by Kay Finch
“Another what?” I said.
“Lost my train of thought,” Luke said. “Hey, what do you think about my weekend getaway proposal?”
“It’s a sure winner,” I said, “but let’s not change the subject. You were going to tell me something.”
“Yeah, but I realized in the nick of time you don’t need interruptions when you’re writing.”
“I’ll keep writing. I promise. What were you going to say?”
“Sa-bri-na.” He drew my name out to three syllables that sounded like a warning.
I picked up my coffee mug and went to the pot for a refill. “C’mon, Luke. Tell me.”
“Me and my big mouth.” He sighed. “This is going to sound like not all that much after the big buildup. They found Jane Alcott’s car. See, not a big deal.”
“Where was the car?”
“You’d think it’d be long gone,” he said, “like whoever killed her had driven out of town, to another state, across the border maybe.”
“Sounds like you’ve been brainstorming the issue,” I said.
“That happens when I’m driving around looking for trouble. I thought the car could have been chopped for parts or disguised. Painted a different color. Sporting new wheels.”
“C’mon. Spill. Where was the car?”
“There’s a row of homes over on Marigold Street that back up to woods. Her Acura was parked under a carport behind one of them.”
This was big.
“Whose house? The killer’s? Have they arrested someone?”
“No, and no,” he said. “House belongs to a widower and sat empty for the past month because he got moved to assisted living.”
I felt deflated. “Then what does this mean?”
“I guess the killer thought it looked like a good place to stash the car. Unless Jane drove to the house and parked there herself.”
“Why would she do that?” I paused to consider the idea. “Possibly, on the day I saw her and we planned to meet at the library, she went to that house. Parked her car, met with someone, like a relative who was house-sitting, a squatter who realized the house was empty, somebody working there, like a lawn guy. Or, being a nice person, she was there to take care of something at the house herself. Water plants. Bring in the mail. Take care of a pet, maybe a cat, and the cat—unless he’s like Hitchcock—would be perfectly happy to stay home alone for weeks on end so long as somebody comes by to take care of the litter box, feed him, and—”
“Hold on, hold on,” Luke said. “Now who’s brainstorming?”
“I do this all the time,” I said.
He laughed. “I really shouldn’t have brought up the car.”
“I’ll be fine. Honest. Going back to work as soon as we hang up. Not that I’m in a hurry to hang up, and back to the subject of a weekend getaway, I’m really looking forward to spending a weekend away.”
“Where do you think you’d like to go?” he said.
“At the risk of sounding too mushy, I’d say anywhere, so long as it’s with you.”
“Mushy works for me,” he said. “We have plenty of time to plan the details. I gotta move on for now. Keith is coming over to work on my deck. I’m meeting him at the house.”
“I didn’t realize you were planning to start so soon. He just measured the other day.”
“No time like the present,” Luke said. “With the crime scene tape still up at the library, he’s not working. Perfect time to start on my job.”
“I look forward to sitting on that deck with you to watch the sunset.”
“Me, too,” he said. “For now, get back to your story.”
“I will.”
We ended the call, and I turned to find Hitchcock sitting on the table next to my laptop.
“Mrreow,” he said.
“Yes, boss, I’m coming.”
I was busy typing my second new page of the day when my phone rang again. Luke checking up on me?
I reached for the phone and saw the call was from Sheriff Crawford. Maybe he had questions about the email I’d sent him. I answered eagerly.
“Sabrina.” His voice was stern.
My throat felt tight. “Yes?”
“I need to see you in my office,” the sheriff said. “Now.”
I agreed, and he ended the call abruptly. Jeez Louise, what was that all about?
I wasn’t going to waste time finding a sitter for Hitchcock, so I took the cat with me. The sheriff’s office was a relatively cat-friendly place for us, and I hoped that hadn’t changed with the official-sounding summons. The sheriff’s welcoming smiles and sound advice used to remind me of my late father. I didn’t care for the recent personality shift.
