The Black Cat Steps on a Crack

by Kay Finch

  “I apologize for the offensive question, but did you?”

  “Absolutely not. I assure you the decision to hire Jane was made by the whole committee after a very fair interviewing process.”

  “That’s good. Sorry, but I had to ask.”

  “And now I have to ask something. You said you would track down every last living relative of Jane’s. How is that project coming along?”

  I should have known that faking the attitude of an FBI agent with a task force at the ready was a bad idea. Krenek seemed to think I was doing this all for her. My motivation had more to do with finding the truth, clearing Tyanne’s husband, and convincing everyone that Hitchcock had not caused Jane’s death.

  I placed my palms flat on the conference room table and looked her in the eye. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t an easy task. No one knows about Jane’s family—not her landlady or her former coworkers, friends, no one. Maybe she doesn’t have family. Some people don’t.”

  “True,” Krenek said grudgingly.

  “I’d vote you the most likely person to know the most details about Jane’s life. You hired her for a position. She must have given you some personal information. Plus, I imagine you did a criminal background check.”

  “Not yet,” she said. “The position won’t officially start until we’re closer to the library’s opening day.”

  “So you may have hired a person with a shady background.”

  “That’s absurd. Jane was a perfectly upstanding citizen. She already worked for the county, at the library in Emerald Springs.”

  “But you didn’t check.”

  “I said not yet. Of course, we would have checked.”

  “I’m sure you would,” I said, “or maybe that’s one of the things the sheriff has done now, in his investigation into Jane’s murder.

  “Of course,” she said. “He probably has.”

  “I wonder if he knows anything about the man you were speaking with at the bank today.”

  She looked at me as if I’d asked her about space aliens. “What man?”

  “He wore a black suit, had dark hair. You and he stood inside the bank near the entrance to the vault.”

  A glimmer of recognition crossed her expression. She remembered Mr. X.

  “Were you following me?” she said.

  “No. I went into the bank. You were there. You had a conversation with the man. The same man I saw when I went to Emerald Springs and talked to Jane’s former coworkers and her friend—the woman who’s living in Jane’s house. The man was watching that house. I don’t know why. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know why he’s in Lavender today. I need his name.”

  She sputtered. “I, I, how am I supposed to know his name? He was a stranger in the bank. He spoke to me.”

  “Did he start the conversation?”

  “I think so.” She paused for a few seconds. “Yes, he did.”

  “Did he tell you his name?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m sure he didn’t. He said something about the town, how he thought it was a pleasant little place to live, but then he heard about the murder and changed his mind.”

  “Did he mention Jane by name?”

  “No, he was surprised when he heard about the local crime, that’s all. You’ve read way too much into a few casual words.”

  “This man might be key to figuring out what happened to Jane.”

  “If that’s true, the sheriff needs to talk to him right away,” she said. “How do you suggest we figure out how to identify this man?”

  “I think you’re in a position to pull a few strings,” I said. “After all, you’re married to the mayor.”

  “If it means you’ll quit acting like I’m in cahoots with this stranger, I’m in. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Chapter 21

  I had definitely piqued Doreen Krenek’s interest in Mr. X. She thought the man exuded wealth, which made him exactly the type her friends would notice. She would ask around and report back if she learned something. She’d see if anyone at the bank had his real name. Determine if any traffic cams had captured his arrival or departure from Lavender. I wasn’t sure how that would help us, aside from seeing which direction he came from, but I didn’t shoot down her idea. If she got results, that’s all that mattered. I hoped Mr. X had not already left town at Costello’s direction. At least not before someone—ideally the sheriff—had a chance to talk with him.

  While Ms. Krenek was busy with her tasks, I thought of my own to-do list. I knew the sheriff could run the plate number I copied from Mr. X’s car, but I wanted an excuse to talk with Rita Colletti, my former boss. She most likely subscribed to an online service that would give her the same information. I typically avoided the woman, but what I really wanted was a chance to ask Rita about her friendship with Jane. Rita’s office was close enough for me to walk, so I left my car and started in that direction.

  On the way, I pulled out my phone and called Tyanne. The phone rang so long I expected to get her voice mail message. She answered on the fifth ring and sounded breathless.

  “Hi,” I said. “How’s everything?”

  “Good, for now,” she said. “I’m at Walmart with Abby. It’s a madhouse this time of day, but she has a science project due tomorrow, and we needed supplies.”

  “Sounds like a challenge,” I said. “Where’s Bryan?”

  “Over at the Simpson house. Said he’d focus on his second job while the first one’s on hold.”

  “The Simpsons—aren’t they the ones who busted his alibi?” I said.

  “They didn’t do anything wrong, just answered the sheriff’s questions truthfully.” Her tone was edged with irritation.

  “I’m glad he’s keeping busy. Obviously, they don’t believe he did anything wrong.”

  “I guess not.”

  “He find that proof for the sheriff?”

  She paused for two beats, then said, “I think so.”

  Her answer didn’t sound heartfelt, but she wouldn’t want to discuss this in front of Abby. Maybe Tyanne was concentrating on finding the supplies they needed.

  “I’ll let you go,” I said, and we ended the call.

