Kay Finch - The Black Cat Breaks a Mirror

The Black Cat Breaks a Mirror

As the summer tourist season draws to a close in Lavender, Texas, Sabrina has invited her brother and nephews for the highly anticipated concert of Colt Jamison, whose hit song Broken Mirror is rising to the top of the Nashville charts. But their stay begins on a sour note when one of the boys stumbles upon the dead body of Jamisons former public relations managera man whod long ago burned his bridges in town, leaving no shortage of suspects in the murder.

As Sabrina is reluctantly drawn into the investigation, shes confronted with a country singer who may be harboring more than a few dark secrets, an overzealous fan club president who may be up to her ears in criminal activities, and someone leaving shards of broken mirrors scattered all over town. Just as Sabrina narrows the list of suspects and closes in on the culprit, she realizes that seven years of bad luck may be the least of her worries...

Title Page

Copyright

The Black Cat Breaks a Mirror

Kay Finch

Copyright 2020 by Kay Finch.

Cover design and illustration by Dar Albert, Wicked Smart Designs.

Published by Beyond the Page at Smashwords

Beyond the Page Books

are published by

Beyond the Page Publishing

www.beyondthepagepub.com

ISBN: 978-1-950461-59-2

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

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Dedication

For Hudson, the whirling dervish of our family

Acknowledgments

I am blessed with an abundance of team members who are always available to me when I need them. First, many thanks to my social media pals at Cozy Mystery Share-A-PaloozaVictoria Abbott, Ellery Adams, Leslie Budewitz, Peg Cochran, Miranda James, Mary Kennedy, Molly MacRae, Leann Sweeney, and Heather Blake Webberfor your unflagging support and encouragement.

Thanks also to Bill Harris, my editor, and Jessica Faust, my agent, along with all the staff members behind the scenes at Beyond the Page and BookEnds Literary Agency. I couldnt do this without you.

I continue to count on my fabulous critique partners, Laura Elvebak, Julie Herman, Kay Kendall, Bob Miller, and Amy Sharp, as well as Susie, Charlie, and Bindi, whose home we invade for our meetings.

Special mention to my nephews Matthew and Adamas I tried to decide on the right names for Sabrinas nephews, I finally realized that my own already had the perfect names that I could use for these characters.

I can always rely on my family for moral support and understanding. Thanks to my husband, Benton, for enduring my many hours spent locked away in my office.

Last but not least, thanks to my mom, Betty Bittner, for teaching me the love of books and reading that will endure for all my years.

Contents

Back when my little friends played house with their dolls, I sat off in a corner and played book club with mine. In my imagination, I always played the guest author. My older brother Nick made fun of my games, though I never understood his reasoning. After all, he pretended to be a lawyer on a regular basis while his friends played baseball. Dad encouraged both of us, whatever our endeavors. Mom simply said thats nice, dear in a tone that implied she hadnt even noticed what the heck we were doing.

I felt pride in my accomplishments during those childhood games, and today was no different. Id arrived at the book club meetingmy first as a published authorecstatic about the invitation and well prepared, or so I thought. Id rehearsed answers to the common questions asked by readers. Where do you get your ideas? How long did it take you to write the book? Who should play your heroine in the movie?

I wanted to impress the club members so they would rush out to buy my second book, and the third. A few minutes into our discussion, though, I felt a distinct chill in the air. A coldness in attitudes, mood, definitely not temperature. Wed gathered in the screened porch of Tower of Pizza on an August afternoon in the Texas Hill Country.

Hot was an understatement, in spite of the lazily spinning ceiling fans and the big oak that shaded the roof. We met here because Noah, the four-year-old grandson of the shop owner, had made a special request for my cat, Hitchcock, to come along for a playdate. I was happy to oblige even if that meant forgoing the air-conditioned restaurant.

The little boy was ecstatic, chasing Hitchcock around the patio like a whirling dervish. He dropped to all fours every so often to growl like a tiger. Hitchcock wasnt fazed.

The food was another plus for this meeting site. Bruno Krause, the shop owner and book club president, brought out trays filled with pizza finger-foods and poured a glass of full-bodied red wine for each of us. The air was fragrant with pungent scents of garlic and oregano.

But there was definitely something up with the people. After my brief introductory talk, the group members said they were so happy Id agreed to come. They told me my book deserved great reviews. I wanted to say show, dont tell, an admonition well known by writers, because these people didnt appear happy in the least. Rather than sound critical, I kept my mouth shut.

Maybe theyd had some kind of big blowup before I arrived. They seemed edgy, especially the middle-aged blonde in the body-hugging hot pink tank top. Tracey, according to her name tag. She had a ticked-off look in her eye, and the wine wasnt helping.

She drank quickly, then twirled her empty glass on the red-and-white-checked tablecloth. She seemed oblivious to the cute antics of the boy and cat. She ran a hand over her copy of my book, Scarlets Run, then fixed her sober gaze on me.

Ill betcha you do a lot of research about perfect ways to commit murder, she said.

That wasnt a question, and I couldnt decide how to respond. Tracey was a big-boned and muscular woman who I wouldnt want to cross. I wondered if her husbandif she had onewas home quaking in his boots as he awaited her return. Or maybe he was out carousing, the very reason she had thoughts of doing him in. Could be she wanted to write a book about a murder.