The Black Cat Steps on a Crack

by Kay Finch

  Except for Tyanne’s husband.

  “My cousin Hector told me a story about Cody Flores,” Thomas said. “Made me wonder.”

  I turned to look at him with interest. “What story?”

  “Group went out to shoot pool. Hector was there. So was Flores. They had some beers, then Flores hit on a woman. She was all smiles until her guy noticed. The men had words, threw some punches.”

  “I’m guessing that’s not the end of the story.”

  “It’s not. Flores was still fightin’ mad, but he walked out. When the other guy left he found his windshield smashed. Couldn’t prove anything.”

  “So Flores has a serious temper and may act before thinking.”

  Thomas nodded. “According to my cousin.”

  “When did all this happen?”

  “Two, three weeks ago.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’d show the same aggression toward a woman.”

  “Right.”

  Still, I wondered if Jane had somehow touched a nerve and brought out Flores’s bad side.

  Thomas glanced at the Barcelona cottage. “Gotta get back to my work.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “Stay out of trouble,” Thomas said.

  “Who, me?” I gave him my best shocked expression. “Don’t I always?”

  He raised his eyebrows without commenting and walked away.

  I veered toward the Monte Carlo cottage until Thomas was out of sight, then circled back around. Our chance eavesdropping had told me a bit more about Mr. X, but only added to my curiosity about Fred Costello. Aunt Rowe preached about being nice to the cottage guests to make them feel welcome. I hadn’t done my part lately. Maybe I could make some points now and gain information in the process.

  Besides, I needed to round up Hitchcock. I had already spotted the cat sitting within feet of the man under the edge of the deck where Costello paced and smoked. The cat waited there, as if beckoning me to come and start a conversation.

  Who was I to ignore what might be a clue from my cat?

  If it was true that Costello worked for Mr. X, exactly what kind of work did he do? Why was he doing it here in Lavender? And why was Mr. X so impatient that he had to come here even though Costello had told him to stay away? They couldn’t have a conversation like the one they had and expect a mystery writer to turn away, never to think about their words again.

  I strolled with what I hoped looked like nonchalance onto the lawn behind the Barcelona cottage.

  “Here kitty, kitty. C’mon Hitchcock. Be a good boy.”

  I glanced Costello’s way. He had stopped pacing. Up close, his ruddy complexion and slicked-back dark hair made him look even more like a mobster. I told myself the man couldn’t help what he looked like and swallowed.

  “Hi there,” I said. “Have you happened to see my cat over here?”

  “Nope,” he said. “Not that I would. I’m not a cat person.”

  I hoped Hitchcock had heard that remark and would stay hidden. “You don’t know what you’re missing then,” I said. “They have a mind of their own.” I approached the deck and pretended to survey the area before focusing on the man. “By the way, I’m Sabrina. My Aunt Rowe owns the cottages.”

  “Fred,” he said with a nod. “I’ve seen you around.”

  “Oh?” Did his search for some mysterious thing include studying everyone here at the cottages?

  “Coffee shop, probably,” he said.

  “That’s one of my favorite places.” My mind raced for a way to keep the conversation going. “Is there anything you need?”

  His brows drew together. “What?”

  “In the cottage. Fresh towels? More coffee? Juice or soft drinks for your fridge?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “This your first visit to Lavender?”

  His eyes narrowed as he exhaled smoke and flicked ash over the side of the deck railing. “Yeah.”

  He wasn’t giving me anything.

  “The man who drove away a minute ago—was that Donald Burton?” The name of a character in my book.

  “What man?” he said.

  “He drove away in a big hurry. Like he was angry or something.”

  Costello didn’t speak.

  “Donald’s like that.” My pulse sped up. “Gets riled up easily. That’s why I thought it might be him.”

  Costello took another drag on his cigarette.

  “Heard you’re into genealogy.” Something about his gaze made me feel like I was being dissected.

  “Where’d you hear that?” he said.

  “Coffee shop, probably.”

  “Huh.”

  “I’ve always found it fascinating to study family trees. Which program do you like best?”

  “Program?”

  “On the computer. I never have extra time to check them out.” I smiled in what I hoped was a charming fashion.

  “I came armed with the information I need,” he said. “Dig around some local graveyards, I can find more.”

  My palms felt sweaty. I wasn’t sure if the word armed or the word dig creeped me out more. The man gave off a vibe that made the hair stand up on my neck. Hitchcock must have felt the same because he picked this moment to dart across the lawn.

  “That must be your cat,” Costello said. “I’d keep him close I were you. I hear there’s some folks around here gunning for that fella.”

  Chapter 20

  I couldn’t get away from Fred Costello quickly enough. His use of the word gunning in relation to Hitchcock had sent my worry meter over the top. Why was this man really in Lavender? If he was a genealogy buff, I’d take up knitting.

  I wanted to know the real story on Costello and his friend Mr. X. Back in Houston I might not have thought twice about these men, but they seemed so out of place here. Who were they? And why did I think I’d seen Mr. X somewhere before this week? Did they know Jane Alcott, or was I getting far-fetched in trying to make a connection between the men and the murder victim?

