The Black Cat Knocks on Wood (4 page)

I went inside so Rita Colletti wouldn’t spot me. Hitchcock came in through the cat door, got a drink of water, and plopped down on the kitchen mat.

“Of all the people in the world, that woman is the last person I’d expect to see here in the Hill Country,” I told the cat. “Jetting off to the Riviera is more her style.”

I realized what I’d just said and turned to scan my surroundings. The Monte Carlo cottage was chock-full of Aunt Rowe’s personal mementoes from
her
Riviera trip.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” I amended. “I’m just saying this lawyer has a high-and-mighty personality and nothing’s ever good enough. Trust me when I say
nothing
.”

Hitchcock looked up at me. “Mrreow.”

I smiled at him. “I knew you’d understand.”

I glanced at my laptop and the sheaf of papers on the table beside the computer—my novel in progress. The real reason I’d left the law firm job behind. My “little hobby,” as Rita
Colletti referred to my writing when I’d given my two weeks’ notice.

“I’ll show her,” I muttered. “She’ll be the first person to get an invitation to my book signing.” I paused. “Never mind, I don’t even want her there.”

A moot point if I didn’t get myself in gear and work harder. But how could I drum up creative thoughts with
her
nearby? And what the heck was she doing here? Honestly, I wouldn’t be able to concentrate until I found out why Rita Colletti was staying in Lavender.

I crossed the living room and lifted a panel of the sheer window curtain to peer outside. The doors on Rita’s vehicle were closed, and she was nowhere in sight. Her name wasn’t on Aunt Rowe’s reservations printout I’d scanned the day before. I’d have noticed. I wondered if she made a spur-of-the-moment decision to stay at Around-the-World Cottages and lucked upon a cancellation or if she was staying with someone whose name
was
on the list. I didn’t envision Rita sharing the small Paris cottage with anyone. Seriously, who in their right mind would stay in such close quarters with the unlikeable woman?

What I wanted to know most of all was how long she planned to stay. If it was too long, I might have to take an unplanned road trip to somewhere, anywhere.

Don’t be a wuss, Sabrina. Colletti isn’t your boss anymore.

Still, I wanted answers. I left my cottage and took the steps down to the river, then walked beside the water until I reached Aunt Rowe’s house before climbing the riverbank. A roundabout route, one that ensured I wouldn’t run into my ex-boss. Up ahead, someone was clapping.

And chanting.

“Go. Go. Go. Go.”

No, it was, “Rowe. Rowe. Rowe.”

Dear Lord, now what?

I spotted Aunt Rowe’s friends, Helen and Adele, sitting on the back deck, facing the lawn. I couldn’t see what they were watching, though, until I rounded the corner of the deck.

Aunt Rowe stood in the middle of the yard circling a lasso above her head. Several yards away, a three-foot-tall stuffed giraffe straddled a sawhorse. She threw the rope, missed the giraffe, then started when I came up behind her.

“Hey, you distracted me,” she said. “I would have had that.”

“C’mon, Rowe,” yelled Adele. “Give it another go.”

“You can do it,” Helen added.

“What’s up with the giraffe?” I said.

“Helen brought him. He’s a stand-in for the goat.”

“What goat?”

“The one I’m going to rope at the rodeo.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get me started on that topic. I came to ask about the new guest in Paris.”

Aunt Rowe smiled. “Her name’s Rita Colletti. Seems real nice.”

“
Seems
is the operative word there.” I frowned. “You
do
remember that name, right?”

Aunt Rowe’s readied her rope for another try at the giraffe. “Should I?”

“Skip the memory loss routine,” I said. “You know good and well who Rita Colletti is.”

“How could I forget the condescending queen?” Aunt Rowe said. “You griped about her plenty of times, but a vacancy is a vacancy, Sabrina, and you’re a big girl.”

“I know, but—”

“No buts,” Aunt Rowe said. “Business is business, the customer is always right, and all that jazz.”

