Black Cat Crossing (4 page)

“Calm down, Sabrina. I didn’t say she caused his death.”

“There’s no telling how many enemies a man like Bobby Joe had or how many of them would be happy to be rid of him.” I paused to collect my thoughts. “For example, I saw him having a heated argument with this cowboy in the hardware store parking lot yesterday.”

“Aha,” the sheriff said, “and you’re suggesting the cowboy had a hand in what happened to Flowers?”

I didn’t appreciate the mocking tone of his voice. “I don’t
know
anything. I’m only mentioning this as an example, in case the autopsy shows there was foul play.”

“Spoken like a true mystery writer,” he said. “You know this cowboy’s name?”

“I never met him,” I explained, “but Hallie Krane told me his name is Luke Griffin.”

The sheriff chuckled.

“Why are you laughing?”

The sky was beginning to brighten as dawn approached. Across the property, I could see Rosales writing in her notebook as Hartman talked.

“Do yourself a favor,” Sheriff Crawford said. “No matter what, do
not
mention the name Luke Griffin to my deputy.”

“But he should be a person of interest,” I said. “If anyone hurt Bobby Joe Flowers, this Griffin character—”

“Listen to me. I repeat, do
not
mention Griffin to Deputy Rosales.”

“But why not?” I said. “He might have been here tonight for all I know.”

“’Cause Griffin is the game warden in these parts,” Crawford said, “and Deputy Pat has a crush the size of Texas on the man.”

B
Y EIGHT THAT
morning the scene was cleared and Deputy Rosales had left. Except for the chaos in my head, things were pretty much back to normal. I leaned against the island in Aunt Rowe’s kitchen, sluggish from lack of sleep, and waited for the oven timer to go off. The stress of finding a body had sent me inside to bake those pecan tarts I’d had on my mind the night before.

Baking didn’t have its usual calming effect on me today. I couldn’t seem to get my heart rate back to a natural rhythm. I’d have to remember this freaked-out feeling the next time I wrote about a character finding a body.

I couldn’t believe that Aunt Rowe was down the hall in her office checking on website reservations—business as usual. After the scene I’d witnessed, I knew there was no love lost between her and Bobby Joe, but didn’t she feel distracted? Was she simply better at compartmentalizing issues than I was?

Glenda, in a knee-length denim skirt, white short-sleeved shirt, and flats, stood at the counter near the sink, adding fresh strawberries to a colorful fruit salad. She wore her straight, dark hair in a carefree pixie cut and had a pair of reading glasses perched on top of her head. Even though I had told her about the scene she missed while she was at the grocery store the day before, she didn’t seem concerned.

“Just because the deputy left doesn’t mean Aunt Rowe is off the hook,” I said.

“Just because Mr. Hartman talked to the deputy doesn’t mean she has a reason to come back,” Glenda countered. “Do you know what he told her?”

“No, but I have an excellent guess, since the whole fight took place right before my eyes. It wasn’t pretty.”

Glenda turned to me and put a hand on one hip. “No need to be snarky.”

I frowned at her. “I’m not snarky.”

“I have teenagers. I know snarky when I hear it.”

I sighed. “Point taken.”

“The deputy’s not going to haul Rowe in for hitting her cousin,” Glenda said. “If she took in everyone involved in a family dispute, there wouldn’t be enough room at the jail. Besides, it’s not like Bobby Joe can file a complaint.”

“You didn’t see the look in Rosales’s eyes when she noticed Aunt Rowe gallivanting outside right after I said she couldn’t get around.”

Glenda left her fruit salad and walked over to me. “You can stop blaming me for that right now. You told me to come and break the news to Rowe, not that I should tie her to the bed to keep her in the house. She wanted out, so she sent me to the kitchen for a cup of tea and skedaddled the second I turned my back.”

“Doesn’t raising teenagers prepare a person for that sort of trickery?” I immediately regretted my snide tone. “Sorry, I’m just worried.”

