Shoot from the Lip (5 page)

Luke said, “Emma’s all stressed because of those TV assholes. They made their deal sound so sweet. On
Extreme Makeover: Home Edition,
you can tell they care. Those guys are decent.”

Emma smiled at Luke. “I know you’re upset, but please watch the language, okay?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled, reaching for the dog again.

“Guess I should have a chat with Chelsea’s boss first,” I said. “Maybe I could convince him to give you more time, even if the house has to go down as planned.”

“Don’t count on
him,”
Shannon said. “He’s like a human ice cube and smells like the Dillard’s cologne counter.”

“Worth a try,” I said, making a silent vow not to fail them like their mother had.

The next day, a sunny Monday morning, I awoke with plenty of energy, juiced by all the information and leads to follow. I had to see Mayo, and I figured that since the demolition was set for tomorrow, he might be in town. I showered, dressed in shorts and a blue T-shirt, and went downstairs in time to hear the message Kate was listening to on the answering machine.

“Please, Kate,” Terry’s recorded voice said. “I’m sorry about how upset you were when you left. I don’t feel any closure. I believe you want what I want, but you just don’t know it. Can we get together someplace neutral? Talk this out? Because—”

Kate hit the delete button on the machine and said, “No way, Terry.”

“Good for you,” I said.

She sighed. “He’ll make a great father and husband when he meets the right person. That’s not me. Meanwhile, I have clients to see.”

She was dressed for work: dark gray linen skirt and shirt with matching shoes. But despite the gorgeous natural-stone necklace that added some life to her appearance, this was a mourning outfit. Funeral attire. When she went back to her usual pastels, I’d be relieved. For now she needed to grieve, and I respected that.

“You booked all day?” I asked.

“Pretty much. I’ll be plenty busy.”

“Me, too. I hope to find Erwin Mayo, talk to him.”

She looked me up and down. “Dressed like you’re going to the mall?”

“Hey. I know you’re having a hard time, but—”

She held up a hand. “Sorry. That was out of line.”

I nodded. “You’re right. And maybe now’s a good time to set a few ground rules about our eating habits during your stay. I am not into organic brown rice and black beans. And I swear tofu is not real. It’s produced by al-Qaeda and sent here to wipe out all the smart people like you.”

She actually laughed. Good sign.

“Now get to work before you have to fire yourself.” I headed for the fridge after she left and grabbed a yogurt, the kind that tastes like dessert.

Webster was whimpering at the door for his lost mistress, but Diva rubbed up against him, and pretty soon the two of them would be curled together to sleep the morning away.

Yogurt and spoon in hand, I went to my office, took out Emma’s file and found Chelsea Burch’s card. She answered on the first ring and must have seen my caller ID, because she said, “Abby. What’s going on? Have you spoken to Emma?”

“I have. Now I’d like to talk to you. Where can we meet?” I left out my real purpose—getting to Mayo. Let her think I was her best friend. Bet she needed one.

“We have a trailer set up on an empty lot down the street from Emma’s house. We’ll be working out of here from now on.”

“You never mentioned the demolition was set for tomorrow,” I said.

“We don’t talk about our schedule. I mean, like, you could say something to someone, and then we’d get all sorts of extra media attention. When we go to smaller towns it’s no problem, but in a big city like Houston we can’t have a huge crowd all wanting to be on TV.”

“I’m with you on that.” I sounded as pleasant as possible, considering she’d decided I couldn’t be trusted with the schedule. “When can I come by?”

“I’ll be here all day, preparing for the first taping.”

“See you within the hour.” I hung up. Just like her, I planned to give out very little information. And once I learned Erwin Mayo’s whereabouts, I’d be done with Chelsea Burch.

Emma’s neighborhood in northeast Houston had been crying for help probably as long as I’ve been alive. Peeling paint, damaged roofs, and houses tilting in the ever-shifting Texas soil told the story. A few small homes must have already been rebuilt, because they looked new and had cement foundations, unlike most of the houses on Emma’s street. I found the trailer first, on an empty corner lot, but after I parked on the grass and got out, I realized something was happening down the street. Loud voices carried from very near where Map-Quest had told me Emma’s house stood.

I thought I heard Emma, and sure enough, she and Chelsea Burch were standing in the street beside a small moving van. Chelsea’s arms were crossed, and Emma was yelling and gesturing at a small clapboard house that hadn’t seen a new coat of paint in maybe thirty years. Looked to me like the place might fall down even before they brought in a bulldozer.

I hurried their way, thinking that Emma and her family were lucky they hadn’t all died under a collapsed roof. But before I reached them, my cell rang. I pulled my phone from my pocket and flipped it open. Mark’s caller ID.

I slowed my pace. “Hi, Mark. What’ve you got?”

“No way out of that contract, Abby—not without a long, expensive legal battle. Venture owns Emma Lopez’s story—even has all future rights. But the family will be getting plenty—a newer, bigger home and unspecified gifts valued at a hundred thousand dollars or more.”

“No loopholes anywhere?” I asked.

“None that my colleague could find, and he looked long and hard. These folks have played this game many times. They know how to seal a deal.”

“That’s what I figured. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime. But can I ask exactly why she wants to give up a new house and a lot of money?”

“The TV producer is hinting that this story will turn out to be more like an episode of
Unsolved Mysteries.
They may focus on Emma’s alcoholic mother and other things Emma doesn’t want the world to know about.”

“I get it. Venture pulled the old bait and switch.”

“Exactly. Thanks again, Mark.” I closed the phone and reached Emma and Chelsea a few seconds later.

“You
can’t
make me do this today,” Emma was saying. “I’m not ready.”