“I agree, but—”

Aunt Rowe straightened and plastered on a smile. She looked at a spot over my shoulder and said, “How nice of you to join us. Sabrina, you remember Rita.”

My shoulders sagged, and I couldn’t summon the will to turn around.

“Imagine my surprise,” Rita said in the gravelly voice I remembered all too well, “when I learned Sabrina Tate lives here. Tell me, Sabrina, how’s your little hobby coming?”

*   *   *

I woke early the next morning, headed straight to Hot Stuff, and set up my laptop in my usual corner of the coffee shop. When I’d begged off of Aunt Rowe’s dinner invitation the night before, swearing I had to rush back to work on a critical chapter, Rita said she’d catch up with me another time.

Maybe she was just being polite, which I’d consider a first for her, but I didn’t plan on sticking around the cottage where she could easily find me.

Sly and the Family Stone’s “Dance to the Music” came through the sound system, cheering me despite myself. Max Dieter, the shop owner, bopped over with a steaming mug and placed it on my table.

“A cuppa Lavender’s Sunrise, your usual,” he said. “How’s the book coming?”

“Fine, I guess. Had a rough time with it last night, but I’m feeling the groove today. This will help.” I picked up the mug and inhaled deeply, then took a sip.

“Want to talk about it?” he said.

“Talk about what?”

“Whatever’s causing those stress lines on your forehead.”

I used two fingers to smooth out the indentations between my brows. “Not really.”

I’d rather push Rita Colletti to the recesses of my mind—which I’d tried to do while consuming large quantities of wine the night before. All in an attempt to squelch my annoyance that Rita would be my neighbor for the next week while she worked with some new client who lived in the Lavender area.

How lucky was that?

“Did Hitchcock make the trip with you today?” Max said.

I shook my head. “Left him fat and happy, asleep in the middle of my bed.”

“Ah, to have the life of a cat.” Max sighed.

“Right.” I laughed and picked up my mug. “Keep the coffee comin’, Max. I plan to write up a storm this morning.”

“Will do.”

He greeted other customers on his way back to the bar, and I turned to face the laptop screen.

I reread what I’d written the day before, decided it would do for now, and began typing.

Two minutes into the writing, my phone rang.

Shoot. I should have muted that.

An elderly couple at the next table glanced over in annoyance. The phone wasn’t all that loud, but I scrambled to pull it from my computer case to turn it down.

I checked the screen and didn’t recognize the number. Who would call me before eight in the morning?

Not Rita Colletti, thank goodness. Even though I’d erased her from my contacts, I’d still recognize her number, and this wasn’t her. I watched the phone until the ringing stopped. If the call was important, the caller would leave me a message and I’d deal with that later. I placed the phone next to the laptop.

I drank more coffee and focused on the computer screen once more. My FBI agent was doing surveillance on a stormy night. A car pulled into the driveway she’d been watching for hours. A dead body would be discovered in the next few sentences.

My phone vibrated, and the same unknown number appeared on the screen. I tried to ignore it but couldn’t keep myself from picking the phone up a minute later. No messages, but the phone almost immediately began ringing a third time. Same number.

Annoyed, I punched the button and answered.

“Sabrina, it’s Pearl.”

I frowned. “How’d you get my number?”

“From Rowe,” she said. “Are you writing at Hot Stuff this morning?”

“Trying to.”

“Is Hitchcock with you?”

“No, he’s at home.”

“Are you sure?”

I pushed my chair back from the table. “Why are you asking me this?”

“I think I saw your cat in town.”

“When?” I pressed the phone tighter against my ear to hear her better.

“A few minutes ago.”

“You must be mistaken.”

At least I hope so
.

“You need to come over here,” she said.

“I’m busy, Pearl.” My cat was a known wanderer, but he sure looked like he was down for a long morning nap when I left the cottage. “Are you looking at a black cat as we speak?”

“No, but I really need your help. Something bad has happened.”

