I laced my fingers behind my neck and thought about Megan, wondered how she was doing and if the loss of her father would mimic mine—a wound that never quite heals. I’d seen a profound sadness in her eyes when I left her house yesterday. It was probably the same look I wore the day Daddy died.
The phone rang and I saw from the Caller ID that it was Kate.
“Traitor,” I said when I picked up.
“I’m sorry I had to leave you there, Abby, but one of my teenage patients attempted suicide, so—”
“Okay. The guilt ball is back in my court. I was just kidding, anyway. Is the kid okay?”
“She’s fine. Her parents are transferring her to a private facility this morning. By the way, Terry and I dropped off your car late last night.”
“Thanks. Might need that today. So Terry helped you with your patient?” Terry Armstrong, also a psychologist, is Kate’s significant other.
“Yes. He met me at the emergency room.”
“You two should go into practice together,” I said.
“Living in the same house is more than enough time spent in each other’s company. Not that I don’t adore him, but there’s such a thing as too much togetherness. So what happened after I left last evening?”
I filled her in, excluding my own issues with one snarly police chief.
“So Megan still wants you to find the birth mother?” she asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes, but I’m consulting with Angel as soon as I can. Should have asked for his help when I came up empty in the first place. I guess pride isn’t so hard to swallow if you chew on it long enough.”
Diva emerged and blinked her amber eyes several times. I rubbed under her chin with my free hand.
“Sure you still want to do this job? Megan’s a sweetheart, but the rest of the family? I don’t know, Abby. Graham smelled like a bar at closing time, Holt kept looking at me like maybe we could get together after they got that inconvenient body out of the way, and the sisters? I think they have serious identity issues.”
“Not all that pretty, huh?”
“Not.”
“Can you tell me about Sylvia?” I asked. “I was holed up in the laundry room with a guy meaner than a rodeo bull and about as talkative. I didn’t see what happened to her.”
“She woke up pretty quick after fainting, but then started crying and carrying on—which is understandable. I heard from one of the paramedics that she got so hysterical they had to give her IV Valium in the ambulance.”
“And she seemed like such a take-charge person. Guess not.”
“You can never predict human behavior, Abby. Especially during times of stress.”
“Okay, Doc. I bow to your superior knowledge.”
She laughed. “And so you should. Seriously, it may simply have been seeing all that blood that got to her. I’m not too good with blood myself. Anyway, I called only to explain why I ran out on you yesterday. Terry’s up and hungry, so before he starts talking about kolaches or doughnuts, I better get some fruit and bran into him. Call me later.”
She hung up. Poor Terry. A man who loved to eat as much as he did had no business getting mixed up with my sister. She juiced everything imaginable, even ears of corn, and bought seeds and nuts and vegetables no ordinary person had ever heard of. But Terry surely had psychoanalyzed himself enough to understand his unconscious motivation to subject himself to torture.
Phone still in hand, I checked the clock. Eight A.M. Angel would be awake. I had his home number on speed dial and he answered on the second ring.
“You get up this early, huh?” he said once we exchanged greetings.
“Not usually. But that last case you gave me has proved tougher than I thought. And now there’s been complications. Any chance we could get together at your office and discuss it?”
“I have a few rules about the office. I never go there on the Lord’s day. You work as long as I have, you can make some rules.”
“Tomorrow, then?” I asked, unable to hide my disappointment. If he helped me out today, gave me some hints on how to start this thing over, I could get busy Monday morning.
“Hey, I didn’t say I don’t work on Sunday, I just avoid my damn office answering machine. Meet me at the pancake house—you know which one. Say, eleven o’clock after Mass?”
“Okay.” I hung up, smiled, and settled back under the covers, Diva purring on my chest. I could sleep for two more hours.
But not five minutes later I heard the doorbell. Who in hell was ringing my doorbell at this hour on a Sunday morning? Unless Jeff forgot his key. Or maybe this visitor was from the Seacliff police and they wanted to discuss something about the murder.
Gosh, I hope it’s not Fielder, I thought, catching a glimpse in the dresser mirror on my way out of the bedroom. With the light-socket hair and dark circles under my eyes, I could have scared a maggot off spoiled meat.
I put on my pink chenille robe and hurried down the stairs, but after looking through the peephole, I stepped back. Damn. I thought I’d permanently parted ways with my aunt Caroline, yet there she was on my doorstep.
She tried knocking and I crossed my arms, considering whether to answer. I hadn’t returned any of her phone calls and was hoping that once I’d moved from the old neighborhood, she couldn’t find me. But Kate still had contact with her, and she’s a whole lot more forgiving than I am. Aunt Caroline probably had an easy time wheedling my new address out of her.
Daddy’s sister, Caroline, and I never got along even before I learned she’d taken money from Daddy to keep silent about my illegal adoption. I mean, her nose is so up in the air she’d drown in a storm. But after I found out about how she’d lied for years, lied out of pure greed, I couldn’t stomach the sight of her.
But now she’d found me, and knowing her, she wouldn’t give up until she had her say.
Might as well get this over with.
I unlocked the dead bolt and opened the door.
If this had been a year ago, she would have marched right in, but she didn’t. She just stood there. “Thank you for answering, Abigail. I know you don’t want to see me, but I have missed you. Missed you very much.”
Was this early-morning pilgrimage to seek my forgiveness her substitute for church this morning? I gestured with my head for her to follow, and we walked toward the kitchen, Diva leading the way.
Going through the house was like navigating an obstacle course on a reality television show, and Diva had her usual fun, leaping alongside us from one packing crate to another. Though I had moved in more than a month ago, boxes sat untouched everywhere. We reached the kitchen, where my small stack of cookbooks sat on one chair and clean but unfolded laundry took up the other. I moved the books.
After taking off her cashmere coat with the fur collar, she placed it on the back of the chair. Aunt Caroline then sat and set her Gucci bag by her feet. She wore a fuzzy peacock sweater with some kind of gaudy beaded strands decorating the neckline.
Still saying nothing, and hoping the silence would make her squirm a little, I fed the cat and started the coffee. Only then did I toss the clothes off the other chair into an already overflowing basket near the door to the laundry room. Most of them ended up on the tile and I checked Aunt Caroline’s reaction, considering this a test. She flinched a little, but offered no criticism.
Was this newfound restraint an act?