A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (15 page)

“My apologies, Miss Wilde.” Ferretto plucked a piece of lint from the knee of his trousers and flicked it away. “I’m afraid my associate gets excited easily.”

I didn’t really want to think about what excited Mr. Machete, so I said, “I’m not sure what your boss thinks I can contribute. I told him everything last night.”

“Mr. Sartori would prefer you tell me firsthand.”

I shrugged and explained my concerns about Brooke, leaving out the part where the witness to her kidnapping was a tiger.

“And how do you know Brooke?” Ferretto asked.

“I don’t. Not really. All I know is that she cared about the animals at the rescue facility. She wouldn’t have left them. Not without word. Your boss must agree with me, otherwise I wouldn’t be here, right?”

“Mr. Sartori loves his daughter very much. It would be devastating if anything were to happen to her.”

“Well, then, I suggest you guys start looking for her.”

“We are, Miss Wilde. You can be certain of that.” He gave me an expectant look.

The young man who’d opened the door earlier appeared and, keeping as far away from Moss as he could, set two mugs of coffee on the wood table.

“Thanks, Jimmy.”

“No problem, sir.” Jimmy kept his gaze downcast, but I could tell he was focused on my dog. I had a feeling if Moss sneezed, Jimmy would faint.

Usually, I tried to reassure people who were uncomfortable around Moss. I didn’t bother in this case—a little fear on their side was probably a good thing.

Mancini didn’t reappear, and that made me uncomfortable. It’s always good to know where the psychos are so you can avoid them.

“Listen,” I said to Ferretto, “I’ve told you everything I know. I’m not sure how I can help you.”

“That’s just it, Miss Wilde,” Ferretto said and took a sip from his mug. “I am not sure you have told us everything you know.” He studied me over his cup of coffee.

“What reason could I possibly have to lie to you? We want the same thing.”

“If that’s the case, then you won’t have a problem working with us to find Brooke.”

“Work with you?”

“Yes. And, as you might imagine, we ask that you keep the police out of it.”

“Excuse me?”

He held up his hand to stop me, as if sensing I was about to tell him to go jump in the river.

“All I ask is you promise to contact us first if you learn anything. This is my direct line.” He set a business card on the table between us. I picked it up, recognizing the IntraCorp logo.

It wasn’t as if he was asking me to whack somebody, but there was no way I was making that deal—not that he had to know that.

“Okay, sure. If I find out anything else about Brooke, I’ll let you know.”

I could rationalize agreeing to help all I wanted—I still felt like I was making a deal with the devil. Or, the devil’s right-hand man, as the case may be.

The thought made me want to get out of there as quickly as possible. I stood, shot Yard/Mob Guy a curt nod as I passed, and, with an eye out for where Mancini might be lurking, hightailed it through the restaurant and out the front door.

The sky was darkening in the distance and the wind rustled the reeds along the inlet. Moss sniffed the air.

Rain,
he informed me.

“I noticed.” Even without a dog’s sense of smell, I could figure some stuff out.

The thought gave me a sudden idea. What if Moss could find and follow Brooke’s trail through the woods? It might lead nowhere, but it was worth a shot.

I fished my phone out of my purse and after a quick scan of the map, I decided I could be at Happy Asses in less than ten minutes.

The storm was probably a good half hour from hitting. I cranked Bluebell and said to Moss, “Warm that sniffer up, buddy. We’re going to look for clues.”

I called Ozeal, explained my idea, and asked her to look for something that might work as a scent article for Brooke.

Before the first rumble of thunder had boomed its warning, I was standing in the building that housed the commissary and clinic, in what might be considered a locker room, only there were no lockers. Instead, the tiny room had a row of cubbyholes lining one wall.

The cubbies held a hodgepodge of clothing, including a hat with the Happy Asses logo embroidered on it, a hooded sweatshirt, and a pair of dusty leather gloves.

“This is the cubby she usually used.” Ozeal said, pointing. “So that might be her hat. The rest is probably either Caitlyn’s or Ben’s.”

I picked up the ball cap to look for initials or something else to determine ownership. Moss could tell the difference between my scent and someone else’s so touching it wouldn’t be an issue. There was a problem however—it didn’t belong to Brooke.

I showed the initials marked on the tag to Ozeal. “C. M. Caitlyn’s?”

Ozeal nodded. “Okay, well, let’s see if we can find something else.”

We poked around for a minute but came up empty.

Frustrated that my almost-great idea had been so quickly thwarted, I tried to think of another way to direct Moss to find her scent. Inspiration remained elusive, however, and, defeated, I followed Ozeal out of the cubby room and down the hall.

I paused as we started past a door labeled
CLINIC
.

“You said you caught Brooke in here. What’s the protocol for the clinic?”

“No one is allowed inside unsupervised but me.”

I tried the handle. Locked.

“How did she get in? Did Brooke have a key?”