When I walked in the door with Hitchcock in his harness, Laurelle smiled at me. She didn’t take her usual moment to greet Hitchcock, though, and that set off warning bells.
“Sheriff’s waiting for you.” She tipped her head toward his office.
I walked down the hall, grateful that neither of the deputies was in sight. I felt like a kid being called to the principal’s office, only worse. Lord, I hoped Rosales and Ainsley weren’t in there with the sheriff. The thought made me even more nervous.
I knocked, and the door opened immediately. Sheriff Crawford stepped aside and motioned for me to enter. A breath of relief whooshed out of me when I saw he was alone.
“Thanks for coming so quickly.” He walked around the desk and took his seat.
“I was afraid to waste time.” I settled into a chair across from him. “You sounded very grim.”
The sheriff watched me for a moment before continuing. “I’m not seeking to instill fear, but this is serious business.”
I nodded to convey that I understood and agreed completely. Hitchcock jumped up on my lap and curled into a ball. Sticking close to comfort me.
“I have a friend over in Emerald Springs,” Sheriff Crawford said. “Called me yesterday. Sheriff Doyle Knox. Said he had a connection to the murder case I’m working. I went to see him.”
He paused as though waiting for a reaction from me. I tried to keep my expression neutral, though I was eager to hear about the supposed connection. Maybe that’s where the sheriff had been yesterday when I called him and he brushed me off.
“Knox was investigating a home break-in. Found out Jane Alcott used to live there. Remembered hearing about her murder.”
“Oh, no. Is Kylie okay?”
Hitchcock looked up at me, and I ran a hand down his back.
The sheriff nodded slowly. “Just as I thought.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’ve been over there asking questions.”
“You could assume so, if you read the email I sent you last night.” I crossed my arms. “But how do you know Kylie and I aren’t friends from way back?”
“Are you?”
“No.” I frowned. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything a secret. Is she okay?”
“She is,” he said. “No baby yet, but looks to me like it’s coming any day now. She and her children were away at the time of the break-in.”
“Thank goodness.” My tense muscles relaxed a bit. “Was anything stolen?”
“Not that she can tell, but they trashed the place in their search.”
“How awful.” I wondered how the pregnant Kylie would deal with such a mess. “Any leads on who did it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “While I was in town I visited Jane’s former coworkers, which I understand you had already done.”
I squirmed under his disapproving gaze. “Doreen Krenek wanted me to help find Jane’s next of kin quickly, so you could solve the case fast.”
“Last I checked, you’re not a deputy. You planning to make a career change?”
“Not anytime soon,” I said.
“Have you seen any more of the mysterious stranger you mentioned in your email?”
“I have not. I’ve been in my cottage writing.”
“No idea who he is?”
&nb
sp; I decided not to mention that Ms. Krenek was asking around about Mr. X. “Well, no, but I could work with a sketch artist, and maybe we, I mean you, could get an ID. Lavender might not have a person who does that, but we could find someone.”
I naturally thought of Tia Hartwell, an artist who’d come to town during the annual pumpkin festival and coincidentally looked like she could be my sister. I’d heard Tia and her little boy had moved to El Paso, where she’d found a full-time job. Not exactly around the corner.
The sheriff ignored my suggestion and reached across the desk. “May I please see your phone?”
“Why?” My throat was dry, and the word barely came out.
“You told me Jane felt threatened by someone.”
“Oh, right.” I took out my phone and went to the texts before handing it to him.
“This is the message I told you about.” I pointed.
He appeared to read the text I had identified then scrolled a bit. “Looks like she had a lot of advice for you about the book business.”
I relaxed a tad and settled back against the chair. Hitchcock’s purr shifted into high gear. “She did. I’m sure some of it will help me even though she can’t.”
“Back to the message in question,” he said. “You think the man, this stranger who watched her house and was seen at the cottages with another suspicious fella, might have made Jane feel threatened?”
