Turning for Trouble

by Susan Y. Tanner

  For now, I shall follow and not lead. If our path takes us to the bucking chutes and cowboy Dawson, at some point, I will follow my inner wisdom in determining whether I act. Or bide my time for a better moment.

  * * *

  Well, Cade thought, it’s a start … Malone turning to him for help. He’d wondered more than once in the hours since they’d stood together on that sidewalk if he’d only imagined Malone’s brief response to his embrace, his kiss. He’d wondered what she’d been feeling since. He’d dared a lot in that moment and at least she’d not pulled away. But that one brief moment hadn’t been enough and he knew it never would.

  The first night of the competition, he’d been waiting for her at the end of the alley. But Tyge had stepped in ahead of him, a reminder of all the years the cowboy had been there for her and Cade had not. The two hadn’t noticed Cade as they’d passed by deep in conversation. He’d been jealous. Hell, he still was. But she’d come to him now. He’d let her slip away once, but he’d be damned if he would again.

  Unfortunately, Cade hadn’t a clue how or where to begin in connecting Joss’ tragic story to the murder of two rough stock riders. Yet he couldn’t shake a feeling, a strong feeling, it was there. Ryder was looking for traffickers. Cade’s mind had jumped to drugs, perhaps even guns, particularly in today’s political clime. But humans? With people he knew, perhaps intimately, as friends and comrades and business associates?

  The thought disgusted him but the facts were strong. Cade couldn’t believe it was by chance that the truck carrying Joss and three other girls had been stopped next to the Lake Charles rodeo, perhaps even on the rodeo grounds. It wasn’t by chance that Ryder was looking here, at the rodeo crowd. Ryder had more than hinted that he thought stock trailers, whether for bulls or broncs or calves or steers, were a possible means of transportation.

  It wasn’t a big leap to look at potential connections between hauling drugs and human cargo and the murders of Roland Walker and Quinn Rivers. And Cade was now firmly convinced that Rivers’ death was no accident. It was unfortunate that Ryder hadn’t put him into the picture of human trafficking. Something in the past few days might have caught his eye, something said or some behavior that might have a different meaning with that knowledge.

  Cade wondered if agreeing to move the Southeastern Circuit finals here had been a terrible mistake. His mistake. Sometimes what looked too good to be true was just that. But the deal presented to the association had meant more pay-out money for the finalists and more savings in the future.

  He’d been offered the year-old facility – all inclusive, from coliseum to barns to outside working pens to city hook ups for trailers – at a fraction of what the cost would have been at their previous venue. The benefit to the city was a five-year contract that the association would continue to use the facility each of those years at a reduced cost. During that time, if either the city or the association failed to show a solid profit, the contract could be ended by written notification. At the end of five years, it could be extended, renegotiated, or allowed to lapse.

  The board of directors had been enthusiastic once they’d had time to review the potential numbers. Cade had been pleased. Theirs wasn’t the largest or oldest pro-rodeo association but it was showing steady growth each year. Cade was glad to contribute to that growth. But Cade hadn’t anticipated murder in the mix, not even one, much less two. Now he had to keep his wits about him and – with the help of one black cat – find out who was behind the deaths and if the crimes were connected to Ryder’s investigation and Joss’ story as he believed. And knowing he was counting on a cat to help him do all that made him doubtful how much of his wits he had left to keep about him.

  Cade started on the outskirts, just walking, looking and thinking. He felt a little conspicuous with Trouble weaving in and out between him and Townsend. The first cold front of the season had made for a bitter and dreary start to the event but left glorious fall weather in its wake. The brilliant blue of the sky and the warmth of the sun seemed at odds with the grimness of his mood. He had to work at a pleasant expression as he greeted his members and their families.

  He stopped to watch Frank Roberts working with a couple of Little Britches ropers, helping them roll up their ropes and guiding their swings so that one finally looped the horns on the roping dummy and let out a whoop of exultation. Luke sat in a folding chair half-watching, half-working rosin into his own rope.

  Luke looked up watchful, undoubtedly expecting more bad news of some sort.

  Cade smiled, sorry that events had conspired to make a generally happy-go-lucky young man so cautious. “Congratulations on your winnings last night. You and your dad pulled a good check.”

  Some of the stiffness left Luke’s shoulders. “We needed it. Not the money, so much, you know. But the win.”

  Cade did know. A couple of other teams, equally talented and with even more experience, had had poor luck and a slow start which was proving a drag on them now. He couldn’t say why adversity made some dig in and some lose heart.

  When he would have walked on, Luke spoke again, softly. “Mr. Delaney?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s happening here?”

  Cade wished he had an answer, at least a better one than he could voice. “Whatever it is, I know there are two different law enforcement agencies teamed up to find the answer.” Teamed up was probably over-stating reality but no need for Luke or anyone else to know that. “Just focus on your riding and your throw, Luke.”

  “Some of the other guys are getting scared one of us will be next but I don’t think whatever’s happening has anything to do with us or the rodeo. Not really.”

