“I’ll take that as a no. So, find out,” she said as we walked out of her room, down the hall, and into the living room. “Talk to her parole officer or whatever kids her age have. Before you jump back into an argument with Kai, get more facts. Why try to make him see something he can’t?”
Dammit, my sister was right.
“You might also want to make a point of telling Kai you have no romantic interest in Hugh—just for clarity’s sake.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not going to do that. Kai’s not stupid, Emma.” Even as I said it, I remembered how he and Hugh had sized each other up in Ozeal’s kitchen.
“No, but he’s human. And for the record,” she said, mimicking my earlier comment, “I’m always on your side.”
CHAPTER 3
Kai stood me up. Kind of. He’d actually gotten called to a murder scene. I understood. But I was still irritated to be on my own, looking for clues.
My mood didn’t improve when an hour of traipsing through the woods surrounding Happy Asses yielded nothing more than a few scratches on my arms. I was pulling another twig from my hair when I remembered something.
I fished my phone out of my back pocket and called Hugh.
“You took your tranquilizer gun in with you, right?”
If my abrupt question bothered him, he didn’t comment. “Right. Why?”
“Did Boris see it before or after you entered the enclosure?”
“I don’t know. I keep the gun in my holster. Though I did check the CO2 before I went in. You’re thinking he wigged out because of a tranq gun?”
“It’s a thought.”
“Ask Ozeal if Boris has an issue with being tranquilized—maybe that will solve the mystery.”
I made a noncommittal sound. Mostly because I had a different mystery to solve. Could Brooke have been taken at gunpoint?
That might explain why Boris went after Hugh. Not because whoever grabbed Brooke looked like Hugh—which had been my working theory—but because they’d had a gun. Hugh couldn’t have had it out of the holster for more than a minute to check the CO2.
There was an easy way to find out if Boris had a reaction to someone holding a gun.
I walked to Bluebell, opened the back, and unlocked my metal storage box. The box was bolted down and contained medications that were considered controlled substances. It also contained the Glock Kai was teaching me how to shoot.
I lifted the gun and checked to make sure the clip was empty and there was no round in the chamber. I even went as far as to dry fire the gun twice with it pointed to the ground.
Safety check finished, I locked my strong box, closed Bluebell’s rear doors, and, with the gun tucked into the waistband of my jeans, made my way down the access road to see Boris.
The tiger was lounging in his small concrete pool when I walked up. He saw me, surged to his feet, and let out a low whine followed by a series of rumbling, slow, sneeze-like sounds.
It was called chuffing, and was the tiger equivalent of “Howdy, friend!”
I pursed my lips and mimicked the sound, placing my hand on the wire between us when he rubbed his face against the fence.
“How you doing today, Boris?”
As I asked, I gently probed his mind to get a feel for his mood. There was still an undercurrent of sadness, but he seemed calm and relaxed.
Pet.
He pressed his forehead squarely against the fence and I scratched between his ears and down his nose.
Contentment filled the big cat and rolled over me in a soft wave. I hated to upset him, but I needed to know whether or not the sight of a gun might have prompted his reaction to Hugh. There was also a chance that seeing a gun would trigger a flash of memory and I might actually get a clearer glimpse of what happened.
I pulled my hands away with a mental apology and drew the Glock out of my waistband. I didn’t point the weapon at the cat—I just let him see it.
Boris blinked his golden eyes, then pressed his head against the fence.
Pet.
“Well, I guess that answers that question.”
“Grace? What the hell are you doing?”
I turned to Ozeal, who had probably seen me waving a gun around in front of the tiger and thought I’d gone completely crazy.
“I thought maybe Boris had turned on Hugh because he saw a dart gun and had some negative associations with it.”
Ozeal’s frown deepened.
“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked. My tranquilizer gun isn’t a pistol so I had to use this. Obviously, the gun isn’t loaded.”
Ozeal seemed to consider my logic, then slowly nodded.
“I’m not sure I understand your methods, but as long as you’re doing what you’re doing to help Brooke or Boris, you’ve got my okay.”
I nodded and looked away, both moved and dismayed at her declaration of trust—something that came so unnaturally to me.
“I was wondering,” I said, hoping to redirect my thoughts, “how many other people work here?”
“Well, there’s my son, Ben, who mostly works in the commissary. Once a week I have a maintenance guy, Paul, who comes in to fix the list of odds and ends that need doing from the week before. In the office, we’ve got Debbie. She handles all the paperwork, the website, and answers the phone and e-mails.”
“Can I talk to them?”
“I already talked to everyone that was here on Wednesday. No one saw anything.”
“What about the girl I met last night?”
“Caitlyn. She’s a volunteer in the rehabilitation program.”
“Are she and Brooke friends?”
“As far as I can tell.”
“And she didn’t have any insights?”
A ghost of a smile played on Ozeal’s lips. “Caitlyn’s not the most insightful girl. Bless her heart, she’s as thick as rhino hide.”
“I know you don’t believe in labels, but do you know what Caitlyn had gotten in trouble for?”
