Shoot from the Lip (30 page)

Then there was the infant found under the house. An exchange had obviously been made. But how had this deal been brokered? I didn’t know the answer. I was hoping Loreen had more to share about her relationship with Christine O’Meara, some small something that would piece all this together.

I arrived at Jeff’s apartment about thirty minutes later than if I’d taken the freeway. Good thing I knew Houston streets. I rapped on the door and Jeff let me in. The smell of pepperoni and pizza crust filled the apartment.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a pizza box in my life.” We joined Loreen and Doris at the card table.

Loreen had changed out of her uniform into jeans and a T-shirt, Doris had pizza sauce at both corners of her mouth and Jeff must have finished eating, because he was chewing gum.

I took the GPS device out of my purse and showed Jeff. “DeShay has another toy to play with.”

“What kind of toy?” Doris said. “Can I see it?”

“No, Doris, it’s not that kind of toy,” Jeff said. “After Abby’s done eating, we can set up that jigsaw puzzle we bought today.”

I picked up one of the three slices left in the box and took a bite.

“What is that thing?” Loreen nodded at my purse, where I’d returned the GPS device.

“A piece of equipment our friend DeShay—”

“I know Jeff is a cop.” She glanced at him. “An ex-pro like me can smell a cop a mile away. What is that?”

“You can smell Jeffy because he smells nice,” Doris said. “He smells like our dad.”

We all had to smile, and I said, “He does clean up good.”

“Loreen has a pretty smile like yours, Abby. She said she had a friend like me when she was in school a long time ago. Can you be my friend now, Loreen?”

Loreen blinked several times and then slowly reached out to Doris, her palm up. “Yeah. I’ll be your friend.”

But Doris wasn’t about hand squeezes. She got up and wrapped the miniature woman in one of her hugs. Jeff had to put an end to this affectionate gesture or risk Loreen ending up with a few broken ribs.
Time for the jigsaw puzzle,
I thought, hoping Loreen had forgotten her question. Knowing about the GPS device, knowing I may have been tailed to her house, would make her feel like she’d sat down in a bear trap.

Loreen did seem to forget, and after only an hour of puzzling, something we discovered Jeff’s sister was quite good at, Doris wanted to watch
The Little Mermaid
again. She abruptly left us for the DVD player. I guessed her attention span was limited. I’d have to get used to that.

With Doris occupied, I took Loreen’s gun from my purse, unloaded it and handed her the weapon and the ammo. “Thanks.”

Loreen put everything in her own bag. She looked tired, but I had been patiently waiting for a chance to finish questioning her about Christine and hoped she didn’t fade on me. Jeff offered her a drink, and while the two of them broke into a bottle of Scotch, I had a Shiner Bock. Hard liquor isn’t for me, and I usually have beer only at Astros games, but I’d forgotten to pick up wine when I did the shopping.

“Loreen, you’ve been so helpful, but I need to pick your brain a little more,” I said.

“Yeah, well, I gotta call in sick for tomorrow first. Believe me, that won’t make my boss happy.” She gulped her Scotch. “Phone?”

“On the kitchen wall,” Jeff said.

She left us to make her call, and Jeff leaned close. “She’s scared for the wrong reasons, thinks her ex-pimp is the biggest threat. Get that GPS box to DeShay in the morning.”

Loreen came back to the table. “Guess who’s fired if she’s not at work day after tomorrow?” She took another long swallow of her drink. “Why in hell did I ever write that letter?”

“Because you wanted to right a wrong,” I said. “Usually that ends up paying off in the end.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not seeing any nice payoff about now.”

“You can still help Christine’s kids,” I said. “On the drive back here I was thinking about who Christine could have met who had the money to buy her baby—because the cash she had for Vegas could have been payment. You’ve said no one at Rhoda’s seemed like a good candidate, but what about the people you two cleaned for?”

“Some of them were rich, yeah.”

“Longtime customers?”

Loreen rested her elbow on the table and held her head with her hand. “I think so.” She was sounding more tired by the second. “She had this list. Tuesday regulars, Wednesday regulars. She never worked on Fridays or the weekend. Those were her drinking days, and no one interfered with that.”

