened the door and slipped behind the wheel.

“I don’t want to eat alone, Abby. I’ll bring you home,” he pleaded.

I was hungry, and still feeling the excitement of the afternoon’s adventure. Why not?

Then a voice deep inside whispered,
Because it’s not a smart move.

But I chose to listen to my grumbling stomach instead. So Kate drove on home alone and I went with Steven.

Not until we reached the restaurant did that inner voice start sounding more ominous. Steven had chosen a place complete with candlelight and panoramic ocean view. I was afraid before long he’d be humming “When I Fall in Love” and pressing his knee against mine under the table.

The hostess seated us by the window, and I saw the gulf roiling and frothing in response to the huge, swirling mass of clouds churning overhead.

“That’s an angry sea,” I said.

“I’d love to be out there while everything’s all stirred up,” said Steven.

“You’ve lived half your life in a storm. Doesn’t it feel good to be stable, regularly employed, and sober?” I regretted the words before they were barely out of my mouth. Why couldn’t I keep these brilliant insights to myself?

“I guess so,” came his halfhearted reply.

The waiter approached and I spoke quickly, thankful for the interruption. “We’re ready to order. I’ll have the red snapper, house dressing, and iced tea.”

“Scampi for me, the rest the same,” said Steven.

The waiter returned momentarily with our drinks and a basket of bread sticks. I squeezed lemon into my tea with one hand and nabbed a bread stick with the other.

“Been a while since you saw a meal?” said Steven, watching me with amusement.

“Sorry, but hungry is not something you get better at with practice. Besides, I had a busy day. Made progress, even. After the disappointment of finding a useless CD in the safe-deposit box, I—”

“Wait a minute, back up. CD? Safe-deposit box? Did I miss something?”

“That key. Remember?”

He nodded. “Oh, yeah. So you didn’t find any exciting secrets?”

“No. Only a spreadsheet and word-processing program Daddy wrote.”

“The one I used when I got myself so messed up with the IRS?”

“That’s the one. Maybe someday I’ll figure out why that CD deserved royal treatment. But forget about that. I have proof Hamilton is connected to Feldman, and might even have his phone number.”

“What do you mean, you might have his phone number? Either you have a phone number or you don’t.”

“I got the numbers off Hamilton’s speed dial. Trouble is, I don’t know who they belong to, and I still don’t know where Feldman lives. But I’m close.” I stuffed a bread stick into my mouth.

“Slow down before you choke yourself. So how did you manage all this in one day?”

“Kate helped me. She visited Hamilton’s office and jotted down the numbers when Hamilton left for a moment.” Okay, so it was variation on the truth.

I washed the last crust away with a gulp of tea as the salads arrived. I started in, avoiding his eyes. He could usually tell when I was lying. But if Kate was sworn to secrecy, so was I. Besides, I couldn’t tell him about the security guard and leave out the naked part. The last thing Steven wanted to hear after that wingding on the lawn with Jeff was about me prancing around in my underwear again. If I wanted him to accept that a romantic relationship between us was no longer possible, I’d better not agitate him.