The Black Cat Knocks on Wood (8 page)

“Maybe,” Griffin said, “but that still doesn’t sound like Ace.”

“Or Pearl. I can’t see her climbing the scaffolding any sooner than I’d picture Ace McKinney up there.”

“Good point.”

“Bottom line is, somebody set Crystal up.”

“That’s what it looks like,” he said. “We’re talking premeditated murder.”

First thing in the morning is typically my best time for writing, before everyday events crowd my brain. Sometimes I wake to find that problems and worries had spent the night and stayed for breakfast. Today seemed like one of those days, but I allowed myself a few moments to reflect on the peaceful time I’d spent with Griffin by the pond the night before. The joy of sharing cupcakes and watching the sunset, not the rest. Then, determined to write, I put my phone on “Mute” and opened my laptop. Before long, I was deep into the best type of conflict—the fictional kind.

Hitchcock sat nearby, watching me like a shift supervisor in a sewing factory to make sure I was actually turning out pages, not staring mindlessly at the screen for hours on end. After a while he apparently felt safe to leave me to my own devices and went outside to sit on the porch railing and annoy birds.

By early afternoon I’d finished a chapter and felt satisfied about meeting my most challenging goal of the day. I checked
my phone, glad to see no one had tried to call. No unwelcome visits from Rita Colletti either. I didn’t care where the lawyer was or what she was doing, so long as she wasn’t bothering me. Next up—get those black cat event flyers printed and begin distributing them. I went outside, where the afternoon heat hit me like a slap in the face, and found my smart kitty dozing in the shade under the pink-flowering crepe myrtles.

“C’mon, Hitchcock,” I said. “Want to go for a ride?”

His ears perked up, and he stood and stretched. Once we got into the car, he gave the harness a leery glance.

“If you wear this, we can walk on the street together,” I told him as I looped the harness over his head. “Won’t that be nice?”

“Mrrrreeooowww,” he said, and I had a feeling that meant,
Are you out of your freaking mind?
in cat speak. Minutes later we were headed into town.

The only place in Lavender I knew of with a high-speed copier was, interestingly enough, Bunny’s Beauty Shop. Aunt Rowe knew Bunny well because the shop owner colored Rowe’s hair every six weeks. I knew
of
Bunny and the fact that she’d decided to make a little income on the side by renting a high-speed copier and charging by the page. Guess she’d heard enough people asking, “Hey, you know where I could get some copies made?” to figure she could profit by taking advantage of the demand.

I hoped Bunny wasn’t one of those stylists who’d take one look at me and beg to have her way with my hair. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had someone lop a couple of inches off the bottom. Maybe it was time, but I wasn’t in the mood to deal with hair issues today. Hitchcock watched without comment as I pulled my curly mop back and fastened it with a lime green elastic band. I checked the rearview.

There. Better.

As we approached the shop, I admired the lighted neon pink “Bunny’s Beauty Shop” sign on the front window with a second smaller sign scrolled in purple beneath it—“Cuts ’n
Copies.” Inside, the pink-and-purple theme carried on to the wallpaper, an upholstered bench along the wall, and the capes used to protect clientele’s clothing. The pleasant scent of shampoo was barely recognizable, overpowered by hair-coloring chemicals.

A white-haired lady stood at a small checkout counter while a girl penciled her next appointment into a black date book. The salon had two styling chairs—one occupied by a woman in a pink cape. A middle-aged stylist with platinum blond hair—Bunny, I assumed, from things Aunt Rowe had said about her—was cutting hair and nodding while her client talked nonstop. A man, cape-free at the moment, waited in the second chair, presumably for the young lady at the checkout.

The white-haired client looked down and spied Hitchcock. “Oh my,” she said, “he’s a handsome fellow.”

“Thank you,” I said. “He’s Hitchcock, the spokes-cat for the Love-a-Black-Cat adoption event coming up next month.” I held up the flyer for her to read the details. “I’ve come to make copies.”

The girl behind the counter stood on tiptoes and leaned over to get a look at Hitchcock, then hollered, “Hey, Bunny, copy job.”

The older stylist waved and nodded. “Be with you in five,” she said. “Have a seat.”

The white-haired customer studied my flyer. “Sure is somethin’ to see, a cat walkin’ along with you like he’s a dog.”

“He’s not exactly happy about it,” I said, “but I like to keep him safe.”

“Good for you,” she said to me while giving Hitchcock’s ears a scratch. “I’ll tell all my friends about your adoption event.”