“You remember any of these people?” I asked.

“Everyone we cleaned for worked in the daytime. They left a key and we usually didn’t see them.”

“How did you know where to go and when? The list?” I asked.

“Christine kept a notebook with phone numbers, too. I remember because I saw these doodles in there, and I asked Christy if she’d drawn them. She said yeah. She drew people’s faces. Even me. I asked her for the page, but she said she had stuff she needed on the back side. She drew me another one later but I lost it.”

I thought about the boxes moved out to storage the day of the demolition. Had Emma thrown away this notebook along with the photographs she’d mentioned? “You’re sure you never met any of the clients?”

“I was helping with more houses by ninety-two, and every now and then someone was home sick or ... Wait. There was this one lady who quit working when she was so pregnant she could hardly walk. I did see
her.
Vacuumed right around her for three weeks in a row.”

My heart sped up, and I was thinking how long it had taken me to get this one morsel of information, something Loreen had no way of knowing might be important enough to pull everything together.

Jeff knew its importance, though, because he said, “Do you remember if you cleaned for this woman around the same time that Christine was pregnant?”

Loreen looked thoughtful. “She coulda been pregnant, too, now that I think about it. And you know, Christy never took me with her if she went back there, so I never saw that lady’s baby. You think the kid under the house belonged to that woman we cleaned for?”

“Could be,” I said.

“And maybe Christy did something to that kid so she could sell her own baby to that lady?” Loreen shook her head vigorously. “I wasn’t there if she did that. You better make sure the cops know—”

“Chill, Loreen,” I said. “I don’t think you had anything to do with the baby or you never would have written that letter to
Reality Check.”

“Yeah. That’s right,” she said, nodding. “But why didn’t the woman send Christy to jail if she hurt their kid? That’s what any normal person woulda done. I went to jail plenty of times for a lot less than that.”

“We don’t know if Christine hurt any baby,” I said.

Jeff nodded his agreement. “Your friend and this woman could have made a baby deal for reasons we haven’t yet figured out, and Christine agreed to keep the secret. Then later she decided to earn some extra money to continue to keep that secret.”

“Oh, yeah. She’d do that. She was always looking for the big jackpot that never came.” Loreen closed her eyes briefly, then pointed past me. “I’m sorry, but I need to do what she’s doing.”

I turned and saw Doris lying on the floor in front of the TV. She was sound asleep.

“Take the bedroom,” Jeff said.

“I’m not gonna argue,” Loreen answered. She picked up the overnight bag she’d left near the hall entrance and left us alone.

Jeff took out several sticks of Big Red, then offered me the pack. I accepted, needing to rid my mouth of the taste of beer.

After he’d chewed his gum for several seconds, he said, “Tell DeShay everything you’ve learned tomorrow. I doubt this notebook is still around, but you said they stored everything from the house, and a search is worth a shot. Maybe Christine kept names as well as phone numbers.”

“And I could find out if any of those people in the notebook had a baby around the same time as Christine by checking birth records from that year.”

“Good circumstantial evidence, but that won’t promise a happy reunion for your client. A lot can happen in fifteen years.”

I put my hand behind his neck and pulled him close so our lips were almost touching. “You are such a pessimist, you probably never put anything away for a rainy day, ’cause you’re always expecting a drought.”

He smiled, and we were about ready to exchange gum when my cell rang.

I saw from the caller ID that it was Aunt Caroline, and groaned.

“Bet I know who that is.” Jeff picked up our glasses and headed for the kitchen.

“Better answer or she’ll fill up my voice mail box.” I opened the phone and said hello.

“Abby, where are you?” she said.

“Um ... someplace.”

“I know that much. But you’re not at home, because I’ve driven by three times. You need to get over here now.”

“It’s late. What can I do for you?” I asked.

“I have something of dire importance to share with you. Please come over.”

Everything with her is always of dire importance, but I tried to sound nice when I said, “Can we do this in the morning?”

She was silent for a good ten seconds, and I knew I’d pissed her off. “If you don’t care about your sister ruining her life, then fine.”

“What are you talking about?” But, of course, this had to be about Clint Roark.

