Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

time, jotting down the callers’ names and numbers in her notebook. If the autopsy determined that Kirk died around two—the time when the garbage truck usually came down the street—the messages might be used to eliminate Henry Palmer, who called from the shop at two fifteen about that potential employee, and Dana Kirk, who called at four thirty.
    Thinking of the garbage truck, Sheila glanced at her watch, then reached for the telephone directory and looked up the number of the company that picked up the city’s trash. She made the call on her cell. While she was holding for an answer to her question, she opened the email program on the desktop computer and began to scan the messages—whichcame, apparently, to a different email address from the one on the laptop. It wasn’t unusual, she thought. Many people maintained multiple email accounts.
    The latest email in the inbox folder—a note from a rock climber asking to borrow some equipment—was dated the previous Wednesday. She clicked to the sent folder, and found that Kirk had answered it that same day. She clicked back to the inbox and began scrolling up through the emails, scanning each one. There was plenty of the usual spam, advertisements for Viagra and other enhancements, an email newsletter from Texans Against Gun Violence, a couple of severe weather alerts from KXAN-TV in Austin. And there was an email from someone named Jackie, dated October 17.
    Larry: Yes, you did sign the consent form at the same time we set up the health insurance package. It sounds like the matter has slipped your mind. Sorry for any misunderstanding, but I’m afraid it’s water under the bridge now. Still friends, I hope. I was sorry to hear about Dana (rocks in her head, if you ask me). I’d really love to get together, for old times’ sake. Could we? Soon?—Jackie
    Sheila checked the sender’s email address and the date, then clicked over to the sent file to see if Kirk had answered the email. If he had, there was no evidence of it. The folder of deleted emails was empty.
    She turned on the printer and printed the email, then logged off and began going through the stack of mail on top of the desk. Bills, political mailings, junk mail, a brochure from the Texas Mountaineering Club with an enclosed map to rock-climbing routes at Reimers Ranch in western Travis County, and two unopened letters from Angela Binder,Attorney at Law—Dana’s lawyer. She pulled out the shallow top drawer on the right and found pens, pencils, rubber bands, paper clips, all jumbled together. She didn’t see the red leather address book that Dana had mentioned, but Bartlett had probably taken that, to do family notifications.
    The bottom drawer was deeper, a file drawer. In it, she found several manila folders, fat ones, filled with Kirk’s bank statements, credit card bills, and other bills, including paid semi-annual premium notices on the $250,000 life insurance policy that his wife had mentioned. According to his latest bank statement, his checking account had just over $1100 in it. In the previous month, two checks had bounced, costing him a total of fifty dollars in service fees. There were two credit card statements, a Mastercard and a Visa, both cards nearly maxed out. He’d been making minimum payments.
    Finally, the garbage company employee was back on the line with the information Sheila had requested. Yes, the truck was supposed to be on that particular street on Monday afternoons. Yes, the pickup time should be about two p.m., although of course this could not be guaranteed. The woman rattled off the names and phone numbers of the two men—a driver and a loader—who had been on the truck yesterday. Sheila hung up and phoned Bartlett, catching him just as he was arriving at Martin’s place. She relayed the information about the garbage pickup, and he said he’d get Matheson to try to interview the men right away.
    Sheila went back to the bottom drawer, pulling out two more file folders. One was labeled
Taxes
in Kirk’s backward slanting hand. In it were paper-clipped copies of his IRS filings for the three previous years. She glanced through them and put the file folder back in the drawer. Probably nothing significant there, but she knew where to look if the information was needed.
    The other folder had no label. Sheila opened the file and leafed through it. In it were three photocopied invoices from the American Eagle Life Insurance Company—quarterly notices, it appeared,