The Black Cat Steps on a Crack

by Kay Finch

  “Yep,” he said, “they’re after the clue that will lead them to the money. If there’s a grain of truth in the story I just read, Natalie wired a hundred million out of the country the night of their father’s funeral.”

  I was so stunned at the enormous amount that I couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “They’re fighting the will,” I said.

  “You betcha,” the sheriff said. He looked from me to Ty. “Thanks for the call. This is good information, and I’m going to put everyone I have on it starting now. You two—” He nodded to each of us in turn. “Keep quiet about this. I mean completely quiet. No texts. No calls. Quiet.”

  He looked at Ty. “For the time being do not tell Bryan.”

  Then he turned to me. “Sabrina, not a word to Rowe or anyone else. I’ll be over there to question Costello, so you stay clear. You can tell your cat if you like, so long as nobody else is listening. I got to roll.”

  He walked toward the exit, then pivoted and pointed at me again. “By the way, Sabrina, Shane Wilson is not hiding stolen goods. He has receipts for all the lumber stored in his shed. He’s not too happy with you fingering him, but he’ll get over it. Wanted to clear the air on that topic—but keep that quiet, too.”

  He left, leaving me strangely excited and frightened at the same time.

  I looked at Ty. Her complexion seemed pale, and her hand shook when she turned the dead bolt on the front door.

  “I’d better shut down my computer,” she said, “after I erase the browsing history so no one can tell what we were reading.”

  I nodded. “Wouldn’t hurt.”

  “What do you think the sheriff will do first?”

  “Contact the FBI, maybe?” I shrugged. “They were probably involved ever since Natalie first went missing.”

  “Why do you think she came here?”

  “To be a plain old unrecognizable small-town librarian is my guess.”

  “If she’s a thief, she’s the most generous one I ever met,” Tyanne said.

  I thought about the gifts and donations I’d learned of and nodded. Then I thought about the theft of Jane’s mail. The Russos had come in search of Natalie and found her. Seemed to me they took care of business in the wrong order. Now that Natalie was dead, they were hunting for her bank information. I wondered if one of them had flown into a rage and committed the murder before getting their hands on the facts they needed to recapture the money.

  Stupid, greedy people.

  “I need to go,” Tyanne said. “It’s getting late.”

  “Me, too.”

  “What will you do?” she said.

  “Go home and talk to Hitchcock. He won’t believe this huge break in the case.”

  We left the bookstore, and I went straight to my place without even considering stopping at Aunt Rowe’s house. Glenda had brought Hitchcock home as promised.

  I picked the cat up and cuddled him. “What a night. We learned the true identity of the woman whose body you found.”

  “Mrreow.”

  “May she rest in peace.”

  Hitchcock purred and pushed his head against my chin. He wanted attention, and I was happy to oblige for a few minutes as I thought everything through. I could find holes in the possible solutions the sheriff was working on, the same way I found holes in my fictional plots. I opened my laptop and set to work on the chapter I’d abandoned Lord knew how many days ago. Hitchcock sat on the nearest chair and supervised as I worked into the night.

  • • •

  The next morning, I ate breakfast at home. I hadn’t heard any unusual goings-on during the night and had no idea whether Sheriff Crawford had come by to talk to Fred Costello or not. Or, if he came, whether he’d found Costello still here. I didn’t want to chance asking anyone a question for fear I’d blurt out a bit of secret information I wasn’t supposed to share.

  No one had told me I couldn’t see Mrs. Honeycutt, so I put a visit to her first on my day’s agenda. I’d thought a lot during the night about Natalie Russo’s lack of personal possessions. True, some of her things from the apartment were taken by the woman Mrs. Honeycutt saw leaving the apartment—that must have been Celeste. I had a hard time envisioning the woman I knew as Ashley doing such a thing. She must have believed taking things like the toiletries would convince the authorities that Natalie had left town on her own.

  What bothered me was the lack of possessions in Natalie’s life. As Glenda had said, everyone has stuff. I’d moved to Lavender with few possessions, yet I had at least a dozen boxes stored in Aunt Rowe’s attic. I wanted to know if Mrs. Honeycutt was storing things for Jane/Natalie that she’d forgotten about. I wouldn’t let this go until I had at least asked the woman more pointed questions.

