In for the Kill [Hawkman Series Book 9] (3 page)

"Why's that?"

Clyde chuckled. “A tall red headed woman, dressed to the hilt, who carried herself like royalty, just didn't fit with the guy in jeans, tee shirt and needing a shave. And they both bought their own doughnuts."

"What'd the guy look like?"

"Not quite as tall as you, with a fairly buff build. He had dark brown hair, with a tinge of gray at the temples, and green eyes. The right corner of his mouth had a twitch when he spoke.” Clyde touched the middle of his nose. “Oh, and right here, he had a funny bump like it'd been broken. Also, he asked about your business hours. Said you weren't in your office and he didn't see a sign. I told him you usually made appointments with clients. The woman didn't say much of anything."

"Did you by any chance see either of them get into their cars?"

He shook his head. “No. Then he snapped his fingers. “I do remember when they left the shop, the guy stopped the woman a few feet outside the door and pointed to your shingle. She nodded and said something, then they parted, going in different directions. Later, my assistant, Gary, told me the woman performed weddings.” He waved a hand in the air. “You know like a reverend. But he'd never seen the man before."

"Weddings?"

Clyde nodded. “Yeah. I thought it odd too."

"Did he mention her name?"

"No, but I'll ask him later today."

"I'd appreciate it, Clyde. Thanks."

Hawkman trooped up the stairs to his office wondering what the two had talked about outside the bakery. He hoped Gary might be able to supply a name for the lady. He put on the coffee pot and while waiting for it to brew, punched up the messages on the answering machine. He recorded the threatening one he'd already heard when he activated it from the house. Maybe Bill would want to run these through the voice recognition system. Once he listened to the rest, he poured himself a mug of java and munched on the eclair as he opened the telephone book to the yellow pages. He flipped through until he reached ‘Weddings'. After scanning the ads, he jotted down a couple of names and numbers of women who advertised themselves as ministers who performed such ceremonies. He doubted she had anything to do with the man or the threats, but might have noticed what type of vehicle he drove.

Hawkman tried to concentrate on his other cases, but thoughts of threatening phone calls kept entering his mind. He picked up the receiver and punched the number for Jennifer's cell phone. When she didn't answer, he immediately dialed the landline and waited for the answering machine. “Jennifer, this is Hawkman, pick up."

"Hello,” she said, sounding out of breath.

"You okay?"

"Yes, but this kitten is about to do me in. I hope she settles down soon or I'm not going to be able to keep her."

"What happened?"

"I found her nosing around in your closet. We're going to have to keep the doors closed since we've got mouse poison in there."

"Did she eat any?"

"No, I believe I caught her in time. She seems to be acting fine. I'll keep an eye on her."

"Maybe we won't need to put it out anymore with a cat in the house."

"That's a thought."

"Anything unusual going on?"

"Not that I've noticed. I haven't done much observing of the outside, been too busy with the cat. The house is locked up, the alarm system is on and I don't plan on going out today. Any news on your end?"

"Clyde, the baker, had a couple of new visitors at his shop last week. The man asked some questions about me. The woman is someone who performs weddings."

"What'd she look like?"

"Tall, redheaded, regal looking woman is how Clyde described her."

"Oh, that's Rita Rawlings."

Hawkman practically came out of his chair. “You know her?"

"I met her at a wedding. She even marries people in jail."

"Really? That's odd."

"Bet she had an event in your area and dropped by the bakery for a quick picker-upper."

"Sounds reasonable."

"Why are you interested?"

"She happened to be in the shop the same time this man came in. They exchanged a few words outside and he pointed at my sign, but Clyde didn't hear their conversation. I'd like to know what this guy said."

"Give her a call."

"I will, since I have her name now. Thanks."

"Glad to be of help. I better run and find the little pest. No telling what she's up to now."

Hawkman laughed. “Okay, hon, talk to you later."

He hung up and fished out the notepad from underneath a stack of papers where he'd written the two phone numbers earlier. After punching in the digits, he received a message instructing him to leave his name and number. She'd get back to him as soon as possible. He grimaced, but left the information and hung up. “Nothing's easy,” he mumbled, tapping his pencil on the desk.

