Free Pushing Up Bluebonnets by Leann Sweeney Page A

rational and trustwor thy of the bunch. I did tell her to be careful what she said to family members.''
      I said, ''There is a Texas Adoption Registry and guess what? I inform folks all about it in those tip sheets I send out—and I sent one to her. Here's the problem. They might have told her Katarina was deceased, but if you never registered with them, they would never have given JoLynn your name. Reunions must be requested by both parties when you skip court petitions and go through them.''
      ''I certainly didn't register,'' Richter said, ''but every bureaucracy has its cracks. There are ways she could have learned about me through them.''
      ''Does the fact that she may have lied twice about her search for her birth family tell you something?''
      ''Obviously she was afraid to tell the truth. Someone harmed her for a reason and that's what you need to focus on. Not on her missteps,'' Richter said. The more I'd pressed him, the redder his neck had become.
      I leaned toward him and in a quiet voice said, ''I'll bet you're used to folks kowtowing to you. For the record, I focus on what I consider important to getting at the truth, and the truth may not be what you're ready to hear.'' That was my short version of the ''You can't handle the truth'' speech because I feared this was the case.
      Richter closed his eyes and calmed himself before speaking. ''I have handled many difficult events in my life, the death of my wife and Katarina being the worst, of course. I apologize if I sounded arrogant. I'm simply remembering JoLynn in that hospital bed and I'm sick at heart to think someone would do that to her. If this murder attempt is connected to her past, I need to know—so I can continue to protect her after she gets well and comes home. Name your fee. I'll pay whatever you wish.''
      After I quoted him the highest price I'd ever charged anyone—ten thousand dollars, which would go toward my dream of building the most fabulous user-friendly group home for folks like Doris—I said, ''Let me get to work. Her bedroom?''

    9

    When I'd first arrived, I hadn't fully taken in the grandeur of the Richter home, but grand was everywhere. Pillars of dark wood separated the living areas from the hall that led to the back of the house. These were double living areas separated by the longest dining table I'd seen outside a wedding reception. Vases sat on little shelves; paintings that probably cost a small fortune hung on the walls; thick Oriental rugs protected polished oak flooring. As we headed back toward the way I'd come in, I glanced at rustic leather furniture and end tables with fresh flowers in the less formal living area. Up ahead to my right, brocade and satin upholstered chairs faced a grand piano. Richter led me to another hallway off the foyer.
      We'd had no shortage of expensive art and antiques in our home while I was growing up, but this place was more well dressed than you'd expect a ''ranch'' to be. We turned left and seemed to travel for minutes, passing closed door after closed door. What was behind all of them? Bedrooms? Studies? Offices? Maybe a media center or a billiards room? Finally we reached JoLynn's room and Richter produced a ring of keys from his pocket and used one to open her door.
       Locked? Hmmm. Who is he keeping out?
      He caught my expression and said, ''I only added the lock this weekend. I didn't want the others snooping around in her things.''
      ''The others? You mean your family?''
      ''That's right.'' Richter widened the door. ''This is it.''
      I expected more expensive decor, but the room,
    though large by non-master-bedroom standards, seemed, well, plain. The linens on the four-poster were beige. The two mahogany dressers had no photos on top. Two brown upholstered wing chairs with a small round table between them sat in front of a window that looked out on a fenced-in garden and fountain. I felt like I'd walked into an upscale hotel room—pleasant but