Black Cat Crossing (19 page)

F
RANK’S REVELATION SHUT
me up. I told him I was sorry about his sister and walked away. The man didn’t have any reason to lie to me about where he and Bobby Joe were on the night Vicki died. Sheriff Crawford probably knew this information already, which could be one of the reasons he didn’t want to hear my theories.

So now what? It wasn’t a good idea to head straight for my car, because what I wanted to do more than anything was drive straight to the sheriff’s department and tell everyone there how stupid they were.

Bad idea.

I hated to waste time, but I needed to calm down. Ditch the attitude and think logically about my next step. So I walked on the riverbank, upstream from the place where people jumped in with their tubes, to a peaceful area where I could think. Squeals of the river-goers sounded faint in the distance.

I thought about Bobby Joe as I climbed over rocks and sidestepped fallen limbs. He had done something that led to his murder. He had crossed, or cheated, or threatened the wrong person. How could I learn the identity of that person? A squirrel chattered in the tree above me. If he was trying to tell me something that would help, the clue escaped me.

If only the peacefulness of this place could seep into my bones and make my heart rate slow down. That probably wouldn’t happen until the murder was solved once and for all. I stood, walked a little farther, and stopped when I noticed a couple of teenage boys fishing from the riverbank up ahead. They were laughing and seemed to be having a great time. A large light-colored dog pushed through nearby bushes and approached the kids. Trailing behind the dog, a man crossed the bank. I stopped short. Luke Griffin. He walked up to the boys and began a conversation.

Time to head for the car.

I turned and walked in the direction opposite the fishermen, dreading the long hike back to where I’d parked. I thought about Luke’s mother, who obviously hadn’t killed Bobby Joe. She was grief-stricken over his death. Luke, on the other hand, was glad to see the man dead. He’d admitted as much to me. I could understand why he’d want Bobby Joe out of his mother’s life, especially if the bit about the business investment was a complete fabrication on Bobby Joe’s part to take Marian’s money. Did Luke know that Marian had handed off money to Bobby Joe? Was that the same money Becky expected to appear in the bank account?

I stopped walking. Griffin might have facts that could help me figure this mess out. No time like the present to ask him. I turned around and headed back. Before I’d gone ten feet, the dog trotted toward me and I realized it was the yellow Lab I’d seen riding in Griffin’s truck.

“Angie,” Griffin called out. “Come, Angie.”

The dog’s ears perked up, but she continued to watch me until her master came through the trees, saving me the extra steps in going after him.

Angie nudged my leg, and I reached down to pat her head.

“Hey,” Griffin said, “you planning a dognapping?”

“Not me.” I shook my head. “You give those kids a ticket?”

“Nope. They have their fishing licenses.”

“Good.” I didn’t know where to begin with my questions.

“You look like you lost your last friend,” he said.

“Not yet,” I said, “but my friend Thomas and my aunt Rowe are being investigated by the sheriff’s department for murder. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but I’m afraid those deputies have their minds made up.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, “I saw you talking to Frank Palmer. What’s that about?”

Common sense told me not to share everything with Griffin, but I didn’t see any harm in discussing events from thirty years ago. I told him what I knew about Vicki Palmer and Bobby Joe from back in the day.

“Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel, I guess.” Griffin leaned against a tree, and his dog circled two times before lying by his feet. “Bobby Joe might have aided and abetted Vicki’s affair with the secret boyfriend, but Frank gave Bobby Joe an alibi for the night she died.”

“That’s about right.”

“So you don’t think Frank killed Bobby Joe.”

“No.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, it wasn’t me,” he said. “Just in case that crazy thought is running around in your head.”

I studied his sincere expression and believed him. “Did you know your mother gave money to Bobby Joe, purportedly as a business investment?”

He sighed. “She finally admitted that to me a couple days ago. If the guy hadn’t been killed, you’d better believe I’d go after him to get the money back. Probably no use now.”

“She’s not the only woman he left high and dry.” I stopped before mentioning Becky.

“Who else?”

“There might be a whole row of them,” I said, keeping it vague.

