Free Pick Your Poison by Leann Sweeney

forehead. Despite the window air conditioner droning in the background—no central air in this old place—the room felt like a steam bath.
    I held my cup against my temple and savored the chill. “Well, if the break-in is somehow connected to Ben, the intruder may have taken the evidence with him. All we’ve found are credit card bills dating back twenty years, canceled checks beginning in 1960, and bank statements galore. Vitally important, if you work for the IRS and need your daily fix of old financial records.”
    Kate said, “We should start packing boxes, get rid of some of this stuff. What about that pile?” Tight-lipped, she nodded at a stack of medical records from our mother’s numerous hospitalizations.
    I didn’t want to deal with those, and I could tell Kate didn’t either. Our mother, Elizabeth, had died from complications of cystic fibrosis when we were about three years old. Neither of us remembered her—she’d been too ill even to care for us—but Daddy spoke of her often, reminded us that she had loved us dearly and had been heartbroken when she became wheelchair-bound less than a year after our adoption. She’d died when we were three.
    “I say we concentrate our efforts on anything that might be connected to Ben,” I said, glancing around.
    “There may be nothing here,” Kate said. “This vandalism could be totally unrelated to his murder.”
    “I wouldn’t place bets. Too coincidental.”
    Kate picked up a folder and fanned her face. “You still think Daddy had Ben’s employment application? And why would you need that now? We know where he lived, know about his past.”
    “I’m interested to learn whether Daddy knew Ben’s real identity. He could have been helping him find Cloris’s killer. If we uncover something to prove—”
    “I’m still not convinced Daddy was helping Ben. And do you really believe Daddy could have kept that big a secret from us?” Kate asked.
    She had a point. But maybe someone in Daddy’s past—an employee, perhaps—was somehow connected to Cloris Grayson’s death. “If Daddy didn’t share this secret with us,” I said, “he had a damn good reason. A good-hearted reason. Agreed?”
    “Agreed,” she said.
    “Okay. So our job is to find out why Ben was hunting for a killer at our house. What, if anything, did his presence have to do with Daddy?”
    I was about to start sorting through more documents when I noticed something taped to the folder Kate was using as a fan. “What’s that?”
    She returned my puzzled expression. “You mean this?” She held up the manila folder.
    “It’s an envelope,” I said, crawling over beside her.
    Kate peeled off the tape that attached a small envelope to the back of the folder. Inside was a key.
    “Looks like a safe-deposit box key,” I said, searching for an identifying logo.
    “I thought we emptied all the bank boxes after Daddy died,” Kate said.
    “Apparently not. So how do we find out where this one is located?”
    “I have no idea,” Kate said.
    “Maybe this is the clue we need. By the way, Willis called me early this morning and said Ben’s funeral is tomorrow. Can you drive to Shade with me?”
    “Tomorrow? No way. I have marathon family therapy sessions.”
    “I guess it’s me and Willis, then. How exciting.” I rolled my eyes, thinking about riding up and back to Shade having to endure his company, listening as he carried on about how, if I’d only give him the chance, he could expertly run my life. For a small fee, of course.

8
    As we drove the sixty miles to Shade in Willis’s Mercedes the next day, the blended scents of leather and aftershave threatened to tranquilize me. I’d have preferred we travel in my car, rather than his bragging machine, since I’ve always had a problem with driving around in an automobile worth the price of a college education. But Willis wouldn’t hear of making the trip in anything but his fully appointed Mercedes. I was certain that before we