Black Cat Crossing (10 page)

T
HE BRIGHT SUN
hit Thomas square in the eyes, and I hoped the glare prevented him from seeing into the truck. A quick glance assured me Hitchcock was calmly sitting on the backseat, out of Thomas’s line of vision. So long as the cat didn’t choose this moment to jump through the open window, we were good. Except I didn’t want Thomas to see that I’d removed papers from the glove box either. He might report my actions to Aunt Rowe, and she wouldn’t approve of my snooping in a guest’s vehicle no matter what the circumstances.

“One second,” I said and stuffed everything back where I’d found it. I closed the truck door and turned around.

Thomas tipped his head toward the Venice cottage. “I hope Lee isn’t in there.”

“Give me more credit,” I said. “He’s not here, but let’s move away before he gets back.”

We skirted the cottage and headed toward my place. I felt better now that we’d put some distance between Thomas and the cat. I looked at his shovel and, since I hadn’t yet decided how to explain my actions, changed the subject. “What are you working on?”

“Steps to the river,” he said. “Where Rowena took her fall.”

“I noticed those stones seemed dangerous.”

He nodded. “Like they loosened up or somebody moved them.”

“Why would anyone have done that?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “but we’re not taking chances. Rowena asked me to put up a handrail.”

“Good idea.”

“What’s with Lee’s truck?” he said.

I stopped and looked at him. “Do you know about the picture taking?”

“I’ve seen the dude with a camera.”

I gave him a quick rundown about the horseback riders and Lee’s photo shoot.

“I don’t like it,” Thomas said when I’d finished. “If he’s shooting scenery for some magazine, why’s he parked in the same spot for days?”

“Exactly,” I said. “He’d be all over Lavender and move on to neighboring towns. I’m afraid it’s Aunt Rowe he’s zeroed in on for some reason. That’s why I looked in his truck. His insurance is under the name Alvin Ledwosinski, which could be Lee’s real name. Or else Lee borrowed the truck from a friend. Whichever. I’m going to check him out.”

“Good,” Thomas said. “Rowena doesn’t need more trouble. Bad enough the law is after her.”

I stopped in my tracks. “What?”

Thomas propped his shovel on the ground and leaned on the handle. “My wife has a friend who works at the church building next to the sheriff’s department. She hears things.”

“What has she heard?” I tried to swallow, but my throat felt too parched.

“Deputy Rosales is making a case against Rowena,” he said. “An eyewitness placed her outside the night Bobby Joe died. Rosales knows he claimed to be her brother and how Rowena smacked him in the head.”

“She didn’t kill him,” I said.

“I know, but there’s more.” Thomas scuffed the toe of his boot in the dirt. “Rosales talked to relatives. One of them said Rowena threatened to kill Bobby Joe in the past.”

I groaned. “If she did say those words, she didn’t mean it. Lots of people say
I could kill him
. No one believes they intend to do anything.”

“I’m saying what I heard, that’s all.”

“Have you told Aunt Rowe?” I said.

Thomas gave me an are-you-out-of-your-mind glare. “Not yet.”

“Which relative gave Rosales that tidbit?”

Thomas shrugged. “Maybe Bobby Joe’s brother or sister.”

“I have to believe the sheriff will push Rosales to investigate other suspects,” I said.

“Sheriff is sweet on your aunt,” Thomas said. “You know that, right?”

I nodded, but I was miffed that this was news I had only heard today. Thomas obviously had known about the sheriff and Aunt Rowe for some time.

“Crawford is honest and fair,” Thomas said, “but if Rosales has evidence—”

He let that sentence hang, and we were silent for a few seconds.

“Aunt Rowe needs to hire an attorney,” I said. “The sooner, the better.”

“Try convincing
her
.” Thomas picked up his shovel. “I’m going back to work.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let Rosales get the best of us. I’m gathering facts on other suspects. I have a feeling there’s no shortage of people who wanted Bobby Joe Flowers dead. Maybe even this Lee character.”

“Don’t forget the game warden,” he said.

I turned to Thomas, my eyes wide. “Why him?”

“Griffin was out here late Thursday evening.”

“How late?”

“Eight or nine. I saw him in the woods across the river.”

“Does Rosales know?”