“The jerk obviously thought Mom was rich. Went after her to get to her money. When she happened to mention that my stepfather’s entire estate including the ranch was left to his children from a prior marriage, not to her, he dropped her like a rock.”

“That sounds like something he would do.”

I wondered where the money was that Bobby Joe had stolen from Griffin’s mother. Might Claire Dubois have it? Should I mention her to Griffin? Before I could decide, my phone signaled an incoming text.

I pulled it out, read the message from Glenda’s husband, and felt the blood drain from my face.

Monte Carlo broken into and ransacked. Called 911.

“I have to get home,” I told Griffin and began running back toward where I’d left my car. The Lab ran along beside me, and I heard Griffin coming, too.

“Wait.” He caught up with me and grabbed my arm. “My truck’s right here. We’ll take you.”

I
DIDN’T WANT TO
waste a second, so we didn’t stop to get my car. Griffin negotiated the curving road while I huddled in the passenger seat with one arm around his dog. The Lab leaned into me and drooled on my lap the whole way. I read Griffin the text message from Lloyd and appreciated the fact that he didn’t ask a bunch of questions I couldn’t answer anyway. I worried what had become of Hitchcock during the break-in and prayed he was okay.

We arrived in eight minutes flat, and I directed Griffin to my cottage, where a sheriff’s department car was parked in front. Lloyd sat on the porch, and I immediately spotted the cat in his lap.

Hitchcock
.

Griffin rolled down a window and ordered Angie to stay in the truck. We jumped out, and I ran over to Lloyd, concerned for the cat. The cottage door stood open, and one of the glass panes was shattered. All the intruder had to do was reach inside and turn the keyless deadbolt. We definitely needed to upgrade security around here.

I stroked Hitchcock, who seemed unperturbed by all the activity, and looked at Lloyd. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. I was making laps of the grounds. On my third go-round, I heard this one.” He indicated the cat. “Howling and meowing for all he was worth, making a terrible racket, so I came over to take a closer look.”

“You could hear the cat from inside?”

Lloyd shook his head. “No, he was outside. I’d seen him earlier hanging around the birdbath by Rowe’s deck, but when the ruckus started, he was on your porch. I don’t think he was down here when the break-in happened, but he sure wanted me to know about it.”

I’d have to make another search of the cottage for cat-escape hatches. The only time Hitchcock hadn’t gotten outside while I was gone was when I’d locked him in the bathroom.

Griffin patted the cat’s head. “This the little guy you told me about?”

“Yes, this is Hitchcock, but the break-in has
nothing
to do with bad luck. I don’t care what anyone says.” I turned my attention to Lloyd. “Any news about Aunt Rowe and Thomas?”

“Rowe rode back with Deputy Rosales.” Lloyd tipped his head toward the open cottage door. “They’re inside.”

I groaned inwardly at the thought of dealing with Rosales, but I wanted badly to see my aunt. I rushed inside, and Griffin followed. The extent of the vandalism took me aback, but I went straight to Aunt Rowe, perched on a dining chair with her cast sticking out at an uncomfortable-looking angle. She held shards of a red glass vase I knew had belonged to my granny, her mother. The despair in her expression broke my heart. Rosales wasn’t in sight.

I stooped next to Aunt Rowe’s chair and touched her arm. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.” Her gaze traveled around the cottage, taking in the mess. “I ever find out who trashed this place, I’ll—”

“What’s going on with Thomas?” I interrupted to stop her from making a threat while Rosales was on the premises.

“Glenda’s waiting with Alma,” she said. “He should be out any minute.”

“Out of where?” Griffin said. “You told me he was being investigated.”

Aunt Rowe peered at Griffin. “’Less we have a problem with wild animals that I don’t know about, Warden, I don’t get why you’re here.”

“He’s with me, Aunt Rowe,” I said. “Well, not
with
me, but he drove me home.”

“Your car break down?” she said.

“No, but—”

“Sabrina was upset when she heard about the break-in,” Griffin said. “I thought it safer if I drove her.”

Aunt Rowe eyed Griffin, then me, and nodded.

