Black Cat Crossing by Kay Finch

heat-of-the-moment things. If she had stopped to think, there’s no way she’d ever do—” I was talking way too much. “Anything so rash.”
    “Could your mother shed any light on Flowers’s claim?”
    “My mother?” I had to laugh. “I’m not sure if my mother ever spent two seconds thinking about Dad’s relatives, especially not one who estranged himself from the whole family. Anyway, she’s on a perpetual trip with the new husband. Couldn’t even tell you where to find her.
If
you wanted to take her statement, that is. Probably a waste of your time.”
    Crawford watched me for a moment. “Guess I touched a sore spot. Sorry about that.”
    “No problem.” My right eye began to twitch, an annoying reaction that often happens when I get worked up. I looked at the window, hoping to see Hitchcock had returned to watch over me, but the sill was empty.
    I turned back to the sheriff. “You could talk to Bobby Joe’s siblings, I suppose, though I don’t know where you’d find
them
either.”
    “We’ve already made notification to next of kin,” Crawford said. “They’re in Dallas, by the way. Brother didn’t seem to care one way or the other ’bout what happened. The sister, Becky, I believe, is more affected, ready to take charge of making arrangements for the burial. Which will have to wait until after the autopsy.”
    “Maybe the brother was an enemy to Bobby Joe,” I said.
    The sheriff nodded. “We’ll check out their whereabouts at the time of death. Speaking of which, and you know I hate to ask you this, Sabrina, but where were you between the hours of nine last night and two this morning?”
    My pulse raced. “Are you kidding me?”
    He shook his head.
    “I was right here, at home.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “Inside?”
    “For the most part. I’m not a hermit, for goodness’ sake. I’d been to the bookstore in town. Came back and spent some time writing. Went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep so I was going to bake at Aunt Rowe’s. Ended up finding the body instead. Are you asking everyone for an alibi, or am I just lucky?”
    “We’ll ask everyone,” he said.
    I wasn’t sure I believed that, but they
would
ask Aunt Rowe. Dang it all. What had she been up to last night? I wish I’d had a chance to talk with her before Rosales showed up, but what difference would that have actually made? I wouldn’t have encouraged her to lie. A cold sweat came over me at the thought of how their discussion might be going. The sheriff and his deputy needed a diversion—something to take their attention away from Aunt Rowe’s anger with Bobby Joe. I thought about my talk with Daisy McKetta.
    I looked at the sheriff, who seemed to be watching me carefully.
    “Have you remembered something important?” he said.
    “Maybe. I was thinking about a story I heard in town today. Did you know the body of a girl named Vicki Palmer was found in the same place as Bobby Joe Flowers? Seems like a huge coincidence, don’t you think?”
    “I knew the Palmer case,” Crawford said slowly, with no change in his expression. “There’s no connection.”
    “You can’t be sure,” I said, “with her case being unsolved all this time. Sure is a shame, poor thing dies and nobody knows what happened to her, even thirty years later?”
    “Enough,” Crawford said. “There’s a lot you don’t know about all the hours the sheriff back then poured into investigating the Palmer case. Sometimes answers can’t be found no matter how—” He broke off and looked away.
    “Were you on that case?” I said quietly.
    He nodded. “We worked it for over a year. Hard. Nobody could say we didn’t try our damnedest.”
    I’d caused a diversion all right, but now I felt sorry for bringing up the disturbing topic.
    Crawford sat up straight and clapped his palms on his thighs. “That won’t happen with the Flowers case. We’re going to nail the killer this time.” He stood to leave. “I’m hoping that Rowe has a good