The Black Cat Knocks on Wood (12 page)

Tyanne turned in her seat. “Follow that truck? Are you kidding me?”

“Please.” I kept my eyes on the pickup as the truck moved down the road. “They have Hitchcock.”

“Your cat hitches rides with people all the time. You picked the perfect name for him. I don’t know—”

“Mama, go,” cried Abby. “They’re getting away.”

Tyanne sighed and shifted into drive. “I’m not starting a high-speed chase.”

“They’re not exactly racing from the scene,” I said, though I wouldn’t be surprised if the truck went tearing down the road after the way Hayden had acted.

After about a mile, the pickup took a left on Oleander Lane and we followed.

Tyanne said, “I thought you told me the sheriff wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh, yeah.” I grimaced. “I’ll call Laurelle and explain why I had to leave.”

I made the call to the dispatcher and told her what had happened.

“That Hitchcock is very resourceful,” she said. “Maybe he’s sending you a message.”

Sounded like something Twila might say.

“Right,” I said, “I’ll let you know if I figure out what the cat’s trying to tell me. Meanwhile, could you make sure Pearl gets a ride home?”

“Will do,” Laurelle said, and we disconnected.

“Why did Hitchcock jump in that truck?” Abby said after I ended my call.

“Maybe he thought it would be fun. He didn’t understand we’d worry about him.”

“I
am
worried.” Abby turned to her mother. In profile, I saw her little brows knitted together.

“Cats are very talented. He’ll be fine.” Ty’s eyes met mine in the mirror and she nodded, trying to reassure me, too.

I hoped she was right. My heart raced as I worried about Hitchcock. What if this truck was headed to Dallas? What if they got on a freeway and he tried to jump out when they were speeding? What if he burned his paws on the metal truck bed?

Stop it, Sabrina. You’re getting hysterical.

I took a deep breath. It was late in the day, and the sun had started to set. Hitchcock’s paws would be fine. If they weren’t, he’d have jumped out by now. Still, I hoped there was something in that truck he could hang on to.

We were headed in the general direction of the rodeo, and I was convinced that’s where Hayden and the woman were going. The truck took a sudden turn, however, and Tyanne did, too. She kept her distance as the truck drove up a narrow street and approached a one-story house with flaking white paint.

The vehicle ahead had barely rolled to a stop in front of the house when Hayden jumped out and slammed the door behind him. A plume of dust kicked back as the red truck motored on and Hayden walked toward the house.

“Now what?” Tyanne said.

“Keep following the lady, Mom,” Abby said.

“Right,” I said. “Hitchcock is still in there. We’d have seen him if he’d jumped out.”

“I could get closer and start honking the horn for her to stop,” Ty said.

“That would probably make her drive faster, and who knows what Hitchcock would do then. Let’s stay with her.”

“I think your cat’s a lot more resilient than you give him credit for,” Ty said.

She was probably right. For all I knew, Hitchcock took pickup rides like this twice a week and was no worse for the wear. Didn’t mean I had to approve of his daredevil nature.

We negotiated several turns before I concluded that the woman driving the pickup was, in fact, headed to the rodeo. We turned into the lane at the Hill Country Rodeo sign and followed in her cloud of dust. I was feeling optimistic about getting my hands on Hitchcock until the dust cleared and I saw Ace McKinney standing in the parking lot. As the red truck took a left and headed away from us, Ace motioned for us to stop. I was disappointed when Tyanne obeyed.

She powered her window down when Ace approached the car.

“Barrel racing tryouts tonight, ma’am,” he said. “We’re closed to the public.”

Ty said, “But—”

“Next public show is end of the month,” McKinney said.

My last interaction with the man had been unpleasant. As my brain raced for a way to get us in without mentioning a cat, Abby cleared her throat.

“Mo-o-om.” Abby drew the word out to three syllables. “Come on. I’m gonna be late for tryouts.”

Ace bent from the waist to peer in the window at the girl. I averted my gaze and hoped he wouldn’t recognize me.

“Ain’t you a mite young for barrel racing?” he said.

“I’m short for my age,” Abby said assertively.

Either she convinced him, or he got distracted, because
McKinney waved Tyanne through. Her window powered up and the car moved forward. Only then did I turn my head to see McKinney’s attention had already moved to cars coming in behind us.

“That was quick thinking, Abby,” I said.

“I’m not sure I like your talent for conning people,” Tyanne said.

Abby ignored her mother. “I bet that man doesn’t like cats. He looks mean.”

