Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

be interface with the sheriff’s office.”
    “No problem as far as I’m concerned,” Bartlett said. “Just keeping us straight.”
    They were on the deck. Sheila pointed out the food on the table and told him about the calls on the answering machine. “Looks like we might be able to eliminate Timms in the Kirk homicide,” she said, and Bartlett nodded, agreeing.
    “Sounds like he was here when Kirk was killed,” he said. “And likely already dead.”
    In the kitchen, China was still on the phone to Charlie Lipman. “No, he wasn’t a suicide,” she was saying, “unless he walked down there, shot himself, disposed of the gun, and was then attacked by a mountain lion. Which doesn’t seem at all likely, from the evidence on the ground.”
    Lipman must have asked her when this had taken place, because she said, “Before he finished his lunch, looks like. Your messages were on the answering machine, unplayed, plus a twelve-twenty message from a girl about a bracelet. Since he didn’t pick up that call, it’s possible that he was already dead by that time.”
    Sheila tapped China on the shoulder. “I’d like to talk to Lipman when you’re finished, China.”
    China nodded, listened a moment, then said, “Anyway, that’s the story. I thought you ought to know. Chief Dawson’s here. She’d like a word with you.”
    Sheila took the phone China held out to her. “Good morning, counselor.”
    “Not a good one for Timms,” Lipman growled.
    “No, sir,” Sheila said. She cleared her throat. “I hope you’re not goingto tell me that Timms’ secret died with him. The motivation for his break-in at the computer shop, that is.”
    Lipman was gruff. “Chief Dawson. If that was a question, there’s no point to it. I know that you know that attorney-client privilege extends beyond the client’s death.”
    “I understand,” Sheila said. “But there’s a chance that whatever information you have about the blackmail—the alleged blackmail, that is—might help us to clear the Kirk case. You know about that, I suppose,” she added. She gave China an eyebrows-raised glance, and China nodded.
    “I thought Kirk shot himself.” Lipman’s tone was guarded.
    “The cause of death has not yet been identified,” Sheila said. “We’ll have the autopsy report sometime later today.”
    There was a moment’s silence. “Ah,” Lipman said. “Yes, I see.”
    Sheila said. “What about it, counselor? Can you help us out?”
    Lipman was silent for a moment, and when he spoke, he was gruff. “I figure you had my client fingered as your chief suspect in Kirk’s homicide, Chief—since that’s what you obviously think it was. Now that he’s out of the running, you’ll be moving somebody else into that slot. But I can’t tell you any more than I told Detective Bartlett when I set up the surrender. Timms liked to play his cards close to his chest. He never got around to telling me the whole story.”
    Sheila wasn’t sure whether to believe him. “Too bad. Detective Bartlett and I are here with a search warrant this morning. I thought maybe you could see your way clear to giving us some context for what we’re looking for. But since that’s not the case—”
    “Related to Timms’ death?” Lipman asked, sounding startled, then puzzled. “I thought he was killed by a mountain lion. You’re not telling me that—”
    “No,” Sheila said firmly. “The warrant is related to possibly illegalactivities in which the man was engaged. I don’t suppose you know anything about that,” she added.
    She could hear the lawyer’s chair creaking as Lipman sat back. Instead of answering her question, he posed one of his own, warily. “What are you looking for?”
    Sheila didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. The warrant satisfied the requirements of the court. It didn’t need anything else.
    The silence lengthened. When he spoke, Lipman’s voice carried a wry chuckle. “Well, now that we’ve settled the matter, I’ll wish you good hunting.” There was a definitive click.
    “So much for that,” Sheila said, still holding the receiver. “I was hoping he might be at least a little forthcoming.”
    China looked regretful. “He’s a tough nut, Sheila. But he’s fair.”
    “Says you,” Sheila said dryly, and put down the phone. “That’s because he’s on your side of the fence. You lawyers all hang together.” She nodded at Jack. “You and Detective Bartlett have met, I take it?”
    “Yesterday