Beignets and Broomsticks Page 7

  I grabbed some nacho chips from the pantry and a frozen burrito from the freezer. With the burrito nuking for a couple of minutes, I grabbed a relatively clean glass – cat hair sticks to everything – and poured a generous serving of chilled strawberry and mango sangria.

  I ate at the kitchen table with Carole Two sitting on the chair beside me, watching my every move. It was a little unnerving having her silvery-blue cat’s eyes on me the whole time, but cat company was better than no company at all.

  Running back over the events of the last couple of days, from Nancy Alverson’s appearance at the café, to her death, to VV, and to my run-in with the Gregorys, I remembered that it was indeed time to pay the rent.

  I went to my bedroom, dug my checkbook out from the bottom of my underwear drawer and wrote out a painful amount. I had some envelopes and postage stamps in a drawer in the kitchen so I went there and prepared the mail, writing out the name TR Properties, LLC in big, bold letters.

  I slipped into my flip-flops and walked down to the bank of four mailboxes that sat side by side on a horizontal wooden post nailed atop a rustic wagon wheel buried several inches into the hard ground. It was too late for today because the mail generally came early on my street, but at least my telling Rob Gregory that the rent check was in the mail would now be true – and my conscience clear.

  I pulled open the mailbox. Sure enough, the mail had come. There were several pieces, all bills except for an ad for a new Chinese takeout place. There was also a small padded envelope.

  I set my rent check in the mailbox and raised the red flag, then returned to the apartment. I put the bills in the drawer with the rest of the mail I would rather ignore, like something from the IRS about quarterly business taxes, and sat down on the green sofa. I laid the padded envelope on my lap. C2 hopped up beside me. The couch was old and lumpy, like I would probably be one day. It had come with the apartment, already in such bad shape then that the last tenant hadn’t even wanted it.

  I didn’t want the couch either but I couldn’t afford to replace it, so it stayed. Everything in the apartment was secondhand, found or donated by my family and friends. The one bedroom, one bathroom apartment is only six hundred square feet, so it didn’t take much furniture to fill it. The front door opened onto the living area with the dining and kitchen area to the left and a walled-in courtyard patio beyond that. The bedroom was straight back.

  Humble but home.

  I studied the manila envelope. There was no return address, only the handwritten address to me in the center. I ripped off the top of the envelope and peered inside. There was something hard and dark at the bottom, along with a small square of off-white paper. ‘You want to see, too?’

  Carole Two mrowled and poked her nose in. After that, she lost interest and settled down on the window ledge looking out across the front yard, a barren desert landscape of rock, gravel and dirt. The occasional lizard or bird kept it interesting for her, although there were times I thought C2 might be sitting there in telepathic communication with her home planet or, perhaps, her mothership orbiting our planet.

  I dumped the contents of the envelope onto the end table. It was a flash drive, black with a plastic blue cap. The piece of paper stuck to the inside of the envelope. I could see cursive writing, small and tightly compressed. I pulled it out and read: Ms Miller, I suppose you will think I am paranoid. But, just in case, humor me. I do not know anyone else I can leave this with and I feel I can trust you. Please hold this for me until I ask you for it. And, please, do not tell anyone about it.

  Thank you.

  Nancy Alverson

  I looked at the note through tears and realized that not only was I crying, I was shivering. I set the note atop the envelope beside me on the sofa and picked up the flash drive. What was on it? Why had she sent this to me? Why hadn’t she given it to me in person? Was she afraid I would ask questions that she was either unprepared or embarrassed or couldn’t be bothered to answer?

  I looked at the postmark. The envelope had been mailed yesterday. The day she was killed. Did she, I wondered with a frisson, have a premonition of her pending death?

  I went to the kitchen table, picked up my glass and poured myself a second dose of sangria. I carried it to the green sofa and leaned back, pushing my head into the too-soft cushion. I drained my glass and picked up the flash drive, holding it out at arm’s length while I eyeballed it.

