Peggy Dulle - Liza Wilcox 04 - Saddle Up (17 page)

A clown and three dogs ran into the room. The dogs did tricks, while the women laughed.

“I saved you a lunch,” Sheryl Ann said. “Go and eat in the kitchen.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I pick so much when I cook that I don’t need to eat. Besides, I like the clown.” She laughed as the dog jumped from a table and over the clown’s back.

My cell phone rang. I stepped into the kitchen to answer it.

“Hey, Teach,” Justin said. “How’s the rodeo?”

“I haven’t been there yet. I’ve seen a nice parade and am helping at a luncheon. The rodeo starts at 1:30.”

“Okay, I’ve got some news for you.”

“Let me step outside for a moment.” I stepped through the backdoor and saw three FBI agents from before, so I went back into the kitchen.

“Go ahead,” I told him.

“I still haven’t found the Banners’ partner. When I do, I want to meet the guy who buried his ownership. I’ve never seen so many layers. I did learn that every year he takes over a larger percentage of Blue Stripe Enterprises.”

“How much does he own now?”

“He started with twenty-five percent and then every few years he picks up another percent or so. Now he owns fifty percent of the company.

“Priscilla owns the rest?”

“All but one percent which is held in a trust for the daughter, Grace. Until she’s twenty-five, her mother gets to vote the entire fifty percent.”

“Not much of a vote. Her partner has the same amount of power. Neither should be able to do anything without the other’s approval.”

“Unless they do it without checking with the other partner. I also looked into the highway that is supposed to be going through that town and I can’t find anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“There isn’t any state or federal money being used for the road and I can’t find any contractors who have bid on the project, either.”

“Can you look into Ray Jenkins?”

“Who’s he?”

“A man who was shot last night.”

“You’ve already stumbled on a body?” Justin asked excitement in his voice.

“Not really, but since I have no idea what I am supposed to be looking for, I want to check everything out. He was a night foreman at the power plant. His wife is Jenny and they have one son, Tad.”

“Okay, I’ll look into him. Anyone else?”

“Glen Sanders. He’s the local doctor and coroner. He’s a nice guy, but there is something that hits me wrong about the guy.”

“Okay. If you think of anything else, let me know and I’ll keep digging on Blue Stripe Enterprises.”

I hung up the phone and leaned on the kitchen counter. I bet the issue about Grace’s trust fund is not money but a percentage of the company. Does that mean it will be worth more or less depending upon when the road is put through or not? What did it all have to do with the cancer cluster? Did Pricilla just lie to everyone about the bids or was she being lied to? And why didn’t I trust Doc Sanders?

CHAPTER 17

After the luncheon, a group of men came in to clean the hall and break down all the tables and stack the chairs. I was glad that I didn’t have to do it. Sheryl Ann was headed back to her house so she took my purchases and promised to put them into my room.

It was almost one o’clock so I called Tom.

“Hi honey,” he said as he answered the phone.

“Are you still in Gainsville or on your way here?” I asked, hopeful that he was almost in Ridgedale.

“I’m sitting in my office and letting three teenage boys stew before I go in and read them the riot act.”

“You’re going to miss the beginning of the rodeo,” I whined because it was exactly the way I felt. Being with a cop was a pain!

“I know, but I should be on my way soon, so I won’t miss much.”

“Aren’t you at least two hours away?”

“Not with lights and sirens,” he said. “Love you and see you soon.”

I put my phone back into my pocket and walked down Main Street. It was filled with people, some having lunch in an outdoor section of the café that had been set up, others with huge three and four-scoop stacked ice cream cones. Everyone was moving in one direction towards the other end of town and the rodeo arena.

The grocery store lot had been roped off to make a parking lot for the rodeo. They were charging $5.00 a spot. Across from the arena was a vacant lot. The cost there was only $3.00 but you ran the risk of getting a flat tire from the broken glass scattered around the ground.

I bought a ticket and waited in line to enter the arena with fifty people who were all wearing cowboy hats. I felt naked without one. I recognized some of the women from the luncheon.

Riley stood at the gate taking tickets.

He tipped his hat and said, “Howdy, Liza. How was the luncheon?”

“Great food and I even bought a few things at the vendors.”

“It’s going to be hot sitting in the arena. There are some vendors inside so why don’t you get yourself a hat?”

“That’s a great idea,” I told him.

I bought a program from one of the teenagers I saw last night. She didn’t have any more clothes on, maybe less, with her tight denim mini-skirt and pink boots. As I waded through young girls and boys to get to the vendors, I wondered if any of them would see the actual rodeo or if they just bought a ticket so they could prowl, check each other out and pick each other up.

