Pushing Up Bluebonnets yrm-5 Read online

  "Please, call me Abby. And I'm here because, well, after I saw JoLynn, I couldn't get her out of my head. I'm a PI specializing in adoption searches and she wrote to me last year asking for help."

  Richter looked bewildered by this information. "She wrote to you?" he said.

  "Yes. I recognized her handwriting from something she scribbled on my business card—the card found in her car. What is her adoption situation, by the way? She didn't elaborate in her letter."

  He ignored my question, saying, "Chief Boyd merely said you were an investigator who helped him. Anyway, I thank you for everything you've done and for your continued interest, but I think we can take care of JoLynn now." Richter turned back to Deputy Wells.

  I was being dismissed. But maybe not because this guy was an arrogant SOB. Nope. I've learned to read people pretty well since I started investigating, and I'd seen fear in Richter's intelligent blue eyes before he'd turned away.

  I cleared my throat. "Um, Chief Boyd asked for my help and I've agreed. He's stretched pretty thin up there in Pineview."

  "I can hire someone, since you seem to specialize. I already have people lined up, so one more person won't be difficult to find."

  "Who will you hire? Will they care as much as my sister and I do?" I said.

  "Now I'm confused," he said.

  "My sister, Kate, is a psychologist and she evaluates my clients. She could be a big help when your grand daughter wakes up—and from what Kate said after visiting JoLynn a few minutes ago, she's not in a very deep coma. She'll probably need psychological support to deal with the emotional and physical trauma when she regains consciousness, wouldn't you say?"

  Richter didn't speak for a few seconds. Then he smiled. "You're a good businesswoman, Abby. You've played to my weakness. I want the best money can buy for JoLynn, of course, but you can't put a price tag on commitment and caring. Perhaps we could talk later."

  I handed him my card, deciding he needed time to check me out for himself. "I'm sure you want to visit JoLynn now. Call me." I nodded at Wells. "Nice to meet you."

  Then I walked back to Methodist so Kate and I could take Aunt Caroline home. I'd rather have visited a little longer with Elliott Richter—for the distraction and for the mystery. I wondered if he had any ideas about who tried to kill his granddaughter—and perhaps even more important, did he know why someone would want her dead?

  7

  I arrived home around two p.m. with my patience in shreds, partly due to Aunt Caroline's nonstop whining on the way back to her house and partly because my stomach had been growling for the past hour. We'd finally left my aunt in the capable hands of her best friend, Martha, after we purged Aunt Caroline's refrigerator of all the ice cream, syrups and sugared drinks. We hadn't found so much as a stalk of celery during the cleanfest. Kate had agreed to do the grocery shopping, which meant she would arrive back at Aunt Caroline's with all things green and yellow. Thank God I wouldn't be there to hear my aunt's rebel yell—a sound similar to what I let loose with after I've slammed my fingers in the car door.

  Diva was sitting by the answering machine when I came in the back way, tail swishing as if to say, "Where the hell have you been? People are calling and talking on this thing and you know how that annoys me."

  I scratched her under her chin. "I must have food before all else, Diva."

  She walked along the granite countertop and met me at the refrigerator. Guess she was hungry, too. I ate from a bowl of grapes while I found a half can of Fancy Feast and one slice of leftover pizza. After Diva was served, I ate cold pizza while listening to the single message.

  "Abby, this is Scott Morton. Chief Boyd gave me your number and I was hoping to slip out and pay you a visit. My uncle hasn't told you the whole story about JoLynn. Text messaging me with directions to your office would work best."

  Hmm. Interesting. One little mystery on top of another. I loved it.

  Forty-five minutes and half a bag of Cheetos later, I saw Scott Morton on my security monitor screen. I let him in and we went to the living room, since the office was, well, more than messy.

  After he had a Dr Pepper in hand, I took the recliner and he sat adjacent to me on the sofa. He said, "First, I wanted you to know that Uncle Elliott has people checking up on you already."

  "Figured as much," I answered.

  "It's not that he's sly or mean-spirited or anything. He's simply careful."

