Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Mitzi kept Val’s schedule true to form by having them do a series of rodeos all the way down in Georgia before bouncing back up like a boomerang to Montana. Despite it being only May, the summer had arrived early there, along with some hefty humidity that made everything feel heavy, more like July or August. But Val was used to such things. Except for the indoor arenas, rodeos tended to be an outdoor sport.
Sometimes, you just had to work with what Mother Nature gave you.
On the way to Gainesville, there had been this massive field of tulips that had taken her breath away. It’d been like pictures she’d seen of Holland, thick bands of pink, yellow, red, purple, and orange stretching across. She’d snapped several shots of that field as they’d driven by, wishing they could stop and wander through it dragging her fingers against those silky cup-like petals.
It reminded her that whatever might be negative out there, there was still plenty of beauty in the world.
They’d just made it to Bozeman after she’d checked in with her father. Bozeman was about two and a half hours from where their ranch was, so if she needed to get to him quickly, she could. She’d just disconnected from their call when her phone rang again. Thinking he’d forgotten something, she almost answered without looking at the screen, then detected an unfamiliar number with the recognizable 406 Montana area code.
She debated letting it go to voicemail, but one thing she’d learned about managing her own career was that sometimes the rodeo venues would contact participants of something unpredictable came up. So, she answered.
“Ms. Bernard,” the crackling tone of an older lady’s voice echoed from the speaker. “This is Eunice Carber with the Gallatin County Fairgrounds. I’ve had the paperwork for you to participate at our show this evening for a while now, but I just received notification that you needed to cancel through the website.”
Huh?
“I don’t plan to cancel, Ms. Carber. There must be some mistake.”
“See, I wondered about that. I sent them an email confirmation, but it was never verified, and it doesn’t match the original one in your file. That’s why I wanted to contact you directly.”
“Well, I appreciate that,” Val said, but confusion swamped her thoughts. Had Mitzi unintentionally sent something? “Can you hold one moment while I discuss this with my assistant?”
“Of course.”
But a brief text with Mitzi showed that her friend and employee hadn’t done anything of the sort.
Mitzi : It wasn’t me. Maybe someone else needed to cancel, and it got mixed up with your name somehow.
Val : Maybe.
Mitzi : It’s awfully last minute for such a thing. That’s for sure.
Val : I agree. Thanks.
She took her phone off hold. “Ms. Carber, is there any other information in the message you received?”
“Let me see…” Val could hear the tapping of fingers on computer keys. “Oh, yes. As I scroll down further on the email, there’s a signature. It’s from Fred Bernard.”
To quote her favorite bedtime story, this was getting curiouser and curiouser.
“Fred Bernard is my father and former manager, but he hasn’t held that position for years now.” Val heard a phone ring in the background. It sounded like an old-fashioned landline. “I can assure you that we’re here in Bozeman with every intention of performing.”
“Okay, dear. Just wanted to check.”
“Thanks for letting me clarify.”
Val disconnected the call, peering out at the mountainous horizon. Right now, the skies were the deep violet blue of late afternoon, and a collection of clouds were turning golden along the horizon. She’d be going on in less than an hour and a half and had already done a few practice runs with Maybelline to warm up.
She’d begun to apply her show makeup when her phone rang, and the screen displayed Ms. Carber’s number again. She instantly picked up.
“Ms. Bernard, I apologize for bothering you again, but I just received another message claiming you were cancelling tonight. This time it’s a voicemail.”
What the… “When?”
“Right after we hung up. It was a male voice stating he was your manager.”
Val had been wrong about certain choices in her career before, but one thing she felt sure of was that her dad could not have been the one to call those fairgrounds.
“Did you save the recording?” she asked the Carber lady.
“I did.”
“Would you play it back for me?”
A cold trickle of foreboding skittered down her spine, making her skin rise in goosebumps as the high-pitched tones that reminded her of snakes hissing came over the line.
Biggs.
“This is Valentine Bernard’s professional manager. She won’t be performing tonight and needs to be removed for the schedule.”
There was a harsh clack when he disconnected, as if he’d been using a landline phone himself. Val shivered from head to toe. How she and her dad didn’t notice Biggs’ voice as ominous from the get-go she had no clue.
He’d also sounded belligerent in attitude as he’d spoken, as if in one of the viler moods he’d inflicted on her later in their relationship. How she’d ever let that man put an arm around her, much less kiss her, felt beyond disgusting at this point. It took Val a beat to pull herself together, and even then, when she spoke, her voice shook.
“Ms. Car—” Her voice gave out on her in the middle of the lady’s name, and Val had to clear her throat before she could continue. “Ms. Carber, that man is not my father. He used to be my manager, but he no longer speaks for me. In fact, he’ll never speak for me again.”
Val’s voice trembled, but this time with infuriation bordering on rage. It helped to dull her anxiety and strengthen her resolve, so she didn’t mind. “His name is Ulysses Biggs, but he just goes by his surname. If he contacts you again, especially on my behalf, please let me know.”
“I’ll contact you immediately, Ms. Bernard.”
After thanking the lady for a second time, Val jammed on the pair of old heelless cowboy boots she wore when doing barn chores and stormed out of her trailer. She was still in the ripped jeans and latte-colored t-shirt she wore when she didn’t plan on being in public, and the only part of her cosmetics routine that she had completed was her foundation. Normally, she would refuse to be seen like this, but right then, she felt too wound up to care.
Why was Biggs doing this? What game was he playing with her? How much more of his nonsense would she have to take?
