Pick Your Poison (24 page)

I rushed through the empty dining room into the kitchen. Felt my way to the counter and swept with my hand, searching, sending twisted paper bags flying and plastic liter bottles clattering to the floor.

Where is it? I saw it thirty minutes ago! I saw it!

I was trembling all over as I groped for what I needed, wishing my eyes would adjust quicker.

There!

Steven found me, took hold of my shoulders, and spun me around.

I drew back as his breath blew warm and menacing near my forehead.

“Got you!” he said.

I felt for his face. For a landmark. And sprayed him with the roach killer.

He yelled and let go of me.

I ran for the back door, slamming my hip on the counter along the way. I nearly tripped over the rubble still littering the mudroom floor, but stayed close to the intact inner wall. I made it out the door.

And realized that the water had risen to knee-deep, and was all roaring motion.

A flash flood. God, no!

But I walked out anyway, pushing through the current with one leg, then the other. I stayed clear of the trees, knowing how water moccasins slithered up the trunks to avoid being swept away. I didn’t want to cross paths with one of them.

Even though I couldn’t run, my canvas shoes gave me an advantage. Steven’s cowboy boots would be far more cumbersome.

I moved toward the car, fighting for every step, digging in my pocket for the keys.

Then I heard Steven splashing and sloshing behind me.

I trudged on, and finally tugged the keys out. I pointed the remote at the outline of the 4Runner in the distance, but couldn’t hear if the locks released. I struggled on, panting and gasping, and when I finally reached the door handle, my legs buckled. I leaned against the vehicle for support.

Hurry, Abby. He’s coming.

I lifted the handle. The remote key hadn’t worked.
Damn!

I took a deep breath and fit the key in the lock.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back
.

I heard the blessed sound of the locks releasing and climbed into the 4Runner, pressing the auto lock to keep Steven out. I closed my eyes, fighting for air, my head resting on the steering wheel.

A voice inside was screaming for me to drive, to get moving! But my hands were shaking and I had trouble finding the ignition.

It seemed like forever before I started the engine . . . turned on the headlights. I licked my dry lips and shifted into reverse.

In the side mirror I saw the raging waters surging through the street, carrying trash cans, lawn chairs, and tree limbs. I maneuvered out, praying I’d find the road—otherwise I might get caught in the ditch. As the 4Runner swung out, the headlights panned the yard between the two houses.

I spotted Steven flailing in the rising waters, not moving in any purposeful direction. He must be stuck in the soft ground or tangled in debris. I shifted gears and slowly edged forward in the river that used to be P Street, guessing at the position of the driveway. Using the mailbox as a guide, I pulled in as close as I could.

Steven fell, probably to his knees, because the water was up to his chest.

No matter what he’d done, or threatened to do, I couldn’t leave knowing a human being would surely die if I did so. I could never live with that.

I picked up the phone and called 911.

And listened to the ring . . . six times . . . seven.

We weren’t the only ones who needed help tonight.

I rolled down my window.

“Can you get up?” I yelled.

But he was drunk, not to mention incapacitated by water that had probably risen six inches since my escape to the car.

I heard a muffled “What is your emergency?” coming from the phone in my lap. I gave the address, but I knew by the time help arrived it would be too late for him. I clicked the phone off and squinted out into the darkness. If I waded out to him, he’d pull me down in his panic or his rage.

So I needed a rope.

I climbed over the front seat searching for one, but of course found nothing but Kate’s usual folders and library books. And laundry for the dry cleaners.

It might work. I could make it work.

I hurriedly knotted several pairs of linen pants, silk shirts, and a black crepe dress together, twisting them as I tied. I only hoped the line would be long enough as I got out of the 4Runner and attached one end to the front bumper.

With the headlights to guide me, I started toward Steven, but fear nearly overwhelmed me then. Nearly took over every muscle. I was a quivering bundle of undirected energy. Steven might finish me off if I got to him. Drown me.

Don’t be a fool, Abby. Leave him!

But though this storm was not a hurricane, I knew its power. I knew who my real enemy was—the enemy who would prevent anyone else from getting here in time to save a man who didn’t deserve to be saved. The whirling winds and stinging rains demanded I give in, flattening me against the 4Runner and threatening to toss me into the current.

My defeat, if it came, would be at Storm Carl’s hands, and for some strange reason, I found that thought comforting.

Clinging to my homemade lifeline, I set out again toward a floundering Steven.

