A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (16 page)

“Have you been watching the Ligners, too, or just Brooke?”

“Both.”

“So you know about Bob Ligner.”

To my surprise, Logan nodded.

“When I first started watching them, I noticed Brooke’s mother had been calling in sick. I reported this to Mr. Sartori, and he asked Brooke about it. She said it was the flu.”

“It wasn’t the flu.”

“No, it wasn’t. Bob Ligner has had domestic violence issues. This was back when you could talk your way out of getting arrested for beating your wife.” He paused and a muscle in his jaw tightened. “I didn’t find out until the day Brooke went missing.”

“Do you think Bob Ligner did something to Brooke?”

Logan shook his head. “If he did, he’s a walking corpse.”

His tone was calm, but something in his words held enough menace to force a growl from Moss.

“He going to bite me?” Logan asked without taking his eyes off the road.

“Not as long as you’re nice to me.”

“Then we should be fine.”

His lips twitched into the almost-smile I’d seen before but vanished when I said, “You seem to care a lot about a girl you’ve only known a few weeks.”

He shook his head. “I’ve known Brooke since she was a baby. I hadn’t seen her in a long time, which is why Mr. Sartori asked me to look out for her. He knew she wouldn’t recognize me.”

“Anne Ligner didn’t recognize you either?”

“The last time I saw Mrs. Sartori, I was a scrawny seventeen-year-old with long hair.”

He certainly wasn’t scrawny anymore. Even in the tailored shirt, his shoulder muscles strained against the fabric as he drove.

I studied him for a moment, wondering if he’d honed his physique in prison, then I remembered the way he’d stood next to Frank Ferretto. Something about his stance said military.

“What branch?” I asked.

Logan cast me a questioning glance as he turned into the drive leading to Happy Asses. It was tour day so he was able to drive through the open gate and park next to Bluebell.

“Of the military,” I clarified.

“Guys like me don’t do well in the military.”

Not much of an answer, but it wasn’t important enough to pursue.

“Well, thanks for the ride,” I said and reached around Moss to grope for the door handle.

“Here—” Logan reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to me. “If you can’t reach Frank for some reason and you need anything, call me. I’ll do what I can. In fact, call me even if you do reach Frank.”

“Dissension in the ranks?”

“I just have a faster reaction time. And I want to make sure Brooke is safe.”

I took the card and Moss and I tumbled out of the car into what had become a light drizzle. After we climbed into Bluebell, I glanced at the card.

Except for a phone number printed in black ink, it was completely blank. I flipped the card over, but there was nothing on the other side.

I glanced out my rearview mirror and caught sight of the Mercedes taillights disappearing in a swirl of mist and remembered what Claudio had told me about the main players in Sartori’s organization. Frank Ferretto, Vincent Mancini, and the mystery man no one knew . . .

“Hey, Moss, do you believe in ghosts?”

I tapped the card on the steering wheel, letting my mind wander as I flipped it over and over between my fingertips.

Could Logan really be the Ghost?

What would it mean if he was?

As I wondered, another mysterious character caught my eye.

Jack-Jack.

The miniature donkey was frolicking with one of his pasture-mates. Both animals were having a great time jumping and playing chase.

If Jack-Jack sensed I was trying to get into his head, he’d clam up again. I’d have to settle for subtle eavesdropping—or would it be mind-dropping?—on his thoughts. What I learned was both intriguing and perplexing.

It became obvious that as much as he was enjoying playing with his friend, Jack-Jack was filled with anticipation. He was looking forward to something that would come later.

Not mealtime. It was almost as if he’d come up with something he wanted to try.

I focused a little more intently on his thoughts and discovered he was hopeful the new step would hold.

Step? I pondered that, then made a sudden connection. The broken housing for the water pump. When Paul was repairing it, he’d commented that the damage looked like something heavy had caused it to give way.

“I know what you’re up to, little donkey.” Smiling, I pushed the driver’s-side door open. The rain had picked up again but not enough to stop me. Leaving Moss in Bluebell to snooze, I walked to the fence and whistled. Jack-Jack and his friends all turned their attention to me.

Jack-Jack immediately tried to tune me out of his head.

No need to hide anymore, buddy. I’ve got your number.
With as much detail as possible, I imagined step by step what the donkey had planned.

Escape.

He had been able to climb onto the wooden box housing the water pump, balance on the trough, and make a leap over the fence.

Jack-Jack let out a quiet snort of denial. But I knew I had him.

I opened the gate and stepped forward.

“You’ve been sneaking out of your pen, haven’t you?”

No sneaking.

“Really?” I strolled to the new wooden box covering the water pump. “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

I climbed onto the top of the box, then balanced on the side of the trough. I noticed, from this height, I could see over the thicket of palmettos into the woods where Brooke had been.

