Miss Ruffles Inherits Everything (33 page)

As every minute passed, the throng grew. I spotted my friend Cody from the university alumni office. He stood holding a clipboard in a milling group of students, but he saw me waving and came over to greet me.

“Hey, there, ma'am, it's nice to see you again.” He tucked the clipboard under his arm, took off his hat, and shook my hand. “Hey, there, Miss Ruffles.”

Fred sat down beside me, perfectly obedient.

“Looks like you're in charge of something today, Cody.”

“Incoming freshmen,” he reported. “We take small groups out to show them the town. The students from outside Texas think this is a real rodeo.”

“It isn't?”

“Oh, no, ma'am, this is just fun for kids. But the freshmen think it's cool. We bring a lot of Alamo students and faculty here. President Cornfelter's even with us today. He's singing with a barbershop group later.” Cody pointed.

I turned to see Hannibal Cornfelter standing in a cluster of men wearing striped vests and straw hats. He did not look as if he'd been recently arrested. If he saw me, he avoided my eye.

Cody said, “I think they're going to start the mutton busting in a minute. Want to watch with us?”

“Mutton what?”

He laughed. “C'mon, you'll see.”

I went back to the car to check on the prairie dogs first, and they seemed perfectly fine. The trunk must have felt like their cozy den. I hurried back to find Cody. The temporary bleachers were already full, but we squeezed into a spot at the far end of the corral fence and climbed up to watch. The longhorns had been herded elsewhere, and the corral was set up like an arena with wooden chutes at one end. A group of young fathers milled around there, talking to kids and sorting out numbered cards to pin on the backs of their shirts. The rodeo clown seemed to be in charge. He organized the kids into a line and the fathers around the openings of the chutes. I heard some animals making noise in the chutes but couldn't see what they were.

The man who'd been the master of ceremonies out at Harley's Roadhouse climbed up on a small grandstand with a microphone and announced the first contestants in the mutton busting. The next thing I knew, a chute burst open and a sheep came barreling into the arena with a shrieking little boy on its back. The boy wore a helmet on his head and cowboy boots on his feet, and he had dug his hands deep into the sheep's woolly neck. He hung on for dear life. The sheep galloped straight out into the dusty space, and with every leap, the little boy slipped farther sideways until he was practically upside down. He plopped off into the dust, and the happy sheep scampered for our end of the corral. The boy popped up with a big smile on his face, dusting his jeans off, and the crowd cheered. The rodeo clown guided the boy back to the chutes. Two of the fathers ran after the rollicking sheep, caught it, and sent it back to its friends.

The next little boys fell off their sheep right away to more cheers, and then came two little girls who had better success. One hung on until the sheep gave up and lay down, to roars of laughter from the crowd. When the chute flew open the next time, I saw the Tennyson receptionist yelling encouragement from the top of the fence. Her little boy survived his bucking sheep only a few seconds before he landed flat on his back in the dust, but he got up grinning, and the clown laughingly lifted him up into his mother's arms.

Behind me I heard the toot of a horn and turned to see a couple of big pickup trucks entering the rodeo area. One was the same pickup that had brought Trey Hensley to Ten's ranch just yesterday. I looked through the windshield and saw Trey lounging in the passenger seat, one booted foot on the dashboard, while his buddy drove. Trey was either chewing on a hunk of straw or smoking a cigarette, I couldn't be sure. Both pickups were full of teenage boys in full rodeo gear. They drove on toward the parking area and disappeared.

I asked Cody a few questions, and he explained.

“Yeah, they do the events for the elementary kids first. Next there's the junior high kids. The high schoolers have football practice after school, so their events are tonight. But the rodeo lasts right through to the weekend, so you'll have to come back for the events you like best.”

“What do you like best?”

He smiled. “Well, my sisters all did barrel racing, so that's always fun for me, but really, it's the bronc riding and bull riding that's the most exciting.”

“Because people get hurt,” I guessed.

He laughed. “Nobody gets hurt too bad, not at this level.”

I thought of Ten and his wheelchair, but I didn't argue.