  Hitchcock was up and about, eager for an adventure, so I put his harness on and off we went. The day was pleasant, in the low seventies. When I got to Mrs. Honeycutt’s, I saw she was taking advantage of the weather to air out her house. The screened windows were open. Curtains fluttered in the morning breeze.

  I knocked on the front door and heard her call from inside, “Come on in, dear. Watch your step.”

  “She must have seen us coming,” I said to Hitchcock. I turned the doorknob and pushed, but the door opened only halfway. I picked up the cat and squeezed through the opening to see unorganized piles stacked—or maybe thrown was more like it—in the foyer.

  I realized as I stared at the mess that I was being rude. Mrs. Honeycutt didn’t seem to notice. There was even more of a mess in the dining room to my left. Mrs. Honeycutt stood beyond the dining room in the doorway that led to the kitchen. She wore a blue plaid shirt with the tail out over stretchy denim pants and navy blue Keds.

  “Don’t mind my mess,” she said. “I decided yesterday that I don’t want someone else to clean out my stuff when I’m gone, so I’m doing it now. Most of this is junk far as I’m concerned.”

  If she seriously felt that way, she should have a Dumpster parked in her driveway.

  “You can put your kitty down,” she said. “I don’t mind him wandering if that’s what he wants to do.”

  “I’m sure he’d love to.” I edged my way in between piles and managed to close the front door behind me before I released Hitchcock’s leash. “I moved to a smaller place not too long ago, and I pared everything down to a dozen boxes.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt looked at the mess surrounding us. “Oh, dear, I don’t think that’s going to work for me.”

  “You might be surprised. If you’re in the proper mind-set you’ll start tossing things right and left. That’s what I did.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt nodded. “I like the way you think.”

  “I’ll bet Jane felt the same way when she moved here, coming with only a small collection of books.”

  Mrs. Honeycutt shook her head sadly. “Poor dear. She didn’t have much to her name.”

  If she only knew.

  Hitchcock was investigating his surroundings. I saw his head duck in and out around storage containers, old Christmas cookie tins, and piles of clothes.

  “Did Jane ever ask you to store something more for her?” I said. “Like the boxes I asked my aunt to store in her attic?” I looked toward Mrs. Honeycutt’s stairs. “Anything up there?”

  The woman chewed her lower lip and her brows drew together. “No, I’m afraid not. What we found in her apartment is all she had far as I know.”

  Hitchcock came out from under a stack of folded sheets and pillowcases. He turned back to paw in between the linens.

  “Those old things came from my cedar chest,” Mrs. Honeycutt said. “They’re threadbare, the first sheets I ever owned, I do believe. I think I’ll cut them up and use them for cleaning.”

  Hitchcock continued to work the fabric by sweeping his paw back and forth between the sheets. There might be something gross in there—like a cockroach. Those nasty things got in wherever they wanted. If that’s what he was after he wouldn’t give up.

  The cat’s movements became mor
e frantic. I wanted to stop him, but not if that meant confronting the roach myself.

  “C’mon, Hitchcock,” I said. “Settle down.”

  I approached him slowly, ready to jump back if I spotted a creepy crawler. The cat looked like he was struggling to pull his leg from the pile.

  What the heck?

  I summoned my courage and lifted the stack on top of the cat’s leg. Hitchcock’s claw was stuck around the clasp of a five-by-eight manila envelope.

  “What have you found here?” I unhooked his claw from the envelope. “Mrs. Honeycutt, you should take a look and make sure this isn’t something important.”

  She glanced our way. “Oh, that’s garbage. I don’t even know where that came from. You can toss it in the trash.”

  I didn’t have a good feeling about her lackadaisical approach to the clean-out and thought it better to at least identify what she was throwing away.

  I took a closer look at Hitchcock’s foot to make sure he hadn’t injured himself. All good.

  “If you’re going to keep getting into things, I’ll have to hold on to your leash,” I said.

