The Black Cat Knocks on Wood (2 page)

I had planned to spend the day writing. After learning about the rodeo and listening to Pearl’s annoying request to borrow Hitchcock, any hope I could focus on my novel-in-progress vanished. I took the walking trail past the Paris cottage, one of twelve rental units Aunt Rowe had designed to commemorate her travels to foreign cities. Eleven, now that I lived in the Monte Carlo cottage at my aunt’s insistence.

Laughter drifted to me from the Glidden River. With the stifling heat, our guests spent more time cooling off in the pleasant water under the shade of overhanging oak trees and barbequing meals over coals on our pits than patronizing the restaurants and shops in town. They didn’t have to spend a lot of money for a relaxing vacation in the Hill Country.

Back at my place, I found Hitchcock inside, lapping eagerly from his water bowl. With my aunt’s permission, I had installed a pet door for the cat. I would have preferred to keep him locked safely inside, but this cat was not one to give up his freedom, and he voiced that opinion loudly. Once I’d
convinced Thomas Cortez, Aunt Rowe’s grounds manager, that Hitchcock had saved my life during a confrontation with a killer a few months back, he quit obsessing about removing the black cat from Lavender. I felt reasonably sure my pet was safe to wander Aunt Rowe’s property. The fact that he sometimes hitched a ride into town with unsuspecting drivers still concerned me, but I had yet to find a workable solution to curtail his travels.

I smoothed the flyer I’d printed at Aunt Rowe’s and inserted the page into a crisp new manila folder, then went to the kitchen for a glass of iced tea. Hitchcock left his bowl and jumped up on the table to sit beside my laptop.

“Mrreow.”

I turned to him. “Yes, I know I should be writing. After what just happened, I can’t think about fiction. Aunt Rowe intends to perform in a rodeo, for crying out loud. How crazy is that?”

He looked at me, his eyes wide.

“You’re right. I should be used to her craziness by now. I try to be supportive, really I do, but where does she come up with such ideas? And how about Pearl’s request to borrow you? That is so
not
going to happen.”

I thought about the sweet Pearl Hogan I’d met at her store. With the woman’s permed white hair, round as a snow globe, and the wire-framed glasses she wore perched on her nose she resembled Mrs. Santa Claus. During the holiday season, she delighted children by dressing as Mrs. Claus and holding readings of favorite Christmas tales.

Pearl had shared her plans with me to expand the store to make space for a game room and candy-making classes for tourists with young children. She had a sound business plan in the works. I was disappointed that her attempt to buy the property next to her store had failed. Maybe the Austin developer offered a higher price for the property, but that didn’t excuse Crystal’s denying Pearl’s contract existed in the first place.

I understood Pearl’s animosity toward the woman, but I couldn’t excuse her silly idea to use Hitchcock to cause bad luck for the real estate agent. Until today, I didn’t realize Pearl was one of Lavender’s superstitious citizens. Approaching Crystal myself to question her about Pearl’s contract probably wasn’t the best idea. I’d give Pearl a day or so to cool off, then encourage her to consult with an attorney.

What I
could
do today, though, was talk to the rodeo people about the upcoming senior event. That seemed like a task better done in person. I didn’t even know where to go or whom to talk to, but I knew someone who would.

I grabbed my phone and called my friend Tyanne Clark at her bookstore.

After three rings, her teenage employee answered with a breathless run-on sentence. “It’s a great day at Knead to Read this is Ethan may I help you?”

“Hey, Ethan, it’s Sabrina,” I said. “Tyanne busy?”

“Not very,” he said.

“Great, I need to talk to her, please.”

Ten seconds later, my friend came on the line. “How’s your new book coming?”

Always her first question.

With fingers crossed, I said, “Just fabulous. My word count is growing by leaps and bounds.”

Hitchcock, curled into napping position on the tabletop, raised his head and looked at me.

“Uh-huh,” Tyanne said.

“Hey, think you could get away from business for a couple of hours?”

“Maybe,” she said tentatively. “Why?”

“Because you and I need to go see a man about a rodeo.”

“Have you been drinking?”

“No, but after listening to Aunt Rowe this morning, maybe I should have imbibed along with her and her friends.”

“What’s Rowe up to this time? I assume she’s the reason you want to discuss the rodeo.”