After the mutton busting, the fathers turned a bunch of young calves loose in the corral, each with a ribbon tied to its tail. A mob of little kids jumped into the corral and chased the calves around, trying to grab a ribbon. It was a way of teaching ranch children not to be afraid of cattle, I could see. They all ran around yelling with delight. One child got knocked down and cried about it, but the rodeo clown appeared and plucked him up out of the dust to cheer him up.

I realized the rodeo clown looked familiar.

The junior high event turned out to be pole bending—girls on very fast horses looping in and out of a series of tall-standing poles, then galloping for the finish line. The horses were quick and feisty. All the contestants seemed to be best friends, and they took turns fixing each other's hair or holding each other's horses between runs.

There was a break in the action after that, and I went back to look in on the prairie dogs. They still looked comfy, snuggled in their cages. I returned to the arena just as the barbershop singers climbed up on the little stage to sing. President Cornfelter fit right in, I noted bitterly, except he was the youngest performer by about twenty years. He managed to look perfectly innocent as they sang their hearts out. I wanted to throw a rock at him.

While the music carried over the whole stockyard, parents gathered up their young children and herded them out to the parking lot to take them home for dinner. I figured I'd better follow their example. As I headed back to the car, I had to be careful of the traffic; there were lots of vehicles going out and coming in. As the afternoon slipped away, a different crowd seemed to be filling up the parking lot—parents and their older kids. Lights had been strung from some of the trailers, and they lit up all at once, making the crowd applaud.

Still listening to the barbershop harmonies, I made another circuit around the parking lot, looking one more time for Critter Control. No luck.

I saw Cody again, and he pointed, showing me that his platoon of college freshmen was going to tour the area behind the chutes where more animals were waiting for later events. I waved Cody off, intending to go home, but then I saw a sign for Hellrazor. I stood in the long line to get a look at him in a reinforced stall made of steel pipe. Fred seemed especially happy to see his friend. Hellrazor lowered his head and shook his horns at Fred.

A pair of mischievous little boys toyed slyly with the latch on the gate to Hellrazor's pen.

The rodeo clown was leaning against Hellrazor's fence, making sure the latch stayed bolted. It was Ten. He wore shorts and a colorful T-shirt with sneakers and red knee socks. His hat was rainbow colored, and he wore a red ball on the end of his nose.

“Hey,” he said to me with a smile.

People jostled around us, but I said, “Hey, yourself.”

He heard my tone, and his gaze sharpened. “You okay?”

No, I wasn't okay. I was definitely on the edge of figuring out everything about Honeybelle's death and the disappearance of Miss Ruffles and all the evil that lurked behind the polite sweet talk of some of the smiling Texans I had met, and that made me brave. I decided not to beat around the bush. I said, “The four-wheeler in your barn. The one with the ‘don't get lost' bumper sticker?”

His face registered surprise. “What about it?”

“When was the last time you used it?”

“Me?” Baffled, he said, “Years ago. I can't … my leg. Why do you want to know?”

“Just tell me, Ten. Was it you? Monday night?”

“What are you talking about? I told you I can't … Monday? Aw, Sunny.” He snatched off his red nose, expression shocked. “The guy who hurt you? He was riding my ATV?”

I knew at once he couldn't fake the concern he showed. It hadn't been Ten who lassoed me and threw me to the ground. Someone must have stolen his four-wheeler, and I could guess who. I was so relieved that I found myself smiling shakily. “It's okay. I'm okay. I'm glad it wasn't you.”

I had a lot more to discuss with Ten, but not in public.

He said, “Have you heard anything more about Miss Ruffles?”

“Not yet.”

“Okay, we'll talk later.” He stuck his red nose back on. “You just missed Poppy. She had to run back to the station for some weather thing, but she was looking for you.”

“How was her day with Mae Mae?”

“They can tell you about it. Thing is, Poppy got a phone call this afternoon. From a television station in Atlanta.”

My heart skipped. “Oh?”

“Seems like they advertised for an on-air weather forecaster. Somebody sent them an e-mail about Poppy, and they called her for an interview right away.”

“Imagine that,” I said. “Is she interested?”