  “Mrreow,” Hitchcock said.

  I checked both sides of the envelope and found no identifying marks. I shrugged and opened the clasp.

  Papers inside the envelope, five pages or so, were stapled in one corner and folded in half. When I slid them out, a flash drive fell on the floor. I stooped to pick up the flash drive while unfolding the document.

  I glanced at the first page and gasped.

  Last Will and Testament of Lorenzo Russo.

  Chapter 33

  I straightened and glanced at Mrs. Honeycutt. Her attention was focused on pitching wads of crumpled department store sacks into the garbage. I stared at the flash drive in my palm. I couldn’t think of any good reason to divulge this discovery to Mrs. Honeycutt. If Jane had asked the woman to keep the envelope for her, Mrs. Honeycutt had obviously forgotten their discussion. More likely, Jane had hidden the envelope herself in a place she felt certain no one would look for a good long while.

  Except now I had found her secret stash. Holy moly.

  I replaced the papers and closed the envelope clasp. Hitchcock watched me as I unzipped a pocket on my cargo pants and slipped the flash drive inside. Safer there.

  I slipped into the bedroom and pulled out my phone to text the sheriff.

  Me again. Found another clue. Huge. Have something to give you.

  I didn’t necessarily expect a response, but one came within seconds.

  Later. At cottages to question Costello. Rowe and friends are out.

  Nice of him to let me know I didn’t have to worry about Aunt Rowe. I was glad Hitchcock and I weren’t there either. I felt sure the sheriff wouldn’t appreciate my coming home now.

  Here I was with a lady who needed help, so I figured I may as well offer her my time. To keep the envelope safe, I took it to my car and locked it in the glove box. Back inside, I told Mrs. Honeycutt I had spare time on my hands and could help her. She was thrilled by my offer, and we dug in.

  After a few hours of sorting clothes from every decade since the fifties, we took a break for coffee and had some of Mrs. Honeycutt’s pound cake that the sheriff liked so well. Hitchcock slept on top of one of the garbage bags we’d filled. I’d looped the end of his leash around the leg of the dining table so he wouldn’t get any ideas about wandering off when I wasn’t looking.

  Mrs. Honeycutt paused with her china coffee cup in midair and gazed across the room. “Oh, dear.”

  Her focus was on the mountain of nicer clothes she had earmarked for a Salvation Army donation.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “I wish I had boxes for those nice things,” she said.

  “We can put them in garbage bags,” I said. “That’s what most people do.”

  She made a face. “I don’t like that idea.”

  “If you’d rather have boxes, I can go and get you some.”

  She smiled sweetly at me. “Would you mind, dear?”

  I didn’t mind at all, so after eating two slices of cake I took off and headed for the U-Store-It across town, where they had new and used cardboard boxes. The trip would be relatively quick, so I left Hitchcock with Mrs. Honeycutt.

  There was one woman ahead of me at the U-Store-It counter. There was no one behind the counter when I walked in, so I turned to check out the used boxes they kept in a bin by the door. Some of them were too small to fit our needs, but I set aside three that would work. Not nearly enough for the project.

  I stood behind the woman in line to wait my turn.

  “Sorry it’s taking me so long,” she said and turned to smile at me.

  I recognized Pauline from the coffee shop, and we exchanged greetings.

  “You off from work today?” I said.

  She sighed. “I quit my job at the coffee shop, so I’m not working at all.”

  “That’s too bad,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Not really. I feel better than I’ve felt in a month. My old boss in Chicago is taking me back at the job I enjoyed and was actually good at. I can’t wait, no matter how ticked off my mother is.”

  “I’m in favor of you doing what pleases you.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “Mom kept telling me how much safer it would be to live in Lavender. Well, hello, now there’s a murder and break-ins and Lord knows what, and I’m not seeing the safety factor, Mom.”

  “It’s not always like this.”

  “The sheriff has his work cut out for him,” she said, “but maybe they’re getting closer. I heard a button off the dead woman’s clothes was found in some guy’s house.”

