Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

Kirk,” Sheila said. She heard the sound of flip-flops, and someone pushed the front door nearly
shut.
    The woman spoke cautiously, through the opening. “Do you have identification?”
    Sheila held up her open badge wallet. “Sheila Dawson.”
    The woman who opened the door was in her early thirties, a head shorter than Sheila. She wore a flower-print quilted housecoat that zipped up the front and flip-flops. Under other circumstances, she might have been pretty, but her brown hair was uncombed and disheveled, her nose was red, her face splotchy. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. “What about… about Larry?”
    “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Sheila said sympathetically. “But I’m afraid that Mr. Kirk is—”
    “I know,” Tina Simpson said miserably. “I know he’s dead. I heard it on the radio this morning.” She pulled a used tissue out of a pocket and blew her nose. “Excuse me. I’ve had a very bad cold. Couldn’t go to work yesterday. And now this. Larry, I mean. It’s a shock. I just don’t understand—” She paused and tried again. “The radio said something about a gunshot wound, apparently self-inflicted. Is that true?”
    Sheila nodded. “May I come in? I’m hoping you can clear up a few things for me.”
    The woman looked uncertain and wary. “I don’t… I really don’t think I can—”
    “I think you can,” Sheila said firmly. “May I come in?”
    She stepped back. “Well, I suppose,” she said in a grudging tone. She looked past Sheila at the cat. “No, not you, Blackjack.” To Sheila, she added, “If I don’t make him stay on the porch, he’ll be in your lap the minute you sit down.”
    The door opened directly onto the living room. It was comfortable and homey, with white-painted bookshelves along a wall under a flower-filled window. The furniture—an upholstered love seat, a couple of plump chairs covered with crocheted granny afghans, and a coffee table made from a wooden crate with books stacked underneath—filled the small room.
    “Have a seat,” Tina said. “I can at least comb my hair.”
    Sheila took one of the chairs, putting her briefcase on the floor. After a few moments, Tina returned, her brown hair combed back and secured by a stretchy headband, and sat down on the love seat.
    “Are you going to tell me how it happened?” she asked.
    Sheila took out her notebook and pen. “You and Mr. Kirk were friends?”
    Tina crossed her arms and hugged herself. “Well, sort of. I thought he was a very nice guy who got a very raw deal from his sweet little wifey, who had fallen for some sleazy jerk she works with at the library. I felt I could maybe help him get over it. You know, mend that broken heart. But he…” She shrugged and tried for a smile. It didn’t work. “Once bitten, twice shy, he said. Or maybe it was just me.”
    Sheila didn’t answer. She waited, letting the silence build. After a moment, Tina sighed.
    “So no, we weren’t friends, if by that you mean that we went out together and had a good time. For a while, I thought he was still hung up on Dana. But then I found out that he and Jackie were—” She looked at Sheila, her eyes defiant. “We weren’t close. But I knew him well enough to know that he didn’t shoot himself, the way the radio said. That guy
hated
guns. I mean, with a passion.”
    “We don’t have a definitive ruling on the cause of death,” Sheila said quietly. She met the other woman’s eyes. “But personally, I agree with you.”
    “You mean, you… you think Larry was
murdered
?” Tina took a deep breath and let it out, raggedly. “Well, I guess if he didn’t do it himself, it stands to reason that somebody else did it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Who? Do you have any leads?”
    “That’s where I’m hoping you can help me,” Sheila replied. “Not long ago, you sent Larry a note about some premium notices you found in the files at Harmon Insurance.”
    Tina frowned. “How did you know about that? That’s confidential, between me and Larry. What right do you—”
    Sheila interrupted. “We’re investigating a suspicious death that is likely to be ruled a homicide before the day is over. We’re looking into everything that might help us learn what happened and why. I hope you’ll cooperate.” She gave Tina a moment to digest that, then opened her briefcase and took out the plastic evidence bag that held the note written on lined yellow paper. She put it on the