I turned back to the mini-donkey. “Jack-Jack, do you climb up here every night?”

No climb.

“Come on, buddy, I’m just trying to connect the dots here.” Or was I still collecting dots? I wasn’t sure. “Besides, you can’t lie to me. I can read your mind.”

There was a long pause as Jack-Jack tried to think of a way to weasel out of his predicament. He knew he wasn’t allowed out of his pen, especially at night, but he liked to wander around. He was curious about the animals who were hidden from view the rest of the day.

He couldn’t see all of them, of course, just the smaller cats whose houses opened into large, rounded cages.

Visit Muffin,
Jack-Jack finally said. And an image of a female bobcat was broadcast into my mind from his.

Muffin was the kitten you found?

Muffin likes Jack-Jack.

I twisted my upper body and scanned the property, then crouched so I was more at the donkey’s height. Not as much of a view, but maybe that wasn’t as important as the fact that Jack-Jack had been out roving the facility when every other possible witness was confined.

Brooke had been kidnapped in the same place someone had cut the fence. Maybe he’d seen who.

As soon as the thought entered my mind, I got a quick series of memories from the little donkey.

Night.

The scent of rain in the distance.

A rustle of movement—out of place.

Curiosity.

Investigate.

Deserted pine-straw path beneath silent hooves.

More sounds—footsteps.

Caution.

Pausing to continue more carefully.

A shadowy figure. Crouching near the fence. Then a surge of something I hadn’t expected.

Protect
.

Just as Jack-Jack had readied to charge, the intruder slipped through the hole in the fence and disappeared.

“Grace, what in the world are you doing?”

Startled out of my reverie, I nearly lost my footing and ended up in the water trough.

Arms outstretched for balance, I turned to see Ozeal, hands firmly planted on her ample hips, looking up at me.

“I, uh, well . . . I was just trying to get my bearings.” When caught looking like an idiot, misdirect.

“I found something,” I told her.

“Up there?”

“No.” I stepped over the fence onto the other side of the trough and hopped down. “In the woods.”

I told her about my discovery at the base of the fence and we walked in that direction.

“Why wouldn’t she tell me the fence had been cut?” Ozeal asked.

“I don’t know. Unless maybe she thought she knew who was trying to break in.” I thought about Stefan. “Maybe she thought she could repair the fence and talk whoever had cut it out of whatever they had planned.”

Ozeal nodded thoughtfully. “Brooke would know better than anyone how hard it would be to get anything of value.”

“So you don’t keep cash here?”

“We do the deposit every night.”

Ozeal and I had already talked about the drugs. And I knew they were as safe as she could make them.

I gazed over to the apartment above the commissary, where Ozeal lived.

“What about something personal? Do you have anything valuable up at your place?”

Ozeal placed her hands on her hips. “Yes, I have a whole collection of Fabergé eggs. I keep them lined up on a shelf right under the Rembrandt.”

I lifted my hands in a gesture of surrender. “Look, I’m just trying to figure out why discovering the breach in the fence might get Brooke kidnapped.”

Ozeal huffed out a breath and nodded. “I get what you’re saying. But aside from my animals, I don’t have anything worth kidnapping someone over.”

“Unless . . . what if the hole in the fence wasn’t to take something? Do you have any enemies who would want to hurt you? Break in and start a fire or something?”

She shook her head. “We’ve had a couple of crazy e-mails. Nuts cursing us six ways from Sunday because we’re holding the wild animals captive.”

“But you’re a rescue. None of these animals could be released into the wild.”

“Well, that little nugget of logic seems to escape some people. But none of the e-mails we’ve ever gotten have been threatening. Basically, they’re just rants. And again, why take Brooke?”

“Crazy people don’t need a reason. That’s why they’re crazy.”

My phone beeped and I knew it would be a text message from Emma about house hunting. Ozeal and I had exhausted the discussion regarding the fence, so we said our good-byes and I hurried to Bluebell and tried to muster up some enthusiasm.

My spirits lifted some when I opened the text and realized the first house on the list was on Jax Beach not far from where Emma and I had grown up.

It had turned into a blustery day and I could tell from the crisp tinge to the air that by dusk, I would regret my choice of shorts and a T-shirt. We didn’t have fall in North Florida—we had plummets. One second you’d be cranking your AC, the next digging under your bed for the storage box of scarves and gloves.

I parked in the driveway next to Emma’s sleek Jaguar and left Moss to guard Bluebell, though he didn’t appreciate being left behind.

The rain had blown over and I took time to look around as I walked up the drive toward the front door of the first house.