  Whatever was on the small drive could have been what got Nancy Alverson killed. It might also reveal her killer.

  I knew I should take the flash drive to the police now that Nancy Alverson was dead. On the other hand, she had sent it to me. She had not said anything about not looking at the contents of the drive.

  I considered my options. My only computer was a laptop and I kept that at the café most days. My need for sleep was greater than my need to know what was on the drive. I told myself that I would take it to the café in the morning and look at it there. Afterward, if I found anything worth reporting, I would hand it over to the authorities.

  For all I knew, it could have been nothing more than a copy of her grandmother’s favorite recipes. Though I had a feeling it wasn’t …

  I heard a thump. Carole Two had jumped from the window ledge to the floor and was scurrying toward the bedroom, bushy tail waving goodbye. Then again, that tail could have been a cleverly disguised alien radio antenna.

  A moment later, there was a tentative knock at the front door. I glanced toward the window. It was well after six p.m. and growing dark. I approached the door in my stockings, moving quietly across the carpet. ‘Yes?’ I called through the door.

  ‘Ms Miller?’

  ‘Who is it?’ I rested my hand on the doorknob.

  ‘It’s me, Jakob Waltz.’

  I pursed my lips even as I opened the door. ‘Jakob? What are you doing here?’

  The young artist stood at my door in loose-fitting blue jeans, scruffy cowboy boots and a faded denim jacket that had seen better days. The collar of a red turtleneck shirt protruded from under it. In his hands was a three-foot-square object wrapped in heavy brown paper. ‘I went by the café but you were closed.’ He extended his arms. ‘I brought you this.’

  I tilted my head, felt the tickle of cold air wrap around my ankles. ‘Come on in.’ I stepped away and motioned for him to follow.

  He wiped his feet at the door. ‘It’s another painting for your wall. Like you asked.’

  ‘Thanks. Set it by the door. I’ll take it to the café tomorrow.’ I moved to the kitchen. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  ‘If it’s no trouble.’ He leaned the covered painting against the table by the door and shuffled from foot to foot.

  ‘No trouble at all.’ I yanked open the fridge. ‘Beer OK?’

  ‘A beer would be great.’

  I popped open a cold can of Miller for each of us – sadly, no relation – and returned to the sofa. I handed him his can. ‘Have a seat.’ I returned to my spot at the sofa.

  Jakob sank into the mismatching used-to-be-a-recliner. The mechanism allowing it to move back and forth had long since broken. ‘Thanks, Ms Miller.’

  ‘You really didn’t have to come all the way out here after hours to bring me the painting.’ I glanced toward the object in question. ‘It could have waited until morning.’ It could have waited until anytime, really.

  ‘No problem. I was in the area.’

  I noticed his eyes move from the envelope to the flash drive on the end table beside me. ‘How did you find me, anyway?’ I casually picked up the flash drive and the accompanying note and dropped them both back inside the padded envelope.

  I slid the envelope between the seat cushion and the side of the sofa.

  ‘One of the other girls, Aubrey or Kelly, I don’t remember which, mentioned where you lived.’ Jakob slowly unbuttoned his jacket.

  ‘Oh, of course.’ I was suspicious but I didn’t know why. There was no reason on earth that one of them couldn’t or shouldn’t have menti
oned where I was living. It wasn’t like my address was a state secret or anything. Nancy Alverson had had no trouble getting my address, so why should Jakob?

  Then again, why the urgent desire to bring me a painting?

  I took a healthy swig and realized the beer didn’t mix well with the two glasses of sangria. I set the can down on a cork coaster I’d got from a local bar.

  Jakob leaned forward in the unsteady, overstuffed recliner. If Table Rock ever held an ugly recliner contest, I’d win hands down. He pressed his arms between his knees, clutching the beer can in his hands. ‘You heard about Nancy?’ His voice was soft, tentative.