“To a cat?” My heart rate sped up.

“No,” she said. “I’d rather not say over the phone.
Please
, can’t you spare a few minutes to come and see for yourself?”

I blew out a breath. “Where are you? At your store?”

“No, but I’m on Bluebonnet Street. The building that’s for sale three doors down from my place.”

“The one that used to be a restaurant?” I said.

“Yes.”

“If you’re wanting another opinion about buying property, I’m not the right person.”

“Please,” she said again, her voice shaky. “This isn’t about the property. It’s important, I swear.”

“Oh, all right.” The woman didn’t seem like she’d let this drop, whatever
this
was, and the sooner I went to see what was up, the sooner I could get back to work.

Max agreed to stash my laptop under the counter until I returned, and I set off for Bluebonnet, two streets over. The temperature was already hitting the ninety-degree mark with
about a thousand percent humidity. I blew straggly waves of hair off my forehead, then removed the blue elastic and redid my ponytail more tightly as I walked.

The building that used to house Amelia’s Cantina was probably eighty years old and had been vacant for a while. Judging from the construction trucks I’d seen there recently, I figured the seller had decided to refurbish in hopes of getting a better price.

A few cars were parked on the street, but the construction trucks hadn’t shown up for today’s work as of yet. I strode toward the entrance, annoyed that Pearl had dragged me away from my writing, then spotted her standing just inside the open doorway. She looked a mess in a wrinkled plaid blouse over knit slacks. Her curly hair stuck out every which way, and pink splotches stained her cheeks.

“What’s going on, Pearl? What are you doing here?”

She heaved a big sigh. “Well, I got up and looked out my window. To check the weather, you know, see if it was going to rain like they said on the weather report.” She paused.

“And—” I made a hurry-up-and-spit-it-out hand motion.

“I saw Crystal Devlin. She parked right over there.” Pearl pointed to a Cadillac SUV on the street. “Then she rushed into this building. I’m still ticked about that cigar shop coming in next to my candy store, you know, and I felt like she needed to hear about it. Right then.”

“Okay. What does all this have to do with a cat?”

“Well, when I saw Crystal I threw on some clothes and came straight over. She’d left the door open, so I came on in, and that’s when I saw the black cat. He sure looked like Hitchcock.”

“What was this cat doing?” I still didn’t understand Pearl’s sense of urgency for me to come over.

“Sitting on a pile of two-by-fours when I saw him.”

“So you want me to come in and look for the cat?”

“No. There’s something much worse. I just wanted you to know the cat was here.”

“I’ll take a look around to see if I spot Hitchcock inside.”
I stepped over the threshold, passing Pearl on my way into the building. A clump of black hair sticking to the rough-edged doorjamb caught my attention like a flashing neon sign. I looked at Pearl. “No denying there was a black cat on the premises.”

Good grief, had Hitchcock somehow made his way into town this morning after all? I might have to invest in a kitty GPS gizmo to keep track of the wandering feline.

“See, I’m not imagining things,” Pearl said.

“Guess not.”

I looked around the two-story entry and didn’t spot Hitchcock or any other cat. A row of new windows installed above the entrance allowed sunshine to spill across the floor, lighting stacks of lumber, scaffolding, and debris left behind by the work crew. The place smelled of sawdust and greasy to-go food wrappers. A cat could find a dozen good hiding places, not to mention things to gnaw on.

“What a mess,” I said. “Did you talk to Crystal?”

When Pearl didn’t respond, I turned to face her and noticed her cheeks had reddened even more. Tears filled her eyes as she shook her head.

“Why not?” I shaded my eyes against the sunlight and scanned the space again, looking all the way up to the top of the scaffolding, where a pile of red bricks sat ready to be added to a partially bricked interior wall. My gaze traveled back to a mute Pearl.

“What’s the matter?” I said.

“It’s Crystal.” Pearl’s voice was so low I could barely hear her.