  Tyanne was stressed, and I didn’t blame her. Now she had to supervise a science fair project. I wouldn’t want to trade places. And I hoped Marge Boyd didn’t get wind of the trip to Walmart for things Tyanne and Abby could have bought from Get Crafty. More than that, I hoped Bryan was officially off the sheriff’s suspect list. Even if he was off the hook, though, I still wanted to know what happened to Jane. I wouldn’t stop worrying about Bryan either, not until the case was officially closed.

  When I reached the Colletti Law Office, I took a deep breath to fortify myself before stepping inside. The reception area was decorated in browns and grays with furniture that appeared more modern than comfortable. Six of Rita’s annual “Top 100 Lawyers” plaques hung on a wall.

  A young dark-haired woman with a telephone receiver propped on her shoulder sat behind a desk to my right. A stack of banker’s boxes stood to one side of the desk. She appeared to be in the midst of a sorting project. Piles of documents on the desktop overflowed onto similar stacks on the floor around her. They looked like financial statements—a discovery project, I assumed. As I knew firsthand, working for Rita could easily overwhelm a person.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said into the phone. “I’ll have that done before I leave.”

  She hung up and looked at me. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”

  I introduced myself and offered my hand.

  She had a firm handshake for a small woman. “Aurelia,” she said. “I’m Ms. Colletti’s assistant.”

  “I’d like to see her if she’s in.” I looked at a closed door behind the assistant’s desk, then returned my gaze to her. “I’m having a little déjà vu moment here.”

  Her brows drew together. “Why is that?”

  “All of this”—I indicated the papers surrounding her—“brings back memories.
I worked for Rita at her former firm. In Houston.”

  “And you still think she’ll see you on a walk-in basis?” Aurelia said with a smirk. “You’re not on her schedule.”

  “Sometimes you have to push the envelope with Rita,” I said, “and this is one of those times.”

  Before the assistant could respond, the door to the lawyer’s office swung open, and Rita stepped out. Her glasses sat on top of her head and she held a pen in one hand, a sheaf of papers in the other.

  “Here’s more from—” She spoke before she noticed me, then stopped talking. She studied each of us in turn. “Do you ladies know each other?”

  Aurelia and I said “no” in unison.

  “We just met,” I added.

  “Why are you here?” Rita said. “You need a lawyer?”

  Our relationship was such that Rita knew I didn’t come because I missed seeing her. “It’s about Jane Alcott,” I said. “You have a minute?”

  She handed the papers to Aurelia and instructed the assistant to make edits. Then Rita beckoned for me to come into her office. I sat in one of the guest chairs. Rita closed the office door, then took her seat behind the desk and looked at me expectantly.

  “I’m glad you found an assistant,” I said. “Aurelia seems nice.”

  “She’s all right,” Rita said.

  She had never been one for chitchat.

  “I heard you and Jane Alcott were friends,” I said.

  “We met. We were both new in town. We had dinner.”

  “Okay. So you knew each other, but not long enough for you to classify her as a friend?”

  “Jane was bubbly.” Rita paused. “I don’t do bubbly.”

  She could certainly say that again.

  Rita met my gaze. “I was sorry to hear about her death.”

  I looked at the prints hanging on the wall opposite Rita’s diplomas. “Are those the prints Jane bought for you?”

  The lawyer raised one brow. “Apparently you already know they are. I’m not surprised that antiques store woman is gossiping. She’s an odd duck.”

  I didn’t comment on Twila’s personality. “Nice of Jane to buy you something. Your birthday is months away. Was there a special reason for the gift?”

  Rita seemed surprised that I’d remember anything about her date of birth. “We went into the store together,” she said. “The same day we had dinner. I looked at the prints. Next thing I knew those were delivered here. Jane called them an office-warming gift.”

  “She liked to buy things for people.”

  “She was a nice person,” Rita said.

  A tribute from an impersonal woman. My expression must have registered surprise.

  Rita said, “I know, I know. I don’t warm up to people well. So shoot me. I’m trying to do better.”

  I smiled, but Rita had turned away. Seemed she did not necessarily want to warm up to me.

  “Did you do legal work for Jane?” I said.

  She shook her head. “Jane was not a client.”

  Was she skirting the question? I moved on. “Do you know where she’s from?”

  “I believe she mentioned Emerald Springs,” Rita said.

  “She had a house there,” I said, “but I mean before then. Originally.”

  Rita shrugged. “I had no reason to gather personal details.”

  “Did she say anything to you about family?”

  She thought for a moment before answering. “She talked so much, I tuned her out after a while. If she mentioned family, I didn’t notice.”

  “Has the sheriff talked to you about her death?”

  “No, and there’s no reason he should. I don’t know anything relevant about Jane.”

  “You can’t be sure that’s true.”

  “You want someone to hypnotize me to see if I remember every word the woman said?”

  Her tone could have scorched the paint off the walls. I sat back against the chair. The old Rita was rearing her head. “Where did that come from?”

  “I’m busy,” she said. “Is there a point to this interruption of my day? It’s getting late.”

  “Yes, there’s a point. I’d like you to help me with something.”