After she left, I settled on the bench seat to wait and wished I could block out the strident tone of the woman having her hair cut. Hitchcock sniffed at a nearby carousel that
held a variety of magazines. Through a glass door connecting the salon to a smaller second room I saw the copier, similar to those I had used plenty of times when I worked at the law firm. Left to my own devices, I could make a couple hundred copies and be out of here in a few minutes. I didn’t blame Bunny, though, if she didn’t want to risk having inexperienced customers jam up her machine.

The fortyish female customer kept up the nonstop chatter, which nearly drowned out the music coming through a wireless speaker mounted on the wall.

“I don’t care what my soon-to-be-ex thinks he’s gettin’ outta the house,” she said. “What he’s
gettin’
is zilch. He’s the one up and left, so the cash from the house goes to me. It was just about sold, too, till my agent went and got herself killed. I have like the worst luck in the world.”

Really? Is she hoping to win a most-insensitive-person-on-the-planet award?

The man in the next chair glanced at her and exchanged a look with Bunny. The younger stylist came over and fastened a purple cape around the man’s neck. She invited him to step over to the shampoo bowl, and they moved quickly as though eager to put distance between themselves and the other client.

Bunny said, “Crystal’s death is a tragedy. If only she hadn’t gone into that building.”

Her customer said, “That’s what she gets for her greed. Rushing off in hopes of a bigger commission, and now I’m left high and dry.”

“What do you mean?” Bunny said.

“She was supposed to have an offer for me by today. I don’t even have the buyer’s name or I could call and finish the deal on my own.”

“I’m sure she had records,” Bunny said. “Her office will be able to help you.”

The customer barked out a laugh. “You mean that little twit who wants the commission for herself now?”

I didn’t know Crystal’s assistant well, but she’d seemed very nice and down to earth.

“Jordan’s a nice young lady,” Bunny said, mirroring my thoughts, “and you’re giving her a bum rap. Her family’s fallen on hard times. I’m sure you can relate.” Bunny turned the woman’s chair and held a strand from each side of the woman’s head, then stooped to compare the lengths.

“Hard times? That’s what my husband’s gonna feel. I got the perfect lawyer to file my divorce petition. She’ll chew him up and spit him out.”

During my years at the law office, I’d heard enough of that kind of talk to last a lifetime. I stood to move into the other room as Bunny swiveled her client’s chair again, bringing the woman in line with me and Hitchcock.

“
What
is that animal doing in here?” she shrieked. “I’m allergic to cat hair. Get it out.”

“Now, Claudia,” Bunny said calmly, “if you sit still and keep your mouth closed, you’ll be fine.”

The woman’s outburst had startled me, but now I had to stifle a laugh.

“I will
not
be fine. I’ll start wheezing and break out in horrid red blotches.”

Bunny continued, “The cat’s been here for a few minutes already, and you didn’t even notice. I’ll be back in a moment.” She motioned for me to join her in the other room, which I did gladly. We stood at a glass-topped counter adjacent to the copier.

“Sorry about her,” Bunny said, keeping her voice low. “She’s a . . .” She paused, searching for words.

“I got the picture,” I said. “No need to explain.”

“And she wonders why her husband left.”

I smiled. “I’m sure she does.”

“Now, let me see what you have.” She pulled out an order pad.

“Nothing complicated.” I showed her my flyer. “I need a couple hundred color copies.”

Bunny looked at the page, then at me and Hitchcock. For a moment I thought she was going to comment about my hair. Then, thankfully, she said, “You must be Sabrina. Rowe talks about you and the cat all the time.”

“I hope she has good things to say.”

“Of course.” Bunny stooped to run a hand down Hitchcock’s back, and he purred in response. She quoted me a price, and after I agreed, she placed my flyer on the glass and pressed the “Start” button. “Claudia can wait for me to make your copies.”

“I’m not sure I want to get on that woman’s bad side,” I said, “but I may never run into her again, so what the heck.”

“Claudia plans to move away after she sells her house,” Bunny said, “but I have a feeling you’ll see plenty of her before that’s said and done.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“You live at Around-the-World Cottages with Rowe, don’t you?”

“What does that have to do with
her
?” I tipped my head toward the salon. “Is she planning to rent a cottage from Aunt Rowe?”

“Your aunt says the lawyer, Rita Colletti, is staying out there,” she said.

I nodded. “She’s only there this week. Her office is in Houston.”

“That may be,” Bunny said, “but she’s the lawyer Claudia hired to handle her divorce here in Lawton County.”

My mouth went dry at the unwelcome news. As the machine spit out my copies, Bunny wrote up my order and collected my payment. She got a box ready for the copies, then excused herself to go back to the nasty client.