The yard was tiny but nicely landscaped, with a small patch of lawn flanked by sago palms. A row of hibiscus ran along the front wall under a large picture window.

The place had been painted dove gray with crisp white trim.

As I stepped up to the door, I felt a sudden thrill of nerves. This was my first real leap into the real estate ring and I wasn’t sure what to expect.

I took a slow breath, but before I could knock the door opened and I blinked in surprise at the person standing in front of me.

“Wes!”

He grinned and pulled me into a hug.

“Surprise.”

I smiled up at my oldest friend, so handsome in his designer shirt and slacks.

“Claudio told me you were on your way home from Atlanta.”

“I am. With one small detour.” He angled his head and asked, “Checking up on me?”

“Just calling to say hi.”

Wes would find out I’d been asking about the Mafia, but I didn’t want to broach the subject of my interest in Sartori. Not while house hunting, anyway, so I changed the subject.

“My mom always dreamed we’d be looking for a house together someday.”

Wes laughed. “She always had high hopes for us, didn’t she?”

“Especially after the prom incident.”

“That was brilliant, if I do say so myself.”

“Devious, was what it was.”

Wes and Emma had conspired against me. Emma bribing me to “model” a dress for her so when Wes showed up at the door in a tux, I was ready to go. My mother had been thrilled. I couldn’t burst her bubble by not going, and they knew it.

Much as he had then, Wes linked his arm with mine and guided me through the door. He patted my hand and muttered, “Deep breaths, Grace, this is supposed to be fun.”

I don’t know if I would call it fun, but I enjoyed the next two hours looking at homes. I’d always fetch Moss to evaluate the yards, his opinion being paramount in that department.

We were touring the final property of the day when it hit me.

As I followed my sister and Wes from room to room and we laughed and joked, I realized, as much as I wanted my own place, I didn’t want to lose the connection I’d established with my sister.

I’d lived alone for years. I’d liked it. I only moved in with Emma because my old landlady realized her insurance didn’t cover wolf-dogs and booted us without warning.

The idea of cohabitation with another human, even my own sister, had filled me with dread. It was a shock to discover I’d gotten used to it.

No, I
liked
it.

“Grace.” Emma had noticed my sudden silence. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I . . . It’s getting late. I need to relieve Hugh of dog-and-kitty-sitting duty. And I’m supposed to meet Jake at the JSO at four and drop off Jax.”

I gave Wes and my sister quick hugs and fled.

Not sure what to make of my latest revelation, I pushed it out of my mind and I headed back toward town on Atlantic Boulevard.

I’d never been to Hugh’s house, so I plugged his address into my GPS app—which I was growing pretty enamored with—and followed its directions to a street off Tallulah Avenue and a tidy brick house across the street from the river.

Drawing from my new real estate knowledge, I guessed the house was built sometime in the thirties. It reminded me of an old English cottage with its steep roof, huge chimney, and arched door.

It looked more like somewhere a sweet old lady who liked to garden would live than the rugged bachelor pad I’d imagined.

I double-checked the address, and finding it was correct, parked along the curb.

“Okay.” I turned in the front seat to face Moss. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

Go.
He stood and let out a low
woof
.

Moss had let me know repeatedly that he had grown tired of being banished to the car while I looked at houses.

“Sorry, big guy. This will be a quick stop, I promise.”

I wasn’t sure how Moss would act around Voodoo in someone else’s territory. I’d hate for Hugh to lose a limb just for making a sudden movement toward the kitten.

No stay. Go.

He moved to jump into the front seat and I placed my hand on his chest firmly.

“Stay.” I put a little extra force of my own will behind the word. Just a touch of alpha energy. It would have worked on most dogs. Moss was not most dogs.

Go.

“Stay. Or no treats.”

Moss grumbled, turned in a circle, and flopped down with a grunt.

“Getting grumpy won’t make me move any faster.”

He let out a disdainful snort and gazed out the window, completely ignoring me.

Only a canine like Moss could pout and look regal at the same time.

I rolled my eyes, leaving him to sulk as I made my way down the brick path to the door. The knocker was fashioned not in the traditional lion’s head, but in the shape of an elephant holding a ring in its trunk.

Elephants were one of Hugh’s favorite animals. Maybe he did live here.

My theory was confirmed when I rang the bell. A familiar eruption of barks sounded and a moment later, the door swung open.

Hugh smiled and released the hold he’d taken on Jax’s thick leather collar.

I turned my attention to the dog, who was quivering with excitement and pure joy at the sight of me.

Grace!

“Hey, Jax.” I squatted in front of him to give him a hug.

Grace here. Grace. Grace.
The Doberman’s ode to Grace was redirected when he caught Moss’s scent. He let out a high, excited whine.
Moss? Where’s Moss?