by Kay Finch
I spun to face her. “What happened last night?”
“Another break-in. The garage apartment again, not her house. This time, they vandalized the place. Ripped everything to shreds.”
Chapter 16
I left the bookstore when Ethan arrived, before the boy could ask me questions about his boss that I either couldn’t or wouldn’t want to answer. I didn’t want to share my worries about Tyanne and Bryan with him. I was concerned about poor Mrs. Honeycutt, too. Who was terrorizing the elderly woman by breaking into her garage apartment a second time? What were they after? I was convinced the two break-ins were connected, not only to each other but also to Jane’s murder. I hoped the sheriff wasn’t chalking the episode up to random vandalism, because that’s not what was going on.
“I want to do something, Hitchcock.” I looked over at the cat perched on the passenger seat. “I’m not sure what that something should be.”
He tipped his head, and I imagined him saying, “Go on, I’m listening.”
“Trouble is, the person I normally bounce ideas off of is personally wrapped up in this problem.”
“Mrreow,” Hitchcock said.
“I know, but you’re a cat. No offense.”
He curled up in a ball on the seat, ignoring me. I wondered who else I could turn to. Aunt Rowe? She was too involved with her guests and their bucket lists. Glenda would say to leave everything to the sheriff. Thomas? I didn’t know what he would do. I already knew Luke didn’t want me getting more involved. Bottom line—I needed to talk this over with Tyanne.
I started the car. “We’re going to find Ty. She has the most at stake here.”
Hitchcock gave me a sidelong glance and went back to sleep.
I figured the house was the most obvious place to look for Ty, since the kids would be away at school, and headed there. If I found her with Bryan in the middle of something—whether it be a shouting match, a discussion, or even in the let’s-make-up phase—I’d play my next move by ear.
I reached the neighborhood on the outskirts of town in less than ten minutes and coasted down the street. The homes here were constructed in the seventies on oversized lots with enough room to build an extra garage or a shop in the back, which Bryan Clark had done when they’d bought the place. Even so, they had accumulated so much stuff that neither of them could fit their vehicle inside the garage. I was relieved to see only Tyanne’s car in the driveway. Then I spotted her sitting in the rocker on the porch. She rocked when she was upset, and she was giving the chair a workout.
I parked and walked with Hitchcock up to the porch. I kept the cat harnessed and on the leash, not knowing where the family’s Labradoodle would be. When we stepped up on the porch, though, I could hear Ace barking inside.
“Hope you don’t mind my coming over,” I said. “Billie and Ethan are both at the store.”
“I don’t mind.” She continued to rock.
“Did you find Bryan?”
“Yeah. He was here.”
“Where is he now?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer, hoping she wouldn’t say “in jail.”
“He went to his office to search for a receipt.”
A receipt. I wondered what that was about and figured she’d tell me if I gave her a chance. I sat on a wicker chaise near her chair. Ty’s face was etched with worry. Tinged with anger. Was there a word for angry worry? I couldn’t think of one off the top of my head.
“What’s going on?” I said.
She stopped rocking and looked at me. “Bryan made a dumb mistake. Really dumb. Big. Because of his bad judgment, the sheriff suspects him of murder. He thinks he can make it right by turning over a receipt that proves where he was on the night Jane was killed.”
“And you don’t think so?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
We were both silent for a moment. Hitchcock jumped up on the cushion beside me. The dog kept barking.
“Ace, quiet,” Tyanne said loudly, then to me, “Apparently when they first asked Bryan about an alibi for the night Jane disappeared, he said he was over at the house near Larkspur Pass, the one he’s working on for the Simpsons. He’s been there nearly every night for a couple of weeks. They’re rewiring the whole place.”
I knew Bryan was the go-to electrician for the couple, who bought several houses a year to renovate and flip. I could imagine where this conversation was going, but I waited for Ty to continue.
“He actually wasn’t there that night,” she said, “but they were. The sheriff talked to them to confirm Bryan’s alibi, and instead . . .”
