The pleasure of an evening with friends is not to be disparaged. Jackson Cantrell is a man of many facets and, as such, a fascination to those of us who study human nature. Naturally, as a master sleuth, my interest is more attuned to discovering what makes a murderer tick. Jackson, however, is no murderer. Not, that is, unless one counts the littering of dead bodies throughout the pages of his very successful novels. In some circles, he would be called a Renaissance man. Though celebrated as an author, he owns and manages one of the largest cattle ranches in Oregon and has even been known to buck the kinks out of a bronc or two before gentling them into becoming his partners.
I’ve come to enjoy our friendship with Jackson and these annual trips to the Pacific Northwest with my human, Tammy Lynn. If I remember all I’ve been told, it’s been a decade ago that she reached out to the author upon the release of his first novel. As these bipeds say, time does fly. She offered to host a book signing before the poor man even realized such an event is considered essential by most publishers. Her assurance that she could pull readers from neighboring states was no idle boast. My human is almost a celebrity in her own right. Her book store is renowned and her signings draw significant gatherings. Moreover, her assessment of his work as brilliant was spot on as her critical judgements most often are. She has discriminating tastes as demonstrated by her affection for none other than moi.
That first novel, about the strong men and women who settled the Oregon territory, proved an immediate success. Jackson has published one book a year since. I’ve heard him say that he views it as a pleasurable hobby in the hubbub of business that is his life. Despite Tammy’s protests, he limits himself to two signings per book, one across the continental divide at Tammy’s Book Basket in Wetumpka, Alabama and one at the book store nearest his Oregon ranch. Although a congenial host, Jackson is no fan of crowds. He insists upon flying Tammy and me to stay at the ranch for his Oregon signings. He claims the pleasure of our company as a reward for enduring the clamor of those gatherings. Truth be known, I think Tammy is somewhat of a security blanket for him.
“Someday we’re going to persuade Aiden to come see my ranch,” Jackson says with a smile for Tammy.
His invitations always include Tammy’s amore, of course, but Aiden’s official duties as a sheriff’s deputy has, to-date, prevented him from accompanying his lady love. The lawman is fortunate to have me to protect her when he and his trusty weapon are not about.
Tammy narrows her eyes. “And one day I’m going to persuade you that two book signings for your best-sellers aren’t nearly enough. I’m sure your publisher would agree.”
Jackson chuckles at her tart tone. “No doubt, and that’s the very reason I don’t intend for the two of you ever to meet. Two evenings a year of signing books and being a photo opportunity for someone’s social post is all that I can stand. I’ve better things to do.”
That’s no idle boast! Jackson dabbles in many things, from the ranch to an oil field in Texas to his latest venture, a trail-riding partnership with this young woman, Sara, seated across from him. She appears to be a part of his life. I know little about her save that she wandered onto his property a year or two ago while riding a horse rented from a local stable. Over the months that followed, they became fast friends and then partners. This trip is our first encounter with her. She seems nice enough but somewhat reserved, rather like a feline. Which is something I can appreciate. The glances she gives Jackson are all affectionate. I can appreciate that as well. He’s one of those good-at-heart people, not polished or lordly, but educated and decent. I liked him from the start.
So far, Sara has sat in silence, listening as the conversation flows about her. I’m almost startled when she says to Tammy, “I knew Jackson several months before I discovered he was an author. In all of our conversations, he never said a word.”
Tammy smiles at her. “That doesn’t surprise me. Did you see one of his books in town?
“Actually, no, I stumbled across a copy in his library. Jackson mentioned having several books on veterinary medicine, and I was having an unusual problem with one of my mares. I had the vet out but wasn’t quite happy with his diagnosis.”
“And who was right? You or the vet?”
“Well, it wasn’t a question of my being right but more a feeling that he wasn’t quite accurate in his assessment.”
“And…?”
Sara laughed, the sound a bit like water in a slow-moving stream, soft and pleasant. “And, I suppose I was right about him being not right.”
“Is she recovered? I have a number of horse friends so I know they aren’t livestock to you. They’re like my Trouble, here, part of the family.” Tammy runs her hand down my spine.
“She’s fully recovered, thank you. And, you’re so very right. My horses are my family.” I note she doesn’t word it quite the same as did Tammy. Not ‘part of’. Has she no human family, then? “I think you live near the people who shipped her to me. The Hannas?”
Tammy’s eyes widen as do mine and I hear her familiar laughter. “Dirks and Avery. I know them well. So, your girl is a rescue?”
“Yes, I was lucky the Hannas matched her with me. I’ve been trying to obtain a mix of breeds for our business, Riding Oregon, but I’d gotten interested in equine rescue several years ago so I’m careful to bring rescues into our program.” The young woman suddenly looks stricken and glances at Jackson. “I’m so sorry. I’ve high-jacked your visit.”
His laughter booms. Jackson is one of those bigger-than-life personalities. “Indeed, you haven’t. You know perfectly well I’m about to abandon all of you for my poker game. Which reminds me, has Wilson’s nephew called you?” He gives her a sly look along with the question.
“Yes, and he asked me out and, no, I’ve no intention of going out with him.” Oh my, she does sound firm. Not angry, at all, but very, very firm.
