Black Cat Crossing (20 page)

“
I
DON’T WANT TO
talk about this,” Wes Krane said.

If the man had killed Vicki Palmer all those years ago, I ought to race into my bedroom, lock the door, and call 911, but where had I left my phone? I turned my head slightly to scan the kitchen counter.

No phone.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, Mr. Krane. What’s the matter?” I moved my arms surreptitiously against my pockets to feel for a phone bulge.

Nothing.

“Things didn’t work out the way I hoped they would,” he said.

“They often don’t.” I took a minuscule step backward and hoped he wouldn’t notice. “In a perfect world, I’d be celebrating my tenth wedding anniversary this year. My marriage didn’t work out, though, and here I am all by myself.”

Except for the cat.

“How long have you and Mrs. Krane been married?”

“Thirty-two years,” he said, his tone flat.

“Wow, that’s great.” I took another step. “I don’t know why you say things didn’t work out. You have a great daughter and a successful business.”

He walked over to the table and put the tube of caulking down. “Money’s not everything.”

“I totally agree. Otherwise, I’d still be living in Houston, working at a law firm.” I could hear the panic in my voice. Krane still looked sad rather than threatening, but emotions could turn quickly. Would he chase me if I ran?

“I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Mr. Krane. You should really discuss things and get your feelings out in the open.”

“Always kept to myself, no reason to change now.” He lowered his head and looked at the floor. “A wonder I haven’t gone insane.”

This was a certain cue for me to run, but I truly didn’t believe the man meant to harm me. To be on the safe side, I moved into the living area and stood on the opposite side of the sofa. The bedroom door was less than ten feet from me if I decided to bolt. I could climb out the window with the cat in seconds, if necessary.

“You should never keep your emotions bottled up,” I said. “You loved Vicki, didn’t you?”

His chin quivered as he nodded slowly. “I can’t think about her without losing it. So many years later, but it seems like yesterday.”

“You were seeing her, weren’t you, here at this cottage?”

He nodded again.

“Did you break in here today looking for something?”

His eyes met mine. “Her necklace. I need it back now. The girl said you found it.”

“You could have asked me to give you the necklace without trashing my home.” I couldn’t help the hint of aggravation that crept into my voice.

“The necklace is very personal,” he said, “and I want to keep it private.”

Didn’t want his wife seeing the engraved jewelry is what I figured he meant, but no sense riling the man up by putting it in so many words. I’d left the necklace in the pocket of those shorts Hitchcock was playing with on the bed. I wasn’t going to risk Krane in his unstable mood seeing the cat.

“I’ll look for the necklace,” I said, “but you can’t expect me to find anything this minute after the big mess you made in here.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Vicki only wore it when we were together, and I thought she hid it outside. She said under the stone. I thought she meant the steps, but I never could find it.”

“What?”

“Those steps.” He pointed halfheartedly in the direction of the river.

“You messed with the steps, too?” This guy was really ticking me off.

He shifted nervously. “I said I was sorry. This was a lot of years ago. A necklace could have worked its way into the ground.”

“So you went digging around our steps?”

“How else was I gonna find it?” he said.

I could feel my blood pressure rising. Heat flooded my face. “You moved the steps and made them dangerous. My aunt took a tumble down those stairs and broke her leg because of you. She could have been killed.”

“I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt.”

“No woman would hide a cherished gift from her lover in the dirt,” I said, my voice rising. “Even if she had, did you ever once think it would be smarter if what Vicki buried thirty years ago stayed buried?”

He shook his head. “I had to find the necklace before someone else did.”

Behind Mr. Krane, the door slammed open against the kitchen counter. Judith Krane walked into the cottage.

Her husband jumped nearly a foot. His jaw dropped when he saw her. “Judith. What . . . what are you doing here?”

I didn’t care as much why she was here as I cared about the gun she held in her right hand.

“You idiot,” she spat. “All these years, and you’re still making dumb-ass choices.”

“Judith, I— How did you know where I was?”

The woman’s gun wavered between me and her husband, but her fierce expression was all for him. I almost felt sorry for the man. “I followed you, Wesley. Now go outside and wait for me while I take care of things.”

My stomach sank. I should have run when I had the chance.

“Why are you here, Judith?” I said.

“I don’t need to answer that,” she said. “You already know way too much.”

Mr. Krane didn’t move. “What do you need to take care of?”

I swallowed. “I don’t think she’s here to retrieve the necklace, Mr. Krane. She looks like she’s here to kill somebody, and I’m guessing this isn’t the first time. She may be the one who got rid of your girlfriend.”

He tried for a wide-eyed innocent expression. “What girlfriend?”

Judith snorted. “For pity’s sake, Wesley, I know about you and Vicki Palmer. I’ve
always
known.”

Mr. Krane’s brow creased.