  "Probably a very smart man," I said.

  "True, but I think he's wasting time when you and Chief Boyd could be working on finding out who did this to JoLynn. This person might try again, right?"

  "I don't see how. Sheriff's deputies, private security and private nurses would be hard to get by."

  Scott chewed a thumbnail. "You're right. I worry, that's all. Anyway, you should know the story. Because wherever she was before she came to our family might have something to do with what happened to her and what might happen next."

  "She was adopted?" I said.

  "You know that already?"

  "I figured as much. Go on." I leaned back in the overstuffed chair.

  "My mother is quite a bit younger than her brother— that's Uncle Elliott. Anyway, he had a daughter—Katarina. I was five or six when she died. She had cancer, but before that, she'd left home for a couple years. I don't know why. Uncle Elliott never talks about it—in fact no one talks about much of anything important from the past in our family. But she came back and was already pretty sick by then."

  "She was about eighteen when she left?"

  He stared at me, confused, then finally said, "You already knew?"

  "I do my research, but tell me about this absence. Is that when JoLynn came into the world?"

  He slowly smiled. "Yeah. Katarina gave her up for adoption before she returned to the ranch. JoLynn told me when she first arrived about a year ago that she'd hired some detective agency in Houston and they located us for her. I've never seen Uncle Elliott so happy. You'd have thought he'd gotten Katarina back."

  "Did you know about the baby she gave up before JoLynn arrived?"

  "Like I said, we don't talk about the past. Uncle Elliott may have known, but I won't be the one to ask him. I'm hoping you will, though."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want him to shut me out if I bring up the subject. I'm afraid that's what he'd do. I've seen it happen in the family more than once. See, he needs me right now, even if he doesn't realize it."

  "Needs your support?"

  Scott nodded. "He won't get any from the rest of the family."

  "That helps me understand the situation better. How long ago did you say JoLynn arrived at the ranch?" My brain had revved into high gear. The girl told Scott she'd used an agency to find Elliott Richter. What agency? The Texas Adoption Registry? Could be. And if she was looking for her birth family, why did she sign her letter to me using the Richter last name?

  "She's been living with Uncle Elliott a little more than a year now. In the big house. The rest of us have houses on Uncle Elliott's property, but she stays with him."

  Thinking about what life would be like if Aunt Caroline lived down the street, I shuddered. "This agency. Did JoLynn tell you anything about it? Like how they found Mr. Richter?"

  He rubbed the stubble along his jawline. "Not how they found him, but I do remember the agency had a funny name—not the detective's name like you'd expect. What the hell was it?"

  "Texas Adoption Registry?" I offered.

  "No. Something-Something Investigations. Sorry, I just can't—"

  "Yellow Rose Investigations?" I said.

  Scott pointed at me. "That's it. You do know your stuff, Abby."

  I tried hard not to look surprised. "Research is invaluable," I said. Obviously he hadn't seen one of the business cards I'd been handing out like Halloween candy the past two days. I decided not to tell him that I was Yellow Rose Investigations—why, I wasn't sure. Maybe because he seemed so stressed-out. His uncle had known the name of my agency, th
at's for sure, but probably because Cooper told him. Had JoLynn told Scott the same things she'd told Richter? If not, that could explain Richter's surprised expression when I mentioned adoption.

  I said, "You seem to care very much about JoLynn, despite her being a part of your family for such a short time."

  He grinned. "She's incredible." Then his smile faded. "She's got to pull through this." He rolled the Dr Pepper can between his hands and stared at the floor.

  "Did she talk about her adoptive family at all?" I asked.

  Scott tightened his lips and shook his head. "Nope. Not to me anyway. Maybe she confided in Uncle Elliott or someone else in the family."

  "Guess it's time you listed what family you're talking about," I said.

  "Sure. There's Matt and Piper. Matt is Uncle Elliott's son. He and Katarina were six years apart. He married Piper a few months ago. They work for the company just like we all do."

  "What do you do?" I asked.

  "Petroleum engineer."