I looked at Griffin. “Thomas was arrested for murder this morning. Sounds less frightening to say he’s being investigated.”

Griffin frowned. “Do they have any evidence?”

“Hardly,” I said, “but Rosales is in some all-fired hurry to get this done and—”

A throat cleared behind me, and I turned to see the deputy coming from the bedroom. “Ms. Tate,” she said tightly as she looked from me to Griffin, “why don’t you have a look around and tell me what’s missing. Seems your annoying habit of asking questions about a murder has caused someone to retaliate.”

“Questions I wouldn’t have to bring up if you had asked them before arresting the wrong person,” I shot back. “I’m surprised you could pull yourself away from the case to come over here.”

“You’re part of the case,” she said before turning her attention to Luke Griffin. “What are
you
doing here?”

“We were up at Frank’s when Sabrina learned about the break-in,” he said.

She propped a fist on one hip. “Doing what?”

He lifted his chin. “Talking.”

I didn’t want to get into the middle of their conversation, so I walked into the bedroom to survey the damage. Every dresser drawer was open and dumped, the contents strewn across the floor. The clothes from my closet had been thrown on the bed and rifled through. Aunt Rowe’s artwork from Monte Carlo had been removed from the walls and laid on the floor. A framed photograph of my dad had fallen off the dresser. I took in the damage with a lump in my throat, not sure whether I wanted to scream or cry.

Griffin came into the room and put a hand on my shoulder. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Stay out of this, Luke,” Rosales said, coming in behind him. “Ms. Tate, make me a list of everything that’s missing, and I’ll include it in my report.”

“I can’t tell if anything’s missing,” I said. “The TV’s still here, and I had my computer with me.”

“Check your jewelry,” she said, “and cash. Sometimes they’re after money.”

“I don’t have much jewelry, and if the perpetrator wanted cash, they were out of luck coming here.”

Someone
was
looking for money, though. Becky. Had she searched my cabin to see if I was holding money for Bobby Joe? If she and Ledwosinski suspected me of being involved, why wouldn’t they simply have come out and asked me? I thought of mentioning the two of them to Rosales, but if I sent her down a rabbit hole, she’d only have more to hold against me.

“Were any of the other cottages touched?” I said.

“No.” Rosales shook her head. “But I’ll be talking to everyone, looking for witnesses.”

“You’re going to tell our guests we’ve had a break-in?” I threw my hands in the air. “You can’t do that.”

Of course she had to question the guests. Alert them for the sake of their own safety. I realized that, but I was so dang frustrated.

“Sabrina,” Griffin said in a warning tone, but I couldn’t shut up.

“We have a right to privacy, you know,” I said. “You better not say anything to ruin Aunt Rowe’s business. And you better not talk to them about Thomas, because he’s not guilty.”

Rosales gave me a look that might strike a weaker person dead. “I’m going to do my job to the full extent of the law,” she said, “which includes interviewing you down at the sheriff’s department. I’ll expect you in my office tomorrow morning at eight sharp. Got that?”

“Oh, I got it all right, and I’ll be ready. ’Cause you know what, Deputy? I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”

“Maybe you don’t,” she said in a low voice, “but your aunt might. We’ll get a copy of her father’s will. DNA testing to confirm the victim was her brother. That should nail everything down.”

Rosales walked out, and I turned to Griffin.

He shook his head. “I tried to stop you.”

“Whatever,” I said. “She doesn’t scare me.”

He looked down. “Your jittery knees say otherwise.”

I locked my knees to keep my unsteady legs still. The truth was Rosales scared the heck out of me. I didn’t want to consider what would happen if Bobby Joe’s claim that he was Aunt Rowe’s brother turned out to be a fact.

Worry about that later.

I looked around the room. “Seems like whoever broke in was searching for something. Too bad I have no earthly idea what that might be.”

A
UNT ROWE STOOD
and hobbled over to the kitchen counter on her cast after Deputy Rosales’s car pulled away. I felt heartsick about the break-in and her damaged mementoes. She tossed what was left of her broken vase into the garbage and looked at me and Griffin.

