The Black Cat Knocks on Wood by Kay Finch

meet somewhere afterward?”
    A thought came to mind, and I decided to go for it. “Is there by chance a place inside the school where I could sitand write while you’re meeting?” I said. “This morning I knew exactly where the chapter I’m writing was headed, but things here right now aren’t at all conducive to writing. I need to get the words down before they vanish.”
    “You want a hideout,” he said.
    “Exactly.”
    “There’s cafeteria seating down the hall from the auditorium where we meet. Anyone sees you, they’ll assume you’re one of the moms waiting on the meeting to end.”
    “That sounds perfect, if you’re sure it’s not a problem,” I said.
    “I’ll tell the security guy you’re with me.” He paused for a second. “I’ll be glad to see you.”
    “For the cupcakes.”
    “Not only them,” he said.
    My cheeks felt warm as I disconnected the call, and I bustled around my kitchenette, gathering things to take along. Laptop, chapter notes, the cupcakes, something to drink. I started a pot of coffee and took out a thermos. While the coffee brewed I darted into the bedroom and changed into a fresh pair of khaki shorts and white eyelet top. By the time I ran a brush through my hair and put on some lipstick, Hitchcock was curled up and asleep in the center of my bed.
    “I’m going out for a little while,” I told him. “You stay inside and be a good boy, okay?”
    He slitted his eyes at me for a moment before they drifted shut.
    I smiled at the cat, then loaded up my things and took off for the school.
    Eugenia Banks Middle School was located about five miles outside of town, halfway between Lavender and Emerald Springs. The school property was dotted with live oaks. A baseball diamond sat in the field next to the tan brick one-story building. A game was in progress when I pulled into the crowded parking lot, and the bleachers were filled with cheering spectators. I guessed the ballplayers weren’t BoyScouts or, if they were, they’d chosen the game over the meeting tonight.
    I left the cupcakes in a small ice chest in the car for fear I’d eat all of them before Griffin’s meeting ended if I had them close at hand. A couple of boys in Scout uniforms, twelve or so years old, were dropped off near the building and headed inside. I looped my laptop case over my shoulder and followed them through a side door that took us straight to the auditorium.
    I peered into the large room where other Scouts milled around, talking excitedly. Griffin stood near the stage, arranging handouts on a table. He wore his game warden uniform and looked very official next to a screen that showed a picture of a body of water with the heading “Boating Safety.” As if he’d felt my presence, he looked up, met my eyes, and pointed—in the direction of the cafeteria, I surmised.
    I gave him a thumbs-up, headed that way, and found the cafeteria without seeing any security guard. Maybe he was outside watching the ball game.
    A sense of euphoria flooded me simply because I was alone in the relative quiet of a darkened building. A place to write. Alone at last. I booted up the laptop, which provided all the light I needed. I sat down and reviewed what I’d written first thing in the morning, before the interruption that had led me to Crystal’s body.
    Focus, Sabrina.
    I forced thoughts of the morning’s gruesome events aside. A few minutes later, I was writing at a steady pace. My FBI agent was sweating over the interrogation of a key witness—a young, frightened woman with no idea whom she could or could not trust.
    My mind was completely wrapped up in the story, when I heard a murmur of female voices in the hallway about ten yards away. Maybe Scout mothers waiting for their sons’ meeting to end. The top of a soft drink can snapped open. My laptop keys didn’t make much noise, but I stopped typing and listened.
    “I don’t agree,” a woman with a raspy voice said. “The husband’s always guilty. You