  Rita met my gaze. “Because you’ve always been so very helpful to me when I asked you for help?”

  I ignored the jab.

  “There’s a shady character hanging around, and I think he might have known Jane.” I told Rita about my sightings of Mr. X. “I think it’s important to find his identity, but the sheriff is so busy, too busy to talk with me. I have the mystery man’s license plate number.”

  I pulled the piece of paper on which Tyanne had written the number from my pocket. “Do you have the ability—”

  “Give it to me.” Rita snatched the paper from my hand.

  She turned to her computer and logged on to the site I remembered using when I worked for her. When the page connected, she looked at the notepaper and entered the number. Waited for a few seconds. Then she twisted to look at me.

  “Nice try,” she said. “The car’s owned by Capital Rent-a-Car.”

  When I left Rita’s office and closed her door behind me, Aurelia was on the phone. I paused to listen and took in the mass of paperwork around her, the two computer monitors with multiple open windows, the pile of phone messages stabbed onto a holder.

  If there was one thing I did not want to see in my future, it was another job like this one. Aunt Rowe had given me the chance of a lifetime—time to write and a complimentary place to live while I made a good effort to achieve publication. We both knew making enough money to live on as a writer was unlikely, and I refused to take advantage of her indefinitely. My savings account wouldn’t last forever. Yet here I was, doing everything except paying attention to the career I wanted.

  Get with the program, Sabrina.

  I left the office with a wave to Aurelia and began to reorder my priorities. Yes, I was concerned about Bryan, but if Tyanne thought things were okay now and he was past suspicion, then I needed to let it go. I could send the sheriff a short email containing the facts I thought he needed. Then I would get back to my own work.

  First stop—the vet’s office to pick up Hitchcock. I liked to say the cat brought suspense and general good karma to my writing. I had a great idea for the next move Carly Pierce should make, but I wasn’t going to get into the storytelling mode without the cat by my side.

  Chapter 22

  I woke the next morning to Hitchcock head-butting my chin. Not unusual, but I felt like this was the middle of the night. I managed to slit my eyes and look toward the window. Light fought to make its way through the slats of the closed blinds.

  “What time is it, buddy?”

  “Mrreow.”

  “You don’t say.” Groggily, I threw back the covers and swung my legs around to get up. I squinted at the clock. Nine fifteen.

  Late for me, but not considering that I had stayed up until two. My writing had moved along surprisingly well after I emailed the sheriff as planned. I unloaded everything on him. Things I’d seen, suspected, feared, and my imagined connections. Then, with my focus cleared, I delved into my fictional world.

  I, or should I say Carly Pierce, was also trying to solve a mystery. Hers felt controllable, with all the facts and clues invented by me. Too bad things didn’t work that way in the case of Jane Alcott.

  Hitchcock ran ahead of me to the kitchen, where I fed him breakfast, then started my coffee brewing. While I waited for the coffee, I went to my computer and read over the last few pages I’d written in the wee hours. They sounded pretty good. I knew exactly where the chapter was going and could probably pick right up and accomplish more today. That is, if I ate my meals at home and Hitchcock didn’t go stir crazy indoors. I knew from experience it took very little to sidetrack me once I left the cottage.

  “I think we’ll stay home today, Hitchcock. You okay with that plan?”

  He cast a sideways glance at me and kept crunching his kibble.


  We had successfully avoided the Crop Shop Crew women the evening before, and I wanted to keep it that way. I hoped their next activity was nice and bland, appropriate for their age. But then, bucket lists aren’t necessarily nice and safe. They included the exciting or fulfilling activities that a person didn’t want to leave undone.

  I poured my coffee, added cream, and sipped thoughtfully. I wondered how many things Jane would add to such a list, given the chance she would never have. I didn’t want to dwell on the sad thought, though, so I went straight to the shower and proceeded to prepare for my day. I spent the time running through my plot points and writing the next scene in my imagination.

  Thirty minutes later I was dressed, fed, adequately caffeinated, and ready to write. I sat down at the laptop while Hitchcock napped on a sofa cushion. So far, he hadn’t protested being kept inside. My phone pinged with a text message from Luke.

  Mornin’ sunshine. Thinking about u.

  I wished I could respond with ditto but that would be a lie. What did it mean that he wasn’t on my mind more often? I felt a wave of guilt and quickly wrote back.

  Good morning. Can you talk?

  I had barely hit Send when my phone rang.

  “What’s up,” he said when I answered.

  “I wanted to hear your voice,” I said truthfully. “How’s work?”

  “Same old, same old. Guys hunting birds when it’s not bird hunting season, deer when it’s not deer season. What are you up to?”

  “Working on my book. Making good progress, I’m happy to say.” I swiveled the chair and got up, walked to the window and looked out across the property toward the other cottages. No one was in sight.

  “That’s great,” he said. “I like you working on the fictional kind of murder investigation.”

  Scanning the grounds, I wondered if Costello was in his cottage and if he’d see Mr. X again anytime soon.

  Not your business, Sabrina.

  I turned away and pulled my focus back to Luke. “You’ll be happy to know I turned over everything about the case to the sheriff.”

  “Good move. Maybe he can piece it all together. He has another—” He paused.