The Black Cat Steps on a Crack

by Kay Finch

  I patted her shoulder. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “We really need you,” she said. “You’re good at fixing problems.”

  I was about to downplay her statement, but she put a finger to her mouth.

  “Shh, here comes Mom.”

  I took my coffee and the pie to the table and got out paper plates and plastic utensils.

  “I see your assistant is here with you today,” I said when Tyanne walked into the room.

  Ty smiled down at Abby. “She had early dismissal from school, and I told her she could come in for bookstore training 101. Ethan’s ready to show you how to use the cash register, honey.”

  “Cool.” Abby leapt to her feet and was gone in a flash.

  “She’s precious,” I said.

  “Precious and precocious.” Tyanne looked at me warily. “What brings you here? Do you have news?”

  “Not the kind you’re waiting for,” I said, “but there’s been a lot of activity lately.”

  “Tell me.” Tyanne helped herself to the banana cream pie.

  She ate while I told her about the fiasco with Hitchcock at the craft store, the conversation Thomas and I overheard between Costello and Mr. X, and the second break-in.

  “If Jane had something valuable that she didn’t want found, she’d have put it somewhere no one would consider looking,” Ty said.

  “Unless she couldn’t find a safe place,” I said, “or she was short on time.”

  “That’s possible.” Ty ate a bite, then sucked the spoon thoughtfully for a moment. “I don’t go for the coincidence of a woman being murdered and burglarized—twice—all in the same week.”

  “Me neither.”

  “If the sheriff could figure out who’s breaking in, he’d solve the case.”

  “I agree.”

  “Bryan would be completely off the hook, and we could get back to life as usual.”

  “That would be wonderful,” I said.

  Tyanne looked away for a moment, and when she turned back to me she seemed to be fighting tears. “We need this to be over, Sabrina. I’m stressed out, even though I know Bryan didn’t do anything. But now the kids are worried. Is there anything you can do to help Sheriff Crawford get answers?”

  As if it weren’t enough for Abby to pull my heartstrings, now Ty was giving me this teary-eyed plea. I didn’t want to get in trouble for breaking my word to the sheriff, so I had to tread carefully.

  “No promises,” I said, “but I have some ideas.”

  “I thought we were good when he accepted Bryan’s alibi,” she said, “but then they found that stupid cigarette butt. Like anyone’s going to believe something that was obviously planted.”

  I felt an internal sigh of relief that she already knew—about the planted butt and that Bryan had taken up smoking again. I didn’t care if he’d fessed up or if she’d figured things out on her own. Only that no one could blame me for spilling the beans. I didn’t plan to mention Bryan’s secret unless she did—spoiling the surprise wouldn’t help a thing at this point.

  “Fred Costello is the one to watch,” I told her, “and he’s going to the Wild Pony tonight with the bucket list ladies.”

  Ty’s jaw went slack. “Seriously?”

  “Yup. They’re going line dancing.”

  “Oh, boy.” She chuckled. “He didn’t sound like the type who’d cozy up to them.”

  “He’s not, that’s the thing. I’m going, too, so I can keep an eye on him. I think he has an ulterior motive for agreeing to go.”

  “Any idea what his motive is?”

  “Not a clue, but I’ll do my darnedest to find out.” I stood and stretched. “I’d better round up Hitchcock and head out so I can be ready in time.”

  “I’d sure like to be a fly on the wall.”

  “You could go with us.”

  Tyanne dumped another scoop of pie on her plate. “I promised Abby we’d have a nice quiet mother-daughter night after the store closes.”

  “That’s sweet.” I turned to go, then remembered something. “By the way, did you ever remember why you thought Jane looked familiar?”

  “No, and that’s been bugging me.”

  “Keeping you up nights?” I said.

  “Something sure is.”

  “Well, let me know if it comes to you.”

  She picked up her plastic spoon and tapped it on the edge of her plate. “I keep thinking it was something I saw on TV, but I hardly ever have time to watch anything.”

  “The kids have TV turned on a lot, I’ll bet. You might have caught a glimpse.”

