She went on, saying, “Heck, I just thought of something, Abby.”

“What?”

“Photos of the reconstructions went to the newspaper. The police send them to the press and to other local police agencies. If you go to the downtown library annex, you could research the 1997 Houston Chronicles. You know the regular library is closed for remodeling?”

“Right. Can you help me narrow my search with the dates of those deaths?”

“Sure. The tracking sheets indicate that one of these women was found in May, the other in September. Apparently the location of the head wound on that one woman was never released to the press. Check the Crime Stopper columns for exactly what was printed. Searching the newspapers yourself will really speed things up.”

I stood. “I’m on my way.”

“If you think your picture matches one of the reconstructions, call me right away and I’ll send this back to HPD as a new lead in a cold case after I take a look myself. With the TV show in town, identifying one of these women as Emma Lopez’s mother could move the case up on that priority list.”

Geeky little Julie Rappaport was a gem. No wonder DeShay sent me here. I wondered if folks had a clue what forensic investigators were really like. She wasn’t showing off maximum cleavage like they do on TV, and her battered ID hung around her neck rather than her having a shiny badge clipped to low-riding jeans. But her heart was where it should be. At least they got something right on CSI. Yeah. I liked Julie. A lot.

I left and drove straight to the library, parked and went to the research area, my jeans pocket packed with quarters for the copier. Though the Houston Chronicle is archived and easily accessible online, any accompanying photos are available only here. I felt my heart skip a beat when I finally found what I came looking for.

The photo I held next to the newspaper picture left little room for doubt. There she was-Christine O’Meara-the woman who’d been shot in the head in September of 1997. I was amazed at what the artist had done. I didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad for Emma-happy because she would know where her mother was or sad because on top of everything else, Emma might have to arrange a burial or cremation now. I swear, if that girl started selling lightbulbs, the sun would stop setting.

I sent the Crime Stopper article to the printer, still shaking my head at all this bad luck. Several minutes later, as I headed to the library parking lot, several copies of the Crime Stopper article in hand, I called Julie Rappaport.

The receptionist put me through, and I said, “Julie, it’s Abby. One unidentified corpse has a name. The gunshot victim who died in September.”

“That’s great. Now we’ll need a CODIS comparison to Emma Lopez for a positive ID-which I’m certain the police will want right away. I’ll call Sergeant White, since he’s the lead investigtor,” she said. “Thanks so much, Abby. I would have done this myself but-”

“Don’t apologize. You people have to be swamped in a county this heavily populated.” After I disconnected, I decided to drop by Kate’s office and once again recruit her to help me break this news to Emma, Shannon and Luke. How much more could those kids take?

The drive to the medical center took about twice as long as it should have, thanks to early rush hour. But when I found a parking spot in the lot next to Kate’s building I forgave all the buses, the broken-down cars and the jerks who had to be from somewhere other than Texas because they loved to lay on their horns.

Minutes later, I walked into Kate’s comfy waiting area and found Clinton Roark chatting up Kate’s receptionist.

What the heck was going on? I never thought I’d weigh in on Aunt Caroline’s side, but Kate needed time to get over Terry, and a new man in her life didn’t seem like the best way to do that.

“Hi, Abby,” Kate’s receptionist said. She’d been here only a couple weeks. What was her name? April or May or June?

Roark turned and smiled at me. “We meet again. Good to see you.”

I pointed at him. “Back at ya.” Then I addressed springtime girl. “Is Kate still in a session?”

“She’ll be out in five minutes,” she answered.

I took a seat on the mauve sofa-Kate’s latest icky color choice. She tells me pastels are soothing for her clients, but I could only think of Easter eggs when I walked in here, and I’m not a fan of the hard-boiled egg unless it’s deviled with plenty of mayo.

I was tempted to pick up a magazine and pretend Roark wasn’t there, but of course that wouldn’t work, so I said, “Does Kate know you’re here?”

He walked over and sat on a chair adjacent to the couch. “No. Thought I’d surprise her. I heard about this vegetarian Chinese restaurant on Westheimer and was hoping we could try it out. She’s helping me convert.” He patted his chest. “Heart disease runs in the family.”

“She’s helping you with your diet? Last I heard Kate was a shrink, not a dietician.”

He laughed. “True, but I came in here yesterday by mistake-I was supposed to deliver pill samples to a doctor named Ruston. But on the board in the lobby, I saw the name Rose first, and my brain decided that’s who I was supposed to see.”

“Kate doesn’t prescribe drugs. She’s a clinical psychologist.”

“I learned my mistake soon enough. Kate was out here with April and we got to talking. When I heard April was heading to some vegan place to pick up their lunch, I told Kate how interested I was in getting healthier. She offered to help me.”

I nodded. “Ah, so my sister’s a regular Pied Piper when it comes to luring wannabe vegetarians over to the dark side. Learn something every day.” But I wasn’t exactly sure who the Pied Piper was in all this-Kate or Clinton Roark.

He said, “She told me you’d be skeptical about us making this connection right after her breakup with Terry. But we’re just friends, Abby.”

Yeah. Friends. That was why Kate wouldn’t even face me this morning. “Hey, you don’t have to explain anything to me.” This conversation was making me uncomfortable. I walked over to April, who was busy behind the glassed-in counter. “Tell Kate I’ll talk to her later.”

I started for the door, but Roark blocked my path. “Are you leaving because of me? Please don’t. I can catch up with Kate another day.”

“Thanks, but I have something important to do, and she seems to be running over with her client.” I maneuvered around him, the scent of his cologne still with me as went to the elevator and punched the down button.

He did smell damn good, seemed nice enough. Now that I thought about it, if I got all negative about Roark to Kate, that put me squarely in Aunt Caroline’s court. I shivered at the thought. If Kate liked this guy, more power to her.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. The compartment was almost full, and I hesitated.

“You coming or what?” a woman asked.

“Go on without me.” Dammit, I didn’t want tension between Kate and me. Besides, I needed my sister today, needed her beside me to offer comfort to Emma and her family.

I turned around, went back to her office and found her talking with Clinton in the waiting area.

“You’re back,” Kate said. “Clint and April said-”

“Listen, I don’t want to interfere in your social life, but I need your help tonight. I’ve discovered Christine O’Meara was murdered in 1997. I don’t want to take this news to her family alone.”

“That’s awful.” Kate looked up at Roark. “Do you mind if I take a rain check?”

“Of course not.” Roark looked at me. “Glad you changed your mind and came back.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes I’m as dumb as an unplugged computer. A cold case warmed up, and I need my sister’s help before this makes the late news.”

“I’ll get my purse, Abby.” She looked at Roark. “Call me?”

“I will.” He strode across the waiting room and out the door. Kate didn’t take her eyes off him until he was gone, reminding me that I never take my eyes off Jeff’s backside, either. Maybe there is such a thing as love in two days-even for shrinks who should know better.