“What about her?” I walked farther into the space and rounded the stack of two-by-fours, nearly stumbling on bricks scattered on the floor. “Where is she?”

But before Pearl could answer, I spotted an arm sticking out from under a heap of fallen bricks. The hand with Crystal Devlin’s French-manicured nails, lying in a pool of blood.

My pulse pounded at my throat. “Good Lord, Pearl, what happened? Where are the EMS people?”

“It’s too late,” Pearl said. “Crystal’s dead. I checked.”

“You touched her?”

“How else was I gonna know?” Pearl rubbed her neck as if her worst problem was a kink she had to work out. “It’s not every day I come across an emergency situation, but I wasn’t gonna stand around with my hands in my pockets if she had a chance. I had to stretch, but I managed to reach her neck.”

“Okay, okay.” Looking at the body, I had no trouble believing that Crystal Devlin was dead. “Jeez, EMS is usually faster than this. What’s taking them so long?” I didn’t even hear a siren in the distance. “Are you sure you gave them the right address?”

“I had to tell you
he
was here first,” Pearl said.

“Who?” I said.

“Hitchcock.” Pearl stared at me, all serious. “Who else?”

“Did
you
bring him here, Pearl?” I said, even though I couldn’t see how she’d have managed that feat this morning.

“No, I swear I didn’t, but this is all my fault. I should
never
have brought up the idea of using him.”

“You’re right,” I said, “but that’s the least of our worries.”

“If anybody saw your cat, though, it could mean trouble,”

“What are you talking about?” I moved closer to Crystal, stooped to get a better look at her, and winced. A lump that felt the size of a golf ball clogged my throat.

Pearl went on, “If people get wind of the fact that the bad luck cat was in this building, they’ll say he caused Crystal’s death.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I stood too quickly and felt a momentary light-headedness. “I firmly believe my cat is home where he’s supposed to be, not here in town, and no one can blame this on him. And on top of everything else, he is
not bad luck
.”

Pearl shrugged. “You know how people are, always looking for good gossip.”

“Making up lies is not
good
,” I said. “Crystal needs our help, so stop it about the cat already.”

“I had to warn you,” Pearl said. “That’s why I called you instead of the sheriff.”

I stared at her. “Please tell me you called 911.”

Pearl shook her head. “Like I told you, Crystal is already dead. She’s beyond help.”

“For Pete’s sake, Pearl, you
always
call. What were you thinking? This horrible accident,
any
accident,
any
incident, you have to call.” I patted my pockets frantically before remembering I’d left my phone in my laptop case.

Dang it
.

“Give me a freaking phone.”

Pearl pulled hers from a pocket, and I nearly yanked her arm off grabbing the phone from her. Before I could dial, clomping footsteps sounded behind me. Thank goodness, the cavalry was coming after all.

Pearl grabbed my elbow. “We gotta get out of here.”

“No, Pearl.” I tried to pull my arm from her firm grasp as I turned to the sight of two men the size of linebackers in hard hats coming into the room. The first one took in the scene before him with a swift and sweeping glance.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he said as he pulled out his own phone. “Chet, keep an eye on these broads. Don’t let ’em get away while I call for help.”

“It’s not like it looks.” Panic rose in my chest. “I just got here.”

“We didn’t kill her,” Pearl said. “It was an accident.”

“Save it,” the man said. Then into the phone: “We got a badly injured woman over here and two suspects. Send help pronto.”

*   *   *

I had never before wished that I could disappear like Samantha of
Bewitched
as fervently as I did in that moment. I slouched in the backseat of a sheriff’s department car where Deputy Brent Ainsley had stowed me until he could get around to asking me more questions. Like he thought I’d make a run for it given the chance. The longer he kept me here the hotter I got—both literally and figuratively.

Ainsley had no good reason to lock me in the car. I hadn’t refused to talk. He had no evidence to use against me. I wasn’t a flight risk. The guy was a big fat bully, which is what I’d heard about him in the past. Which made me worry all the more for Pearl ’cause Ainsley’s focus shifted to her the moment he’d spotted blood on her shoes. As far as I could tell, she was still inside with him.

