Cat's Claw (A Pecan Springs Mystery)

across the kitchen to turn off the overhead light. “Hey, Rambo. Come on.” She took down her duty belt from the hook next to Blackie’s jacket. “Time for bed, fella.”
    “You’re that hard up for fun?” China asked in a pitying tone. “I could send Howard Cosell.”
    Sheila laughed and broke the connection.

Chapter Eleven

    Cat’s claw vine (
Macfadyena unguis-cati
) takes its name from the three-pronged clawlike climbing appendages that grasp and cling to plants or surfaces. A high-climbing member of the trumpet vine family, cat’s claw is native to the tropics of South and Central America. In the folk medicines of Brazil, the Yucatan, and Panama, the leaves, roots, and tubers have been widely used to treat inflammation, malaria, and venereal disease. Recent research suggests that the plant may also have antitumor properties.
    Cat’s claw has beautiful yellow trumpetlike blooms and is offered by some nurseries as the “yellow trumpet vine.” Introduced to the U.S. as an ornamental in 1947, it is now classified as a dangerously invasive and ecologically threatening plant across the South, for it can smother and outcompete valuable native plants. Please don’t give it growing room in your garden!
    China Bayles
“Herbs That Hold Fast”
Pecan Springs Enterprise
    It was gray and overcast when I got up early Tuesday morning. The rain had stopped, but the air was damp and chill and tendrils of writhing ground fog clutched the trees. The overnight rain, widespread across the Hill Country, had undoubtedly brightened the hopes of the towns that depend on the April wildflower season for much of their annual tourist revenue. The traditional weather calendar that worksin the northeast—April showers bring May flowers—doesn’t suit our seasons. For us, it’s the rains in November, December, and January that bring up the April wildflowers—bluebonnets and brown-eyed Susans and winecups—and summon wildflower fans by the thousands. You can call me a cynic if you want to, but gardeners and farmers aren’t the only ones who get down on their knees and pray for rain. Around here, when the winter is dry, the spring wildflower season is a bust, the bed-and-breakfasts and restaurants in towns like Pecan Springs, Fredericksburg, and Boerne are half-empty, and every small-town shop owner feels a hard pinch in her bottom line. Rain is something to celebrate—although, of course, we don’t want a repeat of the flooding that happened when what was left of Hurricane Josephine slammed across Adams County. I caught a glimpse of the TV as I came downstairs and was glad that we weren’t experiencing the early-season snowfall that was blanketing the northeast today. I could celebrate the fact that we weren’t going to be blitzed by a blizzard. In fact, the temperature was heading for a balmy seventy-plus this afternoon. Not bad for November.
    Like every mom with school-age kids, I’m an early riser on weekday mornings, getting the kids dressed and breakfasted and equipped with books and homework and out the door in time to catch the school bus at the corner of Limekiln Road and our lane. This morning was more challenging than usual, because McQuaid had an early plane to catch and Austin-Bergstrom International is a good fifty minutes away—longer, when inbound traffic on I-35 is heavy. Once you’re at the airport, you have to find a place to park and catch the shuttle to the terminal—and of course, there’s security. These days, flying isn’t a picnic.
    For our breakfasts, I make up a batch of sausage, egg, and bean burritos, wrap them individually, and keep them in the freezer for a quick,nourishing meal-to-go. McQuaid was on his second when I came into the kitchen, dressed in my usual jeans, the shop T-shirt, and a green-and-black plaid flannel shirt, ready for my workday. He got out another burrito, popped it into the microwave, and folded me into a large hug.
    I spoke against his shoulder. “When I talked to Sheila on the phone last night, she said to tell you to tell Blackie to be careful. Ditto from me, for you.”
    “Sure thing,” he said, nuzzling my neck. He let me go and turned to fill his thermos mug with coffee. “Don’t worry, China,” he added, over his shoulder. “We’ll watch ourselves.”
    “I
mean
it,” I said urgently. I had awakened early that morning and lay beside him, worrying about the trip he was about to make. “Neither Sheila nor I am very happy about you two gringos