Shoot from the Lip (3 page)

“That’s not something to joke about,” Kate said.

“Sorry. You know me. If I can’t figure something out, I make jokes. I simply don’t get the secrecy thing, and it kinda ticks me off. Makes me feel like I should worry about
our
relationship.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?”

“Right.”

“Could be he’s feeling vulnerable about family issues. Jeff would have a hard time with vulnerability.”

I cocked my head, looked into brown eyes so much like my own—the only twin thing we shared, aside from our identical birth date. “Jeff does seem ... nervous or something. I thought he clammed up because I kept bugging him before he left to tell me what was up. Maybe I should let him do what he needs to do and keep my insecurities to myself.”

“Good idea. Now, can you help me take my stuff upstairs?”

“Sure. Then maybe you’ll feel up to hearing about a new case,” I said.

Kate does psychological assessments on all my prospective clients, just like the Texas Adoption Registry does for the state. The kind of adoption reunions I specialize in can be happy, heartrending, stressful or sad, and I don’t take a case if Kate believes the client can’t handle both good news and bad. Sometimes reunions don’t work out the way the client fantasizes they will.

Kate almost smiled after I mentioned the possibility of a new client. “I would love to hear about a case, if only for the distraction. Can you believe that I nearly called up tomorrow’s clients to cancel their appointments?”

“A day off might not be a bad idea,” I said.

“No. That would only give me time to question my decision—and I don’t want to do that. After this last argument, I had to make a clean break with him. Today.”

I hugged her again. “You have great instincts. And you’ll know in time this is the right decision.” Despite her words, I had my doubts. Terry and Kate seemed perfectly matched—both shrinks, both generous and sweet people who had seemed very much in love for most of their three-year relationship. Maybe they could work this out.

But after I lugged one suitcase upstairs and into a guest bedroom, I decided my sister was serious about the split. She must have brought everything she owned, because the suitcase was as heavy as a bear rug with the bear still attached. I rolled the suitcase toward the closet, aware that there was hardly space for Kate in this room. I hadn’t organized anything except to have clean linens on the bed. Both walnut dressers were piled with boxes, Christmas ornaments, stacks of framed pictures, and who knew what else.

I’d moved into this amazing old home in the West University part of Houston more than a year ago. The River Oaks house had been too big and too overflowing with memories of our late daddy for me to stay after he died. Kate had already moved in with Terry by then but agreed with my decision to sell the mansion. Maybe I hadn’t unpacked because I was afraid I’d see too much of Daddy inside those boxes, get depressed all over again. God, I missed him, even though he’d been gone almost four years.

Once we’d moved several boxes into the closet so Kate could have her suitcases handy, she and I went downstairs to my office and I laid out the new case.

“Wow,” she said when I was finished. “Very interesting.”

I liked seeing the spark back in her eyes. Kate is always anxious to evaluate new clients. The adoption investigation business seemed like a good move for me after Kate and I learned Daddy lied to us about our own adoption—a way to work through my anger and a way to help others. But Kate’s involvement in my cases was becoming almost as passionate.

She said, “Do you think this girl Emma will meet with you?”

“Not if I mention the production company. So ... since you’re in the market for a new home and since I’ve learned Emma Lopez is a Realtor, maybe we should check out some real estate.”

“You think she works on Sunday?”

“I’ll bet they do their best business on the weekend,” I answered.

 

I felt like I needed to apply to Saint Peter for a passport after I’d called Green Tree Realtors, got Emma on the phone and arranged for Kate and me to meet her in her office on the pretext of a possible house hunt. I mean, the girl sounded plain nice.

Kate and I left Webster and Diva still sleeping and took off in my Camry. Green Tree Realtors was a small operation occupying the corner spot in a strip mall on Bellaire Boulevard. I recognized Emma immediately from her photo after Kate and I walked in. She was staring at a computer screen in a glassed-in office a few feet beyond the receptionist. True to the company name, we were surrounded by “green trees.” Buckets of Nor-folk Island pines were everywhere. The larger ones sat on the floor in corners and between the two simple leather chairs by the front windows. The houseplant-size trees occupied every desk and counter. This was like a trip to a miniature version of the East Texas piney woods.