There were several vendors selling t-shirts, leather goods, and hats. I bought a red one to match my boots and went into the arena. The middle was a large dirt oval with bleachers on three sides. The fourth had pens with fences, gates, and large overhead signs – two insurance companies, Jack Daniels, a real estate company, and Coors beer. There were also similar hanging banners in other places in the arena. Were these the rodeo’s sponsors?

I found a seat in the middle of the arena across from the pens, sat and people watched. There had to be as many people standing around the vendors, especially the beer and food stands, as there were in the almost filled arena.

At exactly 1:30, an announcer came on and asked everyone to stand. He stepped aside and another gentleman took the microphone. A prayer was said for the safety of the cowboys competing today.

We all remained standing as music began. A young girl began singing “God Bless the USA”. I knew the song since it was one that I taught my kindergarten students each year. Everyone around me was singing along, just like me. When we got to the chorus, the side gate opened and a single cowgirl rider came in holding a flag pole topped with a large American flag. She kicked the horse with her boots and it took off running. The music started fading in and out, along with the young girl’s voice. Soon there was no music, just the entire crowd singing the song. It gave me goose bumps on my arms. I knew it wasn’t planned but it was amazing to hear over two thousand people singing along while the girl circled the arena with the flag.

At the end of the song, the crowd went wild – screaming, stomping and clapping. Then a parade of girls on horseback came in carrying flags with brand names on them, along with the names similar to the banners on the sides of the arena.

Then the rodeo began. I watched the team roping and understood, thanks to Riley, what they were talking about when they used the words heeler and header. Luckily the rodeo program also gave information about each event which helped a lot. I learned that it was a timed event and that they start from a box which has a cable across the front called the barrier. The header is the first out, trying to rope the head as quickly as possible. He can rope the steer by both horns, one horn and the head, and the neck. Once the catch is made the header wraps the end of the rope around the horn of his saddle – this is called dallying. Then the heeler has to rope the steer’s legs. There are lots of time penalties. If the barrier is broken they add ten seconds to the team’s time. If the heeler manages only to get one leg, then a five second penalty is added. It was amazing to watch the coordination and cooperation of the men and their horses.

Next was the bronc rider event. Davis was there doing his job as the pick-up man, helping the riders off who were able to stay on for the entire eight seconds. I yelled for Shelton and Jody who both stayed on the horse but got different scores. Shelton got 78 and Jody an 82. I flipped through the program and learned that half the points are awarded based on the cowboy’s technique and the other half is dependent upon the horse’s bucking ability.

They have some kind of strap across the horse’s middle which gets released by the pickup man after the eight seconds or after he has thrown the rider. Is that what makes the horse buck? Does it hurt the horse? I flipped through the program and found my answer. A flank strap is used to alter the bucking action of the horse by encouraging him to kick out straighter and higher with his hind legs. It doesn’t hurt the animal in any way. It is hung very loosely and very far forward on the bronc waiting in the chute. It is not pulled tight until the very last seconds before the bronc takes his first leap into the arena. It is never tied and loosens with each buck of the horse.

Thank God for the program or I wouldn’t have any clue what was going on at the rodeo.

I noticed a disturbance in the crowd milling around the vendors and glanced over. People were coming up to a stocky, muscular cowboy and shaking his hand. He looked toward the arena seats.

I would know those pretty blue eyes anywhere. Tom was wearing blue jeans, boots, a striped Western shirt, white cowboy hat and a belt with a huge buckle. I like the man in a uniform but the cowboy outfit fit him just fine, too.

Two young girls stepped in front of him, both pulling up their shirts exposing their bellies. He stopped short. The one with long blonde hair handed him a pen. He wrote something on each of their bellies and walked around them.

He was stopped five times by people on his way to the seats. If it was men, they would shake his hand and talked to him for a few minutes. If it was a girl, they gave him a pen and had him sign a part of their body. What the hell was going on?

He spotted me a few seconds later and started toward me. The next five people who came up to him, he ignored and kept walking.

He tilted the brim of his hat up with his index finger and said, “Howdy, ma ‘am. Is this seat taken?”

“I don’t know. I was saving it for my fiancé but since you’re some famous cowboy who everyone wants to talk to and have you sign their bodies, I guess I have to let you sit here.”

Two young women, dressed in halter tops, jeans, and cowboy hats were walking toward us and I said, “Here comes more.”