Once she’d tromped around the entirety of the dusty fairgrounds three times, her nerves settled. She noticed that audience members were beginning to file into their seats in the stadium, and that many of her fellow rodeo participants and staff were busy preparing for tonight’s show.
Which was exactly what she should be doing. She was running out of time.
Rushing back to her trailer, she finished getting ready, but her thoughts kept fixating on Biggs’ bizarre behavior. She couldn’t help being preoccupied with it and being so distracted while on horseback was a terrible plan. Val needed to confide in someone about her stress to stay on track, so she yanked out her phone and glanced at her contacts list.
She could contact her dad, but upsetting him wouldn’t likely serve either of them in the long run. She could call Mitzi, could even ask her to come to her trailer so she could holler and throw pillows around if necessary, but her assistant would currently be making the last touches to Maybelline’s saddle and costume.
Frustrated, Val clenched her hands into fists. She wanted to get this out of her system. Needed to, in fact. She scrolled further into her contact list and came across Sheriff Mark Talbot’s number.
She didn’t know what made her do it. She and the sheriff had shared only two conversations, the first of which had involved a security guard and Biggs. Since then, they’d had one other contact by phone, and she couldn’t think of him as anything but a stranger. Yet, despite this, she found herself pressing his name, anyway.
“Val… what a nice surprise,” he greeted her, and surprise did indeed emanate from his pitch and cadence.
“Biggs is being… weird again.” She might’ve felt bad for skipping all the pleasantries if she wasn’t at the end of her rope.
“Explain weird.” All surprise and lightness vanished from his voice. The man was nothing but pure sheriff now.
She extended her account of everything that had happened. The call from Eunice Carber. His attempt to cancel her turn via the Bozeman rodeo’s website. The voicemail he’d left insisting on still being her manager. All of it.
“That’s super creepy, right?” she asked him.
“Definitely,” he agreed, and it wasn’t until she heard him total up of the events and come to the same conclusion that she felt the least bit better.
It was like having a comrade-in-arms. Someone who legitimized what she felt. Not that her dad or Mitzi would ever scoff or assert she was over-exaggerating what had occurred. Neither of them would ever do that. That was more Biggs’ speed, actually. But having an official law enforcement officer offering her his full attention validated her feelings on the matter like nothing else could.
“So why is he doing it, do you think?”
The sheriff blew out a breath. “Motive can be hard to determine in cases like this. Will you send me the number of this Carber woman?”
She took the phone from her ear and sent it via text. “Done.”
“All right, I’ll speak to her and get a copy of that voicemail. Even though it’s not a threat to you per se, he’s attempting to interfere with your business. What is the policy of the typical rodeo arena if you cancel?”
“Every performer misses shows occasionally. Usually due to illness or injury.” She thought of when her dad had to be taken in for his heart surgery without warning. “Or a family emergency. The normal stuff. Missing a single show shouldn’t pose any long-term problems.”
“What if you were to miss several in a row, though? What would happen then?”
It was rare, but such things had transpired in the past. “A performer who’s deemed unreliable or who fails to show up and doesn’t communicate ahead of time with the rodeo sponsors could lose their position on the circuit. Do you think that’s what Biggs is trying to do?”
“Right now, I’m just spit-balling. But maybe.”
“But he had to know that I would be here despite him trying to mess things up behind the scenes. What did he think he’d accomplish?”
There was a pause from the sheriff as if mulling the situation over. Considering. “I’d like for you to alert the security team onsite for me, Val.”
“Okay. But why?”
“It’s just a precaution. But usually people who pull these kinds of stunts don’t do it for no reason. Since he’s acted threatening to you prior to this, it’s not outside the realm of possibility that he might appear in person to keep you from performing.” The icy-cold skittering down her spine was back. “If his goal is to damage your reputation or to put you under his thumb somehow, we can’t ignore that out of hand.”
“I’ll talk to them.”
“Give them Biggs’ description, too. A picture if you have one.”
Val had erased every image she’d ever had of him, but there might be something online she could use. Yes, now that she thought about it, the organizers had taken one when she’d won a championship down in Oklahoma City a couple of years back. Biggs had been emphatic about having his arm around her shoulders as she held up the belt buckle she’d been awarded.
She glanced at the buckle now where she kept it displayed on her trailer wall next to her vanity mirror. Despite Biggs’ presence in her memory of receiving it, she loved that buckle. It depicted a trick rider on horseback, her hair flowing out behind her. The design had been made in a horseshoe shape with a silver background and the raised illustration of the rider in gold.
“I can do that.”
“Do that at every rodeo you attend from now on. Also, if you don’t have a restraining order filed against him, I’d do that as well. In Montana it’s called an Order of Protection. There’s precedent to accuse him of stalking at least. Has he ever harmed you, Val?”
The intensity of his question raised her blood pressure, but she replied, “No. Not physically. He did steal money from me, though.”
The sheriff made an abrupt noise Val could only describe as a growl. Yet when he next spoke, his voice was gentle. “Request it as a crime victim, then. And mention the stalking, too. That way, he can’t legally come within fifteen-hundred feet of you.”
“Okay. As soon I can, I will.”
A restraining order was a really good idea. There were a handful of seconds where she expected the sheriff to speak again, but he didn’t. There was tension between them. Not the argumentative sort. This tension was born of concern. But the rodeo was starting in the background. She had to go. Still, she felt so relieved to have talked to him. Soothed. It was lucky he’d been available for her.
“Thank you, sheriff.”
“Call me Mark.”
She smiled, and it was one-hundred percent authentic. Val knew she’d have to go out and plaster a fake one on her face shortly, but this man had brought out a real one. “Okay, then. Thank you, Mark.”
“You’re very welcome.”