Why would Rita agree to handle a divorce all the way out here in the Hill Country? I supposed she might plan to negotiate a settlement with the husband’s lawyer, but that could be done from her office in Houston. With e-mail and
e-filing, it didn’t matter that much where everyone was located. That is, so long as the parties didn’t have to battle out every little issue in court. I looked over into the salon and saw Claudia jabbering away. She didn’t strike me as the amicable-divorce type. If she had enough money to pay the fee, Rita would happily take her divorce case all the way to trial. I’d have to brace myself for the possibility of Rita coming back to Lavender if Claudia’s case went to court.

I felt a tug, and the end of Hitchcock’s leash slipped off my hand. He had jumped up on the counter and was trying to squish himself into the box Bunny readied for my copies.

“You silly cat.” I chased him away from the box. He ran to the end of the counter and leapt from there to a desk in the corner. Boxes of completed copy jobs sat on the desk, aligned like cakes in a bakery case. Hitchcock pushed his nose against each box as if they had different scents and he was determined to find the most delectable one.

I grabbed at the end of his leash and missed a few times, until he paused at one box. I picked up the end and held it tight. Hitchcock rubbed the side of his face against the box, then straightened and looked at me.

“Mrreow.”

I moved to pick him up before he could do any damage. Each of the boxes on the desk had a page taped to the top that identified the box’s contents. The box Hitchcock stood by had a letter on Devlin Realty letterhead with a colorful house logo taped to the top. A letter signed by Jordan Meier, Realtor, that assured clients their contracts would receive the same care and attention from Jordan herself as they would have received before the tragic loss of the company’s founder.

I said I wanted nothing to do with investigating Crystal Devlin’s murder, but the mystery writer in me was admittedly nosy and had a wild imaginative streak that wouldn’t quit. After hearing Crystal berate Jordan in their office the other day, I didn’t imagine the girl was mourning the death of her
boss. But Jordan’s level of sorrow wasn’t the issue here. The big question was, who gets the business?

I should have wondered about this from the start. Had Crystal’s death left Jordan with the authority to control future real estate sales and to profit from them? If so, how far would the girl go to get that control?

Hitchcock and I spent the next couple of hours visiting shops and businesses and asking for permission to post flyers about the black cat adoption event. Many people who loved cats, black or otherwise, were delighted to oblige and made donations to the event then and there. Unfortunately, we also ran into some anti-cat folks who set my teeth on edge. One man stated flat out he wanted no association with the event for fear that bad luck would come down on him like the plagues of Egypt. A lady at the dry cleaner’s caught sight of Hitchcock and screamed before slamming the door in our faces and turning the lock.

Hitchcock was too bothered by the harness to pay much mind to whether people gushed over him or not. He rubbed the leather straps against every door frame we passed like a captured man trying to saw through a rope that bound him.

“I’m sorry, buddy.” I picked him up and cuddled him against my chest, but he was too squirmy to relax. I’d have to come up with something a lot more enticing to gain
forgiveness for the afternoon I’d put him through. “One more quick stop, and I promise you’ll be quite welcome there.”

He looked up at me with an expression I took to mean,
Yeah, right.

We were on Saltgrass Road, two blocks from Wagon Wheel Antiques. Twila Baxter, the proprietress, would be happy to see Hitchcock. She’d already promised me a sizeable donation for the event.

“Keep in mind, this lady believes I’m a witch and you’re my powerful sidekick,” I told the cat before we went in. “Nothing I say will change her mind.” I put him on the ground and ran a hand down his back. “If she gets to know you better, she might quit claiming you’re the legendary bad luck cat that belonged to some lady named Hildegard Vesta way back when.”

Hitchcock’s ears twitched. “Mrreow.”

“Oh, and she might go on about us having the power to restore her late husband’s soul. Just ignore her.” Hitchcock stood at attention with his nose pressed to the crack of the front door, eager to get inside. He didn’t flinch when the door screeched horribly as I pushed it open.

When we stepped into the building the cat lifted his head and sniffed the air. He proceeded cautiously as if he expected a ghost to pop out of the woodwork. Twila’s Halloween decorations were still in place. She claimed she’d last encountered her husband’s spirit on Halloween years ago and thought it important that nothing change in anticipation of his return.

I heard Twila before I spotted her. “Sabrina, my dear, what a lovely surprise.” She walked out from behind a walnut chifforobe, the hem of her midnight black dress trailing on the floor behind her. White curls surrounded her face like a puffy cloud. “What brings you and your trusty companion to my store?” She stooped to greet Hitchcock and made kissy noises at the cat.

