“I’m sorry about that. Are you seeing Hayden tonight?”
“No. She was planning to come out, but I’ve got too much going on, and I didn’t want her driving back late. The temperatures are dropping, and the roads may get bad again.”
I loved that he watched out for my daughter. “Thank you for that. She threatened to come over, and I don’t have time for another lecture either. Which brings me to the reason for my call.”
“And here we go.”
“I might have been wrong about Turner Shaw. But Max and I have another theory. I know you’re busy, but can you come by for a few minutes? Max is here now.”
“I’m heading out for a bite to eat. I’ll pick something up and head over.”
“We have homemade soup. You can have some of that.”
“I’ll be over in a bit.”
Detective Bruno showed up a few minutes after Justin finished his bowl of soup. I figured Justin would have called him since he was in charge of the investigation.
“Power can drive a person to commit murder,” Detective Bruno said.
“What did Cindy say when you talked to her? Did she mention any plans to run for mayor?” I asked.
“It didn’t come up.”
I flicked my pointer finger at him. “There you go then.”
“There I go then, what?”
“She’s not going to give herself a motive to a police detective. You need to talk to her again.”
Bruno’s eyes shifted to Justin.
Justin crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. “She wants what she wants.”
Max chuckled. “It makes sense in a roundabout sort of way. If Cindy is running for mayor, which everyone thinks is going to happen, she’ll need Watson’s influence to disappear. Easiest way to do that is to kill him.”
The detective and I made eye contact, and I knew what crossed his mind. “You don’t want to be mayor though, do you, Max?”
He laughed. “Nope. Like I said before, city council member is as far as I’m taking my political career.”
I lifted my chin to the detective, and he just shook his head.
Before they arrived, Max printed out the shelter’s IRS form. I handed it to Detective Bruno.
“Cindy told me the shelter had enough money to add the expansion without George’s donation. Look at the numbers. They don’t lie.”
He and Justin reviewed the form.
“That’s a lot of money. Not enough to build a new shelter, but it’s a start. And if she runs for mayor and wins, she can easily get the rest of the funding.”
Bruno gave a small nod. I wanted to scream yes! because he got it. It made sense to him.
“If Cindy runs for mayor and wins, she’ll have a lot more power over what the city does, and that includes decisions about the shelter.”
I jumped in. “Like building a new one in the unincorporated area of the city.”
Bruno shook his head. “That’s not enough for a motive.”
“What do you mean that’s not enough?”
“A dream isn’t motive. I need something the DA can use, otherwise your suspect gets cleared.”
“Okay, fine, but can’t you at least talk to her again?”
Justin glanced at Detective Bruno. “It’s worth a shot.”
The detective sighed. “I can do it, but I think you’re wrong about her.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to prove I’m right.”
The three men in the room shared a look.
Justin finally said, “Just be careful. Your daughter’s worried enough already.”
Detective Bruno and Justin left, but Max stayed.
I retrieved the last beer from the garage refrigerator. “Sorry, I thought I had more, but this is the last one. I’m not much of a beer drinker.”
He unscrewed the cap. “Neither am I.”
I poured myself another glass of water. “There’s got to be a reason Cindy wants to move the shelter. Something that benefits her, something other than power.”
He swallowed down a gulp of beer. “If there is, I’m pretty sure you’ll figure it out.”
I stayed up late searching the internet for anything to verify my theory but didn’t find a thing. I found hundreds of pages of links connected to Cindy, but nothing about her running for mayor, and nothing about her idea to move the shelter. I also researched George Watson, hoping I’d find something, anything, that could help my case.
Most of what I found was business related—his contributions to charities, his relationships with bigwigs in the metro Atlanta area, that kind of thing, and several articles about his daughter and her tragic death.
I could only imagine the kind of pain George experienced. Sophie Watson was only twenty when Bobby Hall killed her. He was only twenty-one. They were both so young, their whole lives still ahead of them, and in two gun shots, those lives ended. When Susan Watson found Sophie’s diary, it made the news, detailing out a year of abuse and fear for the poor girl.
Sophie broke up with Bobby after only a few months because of his physical abuse and attempts to control her, but that break up only made things worse.
Bobby came from a broken home and an abusive one too. His mother divorced his father and eventually remarried and moved to Chicago. Initially Bobby went with her, but after a few years, he moved back to Georgia and lived with his father. None of the articles said why.
I’ve read stories upon stories of the cycle of abuse continuing through a family line, that statistics show few escape that world, and I wondered if that was the case with Bobby. He was a product of his environment, and he may not have had the strength or ability to change his life path.
Bobby had a half-sister from his mother’s second marriage, but she and his mother declined any interviews.
I printed out several articles covering George Watson and then pulled up Cindy’s name again. I’d given up about halfway through the links, but thought I’d start at the last one and give it another try.
One article by Jim Deacon, the town’s busiest reporter for our local paper, caught my eye. Cindy supported a city center market development in town that required rezoning of the land, but city council had recently postponed voting on it. Several members wanted to review the development’s plans further before making a decision. The project was designed by a company named Breckenridge and Stout, a development firm with several similarly developed properties around the Atlanta area.