He thought about Clyde's description of the man and couldn't place a green-eyed, dark-haired guy in his past. Didn't mean an adversary didn't exist. Someone could hold a grudge due to an ugly incident without ever meeting face to face. Maybe Bill would come up with something. He hoped to hear from him in the next day or two.

Hawkman scratched his chin. Of course, this fellow at the donut shop might just have wanted my services, and had nothing to do with the threatening calls. Time will tell.

He felt stymied at the moment, with no clues on the caller. The phone I.D. was blocked, and the calls weren't long enough to set up a trace. He exhaled loudly, opened a folder and tried to focus on one of his current cases, only to have his concentration interrupted by a knock on the door. Reaching up to his holster, he flipped the cover. “Come in,” he called.

A lovely, redheaded woman stepped into the room. She appeared quite a bit older than he, but the expertly applied make-up, twinkling green eyes, pale emerald colored silk blouse, skirt and beige cape, camouflaged her age. “Mr. Casey?"

"Yes.” Hawkman straightened his jacket and immediately stood, as something about her stance made him feel obligated.

She strolled toward him and extended her hand. “I'm Rita Rawlings. I received your call. Since I was in the area, decided to stop by and see if you were in your office."

He shook her hand, then pulled a chair over to the front of his desk and motioned for her to take a seat. “I'm glad you did. I'd much rather talk face to face than over the phone."

Rita sat down and placed her purse on the floor. “I've heard a lot about you and your practice, but never had the pleasure of meeting you in person. However, I have met a Jennifer Casey, the mystery writer from this area. Is she by chance your wife?"

"Yes."

"She attended a wedding I conducted several months ago. Since then, I've read every one of her books. Tell her she's definitely made a new fan."

"Thank you. She'll be thrilled."

"Now what is it you wanted to know? You mentioned something about a man at the bakery in your message."

"First, would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Love one."

"Sugar or cream?"

"Black is fine, thank you."

Hawkman handed her a steaming Styrofoam cup and sat back down behind his desk. “I'm working on a case right now and the owner of the bakery downstairs told me you'd visited his shop last week. My interest is with the man who happened to be in the store at the same time. Do you remember him?"

She wrinkled her forehead. “Yes."

"Do you know his name?"

"No, I'd never seen him before, but thought it odd he asked so many questions about you and your services. Is he giving you static?"

"You remind me of my wife and her intuition. Do all women have this trait?"

She chuckled and took a sip of the hot brew. “A lot do."

"The answer to your question is, I'm not sure. I've received some threatening phone calls and am trying to track the culprit. This man may be innocent, but I thought I'd check out any reasonable leads."

She entwined her fingers on the desktop. “You're wise."

"What exactly did this person say to you inside and outside of the shop?"

"I don't know if I can tell you verbatim, but he asked the baker about your hours, which I thought innocent enough, until we got outside. Then he grabbed my arm, pointed to your sign and asked me what I knew about you. Needless to say, it made me a bit uncomfortable. Especially when he wanted to know if you'd ever been in the Agency.” She threw up her hands and shrugged. “I told him I had no idea what sort of past you had, as I'd never met you. I'd only heard by word of mouth, Tom Casey ran the best private investigator service in Siskiyou County."

"Thank you. Could you describe him?"

Hawkman took notes, even though she pretty much verified Clyde's description.

"Did you by any chance notice his vehicle?"

"Yes, for my own personal reasons. As I said, he made me very nervous.” She reached for her purse and dug into the contents. “In fact, I took down his license plate number."

Hawkman smiled. “Fantastic."

She finally located a small notebook, flipped it open, and tore out a page. “He was driving a bronze colored late model Buick. Then she recited the number. It could have been a rental; you can't tell anymore."

He jotted down the information, then glanced up. “In my business, I have ways of finding out."