Ozeal blew out a slow breath. “A little bit of everything. I haven’t asked her about it, but I get the feeling that, more often than not, she’s influenced by her friends. Does something stupid by following someone else’s lead.”
“And Brooke?”
A look clouded her features, but she answered.
“Stealing.”
Something about the way she said the word made me wonder. “Is that what you and Brooke argued about?”
She was silent for several moments. “Before we go into that, I want you to know that I trust Brooke. And not just in a hypothetical way. She’s been here almost a year and has earned privileges I haven’t ever given a volunteer.”
“Like?”
“Brooke has the code to the front gate so she can come in early. And after she got her driver’s license, I let her go pick up supplies from the feed and seed on her own.”
“But?” I prompted.
“Wednesday, I caught her in the clinic.”
“You think she was trying to get drugs?”
“She says she wasn’t. And when I asked her what she needed, she lied and told me she was looking for some pliers.”
“I take it you don’t keep pliers in the clinic.”
“I don’t. And Brooke knows it. We both got upset, and I told her if she stepped out of line again I’d write her up and send the report to her probation officer. I didn’t see her after that.”
I thought quietly for a minute. “Did she tell you why she wanted the pliers?”
“She said there was a loose spot on the fence behind Boris’s enclosure. I had Paul check, but he didn’t find anything.”
“Paul, the maintenance worker? He was here on the day Brooke went missing?”
She nodded. “Usually he comes on Sundays. We’re closed, so if he needs to get into any of the enclosures for repair I can make sure he has access. But he had planned a trip with his family this weekend, so I asked him to come Wednesday.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No. I didn�
��t think about it, because he usually isn’t here.”
“I’d like to get his contact information.”
She nodded. “You may not be able to reach him. Paul’s out of town till tomorrow. But he’ll be here Monday—I’ve got an electrical issue he has to see to.” She pointed past me to a light pole. I could see an electrical box—the kind that has a cover to keep out the elements—affixed to the side of the pole. The plastic was warped and blackened.
“Lightning?” I asked.
“Last night. Which reminds me—I’ve got to head to the office and make sure Debbie checks the surge protectors. I’ll let her know you’re coming. She’ll get you whatever you need.”
With a parting nod, she strode off.
Past the pole, I noticed two sets of pale, golden eyes peering at me.
Cougars.
They must have already been secured in their overnight housing when I’d ridden to Hugh’s rescue the night before. Could they have seen what happened to Brooke? I started toward their enclosure to ask. One of the cougars, a female, crouched lower as I approached.
I hadn’t focused my mind to mentally connect with her but I could still feel aggression and mistrust rolling off her in hot waves.
Stranger.
“Only because we haven’t been introduced,” I said, opening my mind to hers just as she lunged at the fence with a screeching snarl.
The burst of hostility hadn’t caught me completely off guard, but it zinged through me nonetheless. That, along with the eerie noise only a cougar could make, sent a surge of goose bumps rushing over my skin.
“Nice,” I spoke softly, snuffing out the lingering ferocity with a blanket of calm. “You’re a very scary girl, aren’t you?”
The cougar growled, crouching low again.
I sent her gentle thoughts. Calm. Friendly.
Safe.
You’re safe. I won’t hurt you or your friend.
The cat’s mind, which had been a tangle of savage, frightened thoughts slowly calmed. After several minutes, her tense muscles relaxed. She even started to purr when I knelt in front of her.
I smiled. Cougars are the largest cat that can still purr—it’s a wonderful sound.
I spent some time talking to the cougars, but realized quickly that they had no insight into what had happened to Brooke.
After bidding them good-bye, I made my way to the office to talk to Debbie.
Ozeal had been right, at least about Debbie witnessing what had happened to Brooke. Her office was in the main building, about as far away from Boris’s enclosure as possible.
The woman was small and birdlike, with huge Coke-bottle glasses and a fluff of bleached blond hair that made her look like Tweety.
“Ozeal said you thought Brooke might have been kidnapped,” she said. “I hope not. I can’t imagine something like that happening out here.”
“I hope not, too. I know Brooke was in the program. Do you have a file or anything I can take a look at?”
She nodded and her giant glasses slipped down her nose. She shoved them back into place and opened a file drawer.
“I’m afraid there’s not much in it. Just her application to the program. The volunteers sign in when they get here and make a note of the time. There should be a photocopy in the file.”
“Thanks. Can I take a quick look and bring it back after I make a few notes?”
“Take your time.”
I walked to the picnic tables and flipped through the very light file.
The application listed Brooke’s home address and gave the name and phone number of another contact, listed as “Mrs. Johnston, PO.”
PO must mean Brooke’s probation officer.
I made a few notes on the little notepad app that came with my phone and returned the file to Debbie.
Okay, now what?
I’d noticed on the log-in sheet that Brooke usually arrived in the morning and Caitlyn in the afternoon. I assumed the girl wouldn’t be in until later. I thought about going directly to Brooke’s house to see for myself why her parents had decided to blow off her disappearance but wanted more info first.
I looked at my notes again and decided to call Mrs. Johnston, hoping to get more information on Brooke and maybe a perspective on her home life. I tried the number but got the Department of Juvenile Justice’s voice mail.
