Pick Your Poison by Leann Sweeney Page A

horrible incident in your greenhouse, the property value has probably hit rock bottom.”
    I glanced at Kate from the corner of my eye. The thought of Aunt Caroline living with me . . . Well, let’s say I felt a need to pray to the porcelain god.
    “Abby and I are selling,” Kate said firmly. “But Daddy left us so many paintings, antiques, and other artwork, maybe you could take a few things for yourself before we start packing up.”
    I nodded my agreement, liking this bribery idea. “I don’t know where I’ll be living, but I certainly won’t have room for all this furniture.”
    Her expression reminded me of the Wicked Witch meeting up with those flying monkeys in The Wizard of Oz . I half expected her to rub her hands together with glee. “How generous and thoughtful of you both. A number of objets d’art your father acquired in Europe mean a great deal to me.” She smoothed a few wrinkles on her turquoise silk slacks.
    I’d be willing to bet every single item she wanted to cart away from here carried a four-digit price tag. Money was all she cared about. I could move to Russia and it would be fine by her as long as I left the house, the business, and the bank account here.
    “I’m glad we settled this so amicably,” said Aunt Caroline, now nauseatingly chipper. “Now, tell me about this dreadful man who got himself murdered. Was he a drug dealer? Is that why he was killed?”
    “Ben was no drug dealer,” I answered. “And refresh my memory on the current ‘dreadful’ criteria, Aunt Caroline?”
    “No need to get testy, Abigail. I like to be informed, that’s all. I mean, what if this killer had poisoned you, too?”
    “Who would want me dead?” Besides you? I wanted to add.
    Kate said, “Don’t you think Aunt Caroline has a point?”
    Great. Two against one. “Not since I’m very much alive and Ben’s not. Did Daddy ever mention Ben to you, Aunt Caroline? Like why he hired him, for instance?”
    “No,” she said quickly. “Your father took care of his household business and I took care of mine. Seems he made a serious mistake about that particular gardener, though.”
    “Why?” I was sure she knew something about Ben, something she wasn’t saying.
    “Because the man went and got himself killed, that’s why,” she replied. “Can we change the subject, please?”
    “What do you know, Aunt Caroline?” I persisted.
    “Abby,” Kate said, “what’s wrong with you? I’m beginning to think you’re the one who knows something.”
    “I discovered Ben came here looking for his wife’s murderer. Came to our house,” I said. “I was hoping Aunt Caroline might shed some light on that. Did Daddy tell you anything about Ben?”
    “You think Charlie willingly shared information with me? Do you ever remember that happening, Abigail?”
    Kate said, “Are you saying Ben came here for some reason other than a job?”
    “I’m not sure, but I plan to find out,” I answered. I went on to explain Ben’s mission to find his wife’s killer, then said, “I’m taking a trip down to the old Victorian in Galveston to check Daddy’s files. Maybe he left some clue behind concerning his relationship with Ben.”
    “Good luck sorting through that mess,” Aunt Caroline said. “I’m surprised the second story of that house hasn’t collapsed from the pure weight of all the junk Charlie saved.”
    “I haven’t been there in years,” I said. “Time I went, wouldn’t you say?”

    After Aunt Caroline left, Kate and I headed for Galveston together. The island city of brick and stone, southeast down the interstate, stands in steadfast opposition to the smoked-glass glitz of Houston. As we sped over the causeway that spans the strip of sea separating Galveston from the rest of Texas, I rolled down the window to enjoy the ocean breeze.
    Webster, who had been sitting at Kate’s feet with his nose fixed reverently on the Camry’s air-conditioning vent, stood up when the fresh air filled the