“We have an appointment with Ms. Lopez,” I told the smiling receptionist.

“Yes. Abby and Kate Rose, right?”

I nodded.

She turned and called to Emma, who’d already seen us. She came out offering a brilliant smile, her hand extended. The bottle-green summer-weight suit and matching shoes complemented her creamy brown skin.

We shook hands and I felt strength in her grip—strength and confidence, two assets, I imagined, that had served her well over the past decade. Once we cleared up which sister was which, we sat near Emma’s computer. The chair arrangement was such that prospective home buyers could check out properties on the Internet.

“What can I show you two today?” Emma said.

Time to get real. “Though my sister may soon be in the market for a home, that’s not why we’ve come. To be honest, I had a visit from a television producer this morning. Venture Productions asked me to work for them, and—”

Emma scooted her rolling chair farther away from us, eyes narrow, the dark brown irises going nearly black with anger. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe you people.”

“Hear me out, okay?” I said quickly. “I think you and I might have similar opinions of Venture. I enjoyed about all I could stand of Chelsea Burch.”

“Oh, she’s the
nice
one. What’s this about, Ms. Rose?”

“Abby wants to help you,” Kate said. “And so do I.”

“You think I haven’t heard that bullshit about a thousand times since I was stupid enough to sign a contract with them? Me with my degree from Rice—you’d have thought I’d know better.”

“Smart people don’t always make smart decisions, but we’ll discuss that later,” I said. “First, you need to be assured I haven’t signed any agreement with Venture. After reading through the documents they gave me, I believe your story is important. I want to help.” I pulled a card from my purse and handed it to her.

“Yellow Rose Investigations,” she read aloud. She looked up. “You’re a private investigator?”

“I specialize in adoptions, and from what Burch tells me, there is a missing child. Your sister, right?”

“They told you about her, too. Figures.” She shook her head in disgust.

“Chelsea Burch mentioned they only told you they knew about your sister recently. Is that why you wish you’d never signed on with Venture?”

“You know something? I was absolutely on cloud nine when they first approached me several months ago. They were offering us the world on a platter. I should have no known there is no free lunch.”

“You felt misled?” I asked.

“Lies by omission are still lies, so yes, I was very upset when I discovered the person who wrote the letter mentioned my missing sister. Anyway, Mayo thought bringing that out on the TV show would make me look even more sympathetic—his word, not mine. I think that’s exploiting me and ridiculous and ... and ...” Emma bit her lower lip, her eyes bright with tears.

“What bothered you most about this?” Kate said softly. “The fact that they knew, the fact they didn’t tell you they knew, or that you realized this man wasn’t as sincere as you thought?”

Emma blinked away the sheen of tears, and considered the question for several seconds. “All those things, I guess, but something even more important. I never shared the information about Mom’s last baby with anyone—not even my brothers and sister. I had to sit down and tell them one more piece of our mother’s sorry history. Had to dredge up things from my past that I had almost blocked out because I never wanted to remember. And Mr. Mayo, the producer who’d been so nice to me up to that point? He could have cared less how that affected my family.”

Kate nodded. “You have good insights, Emma. How did the kids handle this new information?”

“Amazingly well. They’re great kids. And now I think we’re done here. I have no money to pay a private investigator, and if you let Mr. Mayo pay you to find out about a secret better left buried, don’t expect much cooperation from me.” Emma grabbed at the dark wavy hair that had slipped over the right side of her face. She pulled a handful away from her forehead, her knuckles white with tension.

Obviously a very proud woman. I’d seen this reaction before when clients asked about my charges. Most decent, honest people prefer to pay something, anything, I’d learned. I said, “As far as my fees, my sister is in the market for a new house. Maybe we could use the barter system?”