I grabbed my potholders and went to the oven to check on the tarts. I didn’t even know what I was going to do with eight dozen of the things. As usual, once I got to baking I had a hard time stopping.

“I know this is eating at you, honey,” Glenda said, “but you have to trust the sheriff’s department will figure out what happened to the man. Does anyone know why he came back here last night?”

“No idea.” I opened the oven, pulled out a cookie sheet, and breathed in the sweet, buttery scent. “He said he was staying with a friend. If that wasn’t true, he may have come in search of a bed for the night.”

“Where was his car?”

“Parked in a blind spot behind the Paris cottage.” I touched the edges of a crust with my fingertip and decided the tarts were ready, then took the last tray out and turned off the oven. “Seems like he didn’t want anyone to know he was here.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Glenda said.

“Me neither.” I got out the basket I routinely used to hold pastries and lined it with a red-and-white gingham napkin. “I also don’t like that Aunt Rowe’s acting like nothing happened.”

“She’s in denial.” Glenda finished adding the strawberries, covered the bowl with plastic wrap, and put it in the refrigerator. “She’ll be okay.”

“I know she disliked the guy,” I said, “but he was family. At some point, she’s going to feel the effects.”

Glenda patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll help her get through whatever comes. Listen, I’m on my way to refill the coffee supplies in Zurich and Venice. It’s time you get to writing if you want to make your daily word count.”

Like I could focus on a day like this.

Glenda left without waiting for a response. When the back door closed behind her, I took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with milk. I promptly ate five tarts that were still a little too warm and washed them down with the cold drink. Maybe the sugar in the filling would give me a much-needed energy rush.

I put half of the remaining tarts in a container for Aunt Rowe and filled my basket with the others. Tyanne was always happy to offer treats to her bookstore customers. My friend had probably already learned of Bobby Joe’s death through the town grapevine, and I wondered what she’d heard.

Aunt Rowe was on the phone spouting facts about local wineries, probably talking with a prospective guest, so I left a plate with some tarts on the corner of her desk and gave her a little wave before leaving the house.

I headed out with the basket over my arm and my mind on Bobby Joe. How did a guy so familiar with the place, who had run around this property as a kid, miss his step and fall into the river? Had he been drinking, careless, rushing to some unknown destination? Why had he come back in the first place? To antagonize Aunt Rowe some more? To see me? If so, he hadn’t knocked on my door.

I walked down Aunt Rowe’s driveway and cut across the grass, taking the shortcut to my cottage to change clothes before I left for the bookstore. The morning was on the dreary side with a lot of cloud cover, but the sun usually burned through by ten and the forecast called for temps in the high eighties.

As I skirted the property surrounding the Barcelona cottage, I noticed movement in a thick patch of flowering lantana bushes. A girl’s blond head poked out between the shrubs. Tim Hartman’s daughter. She crawled out of the bushes and stood to brush yellow blooms off her pink polka-dotted shirt and denim shorts. She wore silver sparkly sandals, and her toenails were painted baby blue. I guessed her age at about eight.

She looked at the basket over my arm. “Is that breakfast?”

Surprised, I said, “No, at least that wasn’t the plan. I guess it could be breakfast if your dad says it’s okay.”

“He’s sleeping,” she said.

I didn’t want to feed the girl anything without a parent’s permission, so I changed the subject. “My name’s Sabrina, what’s yours?”

“Molly.” The girl regarded me thoughtfully for a few seconds, then said, “Do you work for the lady who hit that man?”

The question surprised me. “No, well, sort of. She’s my aunt Rowe, and she doesn’t usually hit people.” The girl probably didn’t know about Bobby Joe’s death, and it wasn’t my place to tell her.

“What got you up and out so early, Molly?” I said. “Don’t you like to sleep late?”

“I’m too excited,” she said. “We’re gonna float on the river today. Dad said, ‘Don’t you dare wake me earlier than nine.’ Is it nine yet?”