  I smiled. "Smart guy, huh?" The minute I'd asked about the rest of the family, I'd seen him tense up, but this question seemed to relax him. Comfortable territory, I assumed.

  "Not all that smart," he said with an embarrassed laugh. "I've only been out of school for two years and have a lot to learn. Anyway, there's also my mom and my stepfather."

  "Their names?" I reached over the end table and opened its drawer. I took out the pad and pencil I always keep there.

  "Adele and Leopold Hunt. Also, my half sister, Si mone, and my mom's ex-husband, Ian—he's Simone's dad."

  "What about your biological father?" I said.

  Scott again focused on the Oriental carpet. "He died when I was a baby."

  "Sorry," I said quietly. Perhaps this was why he had such a strong bond with JoLynn—they'd both lost a biological parent. But why was an ex-husband still considered family? Because of Simone?

  Scott must have read my mind because he said, "You're probably wondering why Ian's still around despite the divorce. It's because he's a damn genius. A geologist from England. Richter Oil and Gas couldn't function without him."

  "How's that situation working? Does he keep his distance aside from the job?"

  "Oh, that would make things too easy," Scott said. "Not that I don't like Ian, because he's an okay guy. Weird, but okay. Uncle Elliott, however, includes him in everything and when Ian and my mom are in the same room, shrapnel flies the entire time. Especially when Ian brings the latest girlfriend with him to dinner or parties."

  "I see." Ah, families. Some of them walk around forever in misery up to their armpits. "Tell me more about Mr. Richter and JoLynn. This agency directed her to him and then what happened?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "Come on, Scott. She must have told you something about her past aside from how she found her grandfather." Time to push this guy a little. I could tell he was holding back.

  "Okay, I did ask her once, but she only told me that her past was painful, not something she wanted to discuss. She said life is about the present, not the past. She's learned to live in the moment and she does. She's so . . . different than the rest of us. She's happy."

  I thought about this for a second. Happy, maybe, but she'd sure made someone very angry.

  8

  I awoke Monday morning feeling anxious and irritable. The long hot weekend had dragged on without a call from Elliott Richter all day Sunday. I wondered if he'd learned something about me he didn't like, something that made him decide to exclude me from the investigation into JoLynn's attempted murder. Seems I had a bruised ego; I had thought that Richter would know I could save the day. But good work seldom comes from someone with a swelled head, and I needed to get over it. I rolled out of bed and Diva followed me to the bathroom. I thought about how humility never applied to her. Cats are exempt from humility.

  After a steamy shower that normally would have revived me, I realized I was still tired. Jeff had been called at four o'clock Sunday morning to help out the night shift with a triple homicide and asked me to go to his place and stay with Doris. I hadn't caught up on my sleep yet. This drill was becoming routine—me getting up in the middle of the night to care for Doris. I told him I might install a fire pole from my bedroom to the first floor and have my clothes ready in the foyer, maybe even buy myself a little fire engine. He liked the idea of a pole in my bedroom, but not the kind I was referring to.

  If we lived together, things would be easier as far as Jeff's emergencies, but Doris's arrival last year had halted any ideas of us moving in together. With Doris in the mix now, making a home together before we got to know what the added challenges were might spoil what Jeff and I had. Neither of us wanted that to happen. We decided we could wait.

  I was on my second cup of Stellar Brew coffee when the phone call from Richter came. He got right to the point.

  "You come highly recommended, Abby. Nothing but good reports from your former boss, Mr. Molina, your lawyer friend Mark, and several of your more publicized clients."

  "Why did you have to bother my ex-clients?" I asked, knowing I sounded annoyed, and hoping he knew it. Those people needed to be left alone.

  "Because that's how I do things. Check every source. I'd like you to drive up to my place, the Magnolia Ranch. We can discuss how you'll be involved in the investigation."

  My clients usually come to me, but I wanted to see the ranch anyway, maybe even take a look at the spot where JoLynn had her wreck. I got directions and hung up.