Emma looked away, but at least she didn’t say no.

Kate said, “Emma, I’m a psychologist. I work with my sister on cases like this, and I can promise you Abby will dedicate herself to your cause, whatever that cause may be. She will be your advocate, not reside in the pocket of a TV show producer. But first we need to know—do you even want to find out what happened to your sister?”

Emma turned to stare into Kate’s eyes and softly said, “To be honest, I want nothing more.”

Since Emma had houses to show, we didn’t have time to do much more than agree to continue our talk that night. She agreed to bring her brother and sister to my place in the evening so Kate and I could interview all three of them together. Her other brother was away at school, but Emma said she would call him hoping he’d participate via speakerphone.

For my part, I promised to send a copy of the contract Emma had signed with Venture Productions to a lawyer friend. Because she now mistrusted Erwin Mayo for failing to reveal up front that he knew about her missing sister, Emma was willing to give up everything he’d promised her in order to reclaim her privacy. Mark Whitley, my attorney friend, is a defense lawyer, not a contract specialist, but I was hoping he could get an opinion from a colleague, see if there was any way Emma could escape from the deal she’d made.

The minute we arrived home from Green Tree Realtors, Kate went straight upstairs for a nap. She probably hadn’t slept a wink last night. Me? I was hungry, and PBJ sounded good. Either that or a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I chose the healthier option and I made the sandwich, spreading peanut butter on both slices of bread. I was already feeling Kate’s holistic health presence and could only hope I wouldn’t be force-fed organic bulgur wheat “meat loaf” or a tofu stir-fry for dinner. Diva jumped on the counter and sniffed my sandwich, offered me a look of disdain, then scurried away to parts unknown. But Webster? He was at my side, anxious as a kid on Christmas Eve for any crumbs to fall his way.

While I ate I called Jeff, and he answered right away—something that never happens when he’s in town and working cases.

After our initial hellos, I said, “I miss you so much.”

“I miss you, too,” he answered.

I wanted to ask him what the hell he was doing so far away—he’d actually taken vacation time—but I decided to stick to my plan and not question him. We ended up talking about my new case.

When I was finished summing up, he said, “No murder victim?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I was pacing in the kitchen, Webster shadowing me.

“You seem to attract those kinds of cases. PIs don’t have to be involved in murder on every job, hon.”

I smiled. He’d started calling me “hon” about a month ago and I loved it. My ex had always called me “babe,” and I thought I’d never be a fan of sweet nothings again. “Jeff, I’ve done plenty of reunions without murder involved. And maybe you haven’t noticed, but I pick my cases because they’re challenging. Murder is pretty damn challenging—or at least you seem to think so.”

“True. Guess I worry about being way up here if you run into trouble.”

“I can get your advice on the phone, and believe me, I will.”

“It’s not the same,” he answered.

He sounded down, and I was proud when I chose not to say,
Then get back here and help me!
Still, restraint was uncomfortable territory. Maybe I could learn from this experience. “Needing help doesn’t always have to do with cases. You might have to talk me to sleep while I snuggle with Diva. She is a poor substitute for you, as much as I love her.”

“I would very much enjoy talking to you while we’re both in bed, if you know what I mean.”

I could picture him with one of his rare grins, and I laughed. “Oh, I know what you mean. Glad we have a plan.”

We talked for a long time, moving on to Kate’s breakup with Terry. Jeff was no more surprised than I was. The man’s an ace detective who can read people in a minute. Apparently he’d assessed and formed an opinion about their relationship even earlier than I had.

I said, “There’s some book called
He’s Just Not That into You,
and I think the title should have included both sexes. No matter how many times Kate said she loved Terry—and I think she tried hard to make those feelings real—maybe she was never that into him. I had sensed resistance building in their relationship, this tiny hint of tension between them.”

“I remember you telling me she didn’t want to move in with Terry in the first place, but he kept bugging her, and she, being compassionate and sweet, gave in,” Jeff said. “Yup, not that into him.”