Black Cat Crossing Read Free Page A

you’re back early. How do you like my Zumba workout music?”
    “Zumba?” The woman was closing in on seventy and had a cast on her leg.
    I sat in a chair across from Aunt Rowe and watched with amusement as she started moving her arms and snapping her fingers in time with the music.
    “Zumba’s a workout without the work. More like dancing. And this—” She paused to run a hand across the fabric of her red top. “I bought in Paris and wore one night that I spent dancing with a special gentleman. It brings back good memories.”
    She was in a happy mood, a rarity in the six weeks since I’d moved here. “That’s nice, but you might have to put the Zumba on the back burner for a few more months.”
    “It won’t be months,” she said. “I’m on a new quick-healing program.”
    “Oh? You saw your doctor today?”
    “No. Claire Dubois came to visit and told me all about foods that promote bone healing. Glenda is off to the market as we speak, to make sure I’m stocked up on green leafy vegetables, calcium-fortified orange juice, sweet potatoes, yada yada yada.”
    “Claire from the wine shop?”
    Aunt Rowe smiled. “The very one.”
    Odd that Claire would come here. She never seemed especially friendly, and Aunt Rowe had never mentioned her before. But now I was beginning to suspect the real reason for my aunt’s better mood.
    “I didn’t know you and Claire were close,” I said. “Did she tell you about the Zumba workouts, too?”
    “No, the Zumba was my idea. I’m sick to death of crosswords and daytime TV.”
    “Did Claire happen to bring something with her to help you heal?”
    Her smile disappeared. “For Pete’s sake, Sabrina, so she brought me some wine. I knew you’d start nagging when you found out, but I didn’t take any pain meds today, at least not after I started drinking.”
    “But, Aunt Rowe—”
    “Don’t ‘but’ me,” she said. “If you’d rather have me grousing about my circulatory problems, the fact that I can’t sleep worth a darn, or those flippin’ crutches, I will. At least the wine made me forget about that crap for a little bit.”
    “Okay, okay.” The wine had messed with whatever meds were still in her system. Aunt Rowe didn’t normally fly off the handle so easily.
    “I want to be up and about, ready to greet my new weekend guests,” she said. “I live for that, you know.”
    “I know you do.” Feeling sorry for getting on her about the wine, I moved from my chair and perched carefully on the edge of the ottoman supporting her cast. “I ran through the Barcelona, Florence, and Madrid cottages this morning and left your welcome baskets. Maybe you should try to take a nap this afternoon before the new guests arrive.”
    She nodded. “A nap might be the thing. The wine made me a bit drowsy.”
    We both started at the sound of a car on the gravel outside. I looked over Aunt Rowe’s shoulder to the driveway and the vehicle that pulled up to the closed garage doors.
    The red SUV looked awfully familiar.
    “Is Glenda back?” She was trying to turn and look, but her rigid leg kept her from finding the right position.
    “No, it’s not her.” The man who climbed out of the SUV was the guy from Krane’s parking lot.
    “Then who is it?” Aunt Rowe said.
    “I’ll go see.” I walked over to the screen door, which was where the man immediately headed.
    Was he one of the weekend guests? But why wouldn’t he go to the front door of the house?
    I opened the door before he reached it. Definitely the guy who’d argued with the cowboy. He wore khakis with a crease, a green golf shirt, and brown ostrich-skin boots that looked brand new. His longish hair was gray and thinning on top, and he sported a sparse beard.
    “Hello,” I said. “May I help you?”
    He looked me up and down with a leer that would have made J. R. Ewing proud. “I’ll sure bet you could, darlin’. I’m Bobby Joe Flowers.”

3
    A LL I COULD think of was Thomas warning me we needed