Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

She paused and added emphatically, “You got that?”
    “Got it,” Lipman growled, and hesitated. “Maybe something else goin’ on, huh? Related to Timms’ case? If so, I need to know.”
    “I’m not at liberty to say,” Sheila replied.
    There was a brief silence while Lipman considered this. “Yeah. Well, what’s happened to Hardin? He’s not returnin’ my calls. Where is he?”
    “Gone fishing,” Sheila replied shortly, and broke the connection. She called Dispatch and ordered the APB on Timms’ vehicles.
    She stood for a moment, thinking. At this point, all they had was the first report of a suicide. There was no way to know whether this incident was in any way related to Timms’ alleged break-in at Kirk’s place of business the previous week or to the stalker Kirk had mentioned to China. But Sheila had long ago stopped believing in coincidences, and she wanted to see Timms in custody as soon as possible.
    Was there a connection?
    What was it?

Chapter Four

    Uncaria tomentosa
is another hold-fast herb with the folk name of cat’s claw, or Uña de gato. This woody vine is native to the Amazon rain forest and other tropical areas of South and Central America. Like a cat, it uses its sharp, hooked-shaped horns to cling to the trees it climbs, often more than twenty feet.
    For over two thousand years, the Ashaninka rain forest people of Peru have used the inner bark of the stems and roots of this hold-fast herb as an immune enhancer, a contraceptive and abortifacient, as well as a treatment for a wide variety of diseases: gastric ulcers, diarrhea, gonorrhea, arthritis and rheumatism, intestinal disorders, diabetes, and cancer.
    China Bayles
“Herbs That Hold Fast”
Pecan Springs Enterprise
    Still thinking about Larry Kirk’s death, I watched Sheila walk away, then turned back to Ruby and Ramona. Ramona was wiping her eyes and sniffling. Ruby was rubbing Ramona’s back and murmuring sisterly words.
    “Look,” I said. “This has been pretty rough for everybody.” It was the understatement of the week. I took a deep breath. “Ruby, how about if we go to your house and have a cup of tea?”
    Ramona brightened. “Or supper? I made corn chowder with sausage. Plenty for all of us. And we could have a salad.”
    Ruby gave her sister a hug and dropped her arm, her gauzy sleeve fluttering. “There are peaches, too, so there’s shortcake for dessert.” She glanced at me. “McQuaid and the kids are spending the evening in Seguin, aren’t they? You’ll join us, China?”
    “Thanks,” I said gratefully. “I’d like that.”
    To tell the truth, I didn’t want to be by myself just now. Larry Kirk had been a friend—and a reliable helper. He was a jack-of-all-computer-trades. He had repaired my ailing printer, added more memory to my computer, and taken over my faltering website, making it not only attractive, but functional. And no matter how busy he was with his business, he always found time to update the shop’s website and answer my questions without making me feel like a totally incompetent person with a brain the size of a BB. I was going to miss him. A lot, damn it. And I couldn’t help feeling responsible. Maybe the stalking had nothing to do with what had happened. But maybe it had. If I’d answered his email earlier—
    I shoved my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” I said, mostly to myself. We started to walk down the driveway to the street. “What a horrible thing.”
    “Ghastly,” Ramona said. She wrinkled her nose. “The kitchen reeked of beer. There was beer all over the floor. I guess he knocked it off the table when he… when he shot himself.”
    I cleared my throat. “How do you know that’s what happened? That he shot himself, I mean.”
    She turned to stare at me. “Well, because of the gun. It was right there in his hand.”
    In his hand?
I thought. If he had fallen from the chair, knocking the chair over, wouldn’t the fall have dislodged the gun? “Where was he shot?” I asked. “In the head, the chest?”
    Ramona pressed her lips together. “There was a round hole above histemple. And a lot of blood.” She shuddered. “Do we have to talk about it, China? It’s too horrible.”
    We reached the sidewalk and turned toward Ruby’s. Suddenly, a cute, athletic blonde broke away from the nearest clump of neighbors and dashed toward us, a journalist’s steno pad in one hand. It was Jessica Nelson, a reporter for