She let the sentence hang. Ever since Rosales had mentioned busting someone’s alibi, I had hoped she wasn’t referring to Bryan, but that’s exactly who she meant.
“Why did Bryan say he was there? Did he get his days mixed up?”
“He says so, but c’mon. That wasn’t but a couple days back. His memory’s not that bad.”
“And he’s gone to find a receipt that proves he was elsewhere that night?”
“Yeah.” Tyanne began rocking again. “Says he was over near Austin picking up some special-ordered light fixtures.”
“You sound like you don’t believe him.”
“I do, but I’m ticked about him lying, even if he did it by accident, and generally about the whole mess. Plus, I’m still worried.”
Hitchcock leapt from the chaise to Tyanne’s lap. “Mrreow.”
“He’s telling you not to waste your time worrying,” I said.
“Easy for him to say.” She stroked Hitchcock’s silky fur, and the lines in her face softened.
She probably wouldn’t like what I was about to say, but I said it anyway. “You need to get Bryan a lawyer.”
“I’ve thought about that. He won’t even discuss a lawyer.”
“I understand, but he doesn’t really have a choice. Circumstances aren’t in his favor.”
“I know.”
“Look, Ty.” I sat forward on the edge of the chaise. “We need to be proactive. There’s a lot going on that could point us to the real killer. The sooner that person is found, the sooner you can relax.”
She stopped rocking again. “What are you talking about?”
“For one thing, I hadn’t heard about the thefts at the construction site until today. Has Bryan mentioned them to you?”
“He has, but that’s pretty common. He’s talked about similar instances at other sites in the past.”
“Not sites visited by Jane, though. She might have spotted a thief in the act.”
Tyanne’s brows raised. “You think a thief killed her?”
“That’s one possibility, but I have more what-ifs than that. Like what if Jane’s in the witness protection program and the very people who she was hiding from came and found her? What if the man I saw watching her house in Emerald Springs—I call him Mr. X—is Jane’s killer, though I don’t know why he would be. What if Doreen Krenek killed her so she could make someone different the new head librarian? What if Cody Flores went berserk when Jane refused his advances, or Shane Wilson flew off the handle when she kept making complaints that threw off his schedule, or what if whoever’s been breaking in at Mrs. Honeycutt’s—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Tyanne said. “You’re off base to throw Doreen Krenek into the mix. From what I heard, she was Jane’s biggest supporter for that position.”
I wondered if that was before or after Jane bought the mayor’s wife an expensive glass plate for her collection. “Okay. What about the others?”
“I don’t know,” Ty said slowly, thinking it over. “You can’t throw out these possibilities when you don’t have any proof of anything.”
“Then let’s get some,” I said.
She paused for a second. “How?”
“I’m going to talk to Mrs. Honeycutt, the lady who rented to Jane here in Lavender.”
“I know her,” Ty said. “She comes into the bookstore from time to time.”
“Did you know the apartment J
ane rented from her was broken into twice?”
Tyanne frowned. “I heard about one time.”
“Billie didn’t get a chance to tell you about the second break-in. It happened last night, and these break-ins must be related to the murder. It’s too weird for them to not be related.” I paused to catch my breath. “Are you going back to the store?”
She shook her head. “Not today.”
“Then come with me,” I said. “You have a bigger stake in this than I do.”
She couldn’t argue with me there.
Thirty minutes later, we were parking in front of the yellow house. Mrs. Honeycutt’s car was in the driveway again today, but she wasn’t outside this time.
We went up to the front door with Hitchcock in tow. We knocked and Hitchcock showed great interest in sniffing the potted plants sitting on the porch. Mrs. Honeycutt peered out of the sidelight by the door and studied us, dipping her head to look at us over the top of her glasses. Finally, she decided we were okay and opened the door.
“Good morning,” she said. “Thank you for coming, but the sheriff has already been here with his people to take care of everything.”
I wondered if there was something about my appearance that made the woman keep connecting me to the sheriff’s office.