“Everyone who has any contact with the animals has a key,” Ozeal said. “The door locks automatically. Which is an extra deterrent. On the off chance someone was to break into the building, they’d have to get through this door”—she unclipped her sea-anemone cluster of keys, unlocked the door, and pushed it open—“then, to get to anything worth having, they’d have to get into that cabinet.”

She pointed to the opposite wall, where a large metal cabinet stood. I’d seen similar drug safes. Though it looked like a typical metal locker, the steel was thick and the locks heavy-duty. I noticed this one needed two keys to open it.

“Who has the second key?”

“I carry them both.”

I nodded, wondering why Brooke would have been in this room. She had to have known it would have taken two separate keys to unlock the drug safe.

I looked around, hoping the answer would present itself.

The small room was clean and orderly. A shallow cabinet ran along one wall. A microscope sat on the counter next to a small stainless steel sink, along with a box of latex gloves, a red biohazard container, and other typical equipment for basic veterinary exams. The scent of antiseptic and animal fur would have made me smile if I hadn’t been so frustrated.

Just as I was about to turn and head back out the door, I heard a low chime.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Ozeal said, frowning.

“You don’t have any timers or anything set?”

“No.”

We both looked around for several seconds. “It almost sounded like my phone. It makes that noise when the battery is about to die.”

Ozeal and I exchanged a look, then began the hunt in earnest.

You’d have thought we were searching for earthquake survivors the way we tore into the place.

After less than a minute, I heard Ozeal suck in a breath. I turned to see her staring into an open cardboard box.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping toward her.

She answered by reaching into the box and pulling out a small, light blue purse. Ozeal met my gaze and I knew what she was going to say.

“It’s Brooke’s.”

We were thinking the same thing. Any hope that Brooke had simply run away vaporized with the discovery. No sixteen-year-old girl would run off and leave her purse and her phone behind.

“What’s it doing in here?”

“I don’t know—” She broke off, caught by a sudden thought.

“What?”

“When Brooke first started working for me, she had trust issues. I let her keep her purse in here. She hasn’t asked to do that in months.”

“But if she just wanted to lock up her purse, why not tell you? Why make up a story about pliers?”

“Only thing I can figure is she was trying not to stir the pot.”

“You mean if she’d told you she didn’t feel comfortable leaving her purse out anymore you’d have wanted to know why. You think she was protecting Caitlyn?”

“Damned if I know what she was thinking.”

I remembered what Kai had said about kids ratting on each other. Would the fear of being labeled a snitch have trumped getting caught and telling the truth? Probably.

I opened the purse and pulled out the phone. It was an iPhone like mine. I desperately wanted to scroll through and see what calls she’d made but knew the battery wouldn’t last that long.

“I’ve got a charger for this,” I told Ozeal. “I’m going to plug it in, then I’ll use the purse to see if we can pick up her trail. Okay?”

Ozeal gave me a grim nod. “Let me know if you find anything.”

I jogged back to Bluebell, where Moss was waiting. After making sure the phone was charging, I grabbed Moss’s leash.

We made our way around the perimeter, staying close to the fence line. When we finally reached the section closest to Boris’s enclosure, I stopped and scanned the area. The first time I’d come back here, I’d determined the most likely spot Brooke would have been standing when she was grabbed.

I tried to find it again by peering through the chain-link, shuffling to the side until I had a clear shot of the tiger house. Boris had heard us and was staring back intently. I didn’t want him to worry so I sent him a few reassuring thoughts.

Remembering Brooke had claimed to need pliers to tighten the fence, I threaded my fingers through the chain-link and tugged. It seemed secure.

Stepping back, I was getting ready to present Moss with Brooke’s purse to sniff and ask him to find her scent when I noticed something I hadn’t seen before.

About a foot from the bottom of the metal post, poking out from a thatch of shriveled weeds, was a brass clip. I crouched and studied the clump of dead grass and weeds. They weren’t rooted into the ground—rather they had been placed along the bottom of the fence.

I brushed them away and discovered why.

The fence had been cut.

The brass clasp was actually holding the fence together.

I sat back on my haunches, perplexed.

It looked as if someone had tried to break in by cutting the fence. Had Brooke used the clip as a temporary fix until she could get a set of pliers? If so, why wouldn’t she tell Ozeal? Could her discovery be the reason she’d been kidnapped?

I looked back through the fence, wondering what would motivate someone to break into an animal rescue facility.

It wasn’t like the animals could be stolen. Drugs? Always a possibility.

I sat there mulling it over so long that Moss finally got bored and nudged my chin with his muzzle.

Go?

A not-so-distant rumble of thunder punctuated his question.

I’d have to think about the fence later.

“Come on, big guy, let’s see what that wolf-nose can do.”

• • •

It turned out the wolf-nose was not all it was cracked up to be.

As much as I loved him, Moss was not a bloodhound. And I was not a tracking-dog handler.