“So you killed Vicki?” I said. “Because you didn’t want to share your husband? That’s pretty drastic.”

“Judith didn’t do anything,” Mr. Krane blurted. “She wasn’t here when Vicki died.”

I looked at him. “But you were?”

He hesitated for a few seconds, then said, “I can’t live with this anymore. Ever since the bad luck cat came back, things keep getting worse and worse.”

No way was he blaming this disaster on Hitchcock. “Dang it, Mr. Krane, no cat caused Vicki Palmer’s murder.”

Tears sprang to his eyes again. “It was an accident.”

“She was accidentally murdered?” I said.

“No. Vicki fell and hit her head. We were fixin’ to leave, but then a car was coming, and we ran along the river so they wouldn’t see us.” He paused, his expression sorrowful.

“And then what?” I said.

“Vicki tripped and fell in the dark. She tumbled, cried out. I heard a loud crack, then quiet. Her head.” He lifted his hands and stared at them. “So much blood. I tried to save her, I swear.”

I glanced at Judith Krane, who appeared to be following the story with interest.

“But you couldn’t save her,” I said. “So you moved her body to the river to make it look like she’d drowned?”

“I, I didn’t know what to do.” His voice collapsed into sobs. “I couldn’t let anyone know about us.”

Judith barked out a laugh. “Best dang news I ever had when that slut died. Didn’t know how it happened, and I didn’t care.”

I edged toward the bedroom, but Judith wasn’t about to let a move go unnoticed. “Stay put,” she yelled.

“Why?” I said. “I don’t care about your marital issues. I don’t care about whatever happened thirty years ago. I don’t even care that Mr. Krane broke in here to search for a damn necklace. It’s no big deal, so why don’t the two of you go on home now?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” Judith said. “We’re leaving, but you’re coming with us.”

That’s what she thinks.

“Why did you put up with your husband’s affair in the first place, Judith?” I said. “That doesn’t seem like your style.”

A shadow crossed her expression. “I had Hallie to think about.”

“Okay,” I said, “that’s a reason, but it sure as heck isn’t a good enough one.”

“Wesley’s parents needed our help to run the store,” she said. “Their business was growing fast.”

“Ah,” I said. “You wanted to inherit the cash cow.”

Judith gave me a bitter grin. “I worked my butt off for that damn business.”

Mr. Krane cocked his head. “You stayed with me because of the business?”

“Finally, the light dawns,” she said. “Now quit being such a wuss, and help me fix this disaster you created.”

I said, “If Vicki’s death was an accident, all you need to do is admit the truth to the sheriff.”

“We’re
not
talking to the sheriff,” Judith said. “No one is going to ruin our family name.”

I swallowed. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“You would when you get this whole mess figured out,” she said, “and you’re too damn close. That’s why you’re leaving with us. It’d be too coincidental to find another body in the river, though. We’ll have to take you on a little trip.”

“Another body?” I said. “The only body in the river since Vicki Palmer’s was Bobby Joe Flowers.” I stopped talking, and my mind raced.

Bobby Joe had given couples access to the cottages. Odds were Judith wasn’t the only person who’d known about Wes Krane and Vicki Palmer all along. Bobby Joe wasn’t above lying, cheating, or taking advantage of people to get what he wanted. Obviously, Judith would go to great lengths to protect what was hers. If the two of them had opposing goals—

I did my best to ignore Judith’s gun and looked her straight in the eye. “What did Bobby Joe do to you, or should I say, what did he try to pull before you decided to get rid of him?”

Judith smirked. “I knew you’d figure it out.”

Mr. Krane looked at his wife. “What’s she talking about, Judith?”

She gave him a disgusted look. “Wesley, you don’t have the sense God gave a rock. I wasn’t going to sit by and let that man bleed us dry.”

Mr. Krane’s eyes widened. “You knew?”

“Of course, I knew,” she hollered. “Get it through your thick skull that I know
everything
. You couldn’t have paid out tens of thousands in blackmail money without my knowing about it.”

“You killed Bobby Joe,” I whispered.

“That’s right.” Judith walked past her husband, nearing me, and motioned with the gun. “Go on. We’re leaving now.”

Wes Krane watched with an expression of complete disbelief.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” I said. “And you don’t want to shoot me here, because they’d find the blood even if you tried to clean it up, and they wouldn’t quit looking until you were behind bars.”

“They quit looking for Palmer’s killer,” she said. “You mean even less to the community.”

I looked at Mr. Krane, but he was focused on something else. His expression had changed from incredulity to horror as he stared toward my bedroom doorway.

That’s when Hitchcock shot into the living room like a rocket, charging between Mr. Krane and his wife.

Wes Krane jumped a foot and screamed, “It’s him, the bad luck cat.”

“Cut the crap, Wes,” Judith shouted. “It’s a damn cat.”