“I told her. She’s paying it no mind, even though she knows Griffin had no use for Bobby Joe.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Bad blood between those two.” He shook his head. “I heard they had some knock-down-drag-outs.”

“I’ll add him to my list.” Griffin
had
been on my list, but I’d mentally crossed him off after our discussion at Hot Stuff.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Thomas tucked his shovel under his arm and walked away.

I thought about Luke Griffin as I watched Thomas trudge toward the river. Griffin hadn’t given me a specific reason for the argument I’d witnessed between him and Bobby Joe. Nor had he mentioned he was here on the night Bobby Joe died, but then why would he? He was a game warden. I imagined his work was largely done outside. He kept his eye on woods, rivers, animals. I hated to admit he belonged on the suspect list, along with Claire Dubois and Adam Lee, but knowing he was in the vicinity of Bobby Joe’s murder made him a possibility. Which reminded me, I had some research to do when it came to Adam Lee and Alvin Ledwosinski.

As soon as Thomas was out of sight, I took the opportunity to carry the cat supplies in from my car. I didn’t want him quizzing me about them when we already had enough on our minds. I could have read him the riot act about his plan to trap Hitchcock, but I feared broaching the subject would have the opposite effect and bring Thomas straight to my cottage. I’d have to tread carefully.

I left my door ajar and emptied a can of grilled tuna into one of the new dishes. If Hitchcock wandered in this direction again, I hoped the smell would bring him inside. The cat and I were becoming more familiar with each other. I had to believe he’d let me feed him. Whether he’d agree to live inside with me remained to be seen.

I sat down and turned on my laptop. As I waited for it to boot up, worry for Aunt Rowe flooded over me. Maybe I should search for criminal attorneys first, probably someone from the city. Somebody top-notch. The prospect turned my worry to anger. Aunt Rowe should
not
need an attorney. She was innocent. I had to find a way to convince Rosales to look for the real killer.

With that resolve, I did a computer search for Adam Lee that resulted in so many hits I’d have been sitting there for a month if I tried to read them all. I checked a dozen of the sites before deciding to start over with the less common name. I typed in Alvin Ledwosinski and clicked “Search.”

No matches.

I took a break to glance at my e-mails and saw one from Tyanne with an “Urgent” icon next to the message. The subject line read,
Synopsis Critique—Call me ASAP.
I promised myself I’d call her soon, but I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deal with that yet.

I stared at the computer screen for a minute and thought about similar searches I’d conducted as a paralegal. The law firm where I’d worked subscribed to several services that provided access to databases full of information about people and companies. I didn’t want to wait until Monday to call a former co-worker and ask for help, so I took a chance and opened one of my favorite sites. Feeling only slightly guilty, I tried the log-on ID and password I’d used dozens of times before and, luckily, they hadn’t changed since I left my job.

The site opened. Before I was allowed to proceed, I had to check a box that claimed the search was related to a criminal proceeding. Well, it
was
, right?

I went to the “People Finder” page and typed in the name Alvin Ledwosinski, then drummed my fingers on the edge of the laptop while the computer generated a report. My pulse quickened as I scrolled through every address associated with the guy, all in Austin, though none matched the insurance card address. I zipped past credit records and paused to spot a Toyota Tundra, last year’s model, on the list of vehicles owned by the man. This had to be my guy. I reached “Possible Business Affiliations” and stopped.

Ledwosinski Enterprises and ALE Associates.

I opened a new window and did a Google search for Ledwosinski Enterprises.

Nothing.

I tried ALE Associates, which led me to a company website. My heart raced when I read the site headings.
Surveillance—Family Investigations—Criminal Investigations—Corporate Investigations
. I read the blurb—
ALE Associates offers a wide range of investigative expertise
. The company address matched the address on the insurance card.

“Dang it,” I said aloud. “Did someone hire a PI to check out Aunt Rowe?”

And his name is Alvin Ledwosinski, not Adam Lee.

“Who would do that and why?”

I pushed my chair back, startled to catch sight of Hitchcock out of the corner of my eye. He was chowing down on the food I’d left in the dish. The sight calmed me a bit.