“I don’t know what you two did to tick off the deputy,” she said, “but the highlight of my day was watching the hostility pour off that girl, thick as mashed potatoes, when she saw you together.”

“We didn’t
do
anything,” I said.

“The deputy likes to act tough.” Griffin righted a dining chair and pushed it up to the table. “It’s a front.”

His comment insinuated he’d seen a different side of Rosales, maybe a softer, more cordial side. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know more.

“That woman doesn’t even care who broke in here,” I said. “All she’s thinking about is closing the murder case, even if it means locking up an innocent person. At least you’re back home where you belong, Aunt Rowe.”

“For the time being,” she said.

My heart rate kicked up. “What do you mean?”

“She’s not finished with me. Asked me a passel of questions about our family and my past with Bobby Joe. You know I couldn’t keep a straight face and say we were pals. He never deserved a second’s respect, that’s for dang sure.”

“Shh, Aunt Rowe. Don’t say that.”

“What?” She looked around the room. “You think whoever broke in bugged the place?”

“Good grief, I hope not.”

Griffin said, “You have any ideas about motive for the break-in?”

I shook my head. “Not a one.”

“Rosales is doing her best to link me to the crime,” Aunt Rowe said. “Real sly-like, as if I’m too dumb to realize what she’s up to. Tomorrow she’ll turn on you.”

“Not the first time,” I muttered under my breath.

Hitchcock wandered in from the porch and approached Aunt Rowe to rub the side of his mouth against her rough cast. She grimaced as she leaned over to scratch the cat’s head.

Lloyd, who had stayed outside on the porch, stuck his head in. “Glenda called. Thomas and Alma went home, and she’s on her way here. Said to be sure you’ve taken your pain meds, Rowe.”

“Tell that wife of yours to quit harping on me,” Aunt Rowe said.

“You need to take Glenda’s advice,” I said, “and get some rest, too. You look beat.”

“Plenty of time for rest if I end up in the slammer,” she said.

“Which is
not
going to happen.” My stomach churned at the thought.

Aunt Rowe approached the door and motioned to Lloyd. “Help me up to the house, before your wife, or should I call her the drug police, makes it back.”

After they left, Griffin said, “Want some help straightening this place up?”

“No, thanks, but I could use a lift to my car.”

“Okay. Let’s go.”

While Griffin let his dog out of the truck for a quick potty break, I measured the broken window so I’d know what size replacement glass to get. We were both silent during the drive back to Frank’s. It was near dinnertime when Griffin pulled up next to my car in the half-empty lot.

He looked over at me. “Take care of yourself. I don’t think that was a random break-in.”

“Neither do I. Thanks for the help.” I gave Angie a hug, then climbed out and brushed dog hair from my shirt.

I fumed about my ransacked cottage as I headed back. I couldn’t miraculously find and punish whoever was responsible, but I hoped I’d feel better after the place was cleaned up. A few minutes later, I pulled in at the hardware store to pick up the things I’d need to accomplish my mission. Business dwindled as closing time neared. Inside, Judith Krane worked one of the registers while Hallie straightened a display of work gloves near the front door.

“Hi there,” the girl said. “Help you with something?”

“I need a piece of glass to replace a windowpane,” I said, “and that goopy white stuff that holds the glass in.” I’d never installed a new pane myself, but I’d watched Thomas replace one after a kid accidentally cracked the window with his baseball. It looked like a relatively easy task.

“Sure,” Hallie said. “Follow me.”

As we walked down an aisle, I grabbed a dustpan and brush, a package of sponges, and a bottle of Mr. Clean. Glenda kept a storage closet at Aunt Rowe’s house filled with supplies, but I’d been meaning to pick up some things of my own. The dustpan would come in extra handy now that I had a litter box in my cottage.

“Dad taught me how to cut the glass, and he says I’m real good at it.” Hallie reached her destination and turned around. She noticed the things I’d picked up. “You need a shopping cart?”

“I’m fine.” I propped everything on a nearby shelf.

“Doing some spring cleaning?” she said.