  Luke watched Cade carefully, clearly hoping for affirmation of his belief from someone he trusted, someone in authority, someone who’d know if he had reason to be afraid. Cade felt out of his element in one sense, but confident in another. Watching out for his members was a key component of his position.

  “I think you’re right, Luke. Just be careful of your surroundings so that you aren’t caught up in something you don’t mean to be. Otherwise, I believe you’re all safe enough.” As safe as anyone could be. For decades, Montgomery hadn’t been considered the safest city in the United States but things were changing dramatically with the revitalization projects going on. This facility was new. Restaurants and theatres had opened. Strip malls were disappearing and burglar bars were gradually being removed from storefront windows. Progress, slow but sure.

  He clapped Luke reassuringly on the shoulder as he moved on.

  Frank gave him a brief nod before returning his attention to the two youngsters in front of him.

  Near the first barn he passed a group of teenage girls in blue jeans and sneakers, carrying multiple bags, many bearing the names of their sponsors for the week. Good for business. A group of teenage boys trailed behind them but one of the girls tossed a smile over her shoulder and he stayed relaxed. He supposed boys the world over tagged along in the wake of girls on a shopping mission.

  A man in jeans and boots stood propped against the side of the first barn. Cade hesitated. The jeans were not faded and the boots were unscathed by barn work. Not a scuff mark anywhere. He could have been a fan or a parent or merely a passer-by were it not for the look in his eyes. The sport coat wasn’t out of place in the late October weather. Still.

  Cade looked for but didn’t see the tell-tale bulge of a concealed carry. Even so, he went on his intuition and the sudden interest Trouble displayed in the man.

  Stopping in front of him, Cade held out his hand. “Badge.”

  “Mr. Delaney, you need to walk on.”

  “Bull shit. Ryder can go to hell if he thinks he’s planting people on these grounds without my knowing.” He had to guess between Hendrix and Ryder but suspected the locals didn’t have the funding to spot extra officers for investigative purposes.

  The lawman scowled as he passed his badge over for scrutiny. “Ryder won’t be pleased.”


  “By what?” Cade commented affably. “By you not having sense enough to wear faded jeans and old boots if you wanted to blend in here? This is a private facility and under my control for the duration of this event. You’re here at my discretion or not at all.”

  “That wouldn’t hold up in court.”

  Cade grinned, knowing it probably looked more like a baring of teeth than humor. “Probably not, but Ryder would be even less pleased if it ended up there, don’t you think?”

  When the other man gave a grudging shrug, Cade handed his badge back to him and moved on. Though he wondered if there were others staged elsewhere on the grounds, he didn’t see much use in questioning the undercover agent. He wasn’t likely to get an answer, at least not a straightforward one.

  On the other hand, the man’s presence could well be a bargaining chip. Joss needed help and Ryder likely had strings to tug that could provide that help. He placed a quick call and Ryder answered on the first ring. Cade made quick work of telling the marshal that he was in Cade’s debt for not blowing his man’s cover and even quicker work of telling him that every favor should be reciprocated. Ryder agreed to talk with Joss after the evening performance. With the crowds pulling out and the contestants getting things squared away at the end of the day and ready for the one to come, Ryder’s comings and goings weren’t likely to draw much attention.

  Assured of the deputy marshal’s cooperation, Cade called Malone who wasn’t enthusiastic about the suggestion but promised to reassure Joss as best she could that this was a good thing. And Joss, after all, was the one who had asked to do something positive from her horrid experience.

  Cade’s thoughts and long stride carried him closer and closer to the area where stock contractors parked their trailers after unloading. In his heart he couldn’t believe that any of the contractors he’d worked with, shared meals with, lifted an occasional beer with, could be involved in the ugliness happening around him. But there were always newcomers and some of the old-timers had stepped back as their offspring – sons and daughters both – stepped forward to take over the business. For the most part those who were here he knew and trusted. But they supplied the larger venues, where the payouts were larger to the contestants and the money paid for stock was reflective of the caliber animal required for that level of competition. Smaller or newer districts, like the one in Lake Charles, were supplied by some of the minor, more local contractors. But no one had died in Lake Charles. They were dying here.

  Regardless, Cade wanted to look at some actual stock trailers, think back to those he and his father had run, how they were built, how they might be modified to conceal illegal cargo. His effort might tell him nothing but grasping at straws was better than grasping at nothing but thin air.

  The area was virtually bare of anything but empty trucks and trailers. The sounds from up around the arena and paddock areas came to him muted. Some distance away, two women held horses on lead ropes, talking quietly as they let the animals graze on the narrow strip of lush grass between the paved parking and the fence that backed the city street beyond.

  Cade walked slowly between the long, empty trailers. From time to time, he stooped to examine the various undercarriages of the trailers, pondering possibilities for concealed compartments, how one could be constructed on this or that trailer design. It wouldn’t be impossible to create but how easily could it be camouflaged from the Department of Transportation officers who patrolled weigh stations? Occasionally, Trouble would leap to a wheel fender as if peering inside. Each time Townsend would whine faintly until the cat returned to the pavement. In silence, Cade noted the professional logos etched with the names of the various contractors.