Jackson sighs and shakes his head. “He’s a good man from a good family.”
Sara matches him look for look. “I’m sure he is or you wouldn’t have introduced us, but that doesn’t mean I should date him.”
“Well, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t either.” Jackson lowers his brows as he speaks.
“Don’t bother giving me that Cantrell look. You know I don’t date.”
“I also know you should. You’re far too young to hide yourself in these mountains.”
“If you can, I can,” she retorts. And cheers to her, I say! Good for the goose and the gander, as it were.
“I’m twice your age.” Hmmm, there is that.
Sara isn’t as impressed with that logic as I am and makes a rude noise. “As if that matters. I’ve seen some very attractive ladies try to catch your eye more than a time or two.”
“As have I,” Tammy chimes. “They throng to my bookstore for your signings just to get a glimpse of you.”
“Hey, now! Don’t you ladies gang up on me.” Jackson pretends indignation then grins and winks at her. “I thought they came for my brilliant prose.” He lifts his hand to forestall Tammy’s retort. “With that, I believe it’s time I head out for my poker game. Kennedy Burns is a stickler for everyone arriving on time. Or his wife is. Shall I give you a lift into town to meet your friends, my dear?”
“Not at all.” Tammy waves a hand in the air, dismissing the notion. “I’ve no idea how long we’ll chat and plan and enjoy ourselves. Besides, the rental car you provided is a joy to drive. Don’t even think of depriving me!” She glances toward Sara. “Are you sure you won’t join Trouble and me? You’d be more than welcome.”
“I’m sure although I do appreciate the invitation. I’d be of no use to you whatsoever.”
Tammy and I have plans to meet two of the local booksellers for wine and dessert and to finalize plans for their combined signing of Jackson’s latest release. The gala is in two days, and Tammy has already arranged a significant amount of promotion around the book’s release. I can’t imagine what remains to be done although, admittedly, publicity events are not my realm of expertise. Even with that, I do know quite a bit more than most felines having lived with my lovely redhead for a few years. I suspect this evening will prove as much a celebration as anything else. And Tammy, for one, has earned that and more.
“You wouldn’t need to be of any use, although I suspect you’d have excellent thoughts on anything up for discussion.” Tammy turns to Jackson. “I’m so excited. I’ve no doubt this will be your largest turnout to date.”
“Which, as you well know, is not why I write and nothing I seek.”
“Of course, it isn’t, but it does add a nice fillip for those of us cheering you on. Your talent is extraordinary and greatly appreciated by your readers.” Tammy’s words are straight from the heart and genuine, which seems to please Sara who smiles at her warmly. I do believe the young woman is as fond of Jackson as we are.
Jackson shrugs into his sports coat, as he turns from Tammy to give Sara another somewhat crafty look. “My nephew wasn’t sure if he would travel this afternoon or first thing in the morning. If Brayden arrives tonight, perhaps you’d keep him company for a bit, my dear. I don’t plan to be any later than usual, but it would be the perfect opportunity for the two of you to get to know one another. You are, after all, two of the people dearest to me in this world.”
“Of course,” Sara murmurs as he adjusts the cuffs on his white button-down and strolls from the room.
Tammy stares after him and laughs softly. “Not very subtle, is he? I do believe that was a second attempt at a bit of matchmaking.”
Sara sighs, still looking toward the doorway. We all listen to the light whistling that is Jackson’s trademark. “Not subtle at all.”
As our esteemed author didn’t bother to hide the gleam in his eyes, I also think matchmaking is more than a faint possibility. My Tammy and I have yet to meet this long-lost nephew of Jackson’s, and I gather Sara has not met him either. Nor does she appear enthused by the prospect. I do hope he’s a good sort of fellow. It does seem odd that a man who’s thought himself without family for so many years—a self-made man of great wealth—suddenly finds himself possessed of a nephew. It may be that he’s someone both Sara and I should peruse closely, not that I’ll have much opportunity. Tammy and I have a flight home the morning after the signing. Nonetheless, I’ll do what I can with any opportunity I’m given. For the moment, Tammy and I are off for a delightful encounter with our fellow book people and my human always ensures there’s a treat prepared for me on an evening out.
Sara woke with a start, heart pounding. The room was dark and silent. A quick glance at the face of her phone in its charging stand revealed it was just after midnight. A dream, she thought, and not a good one. A baby crying. She didn’t do babies. But the sound came again, and the tension ebbed. She expelled the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Not a baby. A cat. No doubt the black cat with his startling green eyes, but why on earth was he at her door? Cats were smart about finding their way around, and Tammy’s room was several doors down from hers.
Tammy had returned from her evening in town a short while ago. She must have left her door ajar and her pet wandered out into the hallway. When the cat called again, more loudly, Sara threw back the covers and got to her feet. Not bothering with slippers, she crossed to the door, opening it to let him enter even as she shushed him with a whisper. “You’ll wake Jackson.” Although Jackson wouldn’t have been asleep too very long. Poker night was Jackson’s one regular late night out and, even then, he was always in by midnight although sometimes just barely. She must have slept soundly after she and Tammy turned in because she hadn’t heard him return.
