Pushing Up Bluebonnets (2 page)

  
I wonder why,
I thought. ''And now you work in a small town,'' I said.

  ''Very small.'' He crossed his hands in front of him and stared up at the indicator lights.

  Once we hit the fourth floor and walked out of the elevator, he said, ''This young woman was found on a county road, her car wrapped around a tree. Didn't take a mechanic to figure out her air bags had been removed. That's why she suffered the head injury.''

  I felt a small shiver unrelated to the AC. ''And she had my card, but no purse and no insurance information?''

  ''That's right. They could have been stolen from the wreck immediately after she crashed or maybe she never had them with her in the first place.''

  ''What about the vehicle identification number? Couldn't you track the car ownership that way?'' I asked.

  ''Deliberately destroyed. Even the confidential VIN had been sanded down.''

  ''There's more than one?''

  ''On this model, there were three—dash, door and the confidential one. Newer models than what she was driving also have VINs etched into the windshield. That's tough to tamper with, but I didn't get lucky there.''

  ''And her thumbprint didn't come up when you ran it by DPS?''

  He glanced my way, studying me with what I thought might be amusement. ''I'm used to asking the questions, not answering them. We didn't get a match or I wouldn't be here.''

  ''Duh. I knew that.'' Why couldn't I stop putting my mouth in motion before my mind was in gear?

  We followed the signs to the neuro ICU and I explained to Cooper how I work, that many people contact me and that most of them can do their own searching with only a few pointers from the ''tip sheets'' I send out on how to locate lost relatives. I always send my card when I answer inquiries.

  ''Because I get far more letters than I could ever handle in person, I take on the more difficult cases—even though I'd be glad to work every case if I had a clone or two. It's sort of a mission for me.''

  ''A mission, huh? I wondered why someone as rich as you—I do my homework, by the way—ran a PI business.''

  He obviously knew Daddy left my sister and me buckets of money and a successful software company.
What else does he know? I
wondered. That our own adoption had been illegal, that discovering this changed my life forever and led me down an unusual path as an adoption PI?

  ''Anyway,'' he went on, ''that means you don't see many clients in person.'' He sounded disappointed.

  ''I do as many cases as I can. And that could mean your mystery woman
was
one of my clients. Or related to one of my clients. Or a friend of a friend. Believe me, I meet plenty of relatives during the reunions.''

  ''Good. There's still hope you can ID her, then. Let me warn you, she's banged up—her face is swollen. I hope you might recognize her anyway because finding out who attempted to kill her is pretty difficult when I don't know who she is.''

  ''Tell me the truth, Cooper. Is she . . . going to die?''

  ''Don't know. They're keeping her knocked out to let her brain calm down. Swelling, they say.'' He stared straight ahead, his jaw tight again. ''She had her whole life ahead of her and who knows what she'll face if she ever wakes up?''

  ''Any possibility she did this to herself? Maybe she was depressed.''

  ''Females usually take pills or slice their veins open. And she wouldn't need to cut the brake line to drive into a live oak. Did I tell you the brake line was cut? Anyway, she could speed up to a hundred and slam right into that tree on her own if she wanted to die.''

  I nodded my agreement, noting his tone had hardened. We walked in silence until we reached the waiting area for the neuro ICU, which was across the hall from the forbidding doors that would allow us in. Boyd told me to have a seat and he'd arrange for us to visit her.

  When he came back to get me, he said, ''We've got five minutes.''

  We were admitted into the ICU and Boyd led me to the mystery woman's room. She was covered with a white thermal blanket and was so tiny she seemed lost in the small space crowded with medical machinery, all of the equipment either beeping or blinking. An IV dripped slowly into tubing that fed her bruised arm. But that wasn't all that was bruised.

  Her thick dark lashes rested against the purple cres cents under her eyes. She had a battered forehead, a split lip and stitches above the largest lump on her forehead. Any skin not bruised was as pale as the sheets.

  ''Heck fire,'' I whispered. I blinked several times, wondering how anyone would recognize this young woman, even someone who knew her. Seemed a miracle to me that she wasn't already pushing up bluebonnets.

  I'd stopped a few feet into the room, but Boyd urged me toward the bed with a gentle hand on my back. ''Get closer. Try to picture her without all the damage.''