“Not intentionally.” I gave her the window dimensions, and she pulled out a fresh piece of glass.

“How can you be unintentionally cleaning, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Had a break-in,” I told her, “and the place is in shambles. I’m gonna burn off some of my anger by cleaning.”

“I get it.” Hallie nodded. “Sorry to hear about the break-in.”

“Thanks.”

“This have anything to do with the murder?” she said.

“Probably.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t go back there. Is it safe?”

Good question. I drummed my fingernails on a shelf. I could always spend the night at Aunt Rowe’s if staying in the cottage made me nervous, but I’d clean up first regardless.

“I’ll be fine,” I told Hallie.

The girl measured and marked the glass for cutting. “I heard a customer talking about a girl who died in the river by your place. Long time ago.”

“Yeah. There’s a connection between her and the murder. You hear anything about that?”

Hallie shook her head. “What’s the connection?”

“Don’t know yet, but I’m not gonna quit looking until I figure it out.”

“Huh.” Hallie picked up her glass cutter and leaned over to make a cut. “Mom told me you’re a writer. Maybe you can use this in a book plot someday.”

“That’s a possibility,” I said. “Real-life experience gives me plenty of ideas.”

For all the good it did me. I already had more ideas than I could ever write about—what I needed was the time to write them. Now a murder investigation of all things was taking up my precious time while an agent waited for my completed manuscript. I hated to say the book had to wait however long it took to solve the case, even if it meant losing my big chance with the agent, but in this instance that was the hard truth.

Hallie finished cutting my glass and wrapped it in brown paper. Two minutes later, I was back at the car placing my things in the trunk. As I slammed the lid, an Escalade pulled up smoothly and stopped right behind me.

Now what?

I marched around to the driver’s door and was surprised to see Felice Dubois behind the wheel as the driver’s-side window powered down.

“I thought that was you,” she said in an unfriendly tone. “I want you to stop harassing my husband.”

I glanced around to see if there was someone else standing near me that she might be addressing.

There wasn’t.

“What are you talking about?” I said.

“You keep asking Leo about our daughter, and he gets so worked up. You need to stop. Immediately.”

“If Claire’s being gone is so upsetting to him, why don’t you tell him where she is?” I wasn’t taking any guff from this woman after everything that had happened today. There was only so much restraint in a person, and mine was used up.

Felice stared at me for a moment before responding. “My daughter is working through some personal issues,” she said. “If Leo gets involved, things will become too emotional. You have no need to speak with Claire right now.”

I had to give her credit for not lying and saying she didn’t know Claire’s whereabouts. “But I
do
need her now. There’s a murder investigation going on.”

“Murder?” Felice jerked back as if I’d spit in her face. “She has nothing to do with that.”

“How do we know? She dated the dead man, didn’t she?”

“She may have,” Felice said slowly.

“You know she did, and several other people have mentioned seeing them together.”

“So what? You’re not a cop, and you shouldn’t be investigating in the first place. I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“I suppose I could ask Mr. Dubois,” I said.

“Don’t you dare,” Felice said.

“Then talk to me.” I raised my eyebrows. “Claire dated Bobby Joe Flowers, then she disappeared, and he’s dead. Now I understand some money is missing. Someone broke into my cottage. I want to know what the heck is going on.”

Felice’s eyes widened. “You’re calling my daughter a thief?”

I shrugged. “Put together the fact that she’s so elusive and bad tempered, and I think it’s reasonable to suspect her of killing the guy before going into hiding.”

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” Felice shouted, then glanced at customers leaving the store and lowered her voice. “If you must know, my daughter is with her ex-husband.”

“What?” I felt like I’d missed a plot point and needed to go back and reread a chapter or two.

“Her ex-husband, Colin Guidry, is recuperating from open heart surgery. Claire’s staying with him for a while, but don’t you dare breathe one word of this to my husband, young lady. Not one word. Do you understand?”

