The Black Cat Knocks on Wood Read Free

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