I checked my watch. “Not quite. What were you doing in the bushes?”

“Looking for the cat.”

“You brought your cat on vacation with you?”

Molly giggled. “No, our cat’s at home with my mom. I’m talking about the cat that lives here. He let me pet him.”

“Really?”

“He likes me to rub under his chin.”

I couldn’t imagine the skittish cat I’d seen sitting still for that. “What color was this cat?”

“All black,” she said. “He’s a real cutie.”

I grinned. There could be several black cats in the vicinity, but since I’d never seen one around here until the day before, what were the odds?

“I guess you don’t think black cats bring bad luck,” I said.

“No way.” Molly shook her head. “That’s silly. He’s a good cat. He likes me so much.”

“I’m sure he does,” I said.

“All cats like me,” she went on. “Mom calls me the cat whisperer. Do you like cats?”

“I sure do,” I said in a whoever-doesn’t-love-cats-is-crazy tone.

“Does your mom call
you
the cat whisperer?”

I hesitated, trying to remember how long it had been since Mom called me at all. It seemed her travels with her new husband took precedence over everything and everyone else.

Quit feeling sorry for yourself and answer the girl
.

“Cat whisperers are only girls with a special talent like yours.”

That brought a smile from Molly and made me feel better.

“I’m glad you and your family are staying here. I thought your dad might be upset when he saw my aunt arguing with that man. I’m glad you didn’t leave.”

“We can’t leave,” Molly said with an eye roll. “My dad has this new girlfriend—Sophia—and she’s coming here after she’s finished working today.”

“That should be fun,” I said.

“Maybe. At least Dad will think so.” The girl had a very matter-of-fact personality, which I liked.

“Where did you see the black cat last night?” I said.

“He was on the porch of that cabin with the Paris sign. At first he ran away from me and sat under the red Jeep.”

Bobby Joe’s vehicle.

“Did you see a man in the Jeep?” I said.

Molly shook her head. “My flashlight wasn’t very bright. I could hardly see the cat except for his shiny green eyes.”

“It was already dark?”

Molly nodded. “Pitch black.”

I didn’t like the thought of this girl wandering around outside after dark. “Where were your brother and your father?”

“Nate’s always playing video games. I don’t know what Dad was doing. But don’t tell him I was outside,” she said hurriedly.

“I won’t, but, Molly, you really need to be careful about going outside by yourself at night.”

She looked down and kicked a sandal at the grass. “I know.”

I didn’t want to harp on danger too much, but I did want to know where Bobby Joe had been while Molly was outside chasing the cat around. “Are you sure you didn’t see any other people outside?”

“I did, but not a man.”

“Then who?” I said.

“That lady—your aunt. She was riding around on her little cart. I thought maybe she was looking for the cat, too.”

“That couldn’t have been my aunt you saw,” I said. “She went to bed early last night.”

“It was definitely her,” Molly said. “I could tell because of the cast on her leg.”

I
QUIZZED MOLLY ABOUT
what Aunt Rowe had been doing when she saw her the night before, but the girl didn’t have an answer. She was focused on the cat, then and now, and as soon as I told her it was nearly nine o’clock, she was off like a shot to go wake her dad and brother.

Aunt Rowe might have been responding to a tenant’s call, I told myself. Maybe she woke up and remembered she’d left the thermostat turned too low in one of the cottages. Maybe she heard a strange noise and went to investigate. Maybe I should charge back into the house and ask her point-blank what the heck she was doing outside on the night her cousin, or should I say alleged brother, ended up dead in the river.

Nah, that wouldn’t go over too well.

I speculated this way when I was trying to figure out where a plot was headed, and I was the type of person who could “maybe” and “what if” myself to death. There could be a dozen legitimate reasons for Aunt Rowe to be out on the grounds at night. She was a grown woman, and she had done a fine job of handling her own business before I got here. She didn’t need me asking a bunch of crazy questions. I had to trust that there was nothing nefarious about her nighttime trek in the golf cart. Now if only I could block the image of her belting Bobby Joe Flowers with her crutch, I’d be fine. For this morning, I’d stick with my original plan to visit the bookstore.

