A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (12 page)

Her histrionics were starting to make my eye twitch.

It’s not in my nature to be patient. With people, anyway.

But I pasted a gentle smile on my face, turned to her, and said, “What happened is something called
misdirected aggression
. Fancy Pants saw or perceived a threat and, with no outlet, he turned on the only viable target.”

“Baby Face?”

I nodded. “Most of the time when something like this happens, it’s pretty isolated. Once the actual threat is gone, the aggression abates.”

“But not always.”

“No, not always.”

“So what can we do?”

“It will take time, but I think we’ll be able to remind them they were friends.” I explained to Mrs. Wiggins the strategy for their gradual reintroduction, then turned my attention to Fancy Pants.

Usually, it would take weeks to get the cats reacquainted. But this duo had something most cats didn’t—me. I had a talk with the felines and explained the situation.

As I’d hoped, Baby Face and Fancy Pants understood. If Mrs. Wiggins followed my instructions, the two cats should be fine within a week or so.

“I’ll come back in a few days to check on how things are going. Call me if you have questions.”

“Thank you! Thank you so much.” Her tear-stained face crumpled and she snatched me into a suffocating hug. I gave her an awkward pat and tried to extract myself from her arms.

“Ah . . . you’re welcome.”

She stepped back but kept her hands on my shoulders. “You don’t know what this means to me. You’ve given us a chance to be a family again.”

“I’m just glad I could help.”

She turned her watery gaze to the lounging Himalayan. He blinked his Prussian blue eyes at us.

“I didn’t know what to do—Fancy has always been so sweet.” She looked back at me and dropped her voice. “This misdirected aggression . . . can it happen again?”

“It can. Usually, a cat is more susceptible if there are extra stressors going on. A move or if someone new enters or leaves the family—”

A lightbulb flipped on in my head.

Boris.

Caitlyn said the maintenance worker had been standing with her, watching Hugh, just before Boris snapped. Could that have been the trigger?

“Ms. Wilde? Are you all right?”

I blinked at my client’s worried face. “Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I just remembered something. I’ve got to go.”

My mind bounced around like a pinball as I rushed to Bluebell.

The maintenance man had arrived at Happy Asses after Brooke was kidnapped—but that didn’t mean he had nothing to do with it.

I called Ozeal.

“Your maintenance man, what’s his name?”

“Paul McGee.”

“He was there the night Boris turned on Hugh?”

“He was.”

“I don’t remember seeing him.”

“You told me the fewer people there the better, so I asked him to go. He left just before you got here.”

“Is he still on vacation?”

“No. He got back today. He’s working on the donkey pen right now.”

“I’d like to talk to him. I can be there in twenty minutes—will he still be around?”

“He’s rebuilding the covering that houses the irrigation pump. Somehow the top collapsed. I imagine he’ll still be working on it when you get here.”

• • •

I could hear the metallic whine of a saw as I parked, and assumed Paul was, indeed, still working. Ozeal stepped out of the office and walked with me to my favorite miniature donkey’s pen, pausing to shake her head at the herd.

“I’m not sure what’s gotten into them.”

“What do you mean?” They seemed fine to me, though they didn’t approach us seeking attention and treats as we walked through the gate.

“They’ve just been distant. Especially Jack-Jack.”

“Hummm.” Jack-Jack was keeping to himself because he was up to something—but I couldn’t explain that to Ozeal. “Maybe it’s the noise of the saw.”

She eyed the herd one last time before turning away. “Maybe.”

Paul looked up from the sawhorses as we approached.

He was a rangy man with glasses and a scraggly mustache. A lump of tobacco was stuffed in his bottom lip, making his worn face seem lopsided. A web of burst blood vessels spidered over his nose, the telltale sign of a heavy drinker.

“Paul, this is Grace Wilde,” Ozeal said. “She’d like to talk to you, if you have a minute.”

“You’re the boss—I have as many minutes as you’ll give me.”

Ozeal looked like she might comment but her phone buzzed. She answered and nodded a farewell to us before heading out of the pen.