I knew Cindy worked for Breckenridge and Stout, but what I didn’t know was that she was a principle owner of the company. The article was a year old, so I searched through city council records to find the meeting video and notes. It took me a bit, but I found them, and fast-forwarded through the meeting to the discussion of the project.
A representative from the firm addressed council, showing a well-designed plan along with the jobs it could bring to the community. He stressed the economic benefits so much it sounded as though he thought the project would save a dying community. Cindy stood by his side interjecting a comment here and there, but surprisingly, left the bulk of the presentation to the man.
George Watson spoke against the development, stating it was too close to the land purchased for the high school scheduled for construction the next year. He thought the timing for both projects would create a traffic issue. He felt the streets would need an even bigger expansion, or if nothing else, a review. He suggested the vote be tabled until after the school completion to implement another traffic study, which he believed should be funded by Breckenridge and Stout.
George’s concerns became those of the council members, especially the mayor, and the vote was postponed. I wouldn’t have expected them to vote on something so big right away anyway. There were several things to consider for a project of that size, and traffic was just one of them. Would the development fit the city plan? Was the environment something the city wanted, that kind of thing.
From the meeting, it was clear the property was the same property that Cindy
wanted for the new shelter, but why? Why would she want to take a portion of the land her company wanted to build a big mixed-use development on for a women’s shelter? The two didn’t mix. Sure, she could argue the development would provide jobs for the women, but that didn’t make sense. Would her development company be in on the shelter deal, and why that land?
Several years ago, Sam wanted to purchase acreage in northern Georgia, and he spent months surfing the internet for the perfect location. He wanted something with a mountain view, a lake or stream, and enough wooded area for our own little hiking terrain. He’d found the perfect spot, but it wasn’t for sale. No one lived on the land, so after a search through property records, he found the owner and made an offer. Sam offered him a price that worked, and the owner signed the papers.
It didn’t take Sam long to find that owner online, so I went through the notes of the meeting, found the information on the exact location of the property, and did a property search.
It shouldn’t have surprised me to discover the owner, but it did. Cindy had both hands in the cookie jar, and I wasn’t an expert in land sales and development, but I knew she stood to make money regardless of which project ended up developed on her property. The problem was getting it rezoned. If she couldn’t get council to do that, she couldn’t sell it, and if she couldn’t sell it, she couldn’t make money on it.
And one person could impact both possible scenarios.
George Watson.
Chapter 5
I stood at the cat lounge window watching the cats. They always made my day with their little pounces, and jumps, and that one stretched out front leg while they snoozed…watching them was like watching live cat TV. The cat trees, hanging bridges, and donated sectional couch were perfect feline hang outs, and they did just that.
Volunteers came daily to sit and play with the cats, and as of a month ago, Max stopped by once a week for, as he liked to call it, his cat whisperer duties. It was a shock to us all, but once he got the swing of things in the room, he really was the cat whisperer.
He’d texted me to tell me he’d be at the shelter early, so I gathered up my crew and headed over. I didn’t want to miss the cat whisperer at work. Everyone that saw Max interact with the cats didn’t want to miss him doing his thing.
He was already on the couch with a pile of cats on top of him, and several lying nearby. The first time he’d come, there was a little incident, nothing too serious, but enough of one to leave Max with hair covering his body. From the scratches on his arms, we’d figured his volunteering days were over, but they weren’t. He come back a few days later, wearing, he said, his cat clothes, and ready for work.
Since then, Max learned the rules of the cat lounge. He’d made sure to greet each cat, giving them all the attention they deserved, before taking his spot on the couch. He’d even brought his own cat toys, little colorful fish stuffed with catnip, and tossed them around for the cats to bat back and forth. Some of the cats loved the stuff, but others ran and planted themselves on a perch to watch the madness.
I tapped on the window, and he smiled and waved.
“I’ll be out in a bit,” he mouthed.
“He’s so good with them,” Mary said. “To think they’d almost killed him just a few weeks ago.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t exactly say kill.”
“It could have happened. One little cat claw digging deep enough to hit a big vein and—” She swiped a finger across her neck. “Gone.”
I laughed. “That’s definitely a concern, but he has a way with them. Who’d have thought, you know?”
“He’s a good man. If he didn’t already have eyes for you, I’d be all over that.”
“I’ve already told you, we’re just friends.”
“Good, then you wouldn’t mind if I asked him out?”
“Not at all.”
“Right. So, when you finish gawking at the guy you don’t have feelings for, meet me in the dog kennel.”
The dogs howled and barked their greetings as they always did. “We’re just friends.” I took a box of treats from the storage cabinet, and Mary followed me as I greeted each dog with a treat and a quick ear rub.
“Then why mention it again?”
“Because if you want to ask him out, then I want you to do that.”
“I don’t want to ask him out. I was kidding. Besides, you may be just friends, but it’s obvious he wants more.”
I ignored that. “No new intakes yesterday?”