  ‘Yes.’ Remembering my promise to Detective Highsmith, I paid particular attention to my words. I wasn’t so much worried about besmudging VV’s reputation, such as it was, as I was about mucking up the ongoing police investigation into Nancy Alverson’s murder. I wanted her killer found and brought to justice. ‘I was shocked. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm her.’

  ‘Me, too.’ Jakob nodded solemnly.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, tentatively, ‘I barely knew her. She came into the café regularly but I never really got to know her. I guess you knew her, though?’

  He acted surprised.

  ‘You did come in last night asking about her.’

  Jakob leaned back with a sigh. ‘Yeah, I knew Nancy. We were kind of seeing each other.’

  ‘Kind of?’

  The young man shrugged. ‘We went out a few times.’ He cast a disarming smile my way. ‘I really liked her, you know?’ I nodded and he continued. ‘I don’t know if she felt quite the same way about me as I did about her, but she liked me.’

  It sounded like someone had been smitten. My heart went out to him. ‘You might have been the one person in town closest to Nancy. Do you have any idea who might have wanted to harm her, Jakob?’

  ‘No,’ gasped Jakob. ‘That’s just it. I have no idea at all. Nancy kept mostly to herself except for her work, I mean. She did ask a lot of questions.’

  ‘Questions?’

  ‘Yeah, research.’ Jakob fell back into the blue-and-yellow houndstooth recliner.

  ‘Do you know what she had been working on?’

  Jakob shook his head adamantly. ‘Not a clue. She didn’t like to talk about stuff like that. I don’t suppose she mentioned anything to you?’

  ‘Not a thing.’

  The corner of Jakob’s mouth twitched. ‘Too bad.’

  ‘What sort of a writer was she? Do you know?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Did she write fiction?’

  ‘No.’ Jakob sounded sure of that much. ‘She was into historical stuff, exposés.’

  ‘Exposés?’ I couldn’t imagine anything in Table Rock that needed or was worthy of exposing. The town had a long and colorful history but there were no deep, dark secrets that I was aware of.

  ‘Yeah, she said she liked to do books that had some sort of investigative angle. She showed me a copy of one she wrote a few years ago. It was a book about the solar industry but focused on some company that was running a scam down near Tucson. They were claiming they were running this big solar farm but it was a sham.’

  I sighed. There was nothing like that in Table Rock. My sister and brother-in-law had a number of solar panels, as did a lot of Table Rockers, but nothing on a large scale. Nothing worth getting killed for. ‘Do you know if she had any family?’

  ‘Oh, sure. Her parents are here in Arizona someplace. Winslow, I think she said. And she has a brother. I’m not sure where he is.’

  Winslow was no more than a hundred miles east of Table Rock and was near Meteor Crater. I thought carefully about how to phrase my next question before saying, ‘Did you ever find Nancy last night?’

  Jakob was quick to shake his head no. ‘I wish I had,’ he said morosely. ‘Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t have been murdered. Do you think it was a robbery?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’ I had seen no signs of a break-in or a robbery in the apartment. ‘You would have to ask the police about that. In fact, have you talked to the police?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You should. You said yourself, you were one of the few people in town who knew her well. Nancy was new in town. I’m sure the police would like to pick your brain. She might have said something that meant nothing to you at the time or you might have seen or heard something yourself. Something that might help the police find her killer.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what.’

  ‘I can’t either but it’s worth a try, right?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘When did you last see Nancy?’

  Jakob worried at his lower lip a moment. ‘The day before yesterday. We had dinner.’

  ‘How did she seem?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Did she seem worried? Distracted?’

  ‘Nope. She acted the same as she always did.’

  Thinking back, I had seen no signs of a break-in at the apartment and Detective Highsmith hadn’t mentioned any such thing. Had Nancy known her killer? There was a good chance that she had. That was a very scary thought. ‘Did you have plans with Nancy last night?’

  ‘No, I just thought she might want to hang out. I called first but she didn’t answer. She got that way sometimes when she was working – single-minded, she called it. I thought I would surprise her.’

  ‘Jakob, do you remember if Nancy’s Land Rover was parked outside the apartment last night?’