“This man she’s seeing is not who he says he is, and I have proof.”

She’d hired a detective to follow Jeff when I first started dating him, and this sounded like she was up to her old tricks. “If you’re talking about the man’s ex-wife and son, Kate knows about them.”

“It’s not a son. It’s a daughter. And his name is not Clinton Roark. It Harrison Foster.”

Now she had my attention. “What have you done, Aunt Caroline? You haven’t told Kate about this, have you?”

“No, nothing like that. We need to face her with the facts together. Two voices are better than one, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Let me sleep on this and come over to your place tomorrow morning around ten and you can tell me what you’ve got. Then we can talk to Kate.” That would at least give me a little time to find out about this man myself and why he chose to use a fake name—if, in fact, Aunt Caroline had this right.

“That would work. Yes, I like that idea.” The line went dead, and I stared at the phone before I snapped it shut.

“That your aunt Caroline?” Jeff said when he rejoined me at the table.

“Yes. Seems the man Kate is dating may not be who he says he is. This might mean trouble if Kate gets all defensive about Clint Roark. Gosh, my sister is dating—”

“Not who he says he is? What does that mean?” He’d slipped into detective mode as easily as if he’d put on an old slipper.

“Aunt Caroline says his real name is Harrison Foster. You think he might be some kind of con man? Or maybe someone with a criminal record who changed his name?” I was getting nervous now, and was anxious to get home and find out what I could about this guy.

Jeff said, “Maybe he’s both. Or it could be he stole someone’s identity—not good news any way you look at it. But, of course, you’re talking to a police officer. The pessimist with a dark view of the world.”

“My picture was in the paper right after the bones were found. The caption identified me as ‘Heiress-turned-detective Abby Rose.’ Someone may have seen that word
heiress
and plugged my name into a search engine. That search would quickly bring Kate’s name into the mix.”

“True,” Jeff said. “It’s no secret that thieves and predators read newspapers looking for vulnerable victims, although usually they check the obits, not the headlines.”

“Why didn’t he come after me?”

“Maybe you’re a little too visible right now.”

“True,” I said. “And his endgame is to get money out of Kate?”

“I think you’ve already figured that out, hon.”

“Dammit. I should have checked up on him myself.” I grabbed a napkin and spit out the now flavorless glob of gum.

“My opinion? Aunt Caroline was the best person for that job,” Jeff said. “You should be grateful.”

“For once, I am. And now I plan to find out everything I can about this guy before I walk into Aunt Caroline’s house tomorrow.”

 

When I arrived home, I went upstairs, peeked into Kate’s room and found her already asleep, with Webster curled at her feet. I was hoping that meant she hadn’t been out with Roark or Foster or whoever the hell this man was. I shed my clothes, put on one of Jeff’s T-shirts and headed back down to my computer, shushing the meowing Diva, who followed me.

I booted up and used the database I rely on when all else fails. I had two names, a city, an approximate age and a line of work for Roark. I immediately learned that the only Clinton Roark in the area was retired and lived in Huntsville. Harrison Foster, on the other hand, had two known addresses in Houston—one an apartment and one a home in the Memorial Park area. I was able to learn some of this because his wife had filed for divorce two months ago, and initial divorce filings are public record. Her name was Beth, and she was seeking sole custody of their child.

I also learned that Harrison Foster was not a drug rep, but owned his own software development company specializing in medical office and hospital products. If Aunt Caroline had Foster followed, it would have been easy enough for any PI to find all this out. He was probably living in the apartment, since the lease was signed around the same time Beth Foster had filed for divorce.

I sat back and considered why this man would want to con Kate. My guess was that he would take a financial beating in this divorce and wanted to hook up with someone who could help him continue to live the lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to. And Kate could certainly do that.

Had he planned to cheat her out of a generous chunk of change and split? I smiled. Yeah, he must think Kate was as dumb as a box of rocks and that she’d invest in whatever fake new drug or nonexistent business he’d enthusiastically told her about. But he’d hit on the wrong girl if he thought that would work. Even if she’d fallen with a thud for this guy, she was too smart to buy a black cat with a stripe down its back from anyone, Mr. Dimples included.