yes, very well. They were delightful people. They came over to the house quite often on the weekends. They both adored Johnny. They looked at him like a son, and I think Emily was worn-out with cooking for the hands by the weekend. She enjoyed a break where I could pamper her a little.”
Shame struck hard at Stephanie. This woman was a stranger, but she’d looked after Albert and Emily. “You were good to my aunt, thank you.”
“Johnny felt like the McCammons were his second parents. And they were easy to be good to. They were some fine folks. Everyone in town is still in shock about their passing.”
Stephanie started to say something about how they’d been murdered, but she felt the sharp claws of the cat digging into the top of her foot. Familiar was right. Now was the time for discretion, not bravado.
“Where is Johnny?” she asked.
“He’s in Austin on a business trip. He just couldn’t help it, otherwise he would have been here. Why don’t you come out to the house? Some of the church people brought food there…” She hesitated. “They didn’t know where else to bring the food. No one knew if you’d be home or not.”
As much as it hurt, Stephanie realized Jackie was right. She hadn’t kept in touch with a single person in town. Often not even her aunt and uncle. She’d been busy, focused on her career, forgetting that her relatives wouldn’t always be around for her convenience.
“Thanks, but I want to go out to the ranch.”
Jackie looked down at the ground. “That might not be a great idea.”
“I have a lot of good memories there. I’ll miss Uncle Albert and Aunt Em, but I’ll be fine.”
“It’s just that…” She looked up and smiled. “Call us if you need us. We’re only about five miles down the road.”
“Thank you,” Stephanie said as she got in the Jeep beside the panting cat.
STEPHANIE ALMOST RIPPED the door of the Jeep as she got out and stomped—as well as a girl could stomp in high heels—across the ditch to the For Sale sign that was prominently displayed at the gate of McCammon Ranch.
“Who in the world put this sign up?” she said aloud as she began to wrench the sign from the dry ground. “The will hasn’t even been probated. Nothing can be sold until that’s done.”
When the sign wouldn’t come up, Stephanie went back to the Jeep, got in and put it in Drive. In a moment there was the sound of splintering wood. She looked in the rearview mirror with satisfaction. The realty sign had been flattened. McCammon Ranch was not for sale. Not for any price, and certainly not until the will left by her aunt and uncle had been thoroughly examined. She glanced at the black cat in the passenger seat. He seemed to have a smirk of satisfaction on his face, too.
“The people responsible won’t get away with this,” she said aloud.
The cat turned a penetrating green gaze on her. “Meow.” He nodded once to show he agreed.
“Thank goodness I heard about your P.I. agency, Familiar. Hiring you to help me unsnarl this whole mess was one of the smartest things I’ve ever done,” she said as she turned the rental down the driveway. Her gaze was critical as she swept it over the graceful oaks that lined the driveway. The fences were good, the pastures as lush as they could be in a heat wave, but there were no cows. Not a single steer or heifer. No horses. Not even a dog. A creepy sensation slipped over Stephanie. Where was all the livestock? She’d talked to her uncle only a week before, and he’d told her the spring calves had arrived without a single loss. So where were they?
She drove slowly down the winding driveway. The old white farmhouse came into view, and Stephanie again fought back tears. She’d managed to hold herself together at the funeral service because she had no intention of giving the lot of Nosey Parkers the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Now, though, there was no one to see her but the black cat, and Familiar seemed to have a real streak of compassion.
As soon as she stopped the Jeep, the cat was clawing at the window to get out. She opened her door and he shot out by her feet. “Hey,” she called. “Don’t get lost.” But it was too late—the tip of his tail disappeared in the shrubbery by the front porch.
For a moment Stephanie indulged her memories. The last time she’d come home, nearly a year ago, Aunt Emily had met her at the door, the wonderful scent of baking apple pies wafting out on the breeze. Uncle Albert had come in from the barn, wiping his hands on an old towel so he could give her a hug without smudging her designer suit. She closed her eyes and relished the memory, determined to hold her aunt and uncle close to her in her heart if not in her arms.
“Ms. Chisholm?”
She whirled at the unexpected voice behind her.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Rodney Jenkins. I was your uncle’s chief wrangler. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. I didn’t want to go to the funeral.” A frown crossed his face. “I was afraid I’d have to deck some of those folks.”
“Rodney, where are the cows?”
His frown deepened. “You don’t know?”
She shook her head, aware that she dreaded his answer.
“They were sold at auction yesterday. The whole herd. The man who bought them came and got them this morning.”
Stephanie felt as if she’d been gut-shot. “Every cow?”
“And the horses. They were sold as a lot. Even your uncle’s blue heeler. They took old Banjo.”
The sensation of disbelief was quickly replaced by sheer, unadulterated fury. “Who did this?”
“It wasn’t the fault of the men who came for the cows,” Rodney said, kicking the dirt with his cowboy boot. “It was Nate Peebles, a local lawyer, who ordered the cows sold. He’s the one put up the For Sale sign you flattened coming in.” He smiled. “Good work.”
“McCammon Ranch isn’t for sale. Not now. Not ever.” She was surprised at the passion of her words. Not so long ago she’d fled the ranch, terrified that she’d spend her days cooking three meals a day for hungry ranch hands and her nights birthing calves and tending to sick stock.
Rodney held out his hand. “I’ll shake on that, Ms. Chisholm. Now tell me what I can do to help.”
Stephanie was about to answer when she heard a long growl and a feline howl of outrage. “What in the world?” She started toward the house with Rodney at her heels.
The cry came again, this time louder. Stephanie began to run. She rounded the corner just in time to see the rattlesnake lunge at the black cat. Familiar did an amazing leap into the air that ended in a flip on top of a rocking chair on the porch. Stephanie focused on the snake. It was at least six feet long. It moved toward the chair, its focus on the cat.
“Damn, it’s a timber rattler,” Rodney said as he drew his pistol out of his holster. “How’d it get inside the screen on the porch?”
“That’s a very good question,” Stephanie said cautiously.