“You’re a smart boy, aren’t you, Hitchcock?” I used a baby-talk voice, as people commonly did with their pets, but he didn’t seem to mind. He looked up at me briefly, then went back to the food. I stood, found the other dish I’d bought, and filled it with water. I moved cautiously and placed the dish on the floor near the food dish. He kept eating. I wanted badly to stroke his sleek black fur, but I backed off and sat in my chair instead.

I watched the cat as he finished his meal. He went to the water bowl and lapped eagerly. That made me smile, but my happiness at being able to care for Hitchcock was overshadowed by concern about the PI spending time with my aunt.

Should I contact Sheriff Crawford? Before I could make up my mind, Glenda tapped on the cottage door.

“Knock, knock.” She walked in without waiting for a response from me.

Hitchcock streaked past her, out the door.

“What was that?” Glenda scanned my kitchen counter and took in the cat food and other supplies. “You got a cat?”

“Sort of,” I said.

“Glad to see you’re working on your book,” she said with a big smile. “Tyanne told me about the agent meeting. How exciting.”

“When did you talk to Tyanne?”

“She called the house a few minutes ago, looking for you. I told her you were probably hunkered down over the computer, and I was right.”

“Why didn’t she call my cell?” I felt my empty pockets then spotted the phone on the kitchen counter. Belatedly, I remembered changing the settings.

Glenda went to the phone, picked it up, and brought it to me. “Your head’s buried in that book, and that’s a good thing. All your hard work is about to pay off when you meet with that woman tomorrow.”

I glanced at my missed messages from Tyanne and turned the “Do Not Disturb” off. “I hope so.”

I considered telling Glenda what I’d learned about Adam Lee, but then she’d go off on a tangent and I’d end up discussing my suspect list with her, and she’d go back and tell Aunt Rowe everything. I wasn’t ready for that yet, not to mention the time it would take.

Glenda must have noticed the faraway expression on my face as these thoughts ran through my head. She said, “Sorry, I’ve obviously interrupted the creative flow. I took some fresh towels over to Paris. We have guests checking in there tonight. I’m glad news of the murder hasn’t chased away business.”

“Me, too.” That might change if Aunt Rowe was arrested.

“Come over for dinner,” Glenda said. “I’m making barbeque ribs, one of your favorites.”

Despite my preoccupied thoughts, the mention of her ribs made my mouth water. “Okay.”

“Tyanne’s coming, too,” she said. “Six o’clock straight up. Rowe and I won’t mind if you two discuss fiction. In fact, we’d be glad to hear about your novel. You can practice your pitch. Got to run now.”

She left before I could respond.

I checked the clock and saw that I had a couple of hours before dinner. I had no pitch prepared for the agent, and I sure as heck needed to read over the synopsis before I saw Tyanne. So much had happened since I finished the draft, I wasn’t even sure I remembered the plot. Maybe it would be good to let this news about the PI sit before making a decision on whether to confront him, go to the authorities, or simply wait and watch what the guy was up to.

I sighed, logged off the Internet, and opened the synopsis document. I hadn’t even decided on a book title. I pulled up a list of ideas I’d typed ages ago. Reading the list now, the ideas sounded corny, and I knew some of them were titles of published books. A new idea popped into my head, because it signified how I felt at the moment.

Grasping at Straws
.

I reminded myself that my goal when I came to Lavender was to devote myself to becoming a successful author. I wasn’t doing a very good job of staying on task. Bobby Joe Flowers’s arrival and then his death had ruined my momentum. I’d do better after the killer was caught and behind bars. But my big opportunity with the agent was tomorrow. Tyanne was right to push me. This was important, though not as important as keeping Aunt Rowe out of jail. I decided to let my investigation simmer for at least the next hour while I read through my synopsis.

It didn’t take long before I was moaning to myself about gaps in the logic of my plot. No doubt Tyanne had picked up on the same issues. I started editing, and by the time I’d reached page three, I noticed Hitchcock sitting outside on the windowsill.

Glenda had closed the door when she left. I got up and opened it before returning to my chair. Within minutes, the cat was back at the water bowl. He took a good long drink, then sat on the kitchen mat in front of the sink and began bathing himself. I took a chance in closing the door, and the cat didn’t seem to notice. The fact that he wasn’t skittish with me made me feel warm inside.