Sweat trickled down my back even though Ainsley had cracked each of the windows about an inch so I could get some air. Didn’t do much good on a hot July day. Lucky for me, the car was parked under a tree and there was some cloud cover. Maybe I’d survive.

If only I hadn’t listened when Pearl asked me to come over and meet her. I would be happily writing away at Hot Stuff right now, adding to my word count. But no . . . I had to give in to stupid curiosity and get involved in this crime scene. Or accident scene. Which was it? Yesterday Pearl was bad-mouthing Crystal Devlin every chance she got, and today she’s standing next to Crystal’s dead body. Her luck couldn’t get much worse. So why was I the one locked in the back of the cruiser?

Emergency vehicles and gawkers crowded Bluebonnet Street. No surprise that the flashing lights had attracted everyone. Wait till they figured out that Pearl, the sweet candy-store lady, was being held inside for questioning about the death of Lavender’s real estate maven. I checked my watch, the only personal possession I had on me besides my clothes and flip-flops. I wondered if Pearl would tell Ainsley about the cat. Or if I would. There had to be another reason I could give for coming when Pearl called, ’cause I sure didn’t want people talking about my cat.

Again.

I was obsessing about Hitchcock and whether he was at home sleeping or had actually come into town, when a low voice sounded near my ear.

“You want me to break you out of there?”

I jumped in the seat and turned to see Sheriff Jeb Crawford standing outside the car. His mouth was set in a grim line, but his eyes twinkled in the way that reminded me so much of my late father.

“Please do,” I said. “Deputy Ainsley is completely out of line locking me up in here.”

The sheriff nodded as he opened the door. “And here I thought Deputy Pat was your favorite of my employees.”

I climbed out and smoothed straggly hairs from my sweating forehead. “Ainsley’s running a close second.”

“I already had a talk with him about this,” the sheriff said.
“He made a bad judgment call. You’re free to go. We’ll call if we need to ask you any further questions.”

“What about Pearl?” I said.

The sheriff looked away from me and chewed the inside of his cheek for a second before turning back. “She’s a person of interest.”

My heart jumped. “That term insinuates something more than an accident. I’d say the construction workers are of more interest than Pearl since their bricks obviously went off like a booby trap when Crystal walked near them.”

The sheriff looked at me sharply. “Did you see that happen?”

“No, I didn’t see anything. That’s how it looked.”

“Don’t surmise,” he said. “Best to keep quiet, actually. It’s not your job to solve this.”

He thinks Crystal was murdered.

A cry went up from people gathered on the sidewalk. A young man had lifted the crime scene tape and was attempting to cross under it.

“Go on. We have our hands full here.” The sheriff turned and took long strides toward the sidewalk. He reached the young man and grabbed his arm, keeping him from stepping inside the building.

I knew I should leave while I had the chance, but my curiosity ruled once again. A teenage girl jogged up to the sheriff and took the young man’s other arm. She rested her blond head against him.

Sheriff Crawford leaned in toward them, and I saw his lips moving. From the crowd, I heard the words “Cody” and “son.”

Good Lord, the kid was Crystal Devlin’s son. No wonder the sheriff had rushed to stop him.

Cody Devlin was tall, a good six feet, and wore knee-length shorts with a T-shirt. Dark bangs nearly hid his eyes, and I was glad for that under these circumstances.

The sheriff instructed the onlookers to stand back and
led Cody down the sidewalk. The girl stuck close to Cody’s side, and as they moved away from the crowd, they grew closer to me.

I could hear the girl murmuring, “It’s okay, baby, it’ll be okay.”

Sheriff Crawford said, “Is there someone I can call for you, son?”

Cody Devlin moved down the sidewalk, his gait zombie-like, and didn’t appear to hear either one of them.