I related the conversation Thomas and I had heard to the best of my ability. I shrugged. “I don’t know what the men were talking about, what they’re looking for, or if they had any connection to the break-ins at two different places Jane lived.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” he said. “I’ll be the one to check them out, not you. Okay?”
“Got it,” I said.
“Now, to get to the real reason I called you over here.”
The real reason? Oh jeez. I didn’t like the sound of that. I sank my fingers into Hitchcock’s fur, needing his calming influence.
Sheriff Crawford leaned forward and clasped his hands on the desktop. He steepled his index fingers. “How long have you known Bryan Clark?”
The change of subject startled me. Or maybe he wasn’t changing the subject. I believed the investigation had shifted away from Bryan. That might have been wishful thinking on my part. I wondered if the sheriff thought Bryan had a connection to the suspicious men or to the break-ins.
No sense overanalyzing the question. Answer truthfully. Bryan and Ty were about to celebrate their fifteenth wedding anniversary. Before that, they were engaged for at least a year. I did the math.
“Sixteen years or so,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“Do you see him often?”
“Depends on what you call often. Every couple of weeks, I’d say. In passing mostly.”
“Have you spent time with his family at their home?”
I nodded. “From time to time. I’ve known Tyanne since we were eight years old.”
“I’m aware,” the sheriff said. “Would you say that Bryan has a bad temper?”
“Not to my knowledge.” I tried to block the memory of hearing heated words between Bryan and Tyanne at the bookstore a few days ago as well as the occasions he was angry because I inadvertently dragged Ty into a dangerous situation.
The sheriff regarded me with a stoic expression. “Have you ever seen Bryan lash out at his wife?”
“No.”
“Have you seen him lash out at anyone else?”
“No.”
“Has he ever been angry with you?”
“Perturbed, maybe.”
“Can you imagine a scenario that would cause Bryan Clark to threaten someone?”
My temper flared. “No, I can’t. Not if you’re insinuating he committed murder.”
“Calm down, Sabrina. Please.”
“It’s not that easy,” I said. “Bryan and Tyanne are my friends.”
“I understand that.”
“I feel like you’re latching on to him for no good reason.”
His brows drew together as he frowned. “I’m asking questions because they need to be asked. Can you at least trust me on that?”
I thought about his comment for a few seconds. “Yes. That’s fair.”
“Good.” He nodded and paused for a beat. “Does Bryan Clark smoke?”
I blinked. “Smoke? Like in cigarettes? Cigars? Marijuana? What are you asking me?”
“Does he smoke, Sabrina? It’s not such a hard question. To your knowledge does he smoke anything?”
I thought back to the early days when I first met Bryan. Pictured him standing in a group with his friends. Lots of Wrangler jeans and boots. Tailgates. Iced-down beers. Smoke. A cigarette in Bryan’s hand. I nodded. “He used to smoke cigarettes. Years ago. I think he quit when they had their first child, Abby.”
“Have you seen him smoking recently?”
“No, I haven’t.” If he’d started up again, could that be what he and Ty were arguing about?
“Do the Clarks have money trouble, to your knowledge?”
My shoulders sagged. This was going from bad to worse. “I don’t know, Sheriff. I’m not a bookkeeper.”
“Point taken,” he said.
“They have jobs. Ty owns a bookstore that I believe is doing well. They have three children. Kids cost a lot. What the heck are you trying to get at anyway? Will you just tell me?” I felt tears coming.
“I am not trying to pin anything on Bryan,” he said. “Believe that.”
“You’re acting like you are, and I don’t understand it. You need to have evidence if you’re going to—”
I noticed his somber expression and stopped talking. My mind raced. They had evidence against Bryan.
“What is it?” I said. “What did you find?”
“Jane Alcott’s car,” he said, “along with evidence that Bryan Clark may be party to concealing that vehicle on the day Jane died.”
