A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (19 page)

I rolled my eyes at my sister’s indignant tone. Our posh little enclave wasn’t immune to crime. Nowhere was.

“I’m fine, Emma.”

“Why didn’t you have Moss with you?”

I’d already answered her once; I didn’t bother to do it again. My sister’s questions had become rhetorical.

“I still think you should call Kai. No matter how much trouble he’s in at work.”

“Because of me.”

“He would want to know, Grace.”

“I told the deputy everything I could remember. They’ll handle it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

I knew what she meant. But I didn’t think I could handle any more emotional turbulence. Between my sister’s reaction and Moss’s, I’d met my quota on that already.

Voodoo, of course, was unfazed by my brush with death. As my sister paced, the kitten watched from her favorite ambush spot—which was anywhere near Moss.

At first, I thought she was missing the point of the concept, then I realized the little cat was a genius. Next to Moss, who would notice a two-pound kitten?

Voodoo’s eyes were fixed on Emma’s bare feet. The kitten crouched lower, