conflict, got down from the sill and without the woman noticing her slinked off behind a shelf.
The woman sniffed. “In my opinion, this cat is no better than that black cat we saw on our way in here. I wanted to leave town right then and avoid the bad luck, misery, disease, even death that might befall us.”
“What a crock!” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Noreen,” the thin woman yelled. “We need to leave. Now.”
Tyanne hurried toward us, clutching a sheaf of papers. “Ma’am? I’m sorry if my cats are upsetting you. Ethan will take them to the back. Noreen and I are in the midst of placing an order for the church’s study group.” She gave me the eye, and I felt only slightly guilty for aggravating the prospective customer.
“We’ll talk later,” I told Ty as I handed the cat to her.
“Yes, we will.” With a stern expression, she turned her back on me.
Walking out into the humid morning, I shook my head at the weird opinions of some people. I wasn’t worried about Tyanne. She wouldn’t hold it against me that the woman had gotten under my skin, but now I’d have to wait before I could find out what she had to tell me. Dang it all.
I scanned the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black cat whom I felt needed protection from people like the woman inside the bookstore. He wasn’t in sight, so there was nothing I could do for him now. He was probably pretty good at taking care of himself; at least I hoped so.
Exhaustion from my early morning was beginning to overtake me. A protein-filled lunch might perk me up, so I headed for McKetta’s Barbeque. It seemed that every town in Texas had a handful of establishments where you could buy barbeque, if not from a random barbeque pit hooked up to a pickup and parked alongside the road. I’d decided that the small mom-and-pop places had the best sauce, which was about as important when eating barbeque as the meat itself. Daisy and Mitch McKetta ran the café where I was headed, and I voted theirs the best barbeque in and around Lavender.
The building housing my favorite lunch spot sat in a strip between Hill Country Gifts and Sweet Stop, the local candy store. With weathered planks and a rusty tin roof, McKetta’s appeared at least a hundred years old. The front porch posts were a tad crooked, and the air surrounding the building was heavy with the scent of smoked meat.
Inside, a half dozen people waited in line to place their orders, and I was glad I’d arrived before the lunch rush. I went to the end of the line, and the woman ahead of me turned to smile at me briefly.
After my eyes had adjusted better to the indoor lighting, I realized the woman wore a Krane’s Hardware apron. She was about five seven and a bit overweight, with blond-highlighted hair—the woman who’d teased Mr. Krane about Dumpster diving the day before.
“Popular place, huh?” I said.
“Best barbeque in town,” she said, mirroring my opinion. “We’re having a customer appreciation day today at Krane’s, noon to two. If you don’t mind waiting a bit longer for your lunch, you could come by the store.”
“Now that I’ve smelled this food I don’t want to wait,” I said, “but thanks for the invite. I saw you at the store yesterday. Don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Judith Krane.” The woman offered a hand and we shook. “Wesley’s wife.”
“Oh.” I smiled and introduced myself. “And Hallie’s your daughter?”
“She is.”
A bell sounded, and we looked toward the counter. “Mrs. Krane,” Mitch McKetta said. “Your order’s up.”
A box lid filled with quart containers sat on the counter in front of him next to a stack of crowd-sized trays covered in heavy foil. I offered to give her a hand, and she accepted my help carrying the food out to her pickup.
“I owe you one,” she said before driving away, and I wondered if she would consider making a free delivery next time Thomas asked me to pick up something from
The woman sniffed. “In my opinion, this cat is no better than that black cat we saw on our way in here. I wanted to leave town right then and avoid the bad luck, misery, disease, even death that might befall us.”
“What a crock!” The words slipped out before I could stop them.
“Noreen,” the thin woman yelled. “We need to leave. Now.”
Tyanne hurried toward us, clutching a sheaf of papers. “Ma’am? I’m sorry if my cats are upsetting you. Ethan will take them to the back. Noreen and I are in the midst of placing an order for the church’s study group.” She gave me the eye, and I felt only slightly guilty for aggravating the prospective customer.
“We’ll talk later,” I told Ty as I handed the cat to her.
“Yes, we will.” With a stern expression, she turned her back on me.
Walking out into the humid morning, I shook my head at the weird opinions of some people. I wasn’t worried about Tyanne. She wouldn’t hold it against me that the woman had gotten under my skin, but now I’d have to wait before I could find out what she had to tell me. Dang it all.
I scanned the street, hoping to catch a glimpse of the black cat whom I felt needed protection from people like the woman inside the bookstore. He wasn’t in sight, so there was nothing I could do for him now. He was probably pretty good at taking care of himself; at least I hoped so.
Exhaustion from my early morning was beginning to overtake me. A protein-filled lunch might perk me up, so I headed for McKetta’s Barbeque. It seemed that every town in Texas had a handful of establishments where you could buy barbeque, if not from a random barbeque pit hooked up to a pickup and parked alongside the road. I’d decided that the small mom-and-pop places had the best sauce, which was about as important when eating barbeque as the meat itself. Daisy and Mitch McKetta ran the café where I was headed, and I voted theirs the best barbeque in and around Lavender.
The building housing my favorite lunch spot sat in a strip between Hill Country Gifts and Sweet Stop, the local candy store. With weathered planks and a rusty tin roof, McKetta’s appeared at least a hundred years old. The front porch posts were a tad crooked, and the air surrounding the building was heavy with the scent of smoked meat.
Inside, a half dozen people waited in line to place their orders, and I was glad I’d arrived before the lunch rush. I went to the end of the line, and the woman ahead of me turned to smile at me briefly.
After my eyes had adjusted better to the indoor lighting, I realized the woman wore a Krane’s Hardware apron. She was about five seven and a bit overweight, with blond-highlighted hair—the woman who’d teased Mr. Krane about Dumpster diving the day before.
“Popular place, huh?” I said.
“Best barbeque in town,” she said, mirroring my opinion. “We’re having a customer appreciation day today at Krane’s, noon to two. If you don’t mind waiting a bit longer for your lunch, you could come by the store.”
“Now that I’ve smelled this food I don’t want to wait,” I said, “but thanks for the invite. I saw you at the store yesterday. Don’t believe we’ve met.”
“Judith Krane.” The woman offered a hand and we shook. “Wesley’s wife.”
“Oh.” I smiled and introduced myself. “And Hallie’s your daughter?”
“She is.”
A bell sounded, and we looked toward the counter. “Mrs. Krane,” Mitch McKetta said. “Your order’s up.”
A box lid filled with quart containers sat on the counter in front of him next to a stack of crowd-sized trays covered in heavy foil. I offered to give her a hand, and she accepted my help carrying the food out to her pickup.
“I owe you one,” she said before driving away, and I wondered if she would consider making a free delivery next time Thomas asked me to pick up something from
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