Chapter 23
I stared at the sheriff in disbelief. “How did you find Jane’s car?”
He paused, as if considering—to tell her or not to tell her. Finally, he said, “We had a call.”
I was afraid to ask what he thought connected Bryan to the car. “You mean an anonymous tip?”
“Something like that,” the sheriff said.
Who would have made such a call? A neighbor who’d finally noticed the strange car parked next door but wanted to remain anonymous and uninvolved? Or a perpetrator who wanted the car found in a certain way at a certain time? I took deep, steady breaths to calm myself.
The sheriff pushed back his chair and stood. “Again, thanks for coming over.”
“Wait,” I said. “You’re dismissing me? You think I can go home, return to my writing as though nothing happened?”
He made a tsking noise. “That might be difficult, Sabrina. But you’re a professional, and you’ll figure it out.” He walked around the desk. “I can’t investigate when you’re camped out in my office. Appreciate your help.”
I stayed in my chair, arms crossed to indicate I wasn’t ready to leave. “What help? I sure as heck hope I didn’t say anything to help you convict my friend.”
The sheriff tipped his head as if about to deliver a reprimand.
“Please don’t fuss at me, Sheriff. Have you talked to Bryan?”
He nodded. “We spoke this morning. Early.”
“Did you ask him about the car?”
“We discussed the car.”
“Did you place him under arrest?”
He met my gaze. “No, ma’am.”
I breathed easier. “Did you know Daisy at the barbeque place is convinced that Shane Wilson was involved? Maybe you should talk to her.”
He held up a hand. “We are conducting many other interviews. Also, Shane Wilson came forward to speak with me on his own.”
“What did you learn? In general terms, I mean.”
“Shane’s thoughts about the situation.”
I understood he
wasn’t going to—couldn’t—tell me everything. I wondered if Bryan’s fingerprints were on Jane’s car. Or if they found an incriminating pack of cigarettes inside. Which didn’t mean much as far as I was concerned. Bryan might have been inside her car at some point, or Jane might have picked up a package of cigarettes somewhere that belonged to Bryan. He could have dropped the package, if the package even belonged to him.
If there was one inside the car at all, which wasn’t a fact so far as I knew. I was only guessing and growing more frustrated.
I looked up at the sheriff. “Have you considered a connection between the thefts of building materials and Jane’s murder?”
He frowned. “Do you know something that I should know?”
“Nothing specific, but if the thief, or thieves, were spotted by Jane, then . . .”
“I see your point,” he said. “I’ll take another look at our file related to those thefts.”
“Thank you.” I paused for a moment. My mind raced for more avenues to send him down. Anything so he wouldn’t drive the investigation straight to Bryan and stop there.
“The person who left the car behind that house must have known the homeowner wasn’t coming back anytime soon.”
“Possibly,” Sheriff Crawford said, “and I know that may lead us to suspect a longtime resident, someone who knew Ward Greenawald—that’s the homeowner—personally.” His gaze stayed fixed on me.
Bryan was a longtime resident of Lavender. I hoped he hadn’t done any electrical work for Mr. Greenawald lately. That would give him more familiarity with the house and possibly the man’s current living arrangement.
“Have you followed the money?” I asked.
“What money is that?” The sheriff parked himself on the edge of the desk.
“I think Jane was well off.” A troubling thought occurred to me. “What if she inherited from her last living relative, and that’s why no one has come forward? What if there’s no one who misses Jane? No one to worry when they call her and get voice mail every time. No one ready to step in and file a missing person report.”
“That’s a very sad possibility,” he said. “Are you grasping at straws or do you have information?”
“I have nothing concrete, but I’ve heard a lot about Jane giving substantial gifts to people. She made what sounded like a generous donation to the animal shelter, and she might have been the person who made the huge donation to the library as well. I don’t know, it sounds like she spent quite a bit in the short time she’s lived here.”