•   •   •

I
DROVE
home feeling more agitated than ever. I had
wanted
Claire to be guilty. I’d hoped clues would fall into place once I got answers from her. But her mysterious whereabouts were only a deep dark secret from her father, who, according to Felice, detested the ex-son-in-law with a passion. The only reason they didn’t want Leo Dubois inspecting the wine store’s books was because Claire had paid some of her ex’s medical expenses from the business account. Her agenda had nothing to do with Bobby Joe’s death. She’d ditched him before he could do any damage to her life. Good for her.

Bad for the rest of us.

I went straight to my cottage and carried my purchases inside. Laid the new glass on the kitchen table to deal with later. I went into the bedroom and changed into my oldest, most comfortable sweatpants and T-shirt, then filled a bucket with soapy water and got to work. I started in the bathroom and rescued all of the toiletries that the burglar had thrown out of my medicine cabinet into the sink.

What the heck was this all about?

I cleaned the inside of the cabinet and replaced the products on the shelves, then attacked the sink and scrubbed until my knuckles felt raw.

Hitchcock sat on top of the mussed bedclothes, watching me. So far, I was getting more angry instead of ridding myself of tension. I tackled the tub, then scrubbed the tile floor. The cat played with the shorts I’d taken off, batting at the zipper pull on a pocket. Nice to see someone was having a good time. I left him to play and moved on to the kitchen. I was sweeping up the organic sugar dumped on the kitchen counter when I heard a knock.

I took two steps back to a point where I could see the door.

“Mr. Krane, what are you doing here?” I turned my head slowly to look toward the bedroom. I felt sure he couldn’t see Hitchcock, and I didn’t need to open the door since we could speak to each other through the broken window frame.

“That plumbing job I did earlier hold up okay?” Mr. Krane said.

“Yeah, fine, I guess.” Odd that he’d feel the need to come over to check on the leak he’d fixed, but I knew he was concerned about Thomas’s arrest, too.

“Thomas should be home by now,” I said, “if you were wondering about him.”

“That’s good news.” He peered through the window into the cottage. “Looks like you could use a hand.”

“No, thank you.” I wanted him to leave before Hitchcock decided to wander out to investigate our visitor. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Hallie told me you bought some glass. I can put that in for you.”

“No need,” I said. “I’m sure you’re tired after a long workday.”

“It’s no problem.” He reached through the broken window and turned the knob, then opened the door and stepped inside. “I can fix that right quick.”

I stared at the man. I didn’t want him inside with the cat mere yards away. Why was he being pushy about this? More than pushy. Inviting himself into the cottage was seriously creepy.

Mr. Krane went to the table and unwrapped the glass. “This sure is a nice cabin. You like it here?”

I wanted the man to get out and leave me alone, but maybe I was overreacting. He’d helped us out earlier, and he was Thomas’s friend.

“I love the cottage. It’s a great place to live.”

“Lots of nooks and crannies,” he said. “Betcha there’s lots of little secret hiding places in here.”

Hiding places?

“Think whoever broke in was looking for something special?” he said.

I frowned. “There’s nothing special in here.”

“Sure about that?” He wiped his palms on the legs of his pants before picking up the piece of glass and holding it up to the window frame. I noticed large wet rings under the arms of his white short-sleeved shirt. The evening was a pleasant seventysomething with a light breeze, not the least bit humid.

“No little trinkets hidden away?” he said.

A chill ran down my back. I remembered the necklace Molly had found and the initials engraved on the tarnished heart. The girl had talked to Mr. Krane before he left. Was he personally familiar with the necklace?

I cleared my dry throat. “Mr. Krane, you told me you’ve lived in Lavender your whole life, right?”

“Me?” He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, my whole life. Sure have.” He placed the glass back on the table and reached for the tube of caulk.

“And you knew Bobby Joe Flowers?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“You probably knew Vicki Palmer, too.”

The caulking tube slipped from his fingers, and he stooped to pick it up.

“Who?”

“Vicki Palmer. The girl who died near this very spot.”

“Palmer, hmm, maybe I did.”

“I believe you knew her very well,” I said, on a hunch.

I waited for him to turn around. When he did, his complexion was strawberry red. Tears filled his eyes.