But the makeshift rope wouldn’t reach.

“Come closer, Steven!” I hollered over the thundering water.

But fighting the flood had exhausted him. Only his head was visible now, his eyes glazed with fear. With each passing second the water kept up its punishing pursuit of us both. Carl would have his way.

I needed more line. Maybe twenty-four measly inches. I slipped out of my saturated T-shirt and added it to the other clothes.

I leaned forward, holding out my T-shirt so he could grab on. Once he did, I planned to follow the chain back to the 4Runner, hoping he had the sense to hang on for his life.

“Steven! Take this!” I screamed over the howl of rushing wind and water.

His head moved in the direction of my voice, but I didn’t think he saw me. The bug spray must have played havoc with his contacts.

“Here! I’m right here!” I shouted.

Finally I managed to find his hand, but his slick fingers slipped away, and I reached toward him again, straining. I was so focused, I didn’t even notice the pontoon boat making its way toward us.

But then I heard Jeff’s voice through the darkness. “Don’t tell me you’re rescuing murderers in your underwear?” he yelled above the motor’s drone.

As relief displaced terror, the feeling lifted my soul within a whisper of being tangible. Surely this was the most blessed emotion I had ever experienced.

A few minutes later, on our way to the Galveston police station, I promised Jeff I’d discuss my lingerie with him anytime, anywhere . . . which brought an amused guffaw from the man driving the rescue boat.

But I didn’t recall much else on that ride. I concentrated on pretending the quivering form in handcuffs at the other end of the boat was invisible.

30

Several hours later, I was huddled in the passenger seat of Jeff’s car. Sometime earlier, an officer at the Galveston police station had wrapped me in a blanket, and I still had the scratchy green wool cloaked around me. I wasn’t certain whether the car’s air-conditioning or my brush with death had caused the shakes, but I couldn’t seem to stop trembling.

The rain had stopped, permitting the streets to drain, and the causeway was open to traffic. The threat of more flash floods was subsiding now that Carl had taken his nasty disposition north.

Before we had left to return to Houston, Jeff spent an hour negotiating with the Galveston police over the prisoner once known to me as my ex-husband. I had decided all possessive pronouns connecting Steven and me would be forever banished from my conversation. Even
ex
was too good for him.

The cops in Galveston wanted to hold Steven for Feldman’s murder, and Jeff wanted him transferred to Houston so he could be charged in Ben’s death. They worked it out, and I didn’t even care to know the resolution. As far as I was concerned, he no longer existed.

Now that we were safely on our way back home, I was suddenly exhausted. But there were still so many unanswered questions. Stifling a yawn, I asked, “How did you get here? Wasn’t the causeway backed up halfway to Houston?”

“Not southbound,” he said. “No one with any sense wanted on the island.”

“I heard you tell someone back there at the police station that you followed Steven. How did that happen?”

“Actually, I went looking for you after I called your cell phone. I couldn’t get through. Lots of emergency calls were being made on cell phones tonight. But when I arrived at Mr. Steven Bradley’s office, he was there. I tailed him.”

“But you started out looking for me?”

“When I called your house, Kate told me about the CD, and I knew that meant trouble, so—”

“What do you mean, you knew that meant trouble?”

“Despite what you think, I have been working this case, Abby. I’d already researched the financial status of all the suspects and—”

“All the suspects? Who are you talking about, besides Feldman?”

“If you keep interrupting, I’ll never finish. I distinctly remember telling you I’d handle this. You didn’t trust me.” He glanced my way, his face reflecting the green glow of the dashlights.

“I’m sorry. You did say that. I feel so stupid . . . so used.”

“You’re not stupid. Not by a long shot.”

“Minor consolation. Go on. You followed Steven. Then what?”

“Talk about feeling stupid. He had Feldman’s body in the truck bed the whole time I was tailing him. Course, I had enough to do to keep his taillights in sight in that storm, much less recognize that load in the rear was a corpse.”

“Why didn’t you follow him straight to P Street?” This time I couldn’t stop the yawn. I clutched the blanket closer.

“Steven had no problem with high water, since he was in a truck. But I needed a rudder and a sail, the way the streets were filling. I detoured to the police station, figuring since I knew where Steven was probably headed, I could catch up with him later. No one—including him—was leaving the island anytime soon.”

“Yeah,” I said. “And some of us really wanted to.”

“Be thankful for that sister of yours, is all I can say.”