  Ty nodded thoughtfully. “True, or I might have dreamt something and got confused.”

  “Keep working on that,” I said. “You never know what might be the clue that cracks the case.”

  • • •

  When Hitchcock and I got home from the bookstore, I found a note tacked to my cottage door: The Wild Pony Caravan leaves at 7. Group photos at Rowe’s 6:30.

  I didn’t recognize the handwriting and wondered if that meant we were in for a full thirty minutes of picture posing. Seemed a little over-the-top to me, but the ladies had those scrapbooks to fill and some pictures would naturally be tossed because of closed eyes or turned heads.

  Assuming Fred Costello showed up for the pictures, I’d be glad to have one of him to show around. Preferably a digital file so I could crop him out of the group and enlarge his face. Someone in town might know the guy’s background.

  Inside, Hitchcock headed to the kitchen and I went straight to my closet. What to wear for line dancing? My meager wardrobe didn’t fill the short hanging rod in the closet, which reminded me Ty and I needed to go on another shopping binge before my book came out so I’d have clothes suitable for published author appearances. Even though I didn’t love dressing up, the thought made me grin.

  My best jeans and a white button-down shirt with ruffle trim made to be worn with the tail out would do for tonight. As I picked up my Ropers to dust them off, I wondered if Luke would be up to the challenge of line dancing. We might have fun, but he’d also pick up on the fact that I was watching Costello and nosing into the investigation. Not good.

  Who are you kidding, Sabrina? Luke knows you.

  Which meant I couldn’t keep my nose out of this to save my life. Decision made, I reached for my phone and made the call.

  “Are you by chance free to go line dancing with me tonight?” I said when he picked up.

  He was silent for a moment. “Are you serious?”

  I giggled. “I am. The ladies over here at the cottages invited me to go line dancing with them at the Wild Pony. Partners aren’t required, but I’d rather have one so long as it’s you.”

  “Gotta love the way you think,” he said. “I thought those women were making scrapbooks.”

  “Scrapbooks that focus on their bucket list activities.”

  “I get it,” he said. “I’d much rather go with you than think about you in that place alone.”

  “I won’t be alone. If you’d rather not, that’s okay.”

  “The only hang-up is I’m working,” he said. “I can’t pick you up. I could meet you there by eight, though.”

  “That works,” I said.

  Hitchcock strolled into the room and jumped up on the bed. He turned around twice and then sat in a position facing me.

  “This is great,” Luke said. “Been too long since I’ve line danced.”

  “Wait. You know how to line dance?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I’m sure there are new steps, there always are, but it won’t take me long to get back in the groove. This’ll be a good test of my stamina. Hey, I need to run. See you soon.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  We ended the call. I looked at Hitchcock.

  “A test of stamina? I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Mrreow,” Hitchcock said.

  Chapter 27

  Rather than dwell on the fact that I wasn’t in good enough physical c
ondition for line dancing, I concentrated on getting ready and managed to arrive at Aunt Rowe’s a few minutes early. I went in via the back door and was greeted by a yippy bark. Marge Boyd’s dog Sparky bounced around my feet.

  “Sparky, get back here.” Marge’s voice came from the dining room, where I found her looking over a display on the table.

  “Hi, Marge,” I said. “What’s all this?” A redundant question since I was obviously looking at the Crop Shop Crew’s scrapbooks, open for viewing.

  “The ladies wanted to review their activities,” she said, “so they can decide where to go from here during their last few days in town. They ordered more supplies, so I delivered them.”

  “I see.” A big, fat Get Crafty sack sat on a chair in the corner. I wondered if she’d padded the orders to increase her sales.

  “I’m going to check on Aunt Rowe.”

  “Group photo at six thirty sharp,” she said.

  “Got it.”

  Sparky followed me partway down the hall toward the bedrooms. I was glad I’d left Hitchcock at home to avoid a tussle between the two.

  I reached Aunt Rowe’s room and knocked.

  “C’mon in,” she said. “I’m raring to go.”