  It was supposed to reach ninety-eight degrees today, so I chose a T-shirt and summer-weight khakis for my visit. Pineview is north of Houston and west of the two largest cities in Montgomery County. One of them, The Woodlands, is filled with folks who have enough money to use an imported anesthetic rather than a local anesthetic when they visit the cosmetic surgeon. West of the interstate that runs through the county, the landscape is a far cry from the cement and glass and endless looping freeways that make up Houston. There are pines, hardwoods and rolling hills. The toll roads helped make the trip less than two hours, but I spent the last part of the journey on a narrow country road leading to the Richter place. I drove under a sign that said THE MAGNOLIA RANCH as my Camry bounced over the cattle guard and through an open iron gate.

  I drove down a paved lane lined by giant gnarled magnolias, their huge white blooms browned and dried by the August sun but still possessing their own special kind of beauty. I rolled down the window, but their sweet fragrance had faded like their flowers. I came to a sprawling one-story stone house and whispered, "Wow" as I drove along the curving drive. This was about twice as big as my old digs in River Oaks—and that house had checked in at around five thousand square feet. A pristine red barn with THE MAGNOLIA RANCH painted on one of the arching outside walls had my attention—so much, in fact, that I didn't notice the rider on horseback come up behind me. When I parked, Elliott Richter halted his giant dapple mount alongside my car.

  "Howdy, Mr. Richter," I said as I got out of the Camry. Seemed like a good word to use here.

  "No howdys. I'm a Longhorn." He pointed to the silver University of Texas logo attached to the band of his cream-colored ten-gallon hat. He'd just gotten off a horse, yet his jeans were still creased and his burntorange cotton shirt looked fresh from the dry cleaner.

  "Oops," I said with a smile. "My late daddy went to Texas A&M, so I hope we can get along." Texas A&M and U.T. are notorious rivals and the A&M Aggie students are known for saying "Howdy" to every person they pass on campus.

  "I forgive your daddy," Richter said, "but only because he's passed on. I hear they do let a few Aggies into heaven." A stableman seemed to appear from nowhere to gather the horse's reins. "I've taken the day off and arranged lunch on the porch, if that suits you, Abby."

  "I'm as hungry as a moth on nylon, so lead the way." But the porch? I was already sweating despite only a minute without air-conditioning.

  I shouldn't have worried. The "porch" turned out to be a large and ele
gant glassed-in room with beautiful Mexican tile flooring and six swirling ceiling fans. I looked out on the gently sloping green lawn and the brilliant, lush gardens, thinking I could live in a place like this. My former River Oaks property, though probably as pricey as this, had led down to a bayou and didn't offer this kind of view.

  I was given a choice of what to have for lunch by the aproned chef whom Richter called Otto, more food than I could possibly eat in a week—bratwurst, sauerkraut, German potato salad and thick slices of homemade rye bread. I could have also feasted on sandwiches piled high with roast beef or ham with slices of cheddar, but sausage is a rare treat when you have a health nut for a sister. If Kate ever saw a German sausage in my fridge, she'd get bent out of shape. I finished off my meal with a salad of summer fruits drenched in some kind of delicious liqueur—Cointreau maybe?

  Our conversation during the meal remained purely social—mostly questions about my current life as a PI, my daddy and his business, questions that I was sure Richter already knew the answers to. But this soft-spoken, impeccable man with every gray hair in place was very good at drawing me out. I talked on and on about Daddy, Jeff and Doris, Kate and Aunt Caroline. After I speared the last piece of gold pineapple—Richter had finished his meal long before I did—his demeanor changed. Time for business.

  A pretty, young dark-haired woman who introduced herself as Estelle cleared our dishes. She wore so much makeup that I wanted to tell her to wash her face, help her realize she'd be even more beautiful without all the lipstick and eyeliner. And the dark brown hair drew attention away from her flawless skin. But who am I to give advice on hair color? Ask Kate. I have ruined my hair so many times I might be in the running for worst swatch picker ever.

  After Estelle was gone, Richter said, "Here's what I'd like you to do. Although one or more of my relatives might well be capable of this murder attempt on JoLynn, I think it's wise we explore her past. I know nothing of her adoptive background, for example—who she lived with or for how long."