I pulled a flyer from my tote. “Here’s the announcement we talked about for your front window.”

“Of course, my dear, I’m delighted to help the cause.” She took the flyer and placed it on the counter, then handed me an envelope from the cash register drawer. “My donation. Now, come sit. We have grave matters to discuss.”

I thanked her for the donation, then said, “What grave matters?”

“The murder, of course.” She lowered herself to an antique love seat and patted the cushion beside her.

I decided to humor her and sat. Hitchcock jumped up on the back of the love seat and walked along behind our heads.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with murder,” I said. “That’s the sheriff’s job. I’m sure he has the investigation under control.”

Twila dipped her head. “As well he should, dear, but I’m very concerned. You should be, too. It’s only a matter of time before the noose tightens around the necks of you and your bookstore friend.”

“What?” I jumped up and Hitchcock jumped, too. He came back down on the love seat, the hair on his back bristling.

I carefully detached the cat’s claws from the upholstery. “Tyanne and I have nothing to do with what happened to Crystal Devlin. Where on earth did you get such an idea?”

“People are talking about the two of you,” Twila said. “You drove by the Devlins’ house yesterday as if you were casing the joint. You were seen at Devlin’s rodeo. Word is you were at the crime scene, and a customer spotted you with the husband earlier today.”

Am I being tailed?

I glanced around the store and didn’t see anyone else. “What people?”

“Several of the customers,” Twila said. “I didn’t take down their names.”

“There’s no one here,” I said. “You’re asking me to believe you had a crowd of customers in here discussing me and Tyanne? Where is this crazy talk coming from, Twila?”

She tsk-tsked and patted my arm. “You should keep a clear head, dear, so we can figure out what to do about this problem. Tell me, is it you who has an interest in the husband, or your friend?”

“We
don’t
have any interest in Lance Devlin, neither of us. Did someone say that we do?”

“Not in so many words,” Twila said.

I scooped Hitchcock up, smoothed the hair on his back, and attempted to slow my breathing. The cat’s pupils were huge as he stared at the old woman, and I had a feeling mine looked pretty much the same. Was she making all this up in her wacky, fantasy-laden brain?

“If anyone dares bring up such ridiculous accusations again,” I said, “you can tell them my friend is happily married, we were at the rodeo to discuss an event, and I certainly would have nothing to do with a married man.”

“Who’s now a widower,” she said.

“I. Don’t. Care.” My head felt like steam was shooting out of my ears. “You can tell that to whoever is spreading these nasty lies. We’re leaving.”

I stormed toward the door, eager to get away.

“Don’t forget to use your powers when you need them,” Twila called after me.

Jeez. Powers. Like I’m a witch or something.

I blew through the front door, hanging on to my cat as if our lives depended on it.

“I know I told you we were making one stop,” I said to him, “but we have to go see Tyanne.”

He let out a yowl.

“I’m sorry, this is an emergency.”

I hightailed it back to the car, then drove the short distance to Knead to Read. Hitchcock had visited the store with me before, and I usually took pains to introduce him slowly to Zelda and Willis so we didn’t have a lot of hissing going on. Today, cat camaraderie wasn’t high on the priority list.

I stomped into the bookstore, holding Hitchcock in my arms, and startled a group of youngsters seated on the floor in a corner. Ethan, dressed as a pirate, was apparently acting out a scene from a children’s book. I strode across the store in search of Tyanne without stopping to apologize for the intrusion.

I found my friend in her office slicing the packing tape on cartons of new books. When I stopped in the doorway, she looked me up and down with a concerned expression.

“What’s wrong?” She placed her razor knife on a table before coming over to me. “You look wild-eyed, both of you.”

“So will you in a minute,” I said. “Let’s shut this door so no one hears.”

“Okay.” She took Hitchcock from me, and he wrapped his front paws around her neck like she was a long-lost friend. “What’s the matter, baby? Your mama going all helter-skelter on you?”

I closed the door and pulled a folding chair out from the table. “Sit. You won’t believe this.”

“Might be the highlight of my day,” she said, taking a seat. “I’ve been counting books for hours.”

Hitchcock jumped to the floor and headed toward the corner where he’d find not only food and water bowls but also the cat box. Poor guy needed a break.

I took a deep breath before going on. “Have you heard any rumors about the murder?”

“A few things,” she said. “Mostly from gossips who can’t be believed.”

“Yeah, me, too.” I paced the room as I repeated what Twila Baxter told me.