“She definitely is.” I filled her in on Aunt Rowe’s latest scheme. “What I’m thinking is that sometimes she embellishes her stories.”

“You
think
?” Tyanne laughed.

“Okay, I know so. That’s actually what I’m hoping for. Maybe the rodeo organizers planned for Aunt Rowe and her friends to kick off the night by riding in with the Texas flag or some other perfectly safe activity, and she’s making it out to be some rip-roaring Wild West extravaganza.”

“Hmm,” Tyanne said. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“The sooner I know the facts, the less energy I’ll expend worrying. You
do
know where the Lavender rodeo is located, right?”

“Sure, we take the kids there once or twice a year. It’s officially the Hill Country Rodeo, but half the time people say Lavender Rodeo. It’s about fifteen miles out of town. Near that winery we went to when we celebrated your moving here.”

I smiled, remembering how we’d giggled into the wee hours after the winery tour and the tasting that followed.

“You up for a drive?” I said. “I can swing by in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be ready,” she said.

Hitchcock watched as I disconnected the call. He looked at my computer, then back at me, the way a wife might look at a husband who announced he was going to play golf when the lawn needed mowing.

“Tyanne and I are taking a drive,” I said. “I’ll write later. Want to come along?”

The cat lowered his head to his paws and closed his eyes.

Heaven forbid I should interrupt his nap.

*   *   *

The early afternoon sun beat down on my Accord as Tyanne and I headed to the rodeo. The drive took us over hills and into ravines with foot markers to measure floodwaters—
a safety precaution to keep drivers from heading unbeknownst into danger during times of pounding rainstorms.

The Gillespie vineyards came into view, and I saw the sign for the tasting room we’d visited several months earlier. I suspected most tourists were inside the air-conditioned stone structure, though I spotted some people outside in the area designated for visitors who wanted to experience the actual harvesting of grapes.

The land flattened, and we passed several gated and landscaped entrances to ranches. Tyanne pointed to one particularly elaborate entrance marked “The Big D.”

“The owner of the rodeo lives there,” she said.

I slowed down to look. Beyond the gate and down the lengthy drive sat a majestic two-story house with a backdrop of large trees.

The giant scrolled letter
D
on the bronze-colored gate was impressive. “Reminds me of that song,” I said. “Goin’ through the big D and don’t mean Dallas.”

“In this case, it means Devlin,” Ty said. “Lance and Crystal Devlin.”

“Crystal, the real estate agent?”

“That’s her,” Tyanne said. “I’m not sure who owned more property before they married, husband or wife. Between the two of ’em, they own pretty much everything you can see up to, and probably well into, the next county.”

“How do you know so much about them?” I said.

“Chamber of commerce meetings,” she said. “Most of the business owners attend. Your aunt knows Crystal. And Ethan knows the Devlins’ son, Cody, from school and mentions him from time to time.”

“What do you think of Crystal?”

“She’s okay, I guess.” Tyanne shrugged. “Why are you interested in her?”

I told her about Pearl’s issue with the woman and the candy store owner’s request to borrow Hitchcock to cause bad luck for the agent.

Tyanne laughed. “It’s bad enough Pearl thinks your cat’s bad luck, but she thinks she can use him to direct bad luck to a specific person? Sounds like Pearl has a little too much sugar on the brain. Oh, turn right up at that sign.”

A simple white board read, “Hill County Rodeo.” I steered onto the gravel driveway and, about a mile in, came to a dirt parking lot that held a couple dozen vehicles, mostly pickups. Next to the lot stood a large whitewashed building with a corral off to the right.

“Pearl is a sweetheart,” I said, “no pun intended. I hate to think someone’s cheating her.”

“I agree. The real estate deal sounds like something that bears looking into.”

“Later.” I parked the car and pulled the key from the ignition. “Today, it’s rodeo time.”

Ty looked at me. “There’s something I never thought I’d hear you say.”

“I’m here strictly for information. I don’t want to witness anyone mistreating animals.” We climbed out and walked over to the corral where onlookers had gathered to watch young women barrel racing. This I could handle. I squinted against the bright sun and dust kicked up by the horses. As grit hit my skin, I realized Tyanne was more appropriately dressed for this place in her slacks and closed UT-orange Crocs than I was in my shorts and flip-flops.