  ‘I couldn’t say for sure but it must have been.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘She was there, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but maybe—’

  ‘I never had lunch today,’ interrupted Jakob, hoisting his beer can. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got anything to go with this?’

  ‘Can I fix you something to eat? I have a whole bag of frozen burritos.’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m having dinner with friends later. Maybe some pretzels?’

  ‘I’ll check.’ I went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard or two and came up empty in the pretzel department. I grabbed a near substitute.

  When I returned to the living room, Jakob was pacing near the sofa. ‘Will nachos do?’ I held out the open bag of blue corn chips.

  Jakob grinned. ‘Yeah, thanks.’ He stuck his hand in the bag and grabbed a handful, which he quickly devoured. ‘I guess I’d better get going.’

  I walked him to the door.

  He paused. ‘You know, it’s ironic.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘Nancy was leaving at the end of the month.’

  ‘Do you mean leaving Table Rock?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘She was renting month to month. She told me she gave the Gregorys notice yesterday that November would be her last month.’

  Instead, yesterday had been Nancy’s last day.

  I chewed my lip, standing in the open doorway, watching Jakob walk slowly back to his pickup truck at the curb. Jakob was wrong. It wasn’t ironic, it was sad.

  I closed and locked the door, then picked up Jakob’s beer can to carry it to the recycle bin in the kitchen. He hadn’t taken a single sip. I poured the beer down the drain and cleaned up.

  Finally, I pulled the drapes and went to bed.

  I switched on the small television set under the window. The local station was running nothing but horror movies featuring slashers and hackers.

  Fortunately, one of the big cable stations was running Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein. Dad and I used to watch it every Halloween. Dracula, Wolf Man and Frankenstein’s monster were old friends and didn’t scare me in the least.

  Although why anybody, including a monster, would want Chick’s feeble brain, I never understood.

  I fell asleep during the movie with Carole Two on my stomach and woke beaded in sweat with the top sheet twisted around my legs. I’d dreamt that a mad doctor was about to put a scalpel to my brai
n.

  I heard a rustle outside the window and took a sharp breath.

  It took me a moment to summon my courage, but once I did, I rose from the bed and tiptoed to the curtain. I pulled back an edge and looked outside.

  There was nothing to see. Relieved, I crawled back into bed.

  As my head hit the pillow, I realized there were no trees directly outside my bedroom window. So what had caused the rustle?

  Had the sound been nothing more than my imagination run wild?

  Was it Nancy’s killer, come to retrieve the flash drive?

  I heard the soft pitter-patter of Carole Two padding into the bedroom and called her to me. She leapt onto the bed and I rubbed her head.

  This was not a night to be alone.

  EIGHT

  I pedaled to the café at five a.m., anxious to discover what was on the flash drive that Nancy Alverson had mailed to my house. I tucked the Schwinn in a corner of the storeroom and sat at the small makeshift desk, an old reclaimed barn door atop two wooden trestles. My brother-in-law, Andy, had built the desk for me and I was glad to have it.

  Plus, it looked rather funky.

  I sat at the short wooden stool, turned on my laptop and stuck the flash drive in an empty USB slot. There were numerous files in half-a-dozen folders. I pointed the cursor to a folder called Master and clicked on it. The folder contained a single file titled: MMGSST.

  I clicked on the file and her word-processing program sprang to life, opening the file on the fourteen-inch screen of my laptop. The title of the document was Money and Magick – Greed and Sin in a Small Town.

  I understood the file’s name now. MMGSST was shorthand. It stood for the first letters of the main words of the document’s title.

  A glance at the bottom of the word-processing program’s screen indicated that the document was nearly three hundred pages long and over ninety thousand words.

  Nancy had been busy. No wonder she had had time for little else.

  I scrolled down, reading quickly through the table of contents and the draft introduction. Jakob appeared to be right about one thing: Nancy had been working on an investigative book-length work of nonfiction and it appeared to be centered on this Sacred Church of Witchkraft.