“No. Probably weather related, and stop trying to change the subject.” She opened Homer’s kennel and gave him a hug. Homer was Mary’s favorite. A pittie mix, though we weren’t sure what exactly that mix was, Homer was an owner surrender that came in about a month ago. His ears hadn’t been clipped, and he didn’t exhibit any signs of abuse, but the owner said he was too hard to handle. He wasn’t for any of us, and I had a feeling once the puppies were all adopted out, Mary would take Homer home. Like me, she’d probably end up an old lady with a house full of dogs. “We’ve been friends for a while now, right? I consider us friends at least.”
“I consider us friends. too.”
She kept Homer in his kennel and followed me. “I know you don’t like to talk much about your husband and what happened, but I’m here you know, if you ever want to.”
I finished petting one of the dogs and turned to face her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
After Sam died, people offered their condolences, and during the funeral, those condolences overwhelmed me. I went through the motions, my grief numbing me to the reality that lay ahead. I wanted to be alone, I just couldn’t handle people telling me how sorry they were, how much they wished it hadn’t happened.
Who wished for the death of a healthy man with half if not more, of his life still ahead of him?
I had enough frozen casseroles in my freezers to feed an army. Hayden even took some to work, but that didn’t make a dent in our stock.
Sam’s funeral was excruciating, but it couldn’t compare to what happened next. The after, when everything settled down and people went on with their lives, was the worst.
Everyone felt Sam’s loss, but while lives may have changed some, ours were forever changed, and once the casseroles were gone, the sorry for your loss comments ended, we faced an emptiness, a loneliness nothing or no one could replace.
I didn’t know how I could survive, but I did. I had to, for Hayden.
Talking about my loss wouldn’t help. I figured that out quickly. I just had to learn to live my new normal.
“Can I say something?”
I’d been lost in the memories, and her voice took me by surprise. “Sure.”
“Even if it’s not Max, maybe it’s time to, you know, put yourself out there again.”
I shook my head. “Oh, no. I am not interested in any of that. I’m too old for that kind of thing.”
She laughed. “Do you know how many women your age are on the prowl? Go to any bar on a weekend. Trust me, it’ll scare you.”
“All the more reason not to put myself out there. Too much competition.”
“I didn’t know Sam, but I can’t imagine he’d want you spending the rest of your life alone.”
For the first time, I told someone other than Hayden how I truly felt. “I don’t think I could love someone the way I love Sam, and I don’t think that’s fair to them.”
“You don’t have to love them, and even if you did, there’s room in your heart for more than one love.”
“Maybe someday,” I lied. “Just not yet. I’m not ready.”
“I’m not sure the cat whisperer will wait around.”
“Mary, he and Sam were close. Even if I had feelings for him it wouldn’t be right.”
“If your husband liked him, I don’t see why he wouldn’t want you to be with him.”
We rounded up a few dogs and headed outside.
Bandit and Allie ran around the turf with the other dogs. I wanted to explain to her the thi
ngs Sam and I had said in the past, how we’d joked about being alone because we never expected one of us to die, not that soon, and how he may have secretly meant it, but Max walked outside, and it wasn’t the time.
He wiped his shirt with a lint brush.
Mary smiled. “You’re a pro at this now, huh?”
He smiled. “I even take allergy medicine before coming here now.”
“You’re allergic?” I asked.
“No, but being in close quarters with that many cats is bound to make someone sneeze.”
Mary and I laughed. Max was a good man.
“I’ll get the rest of the dogs,” she said. “At least for round one of play time.” She smiled at us both and headed back inside.
I watched the dogs as we talked. “Cindy owns the land she wants to build the shelter on.”
“I know.”
I huffed. “Well, gee. Thanks for telling me.”
He raised his palms up and shrugged. “It’s common knowledge.”
“Sam was the one that cared about that kind of thing, not me.”
“I’m sorry. I guess since I thought Jenna knew it, you did, too.” The cords in his neck stiffened when he said his ex-wife’s name.
Max didn’t talk much about Jenna. He kept things close to his chest, especially about their divorce. People liked Max. Even though he was influential and had a large bank account, he wasn’t pretentious, and his genuine desire to help others was obvious.
“Jenna’s always been more outgoing than me. I’d expect her to know.”
“You’re outgoing.”
I laughed. “Right. If there’s a dog in the room, I’m a social butterfly. Put me with a group of people and I clam up and hide in the corner.”
He placed his hand on my shoulder and left it there. “Not really. Not anymore. You’ve changed over the last few years.”
I had, but I still wasn’t the social butterfly Jenna was, and I doubted I ever would be. That was Sam’s job. I was always the quiet one, the one that stood next to him, beaming with pride and having brief, casual conversations with people, never anything of substance. He used to laugh and call me his arm candy, but I’d never really felt like that either. Since he died, I’d had to drag myself out of my shell and into the world, and I’d done it kicking and screaming. It wasn’t that I didn’t like people, though I did like dogs more than humans. Being shy is often misperceived, and that misconception was usually negative.
Hounds, Harvest, and Homicide Page 8