Tyanne started laughing. “That’s insane.”

“Yes, but not one bit funny.”

“No one will believe such a thing, knock on wood.” She tapped her knuckles on a bookshelf.

“You, too?” I wondered if Ty had picked up the habit from Pearl. Or maybe she’d always knocked on wood and it never bothered me before.

“Me, too, what?” Ty said.

I shook my head. “Never mind. Twila believed the rumor, and she’s encouraging me to use my
powers
”—I paused to add air quotes
—“
to deal with the problem.”

Tyanne tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn’t contain her laughter.

“No one around here will believe that I killed a woman to get my hands on her husband. Have you made a serious enemy I haven’t heard about who would start such a rumor?”

“Now you’re just ticking me off,” I said. “This is bad, Ty. You don’t want your reputation ruined because the town gossips say you’re an accessory to a murder.”

“Or that I’m interested in Lance Devlin.” She struggled to maintain a serious expression. “Besides, he isn’t the one who was fooling around during the marriage.”

I frowned. “Do you know for a fact that Crystal was?”

“Rumor has it,” Tyanne said.

“I’m fed up with rumors, especially the ones that could cause you and me harm.”

“I agree,” she said, “but I thought the sheriff’s department was looking at Pearl Hogan as a likely suspect. Are
they
talking about us, too?”

“Not that I know of. At least not yet, and we can’t let this rumor get that far.”

“Did Twila tell you exactly who’s throwing our names around?”

I shook my head. “She didn’t name names, and I was too wound up to stick around and try to squeeze details out of her.”

“I’d like to know who we’re up against.” Tyanne stood and went back to her boxes of books. “Whoever’s accusing us might have something to hide themselves.”

I stopped pacing and looked at her. “You may be right.”

“Looks like we need to do some investigating.”

“Exactly what I didn’t want to do,” I said. “Just this morning I resolved to keep my nose out of the investigation.”

“Maybe the person spreading the rumors is doing it to force you to get involved.”

My brain whirred. Would Pearl stoop to such a level to get me to do what she wanted me to do in the first place?

Nah.

A light knock sounded on the door, followed by a voice.

“Mom? Can I come in?”

Tyanne went to the door and opened it for her daughter.

Abby, the eldest of three, was eight years old, a cutie with long curly blond hair and two missing front teeth. She smiled when she saw me.

“Hi, Miss Sabrina,” she said. “Did I see Hitchcock come in here with you?”

I smiled. “You did. I think he’s raiding the food bowl.”

“Is the meeting over?” Tyanne said.

“Uh-huh,” Abby closed the door behind her. “Better not let Zelda or Willis find out Hitchcock is after their food. They won’t be happy.”

“Those two are getting pudgy and can afford to share,” Tyanne said. “Excuse me a minute. Ethan may need help at the checkout.”

She left the room, and Abby looked around. She seemed a bit nervous.

“You can go on and pet Hitchcock if you want to,” I said. “He likes little girls a lot.”

“That’s good,” she said. “I’d like to bring a friend of mine to meet him when she comes to visit.”

I nodded. “Let me know whenever you want to come, and I’ll make sure we’re home.”

She walked over to me, twisting a strand of hair around an index finger. She looked up, her baby blues meeting my gaze straight on. “I need a favor.”

I smiled. “What is it?”

“My friend is coming to visit her grandma in a couple days, only her grandma is kind of in trouble.”

“And . . .” I waited.

“My friend doesn’t live here, so I don’t get to see her much,” Abby said.

“What’s the favor?” I already had an inkling of where she was going with this request.

The girl paused and regarded me earnestly. “Julie’s Grandma Pearl might have to go to jail, unless you can figure out what really happened to that lady who died. So we need you to help, because we’re planning to have a lot of fun while Julie’s here—like you and Mom had when
you
were kids.”

She knew where to aim the emotional dart.

“Your mom and I
did
have fun,” I said. “Every summer when I came to visit. Whose idea was it for you to ask for my help?”

“Mine?” she said.

I gave her the eye and didn’t say anything.

“And Julie’s.”

I kept waiting.

Abby did some more hair twisting. “Grandma Pearl told Julie to tell me to ask you, okay? Will you help?”

“I’ll think about it,” I said, “but do me a favor. Don’t say anything to Julie or her grandma yet. Investigations work better if everybody doesn’t know what everybody else is doing. Does that make sense?”

“Tell me when it’s okay to talk.” Abby made a zipper motion across her lips.

I’ll be the first one talking, and Pearl’s not gonna see me coming.