“Thank goodness for Kate,” I said, smiling. Then I turned my head and leaned against the headrest. I couldn’t keep my eyes open.

Later, with Jeff helping me up the stairs, I told Kate, who was following behind, that I felt as cold as a brass commode in the shade of glacier.

I remember stripping off my wet clothes and falling on the bed. Then sleep took over.

The next morning, Diva was rubbing against my ankles as I sat at the kitchen table holding a mug of coffee in both hands. Sun splashed through the windows and promised I wouldn’t have to look at another raindrop for a while.

I had awakened sometime in the night to find Kate and the cat curled together at the foot of my bed, with Webster stretched out on the floor next to us all.

I had considered getting up and showering, but the next time I opened my eyes it was morning, and all my visitors had deserted me.

Kate and Terry were currently arguing over the pancake recipe, and I was waiting for those fat pain pills to work their magic. Their main dispute was apparently whether whole-wheat flour would produce light enough results.

“You’ll never win, Terry,” I said. “If you marry Kate, reconcile yourself to brown rice at the wedding ceremony, too.”

There was a loud knock at the back door, and Webster growled in response.

“Aren’t you brave when the person has so clearly announced their presence?” I attempted to stand, but discovered my muscles had another idea. If I thought I was hurting yesterday before slamming a softballsize bruise onto my hip and wading through that monsoon, I had no idea what pain was about.

Kate took pity on me and answered the door.

It was Jeff.

Kate greeted him with a hug, saying, “We owe you so much.”

“I just mopped up. Abby did most of the dirty work.” He pulled out the chair next to mine. “You almost look human this morning.”

“Almost?” I said.

“Hey, that’s a compliment,” he said.

Kate and Terry, meanwhile, had resumed their squabble.

“Could we pass on the difficult decisions?” I asked. “Unless you’d like semi-whole-wheat griddle cakes, Jeff?”

“Those two doughnuts I ate an hour ago will carry me until dinner,” he said.

Kate said, “Do you realize the calorie count of one doughnut equals—”

“Six pieces of toast with jelly,” I finished.

“Ask me if I care,” he said.

“A man after my own heart,” I replied.

“I will have coffee, though,” said Jeff.

Terry poured two cups and joined us at the table, followed by Kate, who carried the compromise plate of melon slices.

She said, “Abby’s been mum, saying she wanted to wait until you arrived, Jeff. So don’t keep us in the dark any longer. We want details.”

I said, “As I recall from our conversation last night, Jeff, you were saying how you followed Steven to Galveston. And that’s the last thing I remember.”

“Right,” said Jeff, “I’d been investigating the finances of anyone potentially involved in Ben’s death. Trouble was, I made an incorrect assumption that set me back a few days.”

“You mean your assumption that Ben had killed Cloris?” said Terry.

“No. I agreed with Abby that Ben probably didn’t kill his wife. I’d turned my focus to Willis and Caroline, figuring they had the opportunity to tamper with the roses. And then there was Steven, who hung around here even in the middle of the night.”

“So you suspected Steven from the first?” asked Kate.

“Along with the aunt and the lawyer. You see, banks won’t talk about their customers unless they’re persuaded by a federal judge that it’s in their best interest to cooperate, so I wasted a fair amount of time obtaining Caroline’s bank records first. Your father paid her regularly. So regularly, for so long, she probably lost out when your father died. Willis’s finances seemed straightforward enough, but Steven? Active accounts. Very active. He made so many deposits and withdrawals I had to take a closer look.” He sipped at his coffee, then took out his Big Red and offered it around, without takers.

Terry said, “So what put you onto Steven, Abby?”

“When Kate said she lent Steven the CD, I went looking for it.” I explained what happened after I left Steven’s office.

“So that’s when you pegged him as the killer?” asked Kate.

“Of course not. Like the fool I’ve been since the moment I laid eyes on that man, I didn’t want to believe the worst about Steven, only the semiworst. So I went to Feldman’s house, still thinking Feldman did both killings. Once I arrived at his place, I found Helen Hamilton frantically gathering her belongings and Feldman missing. Hamilton told me his disappearance was a pretty darn ominous development, since he had this weird complex. She said he never left the house—that he hadn’t been outside in years.”

“It’s called agoraphobia,” said Terry.

“State trooper picked her up, by the way,” said Jeff. “She confessed to pocketing more money than Texas allows for these adoptions.”