•   •   •

N
EAR
eleven, I walked into Knead to Read and found Ethan Brady, Tyanne’s sixteen-year-old employee, standing on top of the sales counter. The boy wore a purple crushed-velvet cape with metallic gold trim over his jeans and T-shirt. He was thumbtacking lengths of purple ribbon fastened to gold stars and cover copies of the latest Wetherby Wizard fantasy novel to the ceiling tiles.

The cats usually loved to sit on the front windowsill and watch sidewalk traffic. They were on the sill now, but facing into the store, their attention riveted on Ethan’s ribbons. A stuffed brown dog, representing Wetherby Wizard’s sidekick Wendell, sat next to the cash register, wearing a small pointed hat decorated with gold stars and a cape similar to Ethan’s.

“Morning,” I said. “Hope you go all out for
me
if my book is published.”

Ethan stooped to pick up another ribbon, and his overly long blond bangs fell into his face. He stood and stretched to tack the ribbon to the ceiling. “Write a fantasy, and I’m all over it.”

“Never mind.” Fantasy wasn’t my thing. “Is Tyanne in?”

Before he responded I heard the murmur of voices coming from the stacks.

“She’s with a customer in mysteries.” Ethan homed in on the basket I had over my arm. “Again with the baking?”

He was the only teenage boy I’d ever known who didn’t like sweets. If I had a basket full of hamburgers, he’d inhale them in one sitting. “Don’t give me grief today,” I said. “I’ll get back to writing. Promise.”

“Swear?”

“I swear.”

“Hey, I was thinking, you could give that kid in your book some special powers. Like, she can do stuff her mom doesn’t realize. Make things appear, disappear, you know?”

I laughed. “Yeah, and I can change her name from Melody to Tabitha.”

He shrugged. “Tabitha’s cool.”

I smiled. Obviously, the kid had never seen
Bewitched
. I left my basket on the counter near the stuffed dog, gave Zelda and Willis each a little scratch behind the ears, then headed toward the mystery shelves. I heard Tyanne naming some of her favorite cozy authors. I didn’t want to barge in on her conversation, so I stopped out of sight and grabbed a couple of new thrillers to check out the cover copy. Reading bits from other books sometimes jogs my brain and helps me solve plot problems.

“She’d pick the flower shop book,” a man on the other side of the shelf said, “and maybe the one with the librarian.”

“Those are good choices,” Ty said. “I’ll get you the first in each series.”

“So long as the stories are light,” the man responded. “Something relaxing. Take her mind off things.”

“They’re fun books,” Ty said. “I think your mother will enjoy them.”

Sweet. A man shopping for his mama. Sexy voice, too.

I edged forward to get a glimpse of the nice son. Before I got that far, he rounded the corner and slammed his muscled body straight into me. I lost my grip on the books I was holding and they fell. One of the hardcovers hit my toes, bare in flip-flops.

Ye-oww.

My face burned as I stooped to pick up the books, but the man went down to do the same and we ended up face-to-face and both reaching for them. Which is when I realized I was staring into Luke Griffin’s chocolate brown eyes. He smelled of citrusy cologne and peppermint.

“Sorry about that.” He scooped up the hardbacks in one hand.

“My fault, I, I mean, I’m Sabrina.”

We stood in unison, and he handed the books to me. He was in uniform today, and his khaki shirt stretched across a broad chest. “Luke Griffin.” He tipped his head in greeting but didn’t linger, taking off toward the checkout. I watched his retreat and decided he looked as good in the uniform as he had in those jeans the day before.

Tyanne stopped at my side and whispered, “Enjoying the view, huh? Don’t go anywhere. There’s something I have to tell you.”