“Ace McKinney manages the rodeo,” Tyanne said. “He’s that man leaning on the fence over there.”

I followed her gaze to a stocky middle-aged man. His tanned face looked weathered by much time in the sun, and long gray sideburns were visible beneath the brim of his dusty cowboy hat. He was totally focused on the barrel racing, and I wondered if he coached the riders.

“What kind of name is Ace?” I said in a low voice. “Sounds like a cardshark.”

“That’s the writer in you talkin’,” Tyanne said. “Probably a nickname for some boring name his parents gave him.”

“Cletus,” said a voice behind us.

We almost knocked heads turning in unison to see a fortyish blond man wearing dark sunglasses and standing very close.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“His given name is Cletus,” the man said. “Wouldn’t
you
rather go by Ace?” He grinned at me, showing off perfect white teeth.

I felt a flush rising up my neck.

He kept his eyes on me and tipped his head toward the barrel racers. “You one of their mothers?”

“Me? No.” I laughed, then without thinking added, “I’m a writer.”

“Rider?” he said.

“No, a writer, as in novel writer.”

Tyanne added, “A darn good one, too, Hayden Birch.”

The man turned to Tyanne, snapped his fingers, and pointed at her. “You’re the book lady.”

“Got it in one try,” she said. “Haven’t seen you in my store lately. We just got the latest C. J. Box if you’re interested.”

“I am, but they keep me pretty busy here. Don’t know when I’ll get into town.” He turned back to me. “You doing research or what?”

This guy didn’t need to know the book I was working on was set in New England and starred a female FBI agent or my real reason for today’s visit.

“Research, yeah,” I said. “This is my first time to the rodeo.”

Tyanne gave me a look but didn’t say anything.

“You from the city?” he said.

“From Houston, but I live here in Lavender now.”

He grinned some more. “I can show you around, Miss . . .”

“Sorry,” Tyanne said. “My bad. Hayden, this is my good friend Sabrina Tate. Sabrina, Hayden is, believe it or not, the rodeo clown.”

I forced myself to keep a straight face. “Wow, that sounds like an interesting job.”

“Fun, with a certain amount of danger,” he said. “Rambo the wild bull strikes fear in the hearts of most, but I know how to handle that boy. C’mon, I’ll show you ladies around.”

“I’ve been here before,” Tyanne said, adding a wink behind Hayden’s back. “I’d like to stay and watch the barrel racers.”

“Okay.” I hoped she didn’t think I’d have any romantic interest in this guy. A man who bragged about spending time with a wild bull wasn’t exactly my type.

I followed Hayden past the whitewashed building. We walked through a side gate to a large paved area with ticket booths on our left, concession stands on our right.

“It’s a small operation,” Hayden said as we entered an arena lined with bleachers on two sides. “Brings a decent crowd, nothing like the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.”

The Houston rodeo was a huge moneymaking event that brought in famous singers and snarled traffic for about a month every winter, but I’d never attended.

“To tell the truth,” I said, “I’m not really a fan of rodeos. I’m an animal lover.”

“Most of us are,” he said, “especially Mr. D, the owner.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

We walked the circle around the arena, and he pointed out the bull chutes and a barn where animals were kept prior to roping events.

I cringed at the thought and averted my gaze. “What can you tell me about the upcoming senior rodeo?”

Before he could answer, a loud voice hollered. “Birch, stop your lollygagging and get to working those horses.”

I spun to see Cletus McKinney—Ace—approaching us.

Hayden said, “On my way, Ace.”

“Quit clowning around,” Ace said, “when there’s work to do.”

Hayden looked at me and spoke in a voice too low for Ace to hear. “He loves saying that, but he’s just jealous. See you around, Sabrina.”

“Thanks for the tour.”

As Ace neared me, he said, “Sorry to break that up, ma’am, but this is a working rodeo, and it’d do you good to steer clear of that particular clown. I mean that in more than one sense of the word. He’s a bit too fond of the ladies.”

My face grew warm. “I assure you, I have no interest in your clown. I came here to do some research.”

“’bout what?”

“The Senior Pro Rodeo,” I said.

He looked me up and down. “You don’t look like a pro or a senior.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, but I need to know more about plans for the event.”