As we’d zigzagged through the woods, Moss would occasionally stop and tell me he recognized Brooke’s scent. But within moments he would lose the trail, wander off track, and become distracted by the odoriferous wonders the woods had in store.

By the third time he stopped to inspect squirrel scat, I was ready to give up. Then I heard something that sparked my interest.

It was the rumbling noise of a truck engine. I started toward the sound and remembered Happy Asses was bordered on two sides by roads.

I’d brought my phone with me, and thanks to what was turning out to be an exceptionally handy GPS app, I was able to determine the most direct route.

We emerged from the woods and stopped at a muddy culvert separating us from the shoulder of a two-lane road.

Moss cleared the ditch in one graceful leap. I landed with a splat, a foot shy of dry ground. Teetering off-balance, I finally heaved myself forward onto my hands and knees in the weeds.

Okay?

I could feel the amusement in the question and glared at my dog as I picked up the end of his leash and got to my feet. “Stellar, thanks for asking.”

Though the traffic was intermittent, it was hardly deserted enough to drag a teenaged girl into a vehicle without the possibility of being seen.

I led Moss up and down along the shoulder anyway.

While Moss sniffed, I scanned the ground. Weathered bits of trash and more cigarette butts than I could count dotted the shoulder.

“Don’t people know these things don’t decompose?”

We reached a turnout made of broken oyster shells and sand.

I spotted something iridescent glowing in the light and bent to pick it up. It was a large piece of shell with a real pearl protruding like a blister from the nacre.

I ran my thumb over the pearl, suddenly feeling dejected. I had managed to find a pearl on the side of the road, but I couldn’t find any trace of Brooke.

I shoved the shell into my pocket and urged Moss to keep going. We walked a few more yards and he paused.

“What is it?”

Possum!

Eew! Dead possum.

“Leave it, Moss.”

I tugged on his leash but I might as well have been pulling on an elephant.

“Moss. Leave. It.”

Thunder rumbled overhead.

Come on, or we’re going to get soaked
.

I looked around, noticed a billboard I’d passed that morning, and realized we were on the same street we’d taken to Cooper’s Catch.

I wasn’t sure that fact was significant, especially since Moss had yet to find a trace of Brooke along the road.

Plus, as sinister as her connection to the mob might be, Brooke was the boss’s daughter. They’d made it clear they wanted to find her as much as I did.

So why did I get a weird prickle of unease as I’d made the connection?

I heard the hum of a car engine and turned to see a silver Mercedes roll to a stop on the shoulder.

Oh, that’s why.

I watched as the man formerly known as Yard Guy gracefully unfolded himself from the coupe.

Moss finally turned his attention from the flattened remains of the possum and faced the man walking toward us.

“Did your car break down?”

“Bluebell doesn’t break down.”

“That’s what you call it? Bluebell?”

“Do you have a name for your car? Let me guess—The Compensator?”

He laughed and the genuine warmth of the sound surprised me.

“I guess I deserved that. I’m Logan, by the way. I couldn’t be completely honest with you when we first met.”

“Why the landscaper act?”

“Mr. Sartori was concerned about Brooke, so he asked me to keep an eye on her.”

“Why was he so worried?”

“She missed a scheduled visitation about a month ago. She said she forgot, but Mr. Sartori thought she might be hanging out with the wrong people again, so . . .” Logan shrugged.

“So you got to dress up in cargo shorts and spread mulch?”

“Pretty much.”

“What did Brooke think of having a babysitter?”

“Brooke doesn’t know I work for her father.” Logan glanced down at the light blue purse I had slung over my shoulder.

“Brooke’s?”

I thought about denying it, but I had a feeling Logan would smell a lie. And, honestly, what were the chances I’d carry a bag exactly like Brooke’s?

“I’m using it as a scent device to try and track her movements.”

“You found her trail in the woods?”

“Bits of it.”

“So whatever happened, she left or was taken from work and came this way.” Logan’s face became set in grim lines as he scanned the trees then looked up and down the road.

“It’s hard to tell. The trail is old. We need more time, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to get it.”

In that moment, a few light drops of rain began to fall. Logan glanced at the sky.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride.”

I followed him to the car, my curiosity overriding my good sense. I wanted to know more about Logan and ask what he’d learned about the Ligners. And I wanted to know why Mancini had fixated on Moss.

I only questioned my logic when Logan opened the passenger door.

“A two-seater?” I asked.

His lips twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smirk. “Guess you two will have to ride double.”

It took some maneuvering but I managed to get Moss settled on my lap. Not the most comfortable position, given that Moss weighs as much as I do and has a bony butt.

“So,” I huffed out as we pulled off the shoulder onto the road, “who was the nutcase with you and Frank?”

Logan shook his head. “No one you need to worry about.”

I wasn’t at all sure about that but moved on to my next question.