Girl has good instincts.

I unhooked my seat belt. “Stop here. I’ll go after the truck on foot.”

“Are you sure?” Tyanne said.

“Me, too,” Abby was so fast that she was out of the car before me.

I called over my shoulder. “I’ll keep her with me, Ty. Promise.”

Tyanne was forced to move along when an SUV came up behind her. The horn sounded. I grabbed Abby’s hand, and we ran down a row of parked vehicles, behind Ace McKinney’s back, until we came to the red truck.

Abby grabbed the top edge of the truck bed and jumped to peek inside. I was tall enough to see without jumping. Hitchcock wasn’t there.

“Where’d he go?” Abby whined. “Did he hop out?”

“I would’ve seen him. He’s here somewhere, and we’ll find him.” Sounding more optimistic than I felt.

I stood on the truck’s running board and scanned the area, then stooped down to peer under the vehicles.

“There she is,” Abby cried.

I jumped up to find Abby had climbed into the truck bed where she had a better vantage point, and she was pointing toward the horse corral.

“There who is?” I said.

“The lady who was driving this truck.”

“Is Hitchcock with her?”

Abby looked in every direction, then frowned. “No.”

“Get down, and we’ll go find him.”

Abby was out of the truck in two seconds. We rushed to the entrance and slipped through with three teenagers outfitted in jeans and boots—obvious barrel racers. Abby and I looked completely out of place in shorts and sandals. We made it through the gate, though, and I pulled the girl off the path the others were taking.

“Think like a cat,” I said. “Would he go with the crowd of people or off by himself?”

“Depends on why he came,” she said.

“Why who came?”

The man’s voice startled me, and I spun around to see the wiry little man named Remy approaching us. He was covered in a layer of dust, from his Stetson down to his worn boots and including the shotgun he held in his left hand.

My gaze flew to the weapon, and I put an arm around Abby and pulled her close. “What’s that for?”

“Never know when my Remington will come in handy,” he said.

Good grief. Was the guy named after the danged weapon?

“Wait for me,” Tyanne called, and I could see her rushing toward us from the corner of my eye.

She stopped short when she saw Remy, then walked quickly to her daughter’s side.

“Sir, would you mind keeping your weapon out of sight?” Ty said. “I don’t appreciate my daughter seeing such things.”

“Then you shouldn’t be here,” Remy said. “I hope you broads aren’t after Mr. D, and I gotta say it won’t help you brought the cute kid along for the ride. He ain’t interested.”

“Is Mr. D a cat?” Abby said.

Remy snorted.

“He’s talking about Lance Devlin,” I said, “the owner of this property.” I looked at Remy. “Am I right?”

“Give the lady a star,” he said, “but you’re not gettin’ in to see him.”

“We’re not interested in seeing the man,” I said. “We’re here looking for my cat.”

“The cat came here with a lady in a red truck,” Abby said.

I was surprised this man with the shotgun didn’t seem to faze the girl, ’cause he gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Remy’s dusty brown eyebrows drew together. “This rodeo ain’t a cat-friendly spot.”

I’d seen cats here before, but the way the guy sounded made my gut churn. “Why not?”

“Ace doesn’t like varmints hanging around.”

“Fine,” Tyanne said. “We’ll find the cat and take him with us. Just please put that weapon away, and let us go on.”

“I’m not holdin’ nobody hostage,” Remy said. “Go ahead and look for the animal, makes me no difference.”

I didn’t believe that for a second. This guy wasn’t giving us the run of the place without keeping a close eye on what we were doing.

“We’ll split up,” Tyanne said. “Abby and I will stay together. We’re familiar with the area nearest the barrel racing.”

“Fine. I’ll go the opposite direction. Whoever finds Hitchcock, call the other.”

We went our separate ways, but I could feel Remy’s eyes boring into my back as I walked away. I forced thoughts about the weird little man to the back of my mind. I was soon immersed in the search, calling Hitchcock’s name every two feet.

My voice was beginning to have a desperate edge by the time I reached the cabins where I’d run into Ace and Remy on my last visit. I rounded the corner of the first cabin and stopped when I heard a grating voice I knew far too well.

Rita Colletti. What the heck are you doing here?

I walked casually by the window of that cabin and peeked inside to see the lawyer sitting at a table with Lance Devlin. Documents sat on the table between them.