“I just have a couple of questions about Brooke, the girl who works here.”

“I know Brooke. She’s one of the strays.”

“Strays?”

He smiled. Flecks of chaw clung to his yellowed teeth. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. “You know. Ozeal likes to take in charity cases. Like me.”

“You?”

“Yep. I used to be pretty hopeless. Too much booze and not enough sense. One day I thought it would be a good idea to sit by the road with a sign:
WILL WORK FOR FOOD.
That was a lie. It should have been
WILL WORK FOR BOOZE
but like I said, I didn’t have much sense. You know what happened?”

“No.”

“A woman in a pickup stopped and asked me if I thought I could lift a fifty-pound bag of feed. I told her I figured I could. She hired me. You know who that woman was?”

“Um . . . Ozeal?”

“Yes, ma’am. Ozeal Mallory hired me off the street. Paid me fifty dollars that day and told me I could come back the next if I was sober. You know what happened?”

“You came to work and have been here ever since?”

“Nope. I showed up drunk as a skunk. Ozeal tossed me out fast as green grass through a goose. But she gave my sorry ass another chance when I finally did come back sober. Just like a stray. Me, Brooke, Caitlyn, all these critters. We was in the same boat. Till we met Ozeal.”

“Uh . . .” I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t expected the guy to tell me his life story. For a few seconds, I lost track of what I’d asked to prompt the man’s monologue.

Finally, it clicked. “So, you know Brooke. Okay. Good. I wanted to ask you about last Wednesday. Brooke thought there was a problem with the fence?”

“Ozeal asked me to check it. Said there might be a loose spot, but I pulled on it and it seemed fine.”

“Did you see Brooke that day?”

“Yep. She asked me if I had an extra spring clip.” He motioned to a set of keys hooked to his belt with a brass clip.

“For her keys?”

He nodded. “Said she was going to need something sturdy if she was going to have a collection like Ozeal’s.”

I wasn’t sure if that was relevant but I mentally filed the information for later.

“Does anyone else work with you?” I asked. “If you have a bigger job than this to do?”

“Sometimes. But not in a while. My uncle, Dave, he’s a contractor. Taught me everything I know—he came out with one of his guys when we enlarged the lion house. A guy named Joe. He was a hard worker. I had him help with a couple of other things around here.”

“Joe?”

“I don’t remember his last name. I haven’t seen him since his mom died a few months ago.”

“Do you have his contact info?”

“I’d have to dig it up.”

I handed him a card. “Call me when you find it.”

It was a long shot—more than a long shot, actually, that this Joe would know anything. But I was desperate. My hopes that the maintenance man would provide any leads were sinking fast.

Paul seemed open and honest and his only outside help hadn’t been around for months. Even so, I wasn’t ready to give up.

After all, I still had one witness I could ask, but it meant I’d have to get Paul to the tiger enclosure.

“Could you do me a favor and show me where you checked the fence?” I asked him.

He agreed and we walked to the spot.

Boris chuffed out a friendly hello when he saw me. I zeroed in on the tiger’s mind, ready to pick up any indication that seeing Paul upset him, but Boris just gave a groaning yowl and rubbed his body along the fence.

Still keeping my mind focused on the cat, I turned to Paul.

“Brooke said it was loose right along here.” Paul pointed to an area of the perimeter fence. He clamped his fingers through the chain-link and tugged. The fence didn’t move.

“See? Tight as can be.”

I nodded. But my attention was trained on Boris. The tiger was watching us and, though I scoured his mind for any sign he mistrusted or disliked Paul, I found only curiosity.

I glanced over my shoulder at the tiger.

Hide
?

Boris didn’t react to the word. He blinked at me then pressed his head against the wire.

Pet.

In a second,
I promised.

I thanked Paul and as he walked away, I called Kai. I gave him a brief overview of what I’d learned—including the misplaced-aggression theory.

“So you think Boris attacked Hugh because he couldn’t get to his real target.”

“I thought so, but Boris didn’t react when he saw Paul—not even a blip of emotion.”