  I opened the door to find her in a Grand Ole Opry–worthy outfit of dark turquoise with black fringe. A matching turquoise hat sat on the bed. She grabbed the hat and put it on.

  “What do you think?” She posed with one hand on the back of her head.

  “Wow, Aunt Rowe, you look great.”

  “You think they’ll roll out a red carpet for me at the Wild Pony?”

  I grinned. “Let me call ahead to make sure they have it ready. That outfit is something else. You’ll outshine everyone.”

  She smiled broadly. “Haven’t worn this old thing since Go Texan Day back in the nineties when I rode the Saltgrass Trail.” She smoothed her skirt, and I noticed her ornate tooled leather boots peeking out from the hem. She took in my jeans and boots.

  “I didn’t expect you to join us. You have something on your mind besides dancing?”

  “Who, me?” She wouldn’t like hearing that I suspected a guest, but she’d probably see right through me. “You’re right. It’s Fred Costello.”

  “What’s your beef with Fred?” Aunt Rowe said.

  “I’m not sure yet, but I believe he was following Jane Alcott before the murder. I think there’s a connection, but I don’t know what it is.”

  “And you don’t want to ask him outright.”

  “No way. The guy scares me.”

  “You know, a lot of folks think one of the construction workers killed the girl.”

  “Not Bryan, I hope.”

  “Heavens no, not Tyanne’s husband. I don’t know the others personally.”

  I lowered my voice. “What do you think of Costello?”

  “My business is to rent cottages,” she said, “not to have an opinion about my customers, but you know I always have one.”

  “And?” I said.

  “He’s shifty,” she said. “I wonder why he’s eager to learn details about the murder.”

  “Maybe we’ll learn more tonight.”

  “Okay then.” Aunt Rowe checked the clock on the bedroom wall. “Let’s get a move on.”

  We heard a gaggle of voices before we reached the dining room. Four of the women were looking through the scrapbooks until they caught sight of Aunt Rowe. Then they gushed over her getup until she cut them off so we could go outside for the pictures.

  Marge, with Sparky by her side, stood in a perfect photographer’s spot—with the setting sun to her back.

  Naomi glared at Marge. “I’m supposed to be the designated photographer.”

  “You belong in the pictures,” Marge said, “since you’re part of the group. I’m not even going with y’all. I made a special trip over here to take a proper group shot.”

  “You came because you wanted to sell us a slew of supplies,” Naomi said, “and I don’t want people seeing me in this dumb walking boot in a picture that will last for the rest of my life, always with the danged stupid boot.” She cut her eyes to me. I pretended I hadn’t heard.

  “I’m not gonna shoot y’all’s feet,” Marge said. “Here come the others. Start arranging yourselves into two rows.”

  Fred Costello and Joan headed across the lawn toward us. Ashley hurried from another direction, her red hair ruffling in the slight breeze.

  After some confusion over who was shorter and needed to be in front, we arranged ourselves to suit Marge, and she took the pictures. Some with all of us, others without me and Fred since we weren’t group members. After Aunt Rowe insisted on including Marge, the woman picked up Sparky and stepped into the frame. I took those pictures, and then we were ready to leave.

  Parking was at a premium near the Wild Pony, so we squeezed ourselves into two cars. Barbara, Megan, and I rode with Aunt Rowe. The others squeezed into Fred Costello’s large black sedan.

  “Rowe, you look so good we should be the ones driving you,” Megan said, “instead of the other way around.”

  “If you’ll agree to drive on the way home,” Aunt Rowe said, “I might get a little tipsy and give y’all a real show.”

  We laughed at that, and when we quieted Barbara spoke. “Does anybody else think there’s something up with Fred?”

  Aunt Rowe glanced my way, and our eyes met for a split second. I looked over my shoulder at Barbara. “Something like what?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it,” she said.

  “He’s gathering information for some reason,” Megan said. “Asking questions about the woman who died.”

  “What kind of questions?” I was eager to hear her impression.

  “Seems like he’s trying to find her friends,” she said. “I heard him in town quizzing people at the coffee shop.”