I forged on and kept up with the kitty-calling noises, but I couldn’t help wondering why Lance Devlin needed legal
counsel. Was the sheriff investigating him in connection with his wife’s death? Rita wasn’t a criminal attorney, but that wouldn’t stop her from getting involved if he paid her a fee. After all, she’d gone with Aunt Rowe to the real estate office earlier in the day even though she wasn’t a real estate lawyer either.

Did Hitchcock lead me to this place to see these two together?

If so, then why couldn’t I find him?

My hair would turn gray before its time if the cat kept scaring me like this. As I griped to myself about the cat chase, my phone pinged with a text message.

The text was from Ty.

Doc Jensen found Hitchcock. We’re with her. In the barn.

Relief flooded through me, and I responded with shaky fingers.

Be right there.

Hayden Birch had shown me the barn the other day when he took me on a tour, and I practically ran the whole way there.

I found Hitchcock sitting on top of a bale of straw next to Tyanne and Abby. The three of them watched as Magnolia Jensen tended to a horse.

Hitchcock looked up at me, calm as can be. “Mrreow.”

“You little dickens.” I rushed over to the cat and gave him a kiss on the head.

“This is Doc Jensen’s horse, Sweetie-Pie,” Abby said. “Isn’t she pretty? Mama, can we get a horse?”

Tyanne said, “That’s a question for your dad.”

Passing the buck, and I didn’t blame her. Watching Maggie
brush her horse with long smooth strokes, I wondered how far Abby would get with her request.

After a minute, the vet looked up at me. “You know, Sabrina, when I gave you that harness I didn’t mean for you to leave it on the cat twenty-four seven. You should always detach the leash before the cat is left to his own devices.”

“I know, but he took me completely by surprise when he got away.”

“I understand,” she said. “But this is the most dangerous place he could have come. You have to watch out for that little creep with the shotgun. He’s been known to do away with things he considers a nuisance.”

I didn’t want to think about that. I fell to my knees next to the straw bale and gathered Hitchcock into my arms.

By the time I got Hitchcock home I felt like I’d run a marathon and barely lived to tell the tale. Due to our unplanned rodeo escapade, Abby was running late for a piano lesson so Tyanne took me straight home without going back into town for my car. I told her not to worry. I didn’t have any plans tonight, and I was sure Thomas wouldn’t mind driving me to town in the morning.

The open laptop on the table reminded me I should have stayed home and worked on my book all day. I didn’t know if I had it in me to be creative tonight, but I’d try. First, I wanted to share my news about the call from my agent with Aunt Rowe. We’d parted ways that morning on bad terms, and I was eager to clear the air between us.

Hitchcock finished his dinner and was curled up fast asleep against the pillows on my bed when I left the Monte Carlo cottage. I walked up to Aunt Rowe’s house and found her in the guest room. The bed, usually centered on a wall, was pushed to one side, squished up against the dresser and a
chair. A weight rack, complete with a row of various-sized barbells, sat against the opposite wall. Aunt Rowe lay on a black bench, wearing fuchsia leggings with an oversized T-shirt and sneakers. Her arms were out to her sides. She held a small barbell in each hand and muttered to herself. Counting, maybe. Or cussing.

I walked into the room. “Aunt Rowe, what on earth are you doing?”

She turned her head to scowl at me and kept up the exercise.

“Polishing my nails. What’s it look like?”

Her mood obviously hadn’t improved. I eyed the weight set and tried a different approach.

“When did you get the new equipment?”

“It’s not new,” she huffed. “Picked it up at a garage sale.”

“Huh. You never mentioned that you wanted to take up weight lifting.” I crossed the room and sat on the bed.

Aunt Rowe placed the weights on the floor. “I need to advertise every move I make now? You have a problem with this?”

“Me? No, I think it’s a fine idea.”

“Okay then.” She picked the weights back up and stood to place them on the rack.

“So long as your doctor approves,” I said.

She turned to look at me. “Hooey. I’m not asking permission. Doctors always harp about how everybody needs exercise.”

“But, Aunt Rowe—”

“Stop right there,” she said. “Maybe you don’t think I can handle it. You’ll change your tune after I get on a program with my personal trainer.”

Was she serious?

“We’re starting next week, and wait’ll you see him. He’s easy on the eyes.”

I wondered if something in particular had brought on her new plan. Maybe something as simple as a magazine article
touting the benefits of building muscle through weight lifting? This didn’t seem like a good time to ask a bunch of questions.

“Can’t wait,” I said.

Aunt Rowe pointed an index finger at me. “And I don’t need you, or Glenda, or anybody else with an opinion I didn’t ask for to give me a hard time about activities I choose.”