  Dossett Inc., run by Gaylon Dossett and his wife, hauled some of the best broncs in the business to Cade’s mind. He felt guilty even thinking about using Carlisle Contracting in their place next year but Dossett had raised their rates steadily and significantly over the last few years. Cade had questioned him, pushed him on it, but Dossett hadn’t backed down on his pricing and it didn’t appear likely he would. Rodeo was a business and, if Carlisle could produce comparable at a more equitable price, Cade wouldn’t have much choice.

  Morrissette and Sons. Asa always swore that if he couldn’t stock quality bulls he wouldn’t stock at all. Cade had never known him to disappoint. Asa hadn’t had it easy the past few years but, with his sons taking more and more of the business, the lines of stress seemed to be easing each time Cade saw him these days.

  Carriere Steers was based in Little Rock. The company wasn’t quite a newcomer but was the most recent addition to the lineup. They carried some of the finest bulldogging steers in the United States. Cade had vetted them thoroughly before taking them on and, so far, they hadn’t disappointed.

  The last of the rigs belonged to Jemson Ventures. Lang Jemson had graduated with a veterinary degree, worked in the profession for five years and walked away without a backward glance to partner with his father-in-law on supplying calves to local rodeos. It was a family-owned business with a pristine reputation with the wives of the two men as invested in the business as their husbands. Cade couldn’t see them involved in wrong-doing.

  Hell, he couldn’t see any of them caught up in something so ugly. With every step forward, he felt more and more like a traitor to the team who supported the association. Because with every step forward, he wondered - couldn’t help but wonder - if there was a possibility that people he knew and cared about could be caught up in such bad business. He thought of the decade he and his father hauled calves to rodeos, how he would have felt if anyone had been looking at their rig with such thoughts at the back of their mind.

  Trouble waited for him and Townsend on the hood of the last Jemson truck, looking bored. If there had been anything out of the way to find, the cat would have found it. Cade had given up pretending he thought otherwise. Townsend yipped softly and wagged his tail as he stared up at the cat until Trouble leapt down to give him a supercilious glance before leading the way back in the direction they’d come.

  Cade’s cell phone buzzed as he crossed in front of the coliseum. He glanced at the name and sighed.

  “Good afternoon, Keena. What’s up?” Other than her worries – and his – about how murder might impact the terms of their contract. He’d known the woman long before she became part of the management team for Montgomery’s new equine facility. She’d traded on their friendship when she contacted him with the possibility of a deal between the city and rodeo association.

  “Cade, do you have time to join me for a drink and a few minutes to talk?”

  He’d rather have put this off but …. “I do if it’s close and brief. I can’t be far or long away from the grounds during the performances.” Particularly not in light of the events of the past two days.

  “I’m leaving my office. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes and bring you right back as soon as you say the word, I promise.”

  “I’ll be in front of the coliseum box office.”

  He left Townsend with Aleta, realizing that Trouble had disappeared on him somewhere along the way. He’d barely gotten to the curb when Keena slid her sports car to a skillful stop, smiling as she got out. She greeted him with the hug of a longstanding relationship that had survived several transitions and emerged as something less than she’d made clear she wanted and something more than he once would’ve thought possible.

  “Want to drive?” she asked with a grin as she caught him admiring her car.

  He caught the keys she tossed to him. It wasn’t a car he had any desire to own, but he was a red-blooded male. Handling the sleek power under that hood was an offer he wouldn’t turn down.

  * * *

  “Who’s that?” Joss watched with quiet curiosity on her face as Cade slid behind the wheel of an electric blue car.

  Malone glanced across at the couple she’d been pretending not to notice as she and Joss walked out of the show office. “Her name used to be Keena Ellis. They dated in college.�
��

  “Does she run barrels?”

  “Not that I know, but I do and we have a lot to do before then.” To her relief, Joss took the hint and turned the conversation to the horses and the tasks ahead of them.

  Chapter Eighteen

  With a glass of wine in front of each of them, Cade listened while Keena made small talk. A local talent played light jazz with a soft touch on a keyboard. Another time he probably would’ve appreciated both the entertainment and the mood lighting. As it was, he had to tamp back his impatience. He’d realized during their initial meetings regarding the change in venue for the district finals that Keena hadn’t changed much since college. She still took her time getting to the point in any conversation. Unlike Malone.

  The simple thought of her made him anxious to get back to the rodeo grounds.

  Cade took a sip of the wine he rarely drank and wished he’d ordered beer. But he wasn’t going to be there long enough for it to matter. He was unlikely to finish his drink in any case.

  “What’s on your mind, Keena?”

  She turned her glass by the stem without lifting it from the table. Her dark eyes looked anxious and he waited for whatever bad news she had to impart. “You’ve had a bit of publicity the last few days.”

  “And little of it good,” he stated baldly without offering any excuses. They might as well get to the point of her conversation.

  “But one was an accident,” she offered. “I mean it’s horrible, but it happens in any high-risk sport, right?”

  He looked at her, surprised at her direction. He nodded. “Yeah. It happens.” He wasn’t about to enlighten her that Rivers’ death was likely not an accident.