  “Maybe he’s with the FBI,” Barbara said, “and he was sent in undercover to crack the case.”

  The thought, surprisingly, hadn’t occurred to me, even though I was writing a series with an FBI agent protagonist.

  “Naomi thinks he looks like a killer,” Barbara went on, “but I don’t think that’s it.”

  “Don’t say such a thing,” Megan said. “What if he accidentally heard you?”

  “He’s not in this car,” Barbara said. “He won’t hear anything unless you go blab to him.”

  “I wouldn’t intentionally put us in danger,” Megan said.

  I held my hands up. “Whoa. Nobody’s talking about danger. We’re going out for a night of fun.”

  “That’s right,” Aunt Rowe said, “and here we are. So you ladies keep your lips zipped about what you think of Fred.”

  Aunt Rowe cast another glance my way, then maneuvered her car into a parking spot on the street near the club. We could hear the bass beat of the music before we opened the car doors. Costello stopped to drop his passengers off at the entrance before he drove toward the grassy lot near the water tower. We piled out and joined them.

  Aunt Rowe started up the front steps. “Let’s go, gals. Jimmy Bob’s waiting.”

  Ashley gave Aunt Rowe a look. “Jimmy Bob?”

  “He’s giving us a lesson to get us started.”

  We followed Aunt Rowe into the club with Naomi, in her clumsy boot, taking up the rear. A group of young women in skintight jeans gave us a collective once-over, as if they’d never in their lives seen women past the age of thirty. Aunt Rowe ignored them and stepped up to the bar. She asked where we could find Jimmy Bob, and the bartender directed us.

  “I don’t see a mechanical bull in here.” Suellen frowned. “I don’t think they have one.”

  “You’ll get all the workout you can handle with the dancing,” Aunt Rowe said. “Let me know later if you’re still hankering for the bull ride.”

  When we had all moved to the dance floor, segregated for our lesson, a Toby Keith look-alike picked up a microphone and introduced himself as Jimmy Bob. He led us through some basic steps befor
e someone behind the scenes cued Tim McGraw’s “I Like It, I Love It.” We spread out like aerobics class members and did our awkward best to follow the leader.

  Jimmy Bob hollered out tips such as “now two heel twists and a hitch” as if we knew exactly what he meant. I’d positioned myself behind Costello, who clearly wasn’t here for the dancing. After the first chorus, he slipped away to the bar and started a conversation with the bartender. Ordering a drink wouldn’t take that long, and I wondered what the heck they were talking about.

  I did my best to follow Jimmy Bob’s instructions and maintain the fast tempo while keeping one eye on Fred. The other ladies doubled over in fits of giggles from time to time, giving Naomi some amusing photo ops. By the time Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” ended, I’d run out of steam. I leaned over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath.

  “That was rough,” I said to Suellen.

  Megan leaned in toward us, breathing hard. “Our friend didn’t last long, did he? And look at him over there.”

  I spotted Fred, now chatting with the guy on the next stool while Ashley sidled in their direction.

  “There’s no law against talking to people in a bar,” I said.

  “Maybe not,” Barbara said, “but he’s not that friendly a guy. He’s interrogating the man, I’d bet anything. Asking about Jane, like he was doing the last time I saw him in town.”

  “He gave me the willies from the start,” Megan said.

  I propped a fist on my hip. “If y’all thought Fred was dangerous, why’d you invite him to come tonight? Was it a group decision?”

  “Nope.” Barbara shook her head. “It was Ashley’s idea.”

  “Did she ask y’all before she invited him? I mean, she’s part of your crew from—” I paused. “I forget, where are you from again?”

  “San Antonio,” Megan said. “But I don’t know where Ashley’s from. We never met her before this week.”

  I felt my jaw drop, but before I could say anything, Naomi had shuffled over to us. I didn’t want to have this discussion in front of her, so I excused myself and found an empty seat at the bar.

  I got a Coke and swished my ice in the glass while I thought about this new information. If Ashley wasn’t part of the Crop Shop Crew—didn’t even know those women before arriving in Lavender—then what was she up to?