I guessed she was referring to the rodeo.

“You’re taking good care of yourself, and I admire that, Aunt Rowe. Truly I do.”

“Damn straight,” Aunt Rowe said.

I wondered what had gotten her so riled up. Then I remembered she’d spent part of her day with Rita Colletti.

“How’d your meeting go this morning?” I held my breath, hoping the question wouldn’t send her off on another rant.

“Fine,” Aunt Rowe said.

“Rita behaved?”

“She acted the way I expected after all the things you’ve told me about her.”

“Annoying, huh?” I said.

“In control,” Aunt Rowe said. “Aggressive. She took charge of the situation just the way I wanted her to.”

I frowned. Aunt Rowe liked Rita, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how that had happened.

“Did Rita say anything about her plans for this evening?” I said.

“No. Why?”

“I saw her in a meeting with Lance Devlin about an hour ago.”

“At the Paris cottage?”

“No. In a cabin at the rodeo.”

“She didn’t say anything to me about any meeting with the man. What were they doing?”

“I didn’t stop to ask.”

Aunt Rowe frowned. “Were you over there checking up on me?”

“No, I was not.”

“You sure you’re not trying to talk those men into booting me out of the rodeo lineup?”

“If I thought that would work, I might try,” I said truthfully, “but I’d rather stay on your good side.”

“Always knew you were a smart cookie,” Aunt Rowe said with a hint of a smile.

“I went to the rodeo looking for Hitchcock. He rode over there in the back of a pickup.”

Aunt Rowe snorted. “Well, if that doesn’t beat all. I take it you found the little fella.”

“He’s back home now, safe and sound.” I curled my legs under me on the bed and leaned back against the pillows. “Tell me more about what happened at the real estate office. Maybe something that led Rita to meet with Lance Devlin tonight?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Aunt Rowe said. “Rita made it clear to Jordan Meier that Pearl is reviving her offer to buy the property next to her store for the listed price.”

“Does Jordan have any say-so in the property sale?”

“Somebody has to sell it now that Crystal’s gone,” Aunt Rowe said. “The brokerage company owns the listing, and Jordan’s a licensed agent.”

“I didn’t know that. Crystal treated her like a menial servant the day I saw them together.”

“That was Crystal,” Aunt Rowe said, “but there’s nothing to keep Jordan from selling that property to Pearl.”

So long as Pearl isn’t in jail.

“What about the developer who was supposed to buy the place?” I said.

“Nobody seems to have a fully signed contract.”

“Then why wouldn’t Crystal sell to Pearl?”

Aunt Rowe shrugged. “We may never know the answer to that one.”

“Jordan might become the new queen of Hill Country real estate.”

“Maybe off in the future. Girl is barely keeping her head
above water now. Mother’s in that expensive assisted living place, though, so this turn of events could be a blessing in disguise.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m sure Jordan could use commissions flowing her way. She’s making sure her mom gets the best care available in spite of the price.”

“I’d do the same for you,” I said.

“Bite your tongue,” Aunt Rowe said. “You won’t have to deal with any nursing home. I’m living to a hundred, then I’ll die peacefully in my sleep.”

“You’ll be one of the lucky ones. Let’s change the subject. I have good news to share.”

I told her my book news, and Aunt Rowe clapped her hands.

“That’s cause for a celebratory drink,” she said, “and I hear my pitcher of Texas Tea calling our names. One quick drink, though, because you need to skedaddle back to your place and get those fingers busy. I don’t know what you’re thinking, standing around gossiping when you should be writing.”

*   *   *

I felt a little tipsy as I headed back to the Monte Carlo cottage after only one glass of Aunt Rowe’s Texas Tea. My mind was stuck on the topic of real estate commissions going to Jordan Meier, who needed the cash influx to pay for her mother’s care. Commissions that Crystal Devlin might have kept for herself had she lived. I wondered if she’d shared
any
of the commissions with Jordan. Crystal’s condescending attitude the day I saw them together had annoyed the heck out of me. Getting rid of the snotty boss and gaining an income stream in one fell swoop was more than enough motive for murder.

Quit that. You barely know the girl.

I got back home, grabbed a bottle of water, and went
straight to my laptop, intent on writing for the next couple of hours. Hitchcock wound around my legs, and I bent to run my hand down his back as I reread the chapter I’d worked on earlier. I was pleasantly surprised with the edits made and sat with my fingers poised over the keyboard as I mulled over changes needed in the next section.