She grinned. “I bet you do.” Tucking the paper and pad back into her purse, she stood. “Well, Mr. Casey, I've told you everything I know about this person. Wish I could have supplied you with a name. If he's the one causing you problems, I hope you catch him and bring him to justice."

"Thank you, Ms. Rawlings. I appreciate your coming by."

"It's easier than trying to set up an appointment, as my schedule can be hectic."

"I can imagine. My wife is the one who clarified who you were. She remembered you from the wedding."

"I'm flattered. Tell her to keep writing."

"I sure will.” Hawkman walked her to the door and held it open as she descended the stairs. After she turned the corner, he immediately went to the computer and logged into a paid site where he typed in the license plate number she'd given.

It took a few moments for the computer to search out the license plate number of the Buick. While staring at the monitor, Hawkman took a big mouthful of cold coffee and wrinkled his nose as he sat down the cup. Soon, the answer popped up: a rental company owned the car. He wrote down the information, then slouched back in his chair. It really didn't surprise him, but he'd hoped for a bit more information. How to find who leased the car could present a challenge. At least he had more data to go on, thanks to Ms. Rawlings’ alertness.

He studied the description again, but still couldn't place the man in his past. Clyde and Rita had mentioned green eyes. They must've been an outstanding feature. His own were the same color, but they sure didn't arouse people's attention. He chuckled to himself. Of course, the first thing anyone noticed about him was the patch. A little hard to forget. Once he greeted folks, they never forgot who they'd met.

He leaned forward and shuffled the loose papers into a stack, then decided to take a couple of case files home. The thought of Jennifer being alone bothered him and he could work just as easily at his office there. He crammed everything into a briefcase and headed out the door.

When he reached the foot of the stairs, the baker's assistant hurried out the door, wiping his hands on his apron. “Mr. Casey, Clyde said you wanted to know the name of the lady who came into the shop last week. Her name is Reverend Rita Rawlings."

Hawkman didn't have the heart to tell the young man he already knew. “Thanks Gary. Helps a lot."

"She's a nice lady and did a great job in the wedding when she married my cousin."

Hawkman waved as he headed for his vehicle. “Appreciate your help."

When he arrived home, it relieved him to see the alarm set and the door locked. He deactivated the system and went inside. Jennifer sat at her computer and grinned, put a finger to her lips, then pointed toward the big window that overlooked the lake. The cat sat still as a statue on the wide ledge; only her tail twitched as she gazed out at the aviary where Hawkman's pet falcon, Pretty Girl, lived. He tiptoed toward the kitten, bent over and whispered harshly into the feline's ear. “Don't even think about it."

She leaped from the ledge, scampered across the carpet and hid behind the chair.

The air rang with Jennifer's peals of laughter. “Oh, she's so funny."

"How long has she been in the trance?"

"When she spotted Pretty Girl fluffing her wings, she snuck upon the window ledge and has been staring at the falcon for at least an hour. It's like she went into another world. I've actually been able to sit down and write for awhile."

"She'd better not get any ideas about catching that hawk. The bird would tear her apart with its claws and beak."

"Don't worry. There's no way I'd let her near the cage. But it's pretty harmless for her to daydream. After all, she's a cat.” Jennifer crossed the room and put her arm around his waist. “You're home early. Everything okay?"

"I didn't get shot at, and no one followed me. No suspicious looking cars in the area. So far, so good. I did have a nice chat with Ms. Rita Rawlings."

She stepped back. “Really. Tell me about it."

He put his briefcase on the coffee table, and tossed his hat on the couch, then ran a hand over his mussed hair. “A very nice lady.” He told Jennifer about her visit.

"You mean she actually thought fast enough to get the license plate number from his car?"

"Yep. Unfortunately, my computer search revealed it was a rental. Finding out who leased it will be a harder job. Those places aren't going to give me any information without a court order."

"Did the description of the man ring any bells?"

"No. I've racked my brain and can't remember anyone with dark hair and green eyes. I think his orbs must be pretty outstanding, as both Clyde and Ms. Rawlings mentioned them. I think if I had a name or some event to shake my memory a bit, I'd be able to place him. But right now, my mind's a blank."