I nodded and replaced the thrillers on the shelf, then wandered casually toward the front of the store. Ethan had finished his decorating project and was carrying an armload of new books to a table near the door. Griffin had already paid for his purchases. He tipped his head to Ty, then walked by the windowsill and patted each of the cats on the head before leaving.

Two middle-aged women in Sunday-go-to-meeting outfits passed him, coming in as he left. Most women would glance at a man as good-looking as Luke Griffin, especially one in uniform, but not these two. I looked out to the parking lot and watched Griffin climb into his pickup. His yellow Lab occupied the passenger seat again. I liked a guy who appreciated animals, unlike my ex, who acted like he was in mortal danger every time an animal came into view.

Belatedly, I remembered the argument between Griffin and Bobby Joe Flowers, and my implying to the sheriff that Griffin might have played a part in Bobby Joe’s demise. Still a possibility, but I hoped that wasn’t the case.

I turned my attention back to Tyanne, but the customers had gotten to her first. I pegged them as out-of-towners, but then again I didn’t yet know everyone who lived in Lavender. The woman in front, stocky and in a floral print dress, said, “Good day. We’re interested in discussing new releases in inspirational fiction.”

Tyanne welcomed them to Knead to Read and after a short conversation offered to print out a list of the newest titles. The woman said she’d like that, and she followed Tyanne to her office at the rear of the store. The other woman, this one pencil-thin with a pinched face and dressed in drab gray, stayed behind and watched Ethan.

“Young man,” she said, looking down her nose at the fantasy novel display Ethan had set up, “such books are the work of Satan, and it would behoove you to abstain from every appearance of evil.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ethan responded politely. “I’ll be real careful.”

The thin woman, who reminded me of
The Wizard of Oz
’s Miss Gulch, had her back to the front window where Willis stood and stretched. The tabby cat silently jumped to the floor, then took a flying leap, barely clearing the dour woman’s shoulder, to land on the sales counter with a thump.

The woman jumped back, and her hand flew to her throat. “Keep that thing away from me.”

Ethan hid a smile with his hand, but her statement annoyed me. “His name is Willis,” I said, “and if you don’t like cats just say so, and I can move him to another room.”

“Cats are pawns of the devil,” she said.

Definitely from out of town. Otherwise, I would have already heard about this wacko woman.

“That’s a preposterous statement,” I said. “Cats are lovable pets.”

This customer wasn’t backing down. “They are evil.”

Ethan retreated in the direction of Tyanne’s office. I went to the counter and picked Willis up. Cuddling him against my chest, I stood before the misguided woman. “He’s a sweet kitty, and if you knew him, you definitely wouldn’t associate him with the devil.”

Zelda, not interested in the conflict, got down from the sill and without the woman noticing her slinked off behind a shelf.

The woman sniffed. “In my opinion, this cat is no better than that black cat we saw on our way in here. I wanted to leave town right then and avoid the bad luck, misery, disease, even death that might befall us.”

“What a crock!” The words slipped out before I could stop them.

“Noreen,” the thin woman yelled. “We need to leave. Now.”

Tyanne hurried toward us, clutching a sheaf of papers. “Ma’am? I’m sorry if my cats are upsetting you. Ethan will take them to the back. Noreen and I are in the midst of placing an order for the church’s study group.” She gave me the eye, and I felt only slightly guilty for aggravating the prospective customer.

“We’ll talk later,” I told Ty as I handed the cat to her.

“Yes, we will.” With a stern expression, she turned her back on me.

Walking out into the humid morning, I shook my head at the weird opinions of some people. I wasn’t worried about Tyanne. She wouldn’t hold it against me that the woman had gotten under my skin, but now I’d have to wait before I could find out what she had to tell me. Dang it all.

I scanned the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black cat whom I felt needed protection from people like the woman inside the bookstore. He wasn’t in sight, so there was nothing I could do for him now. He was probably pretty good at taking care of himself; at least I hoped so.