  ''Kinda hard, Cooper, but I'll give it a try.''

  When I came up beside her, I tilted my head, hoping to get a feel for a profile, maybe. That helped a little. Then I squinted, mentally thinning her face. That seemed to work, too. I could envision the person who might lie beneath the injuries. A sweet face, late teens, early twenties maybe.

  ''Sorry. I don't think I know her,'' I finally said.

  ''You're not sure, though?'' Boyd said.

  ''Like you said, her face is pretty messed up. Maybe I could come back in a few days? Have another look?''

  This wasn't what Boyd wanted to hear. ''See, I don't know if
I
can come back. There's only four officers in Pineview.''

  ''I can come by myself.'' I smiled and tried to sound encouraging. ''I sincerely want to help. If I could have that copy of my card, I'll enhance it on my PC. I get plenty of letters and maybe I could match the handwriting.''

  He pulled the paper from his pocket and handed it to me. ''Anything's worth a try, I guess.'' But
glum
was the only word to describe Cooper Boyd.

  ''Can I buy you lunch? The cafeteria in the basement here isn't half bad.''

  ''I don't think—''

  ''Come on.'' I tugged his arm, anxious to escape the sleeping Jane Doe. I felt helpless seeing her so still, so banged up and with no family to hold her hand. I understood why Boyd was bummed out. ''You need a decent meal before you head back to Pineview.''

  We took the elevator down, both of us silent. I was thinking how I'd hate to be comatose with no one there to cheer me on, sing to me or talk to me and make me want to fight for my life. Maybe that's what Cooper Boyd was thinking, too.

  Once in the cafeteria I chose the comfort of macaroni and cheese—with a salad to cancel out the fat and carbs.

  Boyd had a sandwich piled high with turkey and lettuce on whole-grain bread with no mayo. I should introduce him to Kate. Maybe they could share a soy smoothie or a black-bean burger. I glanced at Boyd's ring finger, making sure I hadn't seen a wedding band. Yup. My brain had registered correctly. Not that Kate needed to date another older man. She'd been there, done that, and it had been a disaster. And besides, she'd apparently given up dating altogether thanks to him. Every woman I know has had some jerk mess with her head, but this particular male mistake had taken a big toll.

  ''You prefer small-town police work over the FBI?'' I asked. I needed to slow down on the mac and cheese. I was upset after what I'd seen upstairs and emotional eating always seems to add twice as many inches to my thighs. Which means twice as long a workout to remove those inches.

  ''They're very different. The FBI was my dream job and I learned a lot. But that's over now.''

  There was a story here, one he wasn't about to share with a stranger. This was a scarred man and I sure did wonder why.

2

A half hour later, I returned to my home in the West University area, anxious to scan the poor copy of my card so I could enhance and enlarge the writing, but unfortunately my aunt Caroline's Cadillac pulled into my driveway right behind me. Great. What did
she
want?

  But she got right to the point. ''We need to talk about your sister, Abigail,'' she said as she got out of her car. Then she marched past me and opened the back gate. ''You need to keep this gate locked. I hope you haven't left the house unlocked, too.''

  I silently counted to ten and smiled. ''Nice you could drop by.''

  I unlocked the back door, which prompted, ''At least you have
some
sense'' from my aunt. We walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen.

  ''Where have you been, by the way?'' She dropped her latest Prada handbag on the oak kitchen table. ''I drove by at least five times.''

  ''Out on business, if that's okay with you.'' It wasn't really business. I had no client, but she didn't need to know that.

  ''Oh. You mean snooping around and getting yourself in trouble again. I wondered if you'd perhaps met Katherine for lunch.''

  ''Sorry, no. And 'snooping around,' as you call it, happens to be my job. Can I get you something to drink?'' I was getting better at letting her remarks pass without too much sarcasm. Besides, I was wondering if she was sick. I'd noticed that sweat had beaded along her snowy hairline, which was puzzling. She'd been in her very airconditioned luxury car, after all.

  Aunt Caroline sat in one of the kitchen chairs. ''Water, please. Lime if you have it.''

  ''I do. It's Corona season and Jeff likes lime in his beer.''

  As I cut up a lime, Aunt Caroline said, ''He's still hanging around, is he? How's he coping with the sister— the one who's, well,
you know
.''

