The Black Cat Knocks on Wood Read Free Page A

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