Tiger's Eye (A Stacy Justice Mystery Book Three)

by Barbra Annino

  His breath increased with each word, each kiss tensed his muscles, and I could feel a fire building between us. When I kicked the door open, his lips twisted into a smirk.

  Thor weaved his way through and crashed on the sofa.

  Chance waved a finger at me and said, “You only want me for my tools, vixen.”

  I pulled him through the threshold. “That may be true, but not all your tools are tucked in your toolbox.”

  Chance scratched his head and stared at the demolition. “Care to explain?”

  “I could…” I turned to stare at the pile of drywall and wood. I had tossed the nails earlier. “Or I could slip into something a lot less comfortable and explain it to you in Braille.”

  Chance kicked the door shut, hoisted me in his arms, and carried me to the bedroom.

  Chapter 30

  “Dogs feel very strongly that they should always go with you in the car, in case the need should arise for them to bark violently at nothing right in your ear.”

  —Dave Barry

  I woke up before both Chance and Thor, anxious to find out what was written on those pages. I took a quick shower and climbed into a pair of running shorts, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes, foregoing the makeup. I twisted my hair into a clip and put on a pot of coffee. Then I took my findings and my own notebook out onto the front porch to read.

  I first sifted through the folder. It didn’t hold research or notes from my father’s work as I had hoped. Instead, there were newspaper clippings about drug busts as far away as Kansas.

  Teen arrested for intent to sell ecstasy in McHenry County

  Student found beaten, unconscious at University of Missouri

  Cocaine, $15,000 cash, seized at Pekin apartment

  Counterfeit money circulating through Barrington

  Grow house—discovered outside of Madison—torched

  Kansas City state troopers pull over semi—find meth lab

  I stopped and read that one.

  Kansas City police officers say they have arrested a man after pursuing a suspected “rolling meth lab.” Police say the suspects led them on a high-speed chase through the downtown area at ten o’clock Thursday evening. The alleged chase ceased when a second suspect jumped out of the moving vehicle and the truck came to a stop. Chemicals used to produce methamphetamine and several needles were found inside the vehicle. The name of the driver is expected to be released after charges are filed. The second suspect fled the scene. Police encourage anyone with information to call the tip line number at the bottom of the page.

  The dates of the articles varied widely, but the last one was dated two years before my father’s death. There were a couple of names listed in the cocaine bust, Timothy Steinhoffel and Gregory Davis. Neither rang a bell. The burning grow house was discovered in an abandoned warehouse with no arrests made. The name of the student who was attacked was Kyle Waubaowski, but the teen selling pills must have been underage.

  So why was he clipping these? And was the man driving the semi in the meth arrest Cole Tripp?

  I tapped my pen against the folder and thought about that. Were all of these articles related to Cole Tripp? Perhaps he was the one who fled the scene and he got good at slipping under the radar. Was he a relative of my dad’s? A friend? My father didn’t talk much about his past and I didn’t ask. Being a happy kid with more than enough family, I never missed not having that second set of grandparents. Although, I knew his parents had both died in a car crash when he was eighteen. He used the insurance money to put himself through school, where he met my mother and built the newspaper from the ground up.

  What was this all about?

  I sighed, put the file on the table next to me, and opened up the tiny pad of spiral-bound paper that had been neatly tucked inside.

  A man came to me, claiming that I was in danger and I suspect RJ is behind it. The name changes throughout the years, but the crimes are always volatile. Drugs, thievery, forgery, violence. When we spoke two years ago, I vowed that it was the last penny I would ever give. And the last conversation I would ever agree to. I threatened exposure to the authorities, warned that I had the evidence, and I would use it. I would no longer protect a sociopath.

  I have a family to protect. A loving wife and vibrant daughter who depend on me. They know nothing about RJ, and it’s best that way. If they knew, it could only hurt them. So that is why I am burying all that I have—all that will protect my family from a maniac.

  I have aided RJ as best I could, under the guise that it was my job to do so, although always the escape route is preplanned by my foster sibling. Those, I refuse to help execute.

  But the crimes grow more sinister and the money is never enough. My conscience—once filled with guilt for being the blood child, the favorite child—can no longer justify my actions.

  Oscar is the only one who knows about the wall. I requested to hide a “time capsule” here when we were renovating the cottage. Lying, I told him it would be a gift for Stacy to unveil on her thirtieth birthday. I also plan to entrust him with a very valuable family heirloom, hidden inside a lockbox to be given to her on the same date.

  One I hope her mother and I will give in person.

  Inside that lockbox is—

  “There you are.”

  I jumped halfway out of my skin as Chance came through the screen door.

  “Hey, you all right?”

  I shut the notebook and said, “Of course. Just going over some research.”

  He looked at me funny, kissed me, and said, “I’ll call you later.”

  I watched as his truck kicked up dirt all over the driveway, wondering how many other secrets were waiting for me.

  Thor came trotting through the door and immediately watered the lawn. I went inside to get some coffee and finish reading.