“You probably don’t recognize me away from the bookstore, Mrs. Honeycutt,” Tyanne said. “It’s good to see you again.”
The woman adjusted her glasses and moved closer. “Oh, I’m sorry. I get confused.”
“That’s okay.” Ty turned to me. “This is my friend Sabrina and her cat, Hitchcock.”
Mrs. Honeycutt looked down at the cat, who was still nosing around in her plants. “Don’t let him eat anything, dear. I don’t know if those plants are safe for kitties.”
Good point. I picked Hitchcock up quickly.
“You were here before,” Mrs. Honeycutt said to me.
“Yes, and I’m so sorry you’ve had more trouble. Do you think it was the same woman you saw the first time?”
“I couldn’t say. I didn’t see or hear anyone this time. When I came out this morning, I noticed trash on the stairs going up to the apartment. Papers and what-not, so I went to have a look inside and oh, dear Lord, it was such a shock. Everything is ruined.”
“I heard the furniture was slashed open,” I said. “Sounds like someone was searching for something.”
Mrs. Honeycutt nodded. “That’s what the sheriff said.”
“Do you have any idea what Jane might have had that somebody would be desperate to find?”
She shook her head. “The girl didn’t have much in the apartment,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “The furniture was mine and so old that I won’t miss it, but they ruined Jane’s lovely book collection.”
Ty said, “I hate to hear that.”
“Come, have a look,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “I was trying to piece them back together.”
We followed her into her house and to the living room, where she had the books that had been ripped apart spread out on the coffee table and the sofa cushions. It appeared to me that someone had destroyed them in a rage. I put Hitchcock down so I could get a better look at the books. Seeing them laid out like this, I realized something I didn’t notice when I saw them on Jane’s bookshelf.
“She must have collected Louisa May Alcott and Jane Austen books.” I recognized the most popular titles—Little Women and Pride and Prejudice—but not all of them.
Ty said, “I can imagine Jane collecting Alcott books and fantasizing about being related to Louisa May Alcott. For all I know, though, maybe she was related.”
I was back to considering the witness protection program and wondering if Jane had picked a new name by browsing her bookshelf.
Mrs. Honeycutt said, “Jane often talked about writing her own book someday. Said she had one terrific story to tell.”
I looked at the woman. “Did she tell you what the story would be about?”
“And spoil the plot?” Mrs. Honeycutt shook her head. “Oh, no, I don’t want to know the plot ahead of time. And I never read the last page until I get to the end.”
“A woman after my own heart,” Tyanne said.
Mrs. Honeycutt smiled. “Maybe while y’all are here, you could give me an idea of what to do with all the wine.”
Tyanne and I exchanged a glance. “All what wine?” I said.
“This way.” She led us toward the dining room, to the left of the front door, and pointed at two cartons stacked in the corner. “These are addressed to Jane. Deliveryman would come and leave boxes with me if she wasn’t home. She must have been in some wine-of-the-month club. That’s the name of a fancy vineyard on the side.”
“Maybe she planned to have a grand opening when the library opened and serve wine,” Tyanne said.
“She meant to take the first box up to her apartment,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “Never did, and now another one came. What do I do?”
“Maybe hang on to them for the time being,” I said. “We can ask the sheriff. Jane might have had a will that says who inherits the wine and anything else of hers.”
Mrs. Honeycutt’s phone rang, and we excused ourselves so she could take the call.
Back in the car, I said, “Do you think Rita Colletti would tell us if she did any legal work for Jane? Like preparing a will.”
“I’ll ask her when I contact her about representing Bryan,” Ty said.
I put a hand on my chest. “Oh, jeez, that’s a bad idea. You should hire an experienced criminal lawyer.” Ty knew Rita wasn’t my favorite person—I’d had my fill of the woman when I worked for her. I looked over at my friend and caught her grinning.
“Gotcha,” she said.
“That was so not funny,” I said, but I was happy to see her spirits had lifted. I only hoped her husband would come up with the receipt he’d gone after and that the evidence would convince the sheriff to take Bryan off the suspect list.