My phone rang, and I stared at the device sitting more than an arm’s length away on the kitchen counter. After three rings, I sighed and pushed my chair back.

Another danged interruption.

I grabbed the phone on the fourth ring and answered.

“Good evening, Sabrina,” Sheriff Crawford said.

My heart fell to the pit of my stomach as I remembered the sheriff’s request to speak with me.

“Sheriff Crawford, I forgot. I mean, I’m sorry. I didn’t avoid you on purpose. Tyanne brought me home, and it never occurred to me that—”

“Sabrina, calm down,” he said. “You’re fine. I didn’t call about that.”

I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it. Maybe I didn’t want to know why he called.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, “I need to ask you for a favor.”

“O-kay,” I said slowly. “What is it?”

“Can you please talk some sense into your aunt? Get her to drop out of that rodeo?”

“Why?” I said innocently.

“She’s gonna break her neck,” he said vehemently, then quieted. “I don’t want her to hurt herself.”

“Is there some reason you haven’t had this conversation with her yourself?”

“Oh, I have,” he said. “More than once. She’s dug her heels in even harder.”

And this surprises him?

I had no intention of doing what he asked, but I could take advantage of having him on the phone.

“I may be able to help you out,” I said, “if you answer some questions.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” he said.

“I wouldn’t do such a thing, but I find myself personally involved in the Devlin murder investigation. I can’t concentrate worth a darn on writing my book with all the information about the case constantly running through my head.”

“You have no personal involvement,” he said.

“I’ve been told that Tyanne and I are considered suspects. I’m hoping that’s just the village gossip, and you don’t have me on a list somewhere.”

“You’re not on my list,” he said. “Neither of you.”

“Whew.” I blew out a breath. “That’s good to know. I guess the perpetrator is spreading the rumors to throw the heat off of him or herself.”

“That sounds like one of your stories,” he said.

“I’m sure that plot’s in plenty of books, but I have a personal interest in figuring this out. To clear our names.”

“Far as I’m concerned, your names
are
clear,” he said.

“Tyanne’s daughter Abby has a personal interest in the case being solved, too.”

He sighed and it came out more of a groan. “Why?”

I explained the upcoming visit of Pearl’s granddaughter, Abby’s best friend.

“Pearl was released for tonight,” Sheriff Crawford said. “Abby can rest easy.”

The “for tonight” part of his comment didn’t escape me.

“We can
all
relax after the killer is behind bars,” I said, “which brings me to another question. Who do you think has the most to gain from Crystal’s death? I imagine it’s her husband.”

“I can’t discuss the case,” he said.

“Why did Hayden Birch come to see you today?”

“I said I can’t discuss the case.”

“Are you checking out the men associated with the rodeo?”

Silence.

“Don’t tell me. You can’t discuss it.”

“Right,” he said.

“Any one of them could have had access to Pearl’s phone and sent that text message to Crystal.”

“Same answer.”

“Why are you testing my cat’s hair?” I said.

More silence, then, “Why am I
what
?”

“Testing Hitchcock’s hair. His DNA.”

“Why in tarnation would
anybody
care about your cat’s DNA?” he said.

“Deputy Rosales came by my cottage earlier today,” I said. “She collected hair from Hitchcock to compare to cat hair found at the scene of the murder.”

“I see,” he said.

I could practically feel my blood pressure rising. “You didn’t know about that?”

“I counted on you being as worried about Rowe as I am,” he said, avoiding my question. “Guess I shouldn’t have called.”

“Did Rosales cook up the cat hair DNA thing to get me riled up?” I said, “Because if she did, it’s working.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But don’t tell her it’s working, because I’m going to sit back and act like it’s not really a big deal. Even though it’s a
huge
deal.”

“Time to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” I said. “Your deputy is harassing me for no good reason.”

He cleared his throat. “I’m sure she has a fine explanation. I’ll find out her angle in the morning.”

“Maybe I should be there,” I said, “to make sure everybody knows what everybody else is doing.”

“No, Sabrina, that’s not appropriate.”

“And Deputy Rosales’s behavior is?”

“Now, let’s not—”

“I’ll see you in the morning, assuming it’s okay for me to keep my car parked at your office until then. I’ll have someone bring me by to pick it up.”

“Fine.”

“You won’t give me a ticket for parking there overnight, will you?”

He cleared his throat again. “I won’t,” he said, “but I can’t speak for Deputy Pat.”