There was a pause and Kai said, “That doesn’t mean the misplaced-aggression theory is wrong. Maybe you just haven’t found the real target.”

“Maybe.” I walked to the enclosure where the tiger was waiting and did my best to scratch him between the ears through the wire.

“I’ll run a check on the maintenance worker. Paul McGee? See if anything shakes out.”

“Thanks, Kai. I really appreciate it.” I hung up and reached out again to Boris. His mind was calm, radiating contentment. The big cat was happy to get a bit of attention from his new friend.

With my index finger, I traced the black fur that formed a curved, upside-down V between his ears and was reminded of the William Blake poem.

Tyger Tyger, burning bright . . .

I quoted the last line aloud. “‘What immortal hand or eye dare frame thy fearful symmetry?’”

And what was I missing?

Feeling restless and unsettled, I decided to head back to the condo and take a walk on the beach.

The water, sand, and sound of the sea always soothed me and helped clear my mind.

But as I sat idling at a traffic light at Heckscher Drive, I saw something that made me change my mind.

On the passenger seat, next to the empty doughnut box, was Hugh’s hat. I picked it up and studied the worn brim and faded threads of the logo.

If Hugh had been wearing the hat, Boris could have equated it with the person who’d taken Brooke. Which meant two things—my misplaced-aggression idea was still viable, and the kidnapper had been wearing a baseball cap when he’d taken Brooke.

I tried to call Hugh, but didn’t reach him.

Being less than five minutes away from the zoo, I decided to track him down at work.

The Jacksonville Zoo had always been one of my favorite places to decompress.

You might think the multitude of animal brains buzzing around would give me a headache, but in reality, all those minds run together into a soothing white noise.

I parked and nodded to the ticket taker as I passed. It had been a couple of months since I’d been banned from the zoo for disobeying a senior staff member’s direct order, but, since I had yet to let that stop me from visiting, the woman recognized me.

As I walked along one of the zoo’s shady paths, I felt the tension begin to slide from my shoulders.

A howler monkey let out a whooping call—probably spotting one of the keepers—and I heard a chorus of birds echo the sound.

I passed one of the zookeepers I’d worked with before and asked for Hugh’s location. She raised him on the radio. He was on his way to the clinic, so I headed that way, finding him just outside the door.

He wore a zoo-issue khaki button-down shirt tucked into jeans. The tips of his sandy-colored hair stood out at odd angles and I noticed his face was dusted with a bit more stubble than usual.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

He glanced at me and nodded, letting out a long breath.

“We had an issue with the rhino calf. She’s okay now.”

“Here all night?”

“Since yesterday morning. I’m off tomorrow—I’m going to sleep till noon.”

“I found something of yours.” I handed him the hat.

Hugh looked it over with a tired smile. “I thought Boris might have eaten it.”

Much as I had done the day before, Hugh tucked it into his back pocket.

“Do you do that a lot?”

“What?”

“Keep it in your pocket rather than on your head.”

“Depends. Why?”

“I was thinking Boris might have gone after you because of your hat.”

“Misplaced aggression?”

I nodded. “Were you wearing it that night?”

Hugh ran his hand over his stubble thoughtfully. “Actually, yeah. In fact, I’d had it in my pocket but when I squatted down, it started to slip out, so I put it on.”

“And that’s when Boris went for you.”

“Damn. I didn’t even consider the hat could have been what set him on me. Who do you think the real target was?”

That was the million-dollar question. “I don’t know.”

The radio clipped to his belt blared to life.

Hugh adjusted the volume with a grimace but not before I recognized the voice. Karen Lynch, the woman who’d declared me persona non grata. Needless to say, she was not my biggest fan. The feeling was mutual.

Karen asked Hugh for his location and informed him she required his cooperation with pest control.

“Pest control?” I asked.

Hugh shot me an apologetic look and raked his fingers through his already tousled hair.

“She’s talking about me, isn’t she?”

He didn’t answer, which was answer enough.

“She can’t make you leave, Grace.”

She couldn’t—which was one of the reasons she hated me. But she could make Hugh’s life difficult for associating with me.