As we left Mrs. Honeycutt’s, I said, “I could use some coffee. How about you?”
“Sounds good,” Ty said. “Can we stop at the ATM first?”
“Not a problem.” I turned on the block before Hot Stuff, approaching the bank, then pulled to the curb abruptly.
Ty caught herself with a hand on the dash. “There’s a drive-through ATM on the other side of the building.”
“I know, but look at that man.” I stared across the street at a guy getting out of a dark sedan in the bank’s parking lot. He was on his phone and not looking in our direction as he headed into the bank. “I’ve seen him before.”
“Why is that freaking you out?” Ty said.
“He was in Emerald Springs.”
“Now he’s in Lavender,” she said. “So what?”
“I saw him watching the house where Jane used to live. Her house in Emerald Springs. He was up to no good, I could feel it. In fact, I was really concerned about Kylie, she’s the pregnant woman living in Jane’s house. That guy was there, and now he’s here, and I have a bad feeling.”
“I think you’re blowing this out of proportion,” Ty said. “He’s a man in an expensive-looking suit, driving an expensive car. That’s not all that suspicious. He’s probably a businessman making a deal with someone. You know a lot of property in town is being bought by investors.”
My imagination was racing down a different track. “I think we need to find out who he is and get his real name,” I said. “That way I can stop referring to the guy as Mr. X.”
Chapter 17
I pulled away from the curb and turned into the bank’s parking lot.
“What are you doing?” Tyanne said. “The ATM is on the other side.”
“I know, but I want to take a picture of his plate number. Unless you have something handy to write with. Do you?”
“Yes, Miss Sherlock Holmes.” Ty dug into her purse. “Who’s going to check the number for you? Your friend Deputy Rosales?”
“Ha ha,” I said.
“Why do you care about this g
uy?”
“I told you. He was watching Jane’s house in Emerald Springs. I have a bad feeling about him, Ty. A very bad feeling.”
“Okay.” She pulled out a small notepad and pen. “Experience has taught me to not ignore your gut. Which car is his?”
“This one.” The charcoal gray car was on my side, so I had the better view. I read the plate number to her, and she jotted it down. Hitchcock climbed from Ty’s lap over the console to stand on me and look out the driver’s-side window.
“See,” I said. “He’s curious about the man, too. Good boy, Hitchcock.”
Ty said, “Now what?”
I pulled into an empty space. “I’m going in to get a better look at the guy. See what he’s up to.”
“Hmm.” Tyanne put an index finger on her chin. “Maybe he’s doing his banking.”
“Funny,” I said. “Will you stay with Hitchcock? The last thing I need is somebody calling him the b-a-d l-u-c-k c-a-t.”
“Mrreow,” Hitchcock said in a disagreeable tone.
Tyanne laughed. “I didn’t know you taught him to spell.”
I smiled, patted Hitchcock on the head, and opened my car door. “Be back in a few.”
The bank lobby was busier than I had expected. A handful of people stood in line for a teller. Two people were talking with clerks in small cubicles off to the right. Mr. X was one of them. He could be doing something simple—opening an account, pointing out a discrepancy on a statement, asking about a loan. If he tried fishing for information about a local resident, the bank wouldn’t divulge anything.
I was convinced this guy didn’t live here. Nor was he considering living here. He was on a mission—you could see it in his eyes. Well, I hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes. You could see it in his posture, or something.
I went to the shelf that held blank deposit and withdrawal slips and pretended to fill one out, standing as close as I could get to where Mr. X sat with the bank employee. I couldn’t hear anything either of them said. I busied myself with scribbling on a slip, then glanced casually over my shoulder to a display wall that held pamphlets about types of accounts available. I went to the display to get a few feet closer to Mr. X and pulled out a pamphlet. I caught a few snippets of conversation. He was asking about their safe-deposit boxes. I studied the pamphlet longer than I’d ever spent reading such a thing in my life. I caught a few more words—“charming little town” and “wouldn’t expect a murder here.”