But Mr. Krane couldn’t be calmed and kept up his screaming as Hitchcock raced in circles around the sofa, cutting between me and Judith. Above the blood pounding in my head, I heard a weird jangling noise. The cat had something caught in his claws.

Vicki Palmer’s necklace.

Wes saw it, too, but his fear of Hitchcock must have outweighed his desire to retrieve the sought-after piece of jewelry. He ran screaming from the cottage.

Judith aimed her gun at the circling cat, but he was moving too fast.

I couldn’t let her get off a shot.

I whirled and grabbed the fireplace poker. Just as I was about to clobber Judith with it, Hitchcock took a flying leap over the sofa to land on the woman’s back.

From her bloodcurdling scream, I knew he’d landed with claws fully extended.

The gun slipped from Judith’s fingers, and I rushed to pick up the weapon.

“That’s enough, Hitchcock.” I trained the gun on Judith as she sank to her knees.

Thomas burst through the cottage door. “Wes Krane took off out of here like his pants were on fire. What’s going—?” He froze when he caught sight of Hitchcock hanging on to Judith’s back.

He pointed. “That’s the—”

“The cat who saved my life,” I interrupted, “and he’s one heck of a good luck charm.”

W
HEN MAX OPENED
Hot Stuff for business on Thursday morning, he found me standing at the coffee shop’s entrance with my laptop.

Seven a.m.—an ungodly hour to be out and about, but I had declared today do-or-die time for finishing the draft of my book. I told Max so, and he cooperated by leaving me to sit alone with my back to the other customers. Most important, he kept the fresh-brewed Lavender’s Sunrise coffee coming.

I had spent the better part of the past two days at the sheriff’s office answering questions about the Kranes and Vicki Palmer and dealing with phone calls. Today I was ready to delve into fiction, preferably not in my cottage, where I couldn’t quite banish the image of Judith Krane and her gun.

Here at Hot Stuff, with background music by Kool & The Gang, the Pointer Sisters, and Michael Jackson, my writing zipped along. By eleven, Max couldn’t stay quiet any longer and took the seat across the table from me.

“I appreciate your keeping the public at bay,” I joked, “so I can concentrate on my book.”

“Everyone says you’re a hero.” He grinned. “You brought closure to the Vicki Palmer case that’s been plaguing the community for thirty years. They understand you need some time, but you can bet there’ll be a slew of questions from the gossipmongers when they catch up with you.”

I nodded. “After this book is turned in.”

Max tipped his head toward the window overlooking the shop’s parking lot.

“Don’t know if it’s a good idea for your cat to sit out there in plain sight,” he said.

I glanced out the window. My car was parked under a tree, and Hitchcock sat in a statuesque position on the hood.

“Don’t worry,” I said with a grin. “He’s not going to bring you bad luck.”

“I believe you, but I don’t know about everyone else. Ethan Brady from the bookstore was out there taking pictures earlier.”

“Yes, I know. Ethan had my permission to take publicity photos for our Love-a-Black-Cat campaign. He and I are teaming up with the vet’s office to educate people about the endearing qualities and good luck that black cats can bring to families.”

“That may be a bigger challenge than you expect,” Max said. “Had a customer in here this morning who says her tomatoes won’t turn red because the bad luck cat walked through her garden.”

“Reasonable people know that’s a bunch of baloney,” I said.

“Of course,” he said, “but you
do
have to deal with Thomas. How do you think he’ll take to this campaign?”

I shrugged. “He knows Hitchcock lives with me now, and that the cat saved my life.”

“Think that will keep him in line?”

“Believe me, I’ve threatened Thomas enough times that
his
life would be in danger from me if he even
thinks
about touching my cat.”

“That might do the trick.” Max nodded. “I’m glad Hitchcock was in the right place at the right time to help you. I need you to finish that book, ’cause I’m itching to read it.”

“When it’s published, Max, not before.”

“Step in the right direction to hear you say
when
and not
if
.” He stood and bopped away from my table in time with “Boogie Oogie Oogie.”

I had Kree Vanderpool to thank for giving me the added confidence I needed to finish the manuscript. Her complimentary words had done wonders to silence my inner critic. I picked up my coffee cup and reread the passage I’d just written. Before I could decide what to type next, I heard a familiar
click-clomp
and turned to see Aunt Rowe on her crutches coming toward me with Glenda trailing her.

They didn’t hesitate to join me at the table.

“Max is supposed to be protecting me from interruptions,” I teased. “I’m trying to finish the Great American Novel here.”

“How ’bout you take a break for some Great American Gossip?” Aunt Rowe propped her crutches against the side wall. “We went to see Abigail Stafford this morning.”

“The woman Bobby Joe mentioned?” The one whose gossip had started this whole mess.