Exhaustion from my early morning was beginning to overtake me. A protein-filled lunch might perk me up, so I headed for McKetta’s Barbeque. It seemed that every town in Texas had a handful of establishments where you could buy barbeque, if not from a random barbeque pit hooked up to a pickup and parked alongside the road. I’d decided that the small mom-and-pop places had the best sauce, which was about as important when eating barbeque as the meat itself. Daisy and Mitch McKetta ran the café where I was headed, and I voted theirs the best barbeque in and around Lavender.

The building housing my favorite lunch spot sat in a strip between Hill Country Gifts and Sweet Stop, the local candy store. With weathered planks and a rusty tin roof, McKetta’s appeared at least a hundred years old. The front porch posts were a tad crooked, and the air surrounding the building was heavy with the scent of smoked meat.

Inside, a half dozen people waited in line to place their orders, and I was glad I’d arrived before the lunch rush. I went to the end of the line, and the woman ahead of me turned to smile at me briefly.

After my eyes had adjusted better to the indoor lighting, I realized the woman wore a Krane’s Hardware apron. She was about five seven and a bit overweight, with blond-highlighted hair—the woman who’d teased Mr. Krane about Dumpster diving the day before.

“Popular place, huh?” I said.

“Best barbeque in town,” she said, mirroring my opinion. “We’re having a customer appreciation day today at Krane’s, noon to two. If you don’t mind waiting a bit longer for your lunch, you could come by the store.”

“Now that I’ve smelled this food I don’t want to wait,” I said, “but thanks for the invite. I saw you at the store yesterday. Don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Judith Krane.” The woman offered a hand and we shook. “Wesley’s wife.”

“Oh.” I smiled and introduced myself. “And Hallie’s your daughter?”

“She is.”

A bell sounded, and we looked toward the counter. “Mrs. Krane,” Mitch McKetta said. “Your order’s up.”

A box lid filled with quart containers sat on the counter in front of him next to a stack of crowd-sized trays covered in heavy foil. I offered to give her a hand, and she accepted my help carrying the food out to her pickup.

“I owe you one,” she said before driving away, and I wondered if she would consider making a free delivery next time Thomas asked me to pick up something from the hardware store.

Back inside, Daisy waved me over to a dining table. She sported a new super-short haircut, and she had opted to dye her hair a soft reddish color this time instead of her usual ash brown. Daisy was a small woman, and the new hairstyle suited her.

“Appreciate your helping Mrs. Krane,” she said. “I took the liberty of serving your usual. Hope that’s okay.”

The plate on the table held a sliced-beef barbeque sandwich on a homemade bun with a container of sauce on the side for dipping and a small dish of mustard potato salad.

I grinned. “Perfect.”

“Heard about the man in the river,” she said. “Bad business. Mind if I join you for a minute?”

“Pull up a chair.” We often visited over a meal.

“Give me a sec to grab us some Cokes.”

“Takin’ five, Mitch,” she hollered to her husband, who wouldn’t complain if she took five hours off from working in the kitchen. Mitch, the polar opposite of his wife size-wise, was always saying she worked too hard. They were good together, and I envied their cheerful, easygoing relationship.

I dipped the edge of my sandwich in the sauce and took a big bite, savoring the tangy flavor. Daisy returned with two extra-large drinks.

“Is Rowe doing all right?” She slid into a chair across from me. “I understand the man who died was her cousin.”

At least the grapevine didn’t know about Bobby Joe’s claim of being Aunt Rowe’s brother. Yet. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s not saying much.”

“Probably better that way. Last thing she needs is for the press to blow this whole thing out of proportion.”

The press? Here in Lavender?
The town newspaper was printed once a month and consisted mostly of advertisements.

“I wasn’t even thinking about news coverage,” I said. “If this makes the paper, it’d be one of those teensy articles.” I indicated a little square with my fingers.

“The paper? Girl, we’re in the Internet age. They connect stories from decades ago to current events all the time. I’ll bet this is one of those times.”