19

The following morning, a Saturday, I awoke feeling like I hadn’t slept at all. The same question kept invading my dreams, waking me over and over: What did Billings know that got him killed?

As I lay under my quilt with Diva purring beside me, possibilities rolled around in my brain. Billings may have lied about why he declined the Crime Stoppers reward. Perhaps he’d figured out who killed Christine and was blackmailing the murderer. But judging from his low-rent apartment and his job mounting tires, he sure hadn’t received much of anything for keeping a very big secret. I suppose he could have lost the blackmail money somehow-or maybe the ex-wife took everything for child support. I had no idea.

Billings had mentioned the baby to me, and from what Rhoda said, Christine was hanging out at the bar while she was pregnant with Emma’s sister. Maybe Billings knew that Christine lied about Xavier Lopez stealing the child and he planned to sell me that piece of information. Perhaps that was all he knew. But the killer might have feared Billings knew more. Leaving him alive to tell me anything was too big a risk.

I squeezed my eyes shut at the thought, regret welling up in my throat. Despite what Jeff said last night, I still blamed myself for the murder. I’d probably led a killer to where Billings worked. When I left, my tail either stayed behind or followed me to the motorcycle shop. No matter what, he knew where to find Billings and followed him home. From my own experience with Billings, if he’d been offered cash, he would have allowed Hannibal Lecter inside his apartment.

No wonder I’d hardly slept a wink. Even though Jerry Joe Billings would never have been my best friend, he was still a human being who deserved better. But getting lost in guilt wouldn’t help anyone. All I could do now was what I did best-find answers. Find out what happened to him, to Christine O’Meara, and to those innocent babies.

Something came to me then, something I should have realized as soon as I learned that Christine O’Meara died in 1997. She couldn’t have written the letter to Reality Check. Then who did? Who watched Emma’s family and cared enough to write to a TV show? I needed to quiz Emma more thoroughly about this, and over breakfast, when Kate told me Emma had a few houses to show her, I decided to go along.

Emma’s rented cream-colored Cadillac arrived outside my house around noon, and the first house we drove to was only about four blocks from mine in West University Place. Kate decided not to tour this first place because it was too big. Although the lots in this part of town were small, recent buyers had taken to tearing down the original average-size houses and replacing them with huge new homes that left no room for a yard-and Kate wanted a yard for Webster.

When we started out for the next place, Kate’s cell rang. By her flirty tone, I knew who had called.

She said, “We’re leaving one house not far from Abby’s place. You want to catch up with us?” Kate asked Emma for directions to the next property, still in West U, and repeated them to her new best friend, Clint Roark.

Five minutes later we pulled up to a curb less than a mile away. Kate’s eyes lit up. It looked like an English cottage: redbrick, peaked roof, and small enough that it was probably the original structure, and thus had a backyard.

Emma glanced in the rearview mirror and said, “Your friend’s here.”

Kate got out to greet him.

I introduced Emma to Roark and said, “Thought you were tied up this weekend.”

“My son had a movie date. Funny, I never had a movie date when I was that young.” He laughed. “Anyway, I dropped them off at the theater and had a couple of hours to kill.”

Kate said, “I told Clint about our house hunt.”

Emma led us up the walkway, and I realized that maybe I was feeling jealous. I feared Roark might monopolize Kate’s time, something Terry had never done. Today was proof of that. He couldn’t spend two hours without her.

I should be happy for her, I thought. Am I that selfish? Daddy always said I was a real foot stomper when things didn’t go my way, and I guess when you get older, foot stomper turns into “control freak.”

After Emma pressed a four-digit code into the lock-box, opened it and retrieved the key, we all went inside and stood in the small foyer that offered a view into the living area. The stairs were to our right, and a small angled room, a study or office with French doors, was on our left. The layout looked similar to mine, but this house appeared older on the outside.

Reading from a sheet of paper, Emma said, “Two baths and three bedrooms, master downstairs, two upstairs. New furnace and air conditioner, wood and tile floors throughout, kitchen redone two years ago.”

Roark smiled. “What are we waiting for?”

“Kitchen first.” Kate grabbed his hand.

I mumbled, “I’ll bet the son’s movie date was Roark’s idea so he could hook up with Kate.”

“What?” Emma said.

“Nothing. Can we talk when we’re done, or do you have to get back to the office?”

“I have another client. Then I plan to go over to my own property before dark. The foundation has been poured and they’re framing today. I can’t believe they’re still giving us the house.”

“They have to stick to the contract, just like you did, and it clearly stated you would get the new house and gifts no matter what. Besides, you still have to appear on one of Venture’s programs.”

“Don’t remind me,” Emma said. “I’m amazed at the progress they’ve made on the house. They said from the beginning it would only take a couple weeks, but I guess I didn’t believe them,” she said. “They bring in all these people and work long hours.”

“Maybe I can meet you there this evening?”

“That would be great, but I hope you don’t feel the need to protect me. The house seems like a small thing after everything that’s happened.”

“And something else has happened. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Tell me,” she said.

“A witness has been murdered.”

She drew in her breath, covered her mouth with her hand. “Is it someone I know?”

“No-at least, I don’t think so. We can talk about all this later. There’s something more I want you to think about, even though we’ve been over this before. Your mother obviously didn’t write the letter to Reality Check. Finding out who did could help us. That person knew the baby was missing. Think about counselors or teachers or neighbors who took a special interest in you. Maybe one of them decided to disguise their identity by making the letter seem like it came from an uneducated person.”

Emma sighed, tucking strands of silky hair behind her ear. “I’ll try, Abby, but I’ve already gone over this a hundred times since we were chosen for the show.”

“Revisit it for me again, okay?”

“Sure. I should be over at the property by five. Can you tell me the name of the person who… died?” Today she’d been free of the worried expression I’d seen all week, but now it had returned.

“Jerry Joe Billings,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “J.J. I remember my mother mentioning someone named J.J. Was it him?”

“Since she and Billings were definitely friends, the answer is probably yes. See? You do remember more than you realize.”

She smiled sadly. “When prompted by terrible events, yes. Now I need to get to work.”

When she walked into the living room, she reverted to Realtor mode-probably her safe mode. “Drapes are old, but the floor is in excellent shape.” She walked over and pulled aside the heavy fabric that covered the window. “New windows, too. That’s a plus.”

Kate and Roark’s laughter echoed through the empty house, and Emma and I joined them in the kitchen.

Emma stopped in the entryway, her hands on her hips, and scanned the large room. “This is different. Haven’t seen a house with this layout in West U.” She glanced down at her paper. “No dining room. I’ll bet they knocked out a wall to enlarge the kitchen.”