I shrugged.

“I just came by to return your hat. I’ve got to run, anyway. I have an appointment across town.”

It was true, if you counted going to the condo to let Moss have a potty break as an appointment.

I said good-bye to Hugh and left, making sure to stay out of Karen’s way.

As I pulled out of the zoo parking lot I took a moment to marvel at the fact that I’d made the effort to avoid conflict. Maybe my aikido training was sinking in.

“Strong body—good. Strong mind—essential.”

Takeda Sensei’s words from earlier popped into my head, bringing with them the same, nebulous seed of an idea I’d had when I’d first heard them.

Try as I might, I couldn’t latch on to it.

• • •

Mondays are my sister’s night off, a lull between the crazy weekend events and upcoming bookings, when she often met up with friends for a more laid-back evening than her usual posh parties. Emma never failed to invite me to come along.

I, of course, never did.

Yes, I’d gotten better at dealing with people in social settings, but I still had a habit of being closed off, even cold, to those I didn’t know or like.

It bothered Emma and usually prompted her to pontificate on the difference between being fake and being friendly. Something I could never quite grasp.

Why pretend to like someone?

I’d decided long ago to spare Emma and myself from arguments by avoiding Monday evenings altogether.

But that night I was going to accept her invitation—not because I had suddenly morphed into Miss Congeniality. I was going to accept because of Bob Ligner.

Emma had married a man like him. Anthony Ortega was charming, wealthy, and violent.

He had almost taken my sister from me.

For a while after what happened, I had been her shadow. I didn’t hover like my mother, who gently brushed Emma’s hair out of her swollen face, or snarl and pace around the hospital room like my father.

I stood to the side and watched. And waited. I held myself still, like a leopard poised for an ambush.

For weeks, even after Emma was out of the hospital, I stayed close, but not so close that I might miss my opportunity.

But Ortega, the spineless worm, had never come near Emma again. He’d sent his lawyers. Wes dealt with them as quickly as a falcon plucks a pigeon from the sky. He eviscerated Ortega legally—Emma had gotten a huge settlement of both cash and municipal bonds worth a small fortune.

It wasn’t enough for me.

I had wanted to punish Ortega. But in the end, I’d only punished myself.

And Emma.

After, I’d pulled away from her. My fear at seeing her hurt made me look away. My anger made me distant.

Ligner had rekindled some of that anger, and I finally realized what an idiot I’d been.

“Hey—” Emma paused two steps into my room when she saw I was dressed and ready to go. “Where are you headed?” she asked.

“You tell me. I figured I’d hang out with you tonight.”

Her brows rose in surprise. “Really? Why’s that?”

“Moss is being a mother hen. I don’t have anything else to do.”

“Hummmmm . . . Okay.”

“Really. And I’m tired of thinking about Brooke and Boris. I need a break.”

“So, Kai’s busy?”

“He was busy earlier when I called. I’m sure he’s on a case.”

“You know,” Emma mused as she flopped down on the bed, “they have a saying about assuming too much.”

“When you assume, you make an
ass
out of
u
and
me
.”
It was one of our father’s favorites. “Yeah, we grew up in the same house, remember?”

“So why do you
assume
Kai is working? Call him and tell him he can meet us if he gets a chance.”

“I don’t want to bug him if he’s busy.”

Emma sat up and regarded me the way she had so many times before when trying to bestow a bit of Emma-wisdom.

“Okay, let me break it down like this. Call. Him.” She grabbed my phone off the nightstand and tossed it to me. “Tell him we’re going to Drop Shots.”

Drop Shots was a sports bar with an overload of video and arcade games. Even for a laid-back Monday, it was a stretch for Emma.

“You want to go to Drop Shots?”

“Kevin and the other guys from the dojo want to redeem themselves after I creamed them this morning.”

“By doing what? Beating you at pinball?”

“Sad, I know. But they’ve promised to pay for every round of drinks if they lose.”

An hour later, I found myself with a belly full of fried pickles and cheese sticks, sipping a beer and playing Skee-Ball, a game at which, for some mystical reason, I excelled.