  ''The one who has Down syndrome? Doris is a delight. Matter of fact, she and Jeff are coming for dinner tonight.'' I plopped lime wedges into two glasses of ice water and brought them to the table.

  ''You're cooking? My word, the earth has tilted a bit more on its axis.'' She gulped greedily at the water.

  I lifted my chin. ''Yes, I am cooking. I
do
know how.'' Actually we were ordering pizza and watching one of Doris's favorite DVDs,
Finding Nemo.
Movies and pizza had become our Friday night ritual. Jeff didn't make it half the time because of his job, but Doris's caretaker, Loreen, would sometimes join us.

  ''You
should
know how to cook,'' Aunt Caroline said. ''Chef Ramone cost us a pretty penny for those lessons. But as I recall, he said you'd rather play with the food than learn the basics of preparation.''

  ''I was twelve, Aunt Caroline. I still played with my G.I. Joes, too. I wasn't the only one in the family who enjoyed boy toys.''

  Damn. Sarcastic relapse. I hate when that happens.

  Aunt Caroline's face became infused with color. She'd given up face-lifts for injections from her dermatologist— all kinds of procedures to smooth the wrinkles she'd earned after seventy-plus years on earth. But they only made her look like a doll with a plastic face and I was surprised there was actually a blood supply to the surface.

  ''How rude, Abigail,'' she said. ''You know my dalliances ended a long time ago.''

  ''Try about two years ago. Anyway, you came to talk about Kate?''

  ''Yes. I went over to her house last night and found her in her pajamas. She'd been reading a book. It was only eight o'clock and she looked exhausted and, well, depressed. I am very concerned about her. A thirty-oneyear-old woman should not be holed up like a nun.''

  I had to agree with my aunt. I was worried, too. But the last thing Kate needed was Aunt Caroline sticking her nose in this. ''Give her time to heal,'' I said.

  ''She's had enough time. It's been ten months since that horrible man fooled her into believing he cared for her. She's refused every date I've tried to set up for her—close to forty of them. Now it's your turn. Do you know anyone suitable? He has to have money, of course. We don't want someone taking advantage of her. You two are blessed with wealth, but it does make you vulnerable to predators, so—''

  ''I am not setting her up with anyone. She'll move forward when she's ready.'' I
so
wanted to believe that, but I honestly wasn't sure. My sister had changed—her smile now not as spontaneous, her dark eyes lacking the spark I'd once thought would always be there.

  ''But don't you see, Abigail? Katherine needs—''

  ''Aunt Caroline,'' I interrupted. I had to get her off this subject. ''Remember when you helped me organize files a while back?''

  Her eyes brightened. ''Do you need help again? Silly question. Of course you do. Your organizational skills are . . . well, anyway. I'd be glad to assist.''

  ''It's not filing, actually.'' Finding out who was lying in that hospital bed was more important than allowing Aunt Caroline to meddle in Kate's business through me.

  ''I'm very good with any office task.'' She stood and rubbed her hands together. ''Let's get started.''

  I took a deep breath and removed the folded paper from my pants pocket. ''Hope you're wearing those bifocal contact lenses. You'll need good eyes for this job.''

  I explained about the unidentified woman and how I hoped I could match the handwriting on the card to some letter I might have received from a prospective client.

  ''Since you didn't recognize her when you saw her,'' Aunt Caroline said, ''this could be a waste of time.''

  ''You don't have to help if—''

  ''Are you being facetious? I can't think of a better way to waste time than solving a mystery like this. Wait until I tell the girls at the club.''

  I had to smile. The ''girls'' ranged in age from seventy to ninety. ''Let's get started, then.''

  I hadn't spent more than two hours alone with my aunt in years—mostly because being with her is like wearing shoes that hurt—but we had a focus other than my life or Kate's, so I hoped I could tolerate her.

  I'd printed a thousand business cards when I started up my agency, and gave the first hundred to Angel Molina, my mentor, who had a PI business of his own. He sent me my first few cases and still called me when he had a potential client for me. I'd handed out dozens of cards when I was meeting clients or investigating someone's past. And I'd also sent them attached to every letter I answered along with my tip sheets. Only about two hundred cards remained. That meant I could have as many as six hundred letters in the file boxes in my office.