The cat ignored her and shot to the other side of her room to paw at the heavy drapes that fell elegantly to the floor. Confused, Sara followed him to the window, wondering if she should wake his owner to come get him. He seemed agitated, tugging repeatedly at the jade-green folds of the drapes.
With a quick movement, Sara pulled them aside, checking to be sure there was nothing hidden on the floor behind them that had drawn him to her room. Like a mouse. Cats liked mice. Her room, in keeping with the rest of Jackson’s home, was meticulously maintained, but she supposed anything was possible.
As soon as the heavy material was out of his way, the cat leaped to the low, wide windowsill. He placed his front paws on the windowpane, growled, then turned to stare at her. She glanced out and saw nothing but dark. As she returned her gaze to the cat, a reflection on the glass caught her eye. She shifted her position and leaned closer to the window. There. A glimmer of light? The angle was wrong for her to be certain of what she saw.
She spun toward the door that opened onto the balcony. Sliding the drapes aside there as well, she unlocked it and stepped out to search the distance with her gaze. Not just a light, she realized, headlights. Her suite faced the switchback drive up the steep incline to Jackson’s home. She stared into the night and waited, but the headlights weren’t moving toward the house. They were motionless.
Jackson’s nephew had never shown that evening, and she had assumed he’d decided to wait until morning. Perhaps, instead, he was late leaving and had lost his way or panicked at the thought of the drop down the side of the mountain in the dark. Jackson said he’d been raised in Portland. A city boy, she’d thought, and rolled her eyes then as she did now. With a sigh, she slid on her jeans and boots and pushed her phone into a back pocket. She retrieved a mini flashlight from the drawer of the nightstand and left the room, the cat at her heels.
The sweep of the staircase that led to an open sitting area below was across from her room. She glanced toward the opposite end of the hall. The door to Jackson’s suite stood open, the soft glimmer of a lamp visible in the dim interior. Her heart jumped. She walked to his room but stopped in the doorway. Beyond the sitting area with its desk and sofa, a set of double doors stood wide. And beyond that point, the bed was undisturbed and the door to the bath also stood open.
She pulled her phone from her pocket and tried his number. No answer. But Jackson wasn’t great at paying attention to the ringing of his phone. He kept it on silent more often than not.
Black fur rubbed against her legs, and Sara forced herself to take an even breath. “Maybe Jackson’s nephew called after he came in and needed help. Maybe the headlights belong to him.” But the reassuring words were more for her than for the cat. A small tendril of dread curled in her stomach, but she refused to give it a place to gather.
The cat head-bumped the back of her knee and Sara nodded. “Come on, then.” With the cat at her side, she turned and walked back to the other end of the hall and the stairs that led down to the main floor.
In the wide hall at the base of the stairs, a massive opening led into the kitchen and den and, opposite that, an outer door opened to the concrete of the drive. The exterior door was locked. She told herself that didn’t mean anything and took a calming breath, but the prickle of unease wouldn’t leave her.
With a glance for the cat, she said, “On second thought, you’d better stay inside.”
She stepped out and closed the door quietly behind her but not before the cat shot through the opening, slanting her a look over his shoulder. Across the wide expanse of the drive, Jackson’s parking bay in the multicar garage stood empty. Sara turned toward the switchback trying to judge the distance to the headlights still visible in the night. How fast could she jog the distance? Or should she extract her own truck and make her way down to those headlights? With a shake of her head at her unusual indecisiveness, she whirled and started on foot. Anxiety nipped at her as she jogged down the drive, the cat right behind her. There had been a single pair of headlights, and the realization nagged at her. She told herself it was still possible that there were two vehicles and only one with the lights still on. But Jackson had recently had heart palpitations and was on medication to control them. He’d seemed fine since then, but she still worried about him.
Her anxiety subsided when she reached the truck—which was Jackson’s—and she didn’t see him slumped over the steering wheel. It had been pulled safely onto the grassy strip between the drive and the drop off beyond.
She turned in a circle, looking around her. He hadn’t passed her walking up the drive as she jogged down, but why would he have gone toward the highway? “Jackson?” Met by silence, she called again, listening as the sound of her voice echoed.
The cat cried, much as he had in her room, but here the sound echoed mournfully against the mountain that rose on the opposite side of the road. A chill swept her as he crossed to the large rocks near the edge and stared down. The sound from the cat came louder, more plaintive.
“No,” Sara whispered, moving forward to join him at the ledge where the ground dropped away in a precipitous mix of scrub grass and rock. And, “no,” again as her heart plummeted.
A white shirt stood out against the outcropping of rocks below her. Cufflinks gleamed in the moonlight that slivered through the clouds. The body lay awkwardly against the base of a boulder, the head twisted to one side. A pale cowboy hat, like the one Jackson kept in his truck, lay nearby. She couldn’t see from here, not really. But she knew. She knew.
“No, no, no.” Her words were little more than a moan as she eased her way over the edge, slipping and sliding, heedless of the loose rocks that scraped her hands then tumbled past her.
Above her, the black cat yowled, long and low, then followed her to the ravine below.