  The rest of my father’s notes indicated that the lockbox was to be put in my grandfather, Oscar’s, private vault (which only he and his attorney, Stan Plough, have access to) and that it contained evidence to put RJ away. The combination was scribbled on the last page of the notebook.

  This was his insurance policy. This was supposed to protect him from becoming RJ’s next victim.

  But it got him killed anyway.

  I slammed my fist on the counter.

  Who was this person? I didn’t even know if RJ was male or female. How old? Had to be younger than my father. And who was the man who warned him?

  Something snapped into place then.

  Cole. Cole Tripp wanted me to know my father had been murdered. He must have been the one who visited him all those years ago. So he wasn’t a friend of my dad’s. He was a friend—or relative—of RJ.

  After two more cups of coffee and a whole lot of brain racking it was time to take Keesha to the vet.

  I shoved everything into my bag, checked to see if the Mace was there, tossed it in the car, and trekked over to the inn. I peeked through the back door first and saw Fiona at the stove.

  The door was ajar. I slipped past the screen and quietly closed it. I said hello to Fiona and she greeted me with her usual singsong voice.

  At least she wasn’t angry.

  “Is Keesha ready for her vet appointment?”

  Fiona said, “She sure is. You better get a move-on before Birdie sees you. She’s still a bit hot under the collar.”

  Of course. “Fiona, do you remember if my father ever had a relative named RJ?”

  She was whisking eggs in a blue ceramic mixing bowl. “Doesn’t ring a bell, dear.”

  “Thanks.” I turned to the pretty collie curled up in the corner. “Come on, Keesha.”

  I was about to lead her out the back door when I heard the stairs creak, so I hightailed it through the hallway and into the parlor.

  The whole band was there, sipping coffee. They looked more alert than they should have for working well into the night, except for the perpetually red-eyed Sebastian.

  I greeted them cordially, careful not to touch them. I didn’t need a migra
ine just then.

  Becky let out a startled cry when she saw Keesha. Brian looked at her, concerned.

  “Sorry,” she said, hand on her chest. “She startled me. I’m afraid of dogs.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Rob said.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Becky snapped.

  “And more I wish I didn’t,” said Rob.

  Rob. RJ? He looked harmless, like a manager for an Old Navy clothing store.

  But so did Ted Bundy.

  “I’m sorry, but can you take her out of the room? Please?” Becky asked.

  “Oh, right, sure, sorry.”

  I led Keesha to the car and heard Thor crying from inside the house. There was enough room for both of them, and since Thor loved all the attention he got at the vet, I decided to bring him along. I was about to shut the hatchback when I noticed those goggles dangling from his mouth.

  “Seriously?”

  Thor shoved them into my hand.

  “You know”—I strapped the goggles over is head and turned them on—“if you had thumbs you’d be the perfect animal.”

  Leo called on the way to the vet. “I just wanted you to know that the prints came back from the rig and there’s a set on there that match Cole Tripp.”

  I almost dropped the phone. “No, that can’t be.”

  “Prints don’t lie.”

  “That makes no sense. Why would he tell me my father was murdered if he did it?”

  “Guilty conscience. Guy serves time, finds Jesus, then confesses all his sins.”

  “But that would put him right back in the cage.”

  “Sometimes they have a hard time adjusting to life on the outside. Sometimes they want to go back.”

  I tapped the steering wheel. Was Cole RJ? Was he coming after me now? In the letter, Dad said there had been many aliases.

  “Do you know if this guy ever used an alias?”

  “Negative.”

  “Besides the explosion, was there any other history of violence on his record?”

  Leo shuffled some papers around. “None.”

  “Look, I’m at the vet, can I call you later?”

  “You know where to find me.”

  I disconnected and swung into the parking lot of the vet’s office. It was located in the middle of a busy strip mall off the highway and there were a lot of cars pulling in and out of the slots. Morning commuters stopping for their coffee, people squeezing in eye doctor appointments before work, and fast-food junkies searching for a hot egg sandwich.

  I leashed both dogs and let them out of the car. Keesha was still timid, but I managed to coax her inside with Thor’s chivalrous aid.

  Tracey, the thirtysomething assistant, gushed all over the big man the minute we entered, as Keesha stood politely by his side.

  “Who wants a cookie?” Tracey sang. “Who wants a cookie?”

  Thor barked and Tracey tossed him a peanut butter treat. He caught it in the air and happily chewed, spewing crumbs all over the carpet.

  “And who is this?” Tracey asked, handing Keesha a cookie. Keesha shied away, but Thor, never one to turn down a meal, gobbled it up.

  “This is the patient. Her name is Keesha and I’m afraid that’s all I know. I found her in the park the other night.”

  “Aw, poor thing.” Tracey scratched Keesha’s ear, but the dog just gave her a forlorn look.

  I was just happy she didn’t ask how I knew the collie’s name.

  We discussed the checkup and my concerns and Tracey created a file. She carried the file down the brightly lit hallway where the examination rooms were situated.

  Thor got to work picking up all the scents and smells from the carpet since his last checkup.

  Tracey called us back and I told Thor to stay in the waiting room. He collapsed onto the carpet, all four legs taking up half the space.