  Now I had another thing to discuss with the sheriff. He needed to have all the bits of information flying around in my brain. Maybe he could assemble them into something useful.

  Leaving Hitchcock home alone at the Monte Carlo cottage while I went to town wasn’t a good option under the circumstances. There was only one place I could take him that would guarantee his safety.

  At half past two in the afternoon, I pulled up in front of Magnolia Jensen’s veterinary clinic. Some cats panicked at the vet’s office. For whatever reason, Hitchcock had never seemed to mind a visit to Doc Jensen’s. He was a smart cat and probably knew the people here only wanted to help, not hurt, him. I’d never left him behind at the office, though, and he might not be keen on the idea of being locked up, literally. Today that couldn’t be helped.

  I wondered if the sheriff had calmed down any since we spoke earlier this morning. I considered him a friend who was always happy to advise me on law enforcement protocol when I was writing a tricky chapter. He’d shared his cell phone number with me for that reason, and I tried not to take advantage of the favor. This afternoon, my eagerness to talk to him overruled my usual respect for his privacy. I punched the button to dial him, and he answered on the first ring.

  He skipped hello. “This is a bad time.”

  “Sorry. When can we talk?”

  “Is a crime in progress?”

  “What?” I paused. “You mean—?”

  “Right now,” he said. “Are you witnessing a crime being committed as we speak?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then not now. I’m in back-to-back meetings.”

  “I’m so sorry, Sheriff, but—”

  “Talk to a deputy, Sabrina, or save it for another day.”

  The line clicked. I looked at my phone, then at Hitchcock.

  “Oh, dear. I overstepped, and he hung up on me.”

  “Mrreow.” Hitchcock stood with his front paws on the console and rubbed his head on my elbow.

 
My feelings were a little hurt by the sheriff’s brusque words, and Hitchcock had picked up on my emotions. I wondered what Sheriff Crawford was so busy doing that he couldn’t be a little more polite.

  He’s the sheriff, Sabrina. You should know better.

  I sighed and hooked the leash to Hitchcock’s harness to take him inside.

  Darla, the office administrator, wore a welcoming smile nearly as bright as her sunny yellow lab coat with a tiny beagle print. She leaned over the counter to look down at the cat, her long black hair cascading past her shoulders.

  “How are you, Mr. Hitchcock?” She turned to glance at her computer screen. “I don’t see you on the schedule. Everything okay? Doc took a break. Should be back shortly.”

  “We’re good,” I said, “but Hitchcock has had a few incidents with people who don’t like black cats much. I need a safe place where he can stay while I run some errands.”

  “He can stay right here with me. Poor little guy.” She’d shifted into baby talk and came around the counter to approach Hitchcock. She knelt on the floor in front of the cat and scratched the sides of his face. “How could anybody not love a big handsome boy like you to pieces?”

  Hitchcock’s purr started up, though he eyed me dubiously, as if he knew something he wouldn’t like was about to happen.

  “I trust you, Darla,” I said. “I really do.” I kept hold of the leash. “Today I’d feel better if you could board him in a secure spot, like in there.” I pointed to the door I knew led to the pet boarding facilities.

  Darla lifted her brows. “You mean put him in a—”

  “Don’t say it.” I held an index finger to my lips. “He might bolt, but yes, that’s what I mean.”

  “For how long?” There was a trace of panic in her tone, as if she channeled Hitchcock’s fears.

  “Maybe a few hours. I don’t know exactly.”

  “If you’re sure you wanna do this,” she said, “we have room.”

  “I am. What time do you close?”

  “Six, but somebody’s always here later doing chores.”

  Darla returned to the other side of the counter and buzzed someone in the back to come and get Hitchcock. My gut twisted, and I imagined how a mother must feel the first time she leaves her baby at a day care. A vet tech I’d never met before came out and took the leash from me.

  I kissed the top of Hitchcock’s head. “I’ll be back soon, buddy.”

  As the woman led my cat away, tears threatened.

  Get a grip. It’s only for a little while.

  Darla said, “Don’t worry, Sabrina. We’ll keep him safe for you.”

  “I know. I’ve had an emotional week.” I pulled out the orange elastic band and redid my ponytail, as if the action would help me regain control over more than my hair.

  Darla’s eyes widened as if a light had blinked on. “Ohmigod, I’d forgotten. You’re the person who found poor Jane.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. An awful discovery.”

  “She was the nicest lady,” Darla said wistfully. “She made that huge donation to the animal shelter. The biggest amount they ever got.”

  I looked at her. “Oh? When was this?”

  “Soon after she moved here.” Darla put a hand over her mouth for a few seconds. “I probably wasn’t supposed to say anything. Jane wanted to stay anonymous, and it was, kind of.”

  “What does ‘kind of’ mean?”

  “Well, you didn’t know about the donation, and the news wasn’t in the paper or anything like that, but my friend works at the shelter and, well, we talked and one thing led to another. I shouldn’t have said anything. But now that Jane’s gone, do you think it matters?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t worry. The secret is safe with me.”

  Unless it becomes relevant to the murder investigation.