“Yup,” Aunt Rowe said.

“I thought she lived in Austin.”

“Used to,” Glenda said. “She just moved into a retirement center in Mayfair.”

“Huh.” Mayfair was about forty miles away, a mere skip and a jump in terms of traveling the huge state of Texas.

“She may be eighty-nine years old,” Aunt Rowe said, “but she remembers Bobby Joe’s and Becky’s mama having an affair clear as day.”

“Oh no.” I slumped in my chair. “With PawPaw?”

“Nope.” Aunt Rowe beamed. “There was another Charles who lived down the street. Upon further questioning, it dawned on Abigail that she’d seen Charlie Yost and Eliza Flowers together that one summer.
Not
Charles Flowers after all.”

“That’s great news,” I said. “I’m happy to keep my good memories of PawPaw intact.”

“Me, too.” Aunt Rowe grinned. “Bobby Joe might have been somebody else’s half brother. Glad he wasn’t mine.”

Glenda stared out the window at my car with its feline hood ornament. “Why’d you bring that poor cat to town with you and put him on display in this heat?”

“Hey, don’t blame me.” I shook my head. “He has a mind of his own.”

“What does that mean?”

“No matter how hard I try to get out the door without Hitchcock on my heels, if that cat wants out, he gets out. He’s an expert at slipping past me without me even seeing him go.”

Glenda rolled her eyes. “Are you saying he’s a magical cat?”

“I don’t believe in magic.” I remembered Twila Baxter’s claims that I had powers as a witch now that I’d been reunited with my black cat. That was crazy talk, and I refused to take it seriously.

“Hitchcock is talented, that’s all,” I said. “I didn’t even know he was in the backseat of my car today until I pulled into the lot, and he meowed.”

“If that don’t beat all,” Aunt Rowe said.

“And get this.” I laughed. “I saw cat hair on the backseat of Thomas’s Wrangler. I have a feeling Hitchcock has ridden to town with him a time or two, with Thomas never the wiser. Where is Thomas this morning anyway? Still home celebrating the fact that he’s not in jail?”

“No,” Aunt Rowe said. “He’s at my house. I asked him to keep an eye on Becky. She’s headed up to Dallas in the morning for Bobby Joe’s memorial service. Meanwhile, I want to make sure she doesn’t steal the silver.”

“You seriously think she would steal from you?” I said.

“She’s Bobby Joe’s sister,” Aunt Rowe said. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she learned a trick or two from him. Last I heard, she still has that private eye looking high and low for money that probably doesn’t exist. Bobby Joe hardly had two nickels to rub together.”

I shook my head. “He sure made some bad choices.”

“If any money
is
found, won’t it have to be returned to the Krane family?” Glenda said.

“I think Wes Krane is too emotionally damaged to take action on getting the money back,” I said. “With his wife in prison, who knows what will happen to the family and their store.”

“I could never have held my temper like that woman did,” Aunt Rowe said. “If Wes Krane was my husband, and I found out about his fling, I’d’ve had his nuts in a vise so fast—”

“And that’s why you’re divorced, Rowe.” Glenda giggled.

“Guess Judith’s temper finally got the best of her,” I said. “Bobby Joe only thought he was at the river to meet Mr. Krane and get another twenty-thousand-dollar payment.”

“The money Becky expected to see in the bank account that never showed up,” Aunt Rowe said.

“That’s right. Instead, Judith showed up with a gun that she didn’t even need when slamming Bobby Joe with the shovel did the trick.”

Aunt Rowe said, “Is that how Jeb says it went down?”

“He doesn’t like giving details to civilians,” I said, “but I heard enough to get the gist. Speaking of Sheriff Crawford, when are you going to give in and start accepting his invitations, Aunt Rowe? You’d make a cute couple.”

“Whenever you hitch up with that handsome game warden,” she said with a glint in her eye.

I wasn’t ready to admit my interest in Luke Griffin. “Life is complicated enough without adding a man to the mix.”

“You’ll rethink that one of these days,” Aunt Rowe said.

“Maybe.” I shrugged. “Today I’m thankful Judith Krane didn’t get the chance to use her gun on me because Hitchcock was there to save the day.”

Aunt Rowe reached across the table and put her hand on mine. “I’ll bet you would have figured a way out of that jam all by yourself,” she said, “but if Hitchcock helped you, then I owe him big-time.”

“At least everyone has stopped freaking out when they see the cat.” I turned to look at my car again, but Hitchcock was gone. I scanned the parking lot and spotted him as he jumped up on the shop’s front windowsill.

A woman sitting nearby saw him, too, and leapt out of her chair, screaming, “It’s the bad luck cat!”

The clatter of a falling tray and breaking dishes came from the kitchen.

I turned to Aunt Rowe and Glenda and shrugged. “Well, almost everyone.”