I didn’t have the faintest idea how to track down a government employee. Kai, the logical go-to for information, was obviously busy, so I tried to outline the steps I’d need to find someone when all I had was a last name and a work phone number. I might be able to locate her office, but what were the chances that Mrs. Johnston would be working on Saturday?
Pretty slim.
I didn’t have anything else pressing to do until my first client appointment, which left me with a couple of hours to kill.
The only other person who might shed some light on detective techniques was my friend Wes.
Wes and I had been friends since grade school. He was an attorney, and though he now lived in Savannah, he maintained his connections in Jacksonville.
I found his number in my contacts and called.
“Well, hello, Gracie–pooh. To what do I owe this honor?”
I rolled my eyes. Wes had a flare for nicknames. “I have a question.”
“Oh?”
“How do you find someone if you only have a last name and phone number?”
“Apparently, I’d start by calling the most amazing attorney I knew.”
I smiled. “And then?”
“Then, I’d promise to go dancing with him the next time he was in town.”
“Uh . . .” Dancing with Wes was hazardous to my health. He was an amazing dancer, but the last time we’d gone out, he’d nearly salsaed me into cardiac arrhythmia.
“That didn’t sound like much of a promise.”
“If Emma comes to take some of the heat off me, then fine.”
“Hummmm . . . bring your hot cop and we have a deal. Unless there’s a reason you’re asking me and not Kai-candy?”
“Kai-candy?”
“Not my best, I admit. Sergeant Dunc-a-licious?”
I snorted out a laugh. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I have to find an outlet for my creativity.”
“Kai-candy is working a murder. But I’ll invite him dancing—that’s a promise.”
“Spectacular. Now, give me the name and phone number of the person you’re looking for and I will set my minions on the task. They should find something soon.”
“Thanks, Wes.”
“Anything for you, my sweet.”
I hung up and wandered in the direction of the barn. Several donkeys grazed in an adjacent pasture, and I walked toward the split-rail fence that separated us.
Whoever came up with the term dumbass probably never knew a donkey. Generally speaking, donkeys are intelligent, calm animals. They like attention, and when the small herd noticed my approach, they moved forward en masse—heads up and ears pricked. The feeling from the group was a mixture of anticipation and interest, along with mild curiosity.
“Hi, guys.”
I folded my arms to lean on the rough-hewn wood of the top rail and propped one foot on the bottom.
“Jack-Jack, you in here somewhere?” I scanned the group and finally saw the miniature donkey. To say he was cute was an understatement. Like a lot of donkeys, his coloring was a grayish dun with the characteristic cross of darker hair at his withers. Light tan capped his muzzle and ringed his eyes.
All in all, he didn’t look like a genius donkey—but looks could be deceiving.
Curious, I zeroed in on his brain and learned two things.
One—the little guy was off-the-charts smart; and two—he didn’t want to talk to me.
The donkey was hiding something.
Okay, you little sneak. Just as I was about to pull out the big guns, hop the fence, and lay my hands on him for a proper Grace mind-meld, my phone chimed.
; I glanced at my screen. A text message from Wes with Mrs. Johnston’s information.
“That was fast,” I said.
According to the text, Clara Johnston was fifty-one and married. It listed both her office and her home address, which, as luck would have it, was only a little out of the way from my first consultation appointment. Before I headed for Bluebell, I turned to Jack-Jack.
“When I get back, we’re gonna have a talk.”
Jack-Jack pulled his lips back in a donkey snicker, then turned and trotted away.
• • •
My appointment was with Brian Crews and his exceedingly hyper and loving Labrador, Jacoby. I’d worked with them before, so was able to quickly determine the catalyst behind Jacoby’s sudden need to turn his owner’s new flower beds into WWI-worthy trenches.
Bonemeal. A great fertilizer, but to a dog like Jacoby, it was a buried treat that could never be located.
With some effort, I was able to explain to Jacoby that all the digging in the world would never yield the bone his nose promised, and I suggested Brian use something else to feed his plants.
All in all, the appointment took around half an hour, so it was barely past eleven when I started on my own hunt for Brooke’s caseworker.
I spotted Clara Johnston’s house as soon as I turned onto her street. It was hard to miss the profusion of giant, inflatable Halloween decor covering her lawn.
There was so much vivid orange and violent purple that it was hard to make out the house.
Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Probably something to do with the magical concept of trick-or-treating and staying out past my bedtime. But as much as I liked the holiday, and as inept as I was at understanding design and decor, even I knew Mrs. Johnston had taken things a little too far.
Like a cobra entranced by the movements of a mongoose, I was so mesmerized by the colors that it took me a minute to notice a woman had pulled into the drive.
Like always, I wrestled with the best approach. I figured in her line of work, the woman had been fed enough BS. I’d probably be better off playing it straight and telling her the truth. Well, except for the bit about a tiger seeing Brooke’s kidnapping.
“Mrs. Johnston?” I called out as I passed the VW-sized pumpkin marking the corner of her lawn.
A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) Page 4