“She's over the moon.” Ten was watching my face with the same acute attention as when I told him my concern that Honeybelle had been murdered. Behind his silly nose, I couldn't tell if he was angry or something else.

“I hope she gets what she wants,” I said with all honesty. “She's a nice person. She deserves a lot of happiness.”

At my heel, Fred, who had been keeping an eye on Hellrazor, suddenly gave an impatient bark. Hellrazor responded by kicking up some dirt and shaking his horns. The little boys playing with the gate giggled in anticipation of a bullfight.

I said, “I'm going to take Fred out of here before he gets himself in trouble.”

“You going to stick around?” Then he asked. “Or should I come by Honeybelle's place when this is over?”

“I'll be here,” I said, as the crowd carried me away from Hellrazor's pen.

I'd taken a big risk contacting the Atlanta television station that morning. Now that the deed was done, I'd have to wait to see how things played out. Poppy and Ten would make their own decisions. I'd keep my nose out of it. But part of me suddenly felt exhilarated.

Travis Joe was at the end of the exhibition area, sitting on Hondo and holding a lariat. The saddle's stirrups had been shortened, and he looked steady up there. He spotted me and grinned. “Hey, Miss McKillip!”

“Hey, Travis Joe. You look good. Hondo won't buck you off, will he?” I pretended to be concerned as I looked up at the boy in the saddle. Already he seemed to have lots more confidence than when I'd first seen him in Honeybelle's swimming pool. The big Appaloosa paid attention to the crowd as if ready to protect Travis Joe if the need arose.

With a cocksure grin, Travis Joe said, “I can handle Hondo.”

The barbershop singers had stopped at last. The smell of hot popcorn filled the air, and somewhere nearby a fiddle played a lively tune. The happy voices of the crowd rose. It was a good night in a small town.

The next person I bumped into—literally—was Gracie Garcia. For once, she looked dreadful. Her mascara was halfway down her cheeks, and her hair was a mess. She ricocheted off me and then turned and stared.

“Sunny!”

I suddenly wondered if she'd been drinking. “You okay, Gracie?”

Tears pooled in her dark eyes. “Sunny, I'm so sorry.”

I reached for her arms and held her upright. “Take it easy. What's wrong?”

“Everything.” She sagged in my grasp. “I blew it. I'm an idiot.”

“Calm down. Is there somewhere we can sit? I've got Honeybelle's car if you want to go somewhere quiet and—”

She shook her head, hair flying untidily. “I've been really stupid. And I got fired for it.”

“Fired! For what?”

The tears started to flow then, and I guided her by the shoulders out of the crowd and over to stand by the farrier's trailer, which was empty and quiet. She started talking, but I only understood every other word.

I said, “Take a deep breath, Gracie. Calm down. You're too upset to—”

She snuffled up her tears. “I'll be okay. I'll land on my feet, get another job somehow. I just feel so dumb. I shouldn't have said anything to anybody. I knew that from the start, but I … I couldn't stop myself.”

“Couldn't stop yourself from what?”

“I told Han about Honeybelle's will.”

“Han?”

“Hannibal. President Cornfelter. I told him last week. Even with the words coming out of my mouth, I knew it was unprofessional. But he was so nice to me! He wanted to know all about Honeybelle's will, and he … he said he was getting a divorce and needed a girlfriend. And … and pretty soon everybody was talking about … about you and Mr. Carver and Mae Mae getting Honeybelle's money and … and Miss Ruffles and everything! It's my fault. I'm so sorry!” She collapsed against my shoulder and began to cry in earnest. “Mr. Tennyson was right to fire me. I just … I feel like such a dope!”

The lights strung overhead started to feel like a kaleidoscope, spinning around us, glaringly, painfully bright. I couldn't think it all through. I felt sorry for Gracie, but a spark of anger spurted up inside me, too. My friend had betrayed me. I wanted to forgive her. I felt sorry for her emotional state, but at the same time I wanted to shake some sense into her. It could have been because of her that Miss Ruffles had been kidnapped. If Gracie had kept her mouth shut like she was supposed to, nobody would know about Miss Ruffles inheriting everything for a year.

“I'm so sorry,” she moaned. “I'm really sorry I made this hard for you.”