Chelsea was wearing those same ridiculous boots from yesterday, along with a bohemian skirt and short jacket over a T-shirt. Her antiperspirant had to be working overtime.

I cleared my throat and they both turned my way.

“Um, Emma? Can I talk to you for a minute in private?”

Chelsea rolled her eyes with impatience. “What’s this about? Because they’ve moved up the demolition to today and she still won’t let the movers in to pack up their shit—I mean stuff. We have to get this done. We need all the daylight we can get for taping.”

I ignored Burch. “Emma? Please? Let’s talk?”

Emma turned to Chelsea and pointed her finger in her face. “You don’t do anything without my say-so. Understood?”

Chelsea pushed Emma’s hand away. “You know something? I’m getting real tired of—”

I grabbed the sleeve of Emma’s lacy cream-colored shirt and pulled her toward me. “I need to tell you something. Let’s go across the street. You can watch from there and make sure the movers don’t sneak in.”

Emma whirled and marched across the asphalt, high heels clicking. Then she stood with her arms folded across her chest.

I followed and in a calm voice said, “My daddy used to say you can’t be angry and reasonable at the same time any more than a horse can buck and eat hay. I need the smart, reasonable Emma I met yesterday to reappear so we can talk.”

Emma closed her eyes and sighed heavily. “It’s happening, and I can’t stop them, can I?”

“No, you can’t. I’ve heard from the lawyer, and he says the cost of any legal action you take would be enormous and probably unsuccessful.”

“Figures. I never realized how their digging around in my life would affect me when I signed that contract. I know the house has to come down, but I feel like I’ve sold my soul to the devil. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense, considering what I’ve heard about Hollywood producers. But there’s no turning back.”

Emma’s jaw tightened. “I know. But I’m not kissing that woman’s butt. All she cares about is her damn taping.”

“Let go of the anger. You’re stressed enough as it is. How’s this? I promise not to turn over anything I learn about your missing mother and sister unless I believe doing so will help you.”

She looked into my eyes. “You can’t promise that. They have money, they wanted to hire you, and now that you’re on my side, they’ll find someone else to dig up dirt on my mother, even though giving away that baby was probably the best thing she ever did.”

My turn to sigh. “You’re right, probably because the worse she looks, the more sympathetic you and your family appear. I guess that makes some kind of sense.”

“I only know I saw a big change in Erwin Mayo’s attitude when I said I didn’t want them talking about my missing sister,” she said. “He got all arrogant and pushy. That’s why I’m glad you’re on my side. Trusting people is very difficult for me, but you’re different. You seem to truly care.”

“I’ve been on your side from the minute I heard this story. Now a simple ‘Okay, do your job’ to Chelsea might make the process easier on everyone.”

“I can handle that. If I have to be nice to make this easier, be reasonable like your daddy said, then so be it.”

Turned out Emma’s shift in attitude worked well, with one small glitch. Chelsea came with us to watch the movers pack. She seemed to think we were all sorority sisters who had simply had a tiff, had gotten past the issue and were best friends again.

Emma maintained her cool, and I was proud of her. She didn’t even flinch when Chelsea put an arm around her shoulders and said, “I know how hard this must be. But we will make everything all better. You’ll see.”

I could tell why Chelsea was behind the camera rather than in front. She was a horrible actress, couldn’t even fake sincerity.

The packers, already sweating from having to wait outside, worked quickly, starting in the kitchen. They had the room finished in about fifteen minutes. I was bothered by the small amount of food I saw being packed up, felt guilty as I thought about my overflowing pantry and overloaded refrigerator. Yet this family had managed to thrive in a small dark house with tilted floors and a musty odor so strong it overpowered the plug-in air fresheners. A worker picked up a couple of throw rugs, took the mop and the vacuum from a hall closet and laid them alongside several boxes on a dolly. He wheeled his first load away under Emma’s watchful eye.

I followed her out of the kitchen, stumbling over the handle to the crawl space trapdoor that had been covered by the throw rug. Sometimes, I swear, I could fall
up
a tree.

Emma had eyes only for the two other workers, who had taken away the kitchen table and chairs and were now busy in the living room. We both stood beside the way-too-happy Chelsea.

“These guys are the best,” she said.

“Where will Emma’s things be stored?” I asked.

“We’ve rented an air-conditioned storage unit not far from here.” She turned her beaming smile on Emma. “Emma, Luke and Shannon will be staying at one of the best hotels in the area. A suite, all the room service they want. We also have a little surprise about Scott’s living arrangements at college, but that’s the only hint I’m giving.”

But Emma didn’t appear to be listening. She was watching a worker carefully wrap framed family pictures. She walked over to him and said, “I need this one.” She took one picture.

The man shrugged and went on with his work.

Emma returned to my side and showed me the photograph. “This was my father.”

The picture was of a handsome Hispanic man in military dress uniform.

“Did you give that to our researcher?” Chelsea asked. “I don’t have a copy.”

“Too bad.” But then Emma remembered she was supposed to be reasonable. “Talk to your researcher, because she
does
have a copy.”

“If she lost it, we’ll need another. Like I have time for this,” Chelsea snapped. But she lost her snippy attitude almost at once. “We’re almost done here. It wasn’t so hard, was it, Emma?”

“No.” Emma glanced around her nearly empty house. “Not for you.”

Once the movers finished, we went back outside. I was relieved to be out of that house and breathing good old polluted Houston air rather than pure mildew. As the last piece of furniture, an old sofa bed, was loaded on the truck, a black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the curb behind the moving van.

Chelsea ran over to the Lincoln and opened the back passenger door.