Emma high-fived me when I made yet another perfect score, leaving Kevin and his friends no hope of catching up.

After some smack talk about cheating and being hustled they went to the bar to fetch the drinks as promised.

“You’re a Skee-Ball ace. Who knew?” Emma said.

“Not me,” I laughed, marveling at the fact that I was actually having a good time.

I’d called Kai to invite him but, as I predicted, he’d had to work. So I was surprised when Emma nudged me and said, “Look who’s here. Good job, little sister.”

I glanced over my shoulder and spotted Kai weaving through the crowd toward us. He saw me and smiled, making my stomach do that odd swooping thing. I looked away.

“All I did was call him,” I told Emma.

“See how easy it is?” She grinned and turned to say hello to Kai before moving past him to add another beer to the tab.

“I thought you had to work.”

“Finished up early.” He assessed the scoreboard. “Looks like you’re the reigning Skee-Ball champion.”

“One of my many hidden talents.”

“How are you at pool?” he asked, motioning to a free table.

“Let’s find out.”

We staked our claim on the table and I quickly realized two things: One—I was really bad at pool. Two—I had no desire to improve.

Not that the game was boring—it wasn’t. In fact, my heart rate was increasing steadily the longer we played.

This was due more to Kai’s teaching method than the game. Every time I went to line up a shot he would lean in behind me. The solid muscles of his chest brushed against my back as he covered my hands with his and guided the cue.

Occasionally, his lips grazed my ear as he explained the whys and hows of the game, sending a thrill of goose bumps fluttering down my neck.

It completely wrecked my concentration. Which was not a problem in the least.

Truth be told, I didn’t care much about learning how to hit the little white ball into the other balls. But I certainly didn’t want Kai to stop trying to explain it to me.

Eventually, the inevitable happened. Kai sank the eight ball and the game, and my lesson, were over.

We yielded the table to the next players and made our way back to where Emma and her crew were.

Introductions were made and Emma said, “We’re going to do Big Game Hunter next. You two want to join us?”

“Yes, because I so enjoy shooting animals.”

“Virtual animals,” Emma corrected.

“I’ll pass.”

“I have to do enough shooting for work,” Kai said and Emma turned to join her posse, which had already moved on to the game.

“That reminds me,” Kai said. “I ran a background check on Paul McGee. Ozeal’s maintenance guy has never been arrested or in any kind of trouble.”

“That’s surprising. Paul admitted to having a drinking problem. I assumed he’d at least been ticketed for public intoxication or something.”

“Nope. Not a spot on his record. Not that it means much. The BTK killer had never even gotten a speeding ticket, and all the while he was happily murdering people.”

“A cheerful thought.”

“Maybe this will perk you up—I may have found something on Bob Ligner.”

“Consider me perked.”

“It’s nothing solid. A domestic disturbance back in the days before they were taken seriously. I’m trying to track down his ex wife—one of three, by the way—to get more details.”

“Bob Ligner has been married four times?”

“Must be his animal magnetism.”

I made a face.

Kai lifted a shoulder. “He has to have some sort of charm.”

“He’s a narcissistic batterer—of course he’s charming. Men like Ligner are masters at hiding the truth. They manipulate. The world never suspects how twisted they are.” My eyes automatically tracked to Emma. “Their victims never see it until it’s too late.”

“I’m sorry.”

I yanked my gaze away from my sister, but Kai had known I was talking about her.

“It doesn’t matter. Emma survived.” Barely. “Right now, I’m worried about Brooke and her mother.”

“I might be able to come up with a reason to bring Ligner in.”

“Really?”

“Not related to Brooke or even his wife, but I can see if there’s anything shady going on with his business. Dig a little deeper into his past relationships.”

“Shake the tree and see what falls out?”

“Why not?”

“Can you do that?”

“Officially, no.” He grinned, a rebellious gleam sparking in his eyes. “But I will. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

His smile faded as he locked his gaze on mine. “You have to promise to stay away from Bob Ligner. No more tailing. No more trespassing.”