“She may not have known everything about Feldman and Steven,” I said, “but she knew enough to run. Something’s been bugging me, Jeff. Why did Steven go to his office instead of coming straight to P Street with the body?”

“You know those miniwarehouses by his office?” he said.

“Sure,” I said.

“He rents a space there. He loaded a couple bags of cement and headed back to P Street. Cement
.
Now that concerned me, so I followed him.”

“Cement?” said Kate, looking puzzled.

I shuddered. “You know, that handy body-sinking stuff.”

“But if he planned on killing Feldman, why not bring the cement with him when he went to Feldman’s house in the first place?” asked Terry.

“He swore to the Galveston cops that Feldman’s death was accidental,” said Jeff. “Which may be true. We found evidence Feldman hit his head on a coffee table. Anyway, Steven needed to dispose of the body and went back for the cement.”

“He mentioned it was an accident,” I said. “But don’t count on me testifying on his behalf. I have another question, Jeff. What made you take a boat ride down to P Street during a flash flood?”

“I told you in the car last night, but I guess you were already asleep. Kate called you at the Victorian and got no answer.”

“That’s right! The phone rang right before the lights went out,” I said.

“When you didn’t answer, I called the Galveston police,” Kate said.

“And I was at the station waiting out the storm,” said Jeff. “I planned on picking up Steven’s tail after the rain let up, since that cement had me real agitated. When Kate’s call came in, an islander offered his pontoon boat. He already had it gassed up, ready to rescue anyone stranded by the storm. The rest is history.”

But my memories of last night wouldn’t fade into history anytime soon. “Do you have enough evidence to convict?”

Jeff smiled. “More than enough, since he’s confessed. I think it’s safe to give you this.” He removed a CD from his inside sports-coat pocket and slid it across the table.

“Where did you find this?”

“In Steven’s truck,” he answered.

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Jeff stood. “I’m headed back to work, if that wraps this up.” He focused on me. “Rest up, Abby. I’m off tomorrow and we’ve got plans.”

“We do?”

He nodded.

“Okay. Maybe then I can properly thank you for putting up with my behavior.” I turned to Terry and Kate. “And I’m glad the two of you are still speaking to me after all I’ve put you through.” At least there were a few people left in the world I could still count on.

Later that morning, I sat in front of the computer monitor with Kate behind me. Daddy’s version of what had happened in the last thirty years resided in a Word file listed right in the help index—a place I’d failed to search the first time. The title?
Adoption.
Simple enough.

I printed out the file and we began to read his “Adoption Diary.” Kate looked over my shoulder as we turned the pages. Most of what Daddy had recorded we now knew, but the CD did offer proof that Daddy, Elizabeth, and Willis all believed the adoption had been legal, until Cloris Grayson showed up years later.

His version supported much of what I had already learned, but did tie up one loose end. Feldman had apparently lied and told Daddy that when Cloris showed up looking for us, she only wanted money. He claimed she didn’t want her children back. So Daddy gave Feldman a huge hunk of cash, supposedly to pay Cloris off. Only when Ben arrived three months ago did Daddy learn the truth. Feldman, of course, had kept the cash and silenced Cloris. The final page documented Steven’s blackmail and how much this had angered Daddy.

He wrote,
Another problem has surfaced since I started combing creation for this reptile Feldman. Me and that lying, cheating ex-husband of Abby’s are now connected at the hip—as in wallet—but only until I come clean with the girls. Then I’ll cut Steven Bradley loose as quick as a roadrunner on a rattler.

I’m making sure this is in writing because the good Lord might decide all this will happen differently. So Abby and Kate, if you don’t hear this directly from me, I have left this earth without finishing my job as your father and surely stand in hell with my hat in my hand.

That was all.

I put the last page facedown on the desk, and neither Kate nor I spoke for a moment.

I wanted to say I could forgive him. Maybe then this bitterness inside would find a way out. But instead I said, “He should have told us right away.”

“He was afraid,” said Kate.

“But we missed out on knowing our mother, and she ached her whole life for us . . . died young because of Daddy.”

“But he didn’t know she wanted us. How can we blame him if he didn’t know?”

“Maybe you’ve got a point,” I said, not sounding convinced.

“I know you’re angry, but I’m not sorry I spent a good part of my life with Charlie Rose. I only wish he were here right now,” she said.

I looked back over my shoulder at her and saw tears had welled.

“Because you miss him?” I said, putting my hand over the one of hers resting on the chair back.

“No, so I could forgive him. Then maybe he could rest in peace.”