Page 622 of Cold Case, Warm Hearts

Cecil heard the commotion and came running. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, but I need to have a look at that chain.”

Cecil was quiet for a moment. He looked Avery square in the eye and lowered his voice to a whisper when he spoke. “Avery, I wanna give you some advice. You’d better watch your back.”

“What’re you saying?”

“Be careful.”

With that, Cecil turned and walked away. Avery glanced around the yard. He hadn’t seen anyone near the truck. Then again, he wasn’t paying much attention. He looked down at the heavy chain and realized what Cecil had already figured out.

It had been cut.

That was the last entry. There was nothing else except a hastily scribbled note:

Appointment with Henry on March 25.

She stared at the page. It was the same date as the boat accident. That last day on the boat Avery had said that he needed to get to an appointment. Who was Henry? That name sounded so familiar. Where had she heard it? She reread the last entry. Was that when Avery had written his letter to Judith? She made a note of the two other names: Cecil Prichard and Lewis. She’d never heard either name mentioned before. She searched through the pages to see if Avery had written down Lewis’s last name, but came up empty handed. She went to get her phone book and flipped through the pages to the p’s. Par for the course—no Prichard. She put down the directory. She should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

She thought of another avenue. The personnel files. There would be an employment file on Prichard. Too bad she didn’t have access to the personnel files. It would make matters so much easier. She knew better than to ask Barb for any more files. The last thing she wanted to do was arouse more suspicion. She thought of Walter. He would know. She frowned, remembering Walter’s comment about Avery being paranoid. No, she wouldn’task him yet. She’d gather more information first and then show it to Walter. He was a reasonable person. If she gathered enough evidence, she could persuade him to see it her way. She’d have to get the personnel files without Barb knowing. That was her only answer.

She placed the journal in the desk before heading into the bathroom. She sat down on the edge of the tub and turned on the water. When the tub was full, she slipped off her robe and got in. She closed her eyes and let the warm water and sudsy bubbles cover her body. Who did Avery have an appointment with? Henry who? What was his last name, and why did she feel like she should know? She leaned her head back against the cool tub and then sat right back up when the answer came like a bolt of lightning. She jumped out and threw on her robe. She went to the secretary and pulled open the drawer. She reached for the newspaper clippings and skimmed the one about the judge. Then she saw it. The judge’s first name was Henry. Her heart began to pound. Avery had planned on meeting Judge Henry Crawford. What was the name of the judge’s wife? She skimmed down the page. Harriet. His wife’s name was Harriet Crawford. If she could get in touch with her then maybe, just maybe she could get some answers.

Sydney spentthe next morning searching the Internet for Harriet Crawford. She began her search in Glendale. When she didn’t find any listing there, she searched the state of Alabama. That proved fruitless as well. Finally, she searched the entire country and found only three listings. California, Michigan, and Georgia. She zeroed in on Georgia. The city was Alpharetta, near Atlanta. Her heart was in her throat when she dialed. A ladywith a strong cultured voice answered on the third ring. When Sydney explained that she was looking for the late Judge Henry Crawford’s wife, the voice grew suspicious, and she knew she’d struck gold. Sydney decided that honesty was the best policy. Even so, she hadn’t intended to spell it out so bluntly. It just came out that way.

“My father was killed in a boat explosion.” She enunciated the next words so the lady would get the full implication of their meaning. “The same day your husband was killed. I believe my father had an appointment with your husband on the day he was killed. I was wondering if you would mind if I paid you a visit?”

She was met with silence on the other end. “Who did you say you were?” the lady finally asked.

“My name is Syd—Cindy McClain.”

There was another pause.

“I won’t stay very long,” Sydney added.

“You can come this Tuesday afternoon at 4.” From the tone of the woman’s voice, Sydney could tell it was Tuesday or never.

“That sounds great. Thank you, Mrs. Crawford.”

The dial tone sounded in Sydney’s ear.

It was a typical Monday.Sydney rubbed her tired eyes and stifled a yawn, trying to concentrate on the paperwork in front of her. She’d barely gotten any sleep the night before. Dreams of bloody roosters with wings flapping like propellers taunted her. One minute they were trying to peck her eyes out and the next they were piled in a smothering heap on top of her. Kendall stood in the distance, watching the scene with indifference.

“Rough weekend?”

“Something like that.”

Sean was standing in the doorway. She studied his face and wondered again for the hundredth time if it was him she saw at the cockfight.

“Well, it’s about to get worse.”

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven’t you heard?”

Sydney remained silent.

“Crandell Martin, a second shift log handler, got trapped in the kiln Friday afternoon.”

---