  “There aren’t enough generous people around who would do something so nice,” Darla said, “even though all those animals need help.”

  “You’re right about that,” I agreed.

  While I paid for the boarding fee in advance—in case I didn’t make it back to get Hitchcock until after business hours—I thought about Jane’s financial situation. Between the talk of gifts she’d given to people and this news of a large donation to the shelter, she must have been in good shape financially. People with a lot of money at their disposal often have relatives who clamor for their share after a death. Apparently that wasn’t the situation with Jane. For all we knew, she could have won the lottery and then disappeared to avoid people coming out of the woodwork to ask for a handout.

  Another concept to bring up to the sheriff. If I ever got the chance to see the man, ’cause I didn’t intend to go to a deputy with any of my information or questions. By the time I could talk to Sheriff Crawford I might have a list as long as my arm of things to discuss.

  Until then, my biggest priority was to identify Mr. X. Doreen Krenek might be able to help me with that project. She had spoken with the man, and I was eager to know what they talked about.

  • • •

  It seemed like weeks had passed since the ladies on the library committee asked me to find Jane Alcott’s next of kin. So far, I had failed miserably, but not for lack of effort. I parked in front of City Hall, a two-story brick building that housed Mayor Norman Krenek’s office. I’d heard his wife had appropriated a conference room to use as her personal office. Since she was a member of several planning commissions, in addition to heading the library committee, no one argued when she claimed her own spot in the county building.

  I felt odd without Hitchcock by my side—like the Lone Ranger might feel without Silver—but I vowed to keep myself on task. The sooner my errands were done, the sooner I could go back and pick up my cat. I took the half dozen concrete steps to the building’s entrance and opened the ornate carved wooden door to step inside.

  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust from the bright outdoors. My sneakers were silent on the hardwood floors as I walked down the hallway and checked placards by the doors on either side in search of Ms. Krenek’s self-appointed office.

  Public Safety. Security. Immigration. Code Enforcement.

  I turned a corner as a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair closed a door off the hall and turned my way. He wore dark slacks with a white shirt and striped tie. Mayor Krenek.

  “Hello,” he said, “help you with something?”

  “I’m here to see your wife, actually,” I said.

  He brightened. “Are you here about the librarian position?”

  “Me?” I put a hand on my chest.

  He nodded. “My wife is about finished with an interview now, so it won’t be a long wait. We’ll all be relieved when she finds a person to fill the spot. For a second time.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond.

  He went on. “She stresses about these things, you see, and that makes life harder around the house for everyone, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do. Know what you mean, that is.” I smiled. “Sorry to say that I’m not here about an interview.” I introduced myself. “I came to follow up with her about a conversation we had yesterday.”

  “Your name’s familiar,” he said. “I’ve heard about your cat. The bad luck cat.”

  Good lord. If the mayor himself called Hitchcock by the loathsome nickname, how could I ever hope to squelch the old legend?

  “Hitchcock is not bad luck,” I said. “In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you’d put out some sort of mayoral edict stating that the legend is abolished and no one is allowed to speak of it ever again.”

  Mayor Krenek chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do, and I apologize for repeating the offensive phrase. You’ve probably got an uphill battle, though. Hard to change folks whose minds are made up.”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve run into some of them.”

  A door down the hall opened and Doreen Krenek stepped out, followed by a thirty-ish woman in a stark black dress. They shook hands and the younger woman headed for the exit.
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br />   “There’s my lovely wife now,” the mayor said.

  Ms. Krenek spotted me and marched in our direction. She ignored her husband and focused on me. “Do you have news?” she said.

  “Not the kind you’re hoping for. I’ve assembled more questions than answers at this point.”

  She and the mayor exchanged glances. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said. “Sounds like you have business to tend to and so do I.” He walked down the hall and turned a corner.

  “I hear you’re conducting interviews,” I said when he was out of sight.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “I would have thought you had leftovers.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “People you interviewed before who didn’t get the job,” I said. “When you chose Jane for the position. Have you reconsidered those other candidates?”

  “We didn’t have anyone else nearly as suitable as Jane. I, rather we, the committee, decided to start with a fresh slate.”

  “But won’t that delay your schedule?” I said. “You were so concerned about the timetable.”

  She turned and walked back into the room she’d come from, and I followed. The conference room table held several file folders and a notepad. A sheet of paper that appeared to be a résumé sat next to the notepad. Except for a doodle in blue ink on the corner, the notepad was blank.

  Ms. Krenek walked to the other side of the table and pivoted to face me.

  “Don’t worry yourself with my business,” she said. “Have you located Jane’s next of kin or not?”

  A thought popped into my head, and I decided to address it. “We’ll get to that shortly. First, I have a question.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Fine.”

  I took a deep breath. “Did Jane do anything special, or maybe surprising, to influence the committee’s decision to offer her the job?”

  “What do you mean?” Krenek said again.

  “From what I’ve learned so far, Jane seemed well-off. Financially speaking.”

  “And you’re pointing this out because . . . ?” Krenek paused for a moment, then her jaw dropped and her complexion reddened. “Oh, for the love of God, I hope you’re not insinuating that we accepted a bribe.”