Tom turned and glared at them. They immediately backed away and left.

“It’s nothing.” Tom leaned over and kissed me on the lips.

When he sat down, I said. “I thought karaoke and golf were your only secrets.”

“I don’t have secrets,” he insisted.

I pointed to the buckle that had a bucking bull and rider on it.

“I won a few events when I was in college,” he said.

“Let’s not trivialize what you did,” I said. “I want the whole truth. How many events and why does everyone want to talk to you and sign their bodies?”

“I was PBR World Champion two years in a row.”

“That sounds like a big thing.”

Tom shrugged. “There have been many before and since.”

“Damn,” I said.

“What?” Tom looked around.

“That means all your scars are from falling off a bull. I had fantasized about cop scenarios that had caused them.”

Tom eyes glistened and he said, “You fantasized about my scars?”

I blushed, realizing that I had, once again, said my thoughts out loud. I wonder if I was slipping into Alzheimer’s already.

“Let’s talk about it later.”

“I’m holding you to that, Liza.” He turned toward the arena. “What have I missed?”

I gave him a play by play of the events.

At halftime, the clown from the luncheon entertained the crowd with his dog tricks. They had a cowboy outfit contest for the local young kids. A three-year-old girl won with her pink cow-printed vest and skirt with silver fringes around the bottom. Under the vest was a shimmering pink, long-sleeved shirt. The outfit was accented by a white belt with silver tassels and a pink cowboy hat. It was very cute and she was adorable.

Next was something called “Mutton Busting” and there were ten local children participating in the event. The children had their parents standing behind them when they were introduced. The crowd yelled and clapped for each. The last child introduced was Tanya Mullins. Her father, Henry, raised his hat at the introduction and then I noticed Grace Banner stood next to him. She was dressed in denim jeans, black t-shirt embossed with an American flag, and brown boots. It was quite a subtle outfit compared to what I saw her in yesterday. The man next to her must have been who Priscilla and the ladies at her table had been talking about. The man might be in his forties but he certainly wasn’t old enough to be Grace’s father. Had she dressed for the visit to the lawyer or because of this man?

Mutton Busting was the scariest thing I had ever seen. Small children, maybe five to eight years old, enter a small chute and are placed on top of a sheep. Once the child is seated atop the sheep, the sheep is released and starts running all over the arena trying to get the child off. Thank God the kids were wearing helmets because they fell off backwards, sideways, and occasionally were trampled by the sheep.

“I think this is the best event in the rodeo,” Tom laughed, pointing to a young girl who was being placed on a sheep.

“Tell me when it’s finished,” I said and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, Tom said, “I guess our kids won’t be riding any sheep.”

“Not in my lifetime,” I told him. “I bet the legal waiver is five pages long that these parents sign just so they can have their child participate in that barbaric event.”

Tom put his arm around me and smiled.

“What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve mentioned kids that you haven’t flinched.”

I turned and looked at him and said, “I’ve made some decisions about that.”

Tom’s eyebrows shot up.

“But I suppose, this isn’t the place to discuss it. I’ll tell you later.”

Before he could comment, a young girl, maybe ten, came up and sat next to him.

“You’re Tom Owens, right?” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

“My dad says you are the best bull rider there’s ever been.”

“Not really,” Tom told her.

“Did you actually get a score of 99?”

“Once, but you’ve got to remember half that score is for the bull, not me.”

“What was the name of the bull?” she asked.

“Terminator.”

“Like the movie?”

Tom nodded.

“So who lost the one point, you or the bull?” she asked.

“Probably me.”

“My brother rides bulls, too.”

“Is he competing today?” I asked.

“Yes, he’s third up. His name is Jackson Hayworth. He pulled a bull named Violent Storm. Is he a good bull?”

“I don’t know,” Tom told her.

“Is Jackson staying at Sheryl Ann’s house?” I asked, wondering how many Jacksons there could be who rode bulls.

“Yes. My whole family is here but Sheryl Ann doesn’t have enough rooms for all of us. We’re staying with the Costellos. My parents used to know them before we moved away from here.”

“Tom and I are staying there, too.”

“Jackson didn’t tell me that you,” she pointed to Tom and continued, ‘were there.”

“I asked him not to say anything.”

“Can I have your autograph for my dad?” She handed him a napkin and a pen.

“I’ve got something better for you.” Tom slipped off his belt and handed it to her.

Her eyes widened and her face morphed into a huge smile. “You’re giving me your PBR World Championship buckle.”

“I’ve got another one at home.”