  I frowned. Was she talking about the button in the Barcelona cottage? Did that button somehow tie Costello to the murder? If so, why would he have the button in the cottage? That didn’t make sense. And who had broken in?

  “Here you go.” A man came from another room to stand behind the counter. He placed some papers on the desk and asked Pauline to sign. “I’ll have someone come around and help you load up your stuff.”

  Pauline signed the page where he indicated and straightened. “Thanks so much.”

  “Not a problem.” He folded some papers and handed them to her. “Here’s your receipt. Thanks for your business.”

  Pauline turned to leave. “Good luck with your book, Sabrina. I can’t wait to get my copy, and I’ll be sure to tell everybody I know in Chicago about it, too.”

  “Thanks, Pauline.” I reached out and gave the girl a hug. “Good luck with your move. Follow your heart, not your mother’s. That’s what I did.”

  “Help you, ma’am?” the man said.

  I turned to him, then paused to look back at Pauline.

  She’d already walked out.

  I focused on the reason I’d come and purchased a dozen boxes, a roll of packing tape, and a thick black marker, then loaded everything into my car.

  On the way back to Mrs. Honeycutt’s, I called Glenda for an update on what was going on at the cottages.

  “Sheriff’s here,” she said. “I guess Costello’s inside the Barcelona cottage with him, and two deputies are standing guard. Having three cop cars parked out here might not be a good thing for business. I wish they’d cart that man off to the jail and be done with it.”

  “You want me to come home?” I said.

  “Tell you the truth, I’d stay away if I were you. Sheriff Crawford doesn’t appreciate people sticking their noses into his business.”

  I’d done more than enough of that lately.

  “I guess you’re right.” Though if I went to the cottages, I could get that flash drive out of my pocket. Either give it to the sheriff or stick it in my laptop to see what the heck it held. I felt like the gizmo was burning a hole in my pocket. Probably better to take Glenda’s advice and hang out elsewhere for a while.

  Back at Mrs. Honeycutt’s house, I found both she and Hitchcock napping. Poor woman had worn herself out. I took a throw
off the back of a chair and covered her where she lay on the sofa. I knew what she wanted to box, so I went ahead and filled the cartons. Marked them with the words Salvation Army and stacked them in a corner. Mrs. Honeycutt, in the next room, slept through the whole process.

  By that time, Hitchcock was wide-eyed with the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. The weather forecast had predicted that intermittent storms would roll through for a day or two. I looked out the window and saw rain had begun to fall. I closed all the windows, then went back to Hitchcock.

  “I don’t know what else I can do without instructions from her,” I said.

  “Mrreow,” he said.

  “Okay, we’ll go.”

  I left Mrs. Honeycutt a note with my phone number and told her to call me whenever she needed help. Back in the car, I felt out of sorts. Rain pattered against the roof. Now what?

  I put in a call to Luke. He answered with, “Hey, how’s my favorite dance partner?”

  “Okay, but Hitchcock and I need a place to hang out for a while.” I told him what was happening at the cottages. “Would you mind terribly if we stay at your house for a little while?”

  “No, that’s a great idea.” I knew where he kept an extra key outside. “Keith isn’t working on the deck in this weather, and Angie’s with me. You’ll have the place to yourself.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Wish I could keep y’all company.”

  “Me, too,” I said, and we ended the call.

  I drove toward Luke’s house and felt slightly guilty for neglecting to mention I had an ulterior motive. The chances of me being near his desktop computer and not trying the flash drive were slim to none. I hoped neither was password-protected.

  The first band of showers had passed through by the time I pulled up in front of his place. I carried Hitchcock to the covered porch so he wouldn’t be tracking wet paws through the house. I fished the key out from its hiding place and unlocked the door before replacing the key and going inside. In the kitchen, I filled a bowl with water for Hitchcock.

  I went to the sliding door and looked out to check the deck progress. Some concrete footers had been poured and framing was started. A stack of lumber, similar to the pile I’d seen in Shane Wilson’s shed, sat nearby under a tarp. I opened the sliding door a few inches for a better look and heard music playing. I craned to see where the sound was coming from and spotted a truck tailgate.