  Keesha kept pace alongside me as Tracey led us into the Rin Tin Tin room. There were pictures of the famous shepherd all over the walls and I read about his history as a war hero while I waited for Dr. Zimmerman.

  A few minutes later, Dr. Zimmerman entered the room.

  “Hi, Stacy.”

  “Hey, Doc.”

  He glanced over his assistant’s brief notes, then washed his meaty hands. He was a burly man who looked more like a professional wrestler than a veterinarian, which was the main reason I chose him to be Thor’s doctor. He had the muscle to lift my two-hundred-pound dog, should the occasion arise.

  “How’s Thor?”

  “Great.”

  “Laying off the cheeseburgers?”

  “He prefers hot dogs now.”

  The good doctor shook his head, scolding me with his eyes.

  “Sparingly.”

  He nodded like I was full of it. Which I was.

  He weighed Keesha, checked her ears, eyes, and temperature, dictating notes to Tracey. I explained that she was lost from her family, but also seemed lethargic.

  “It could be dietary, but we can do a quick radiograph to make sure nothing’s broken or fractured. If it looks like there’s a problem, a closer x-ray would be the next step.” He looked at her gums and said, “We should scan her for a microchip.”

  Tracey rushed out to grab whatever they used for that. She was back in a flash, carrying what looked like a garage door opener with a screen on it. She held it up near Keesha’s neck and read the results.

  Tracey raised her eyebrows. “Well, this is a new one.”

  “Who does she belong to?” I asked.

  “Joliet Correctional Facility.”

  Chapter 31

  “Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole.”

  —Roger Caras

  Well, my day just got more complicated.

  Tracey explained that a lot of prisons have implemented dog training programs. Sister Pauline Quinn began the program back in 1981 at the Washington State Correctional Center for Women. The organization rescues pets from kill shelters and, with the help of qualified trainers, teaches inmates how to properly care for and prepare an animal for service with the disabled or just to be a well-adjusted family pet.

  “It’s a win-win, because often the prisoners are transformed by the experience of being unconditionally loved and respected, not to mention the joy of doing something that’s important and the feeling of hope that comes with it,” Tracey had said.

  I dialed the number to the facility while Keesha was being radiographed.

  I spoke with a nice woman who said that indeed, Keesha was one of their dogs, and that she had been adopted by the recently freed Cole Tripp.

  “They live with these dogs twenty-four seven, you see.” She had a bold voice like a basketball coach. “The crates are kept right inside the cell with the inmates and their sole responsibility is to train these animals for six weeks. Cole had been a part of our program since its inception five years ago. We don’t usually allow violent offenders into the program, but since his crimes were mostly drug related, despite the accident that killed the woman, he was permitted in on a trial basis.”

  “Wow, so he was doing this for five years. That’s a long time.”

  “He was very good at it. There’s something magical about watching a hardened, tattooed man rolling around on the floor baby-talking to a dog.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Keesha was his last trainee, and since he did such good for the program, we permitted him to take her home. So do you know Cole? Is Keesha lost?”

  I hesitated for a moment. The woman was doing the work of angels. She deserved the truth and I told her. “But don’t worry, Keesha is safe and she’s in a good home right now,” I said.

  She choked back a tear, paused, and said, “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” She excused herself and hung up.

  I didn’t know how to feel at that moment. Sorry for Keesha, sorry for Cole, but mostly angry at whoever would hurt him for trying to straighten out his life and do the right thing.

  I was also prett
y damn certain he didn’t run down my father.

  The doctor came into the lobby then, Keesha trailing behind. “She certainly ate something she shouldn’t have, but it’s small. It should pass in her stool. She’ll feel better when that’s over.”

  I thanked him, paid the bill, and left.

  I loaded Thor into the backseat first and ran back inside to fetch Keesha. We were striding toward my car when my bag slipped off my shoulder, spilling my keys onto the pavement. I loosened the leash for a moment and bent to get the keys as they slid near the sewer drain.

  “No, not now!”

  They didn’t tumble over the edge, thankfully.

  That was when I noticed I had dropped the leash. And out of nowhere an older model red sedan came barreling through the parking lot right at Keesha.

  “Keesha!”

  She stood there, frightened out of her mind and shaking as I dove to push her out of the careening car’s path.

  The car screeched off and Thor bolted through the open window, giving chase.

  “THOR! NO! COME, BOY!”

  Tracey came rushing through the door and said, “Are you all right? My goodness, people should be more careful.”

  “Take her!” I threw Keesha’s lead at her and sprinted in the direction Thor had gone—around the building and down a back alley.

  My adrenaline was pumping and my heart was in my throat. The fear and panic of knowing that I might turn the corner to find my dog bloody—or worse—sent me flying around the corner.

  He was sitting near a bicycle rack, panting like crazy, but unharmed.

  “That was bad! Bad dog, Thor!”

  I rushed over to him and squeezed him tight, his goggles pressing into the side of my cheek.

  I pulled back. Looked at his spy wear.

  If I had known, before he entered my life, how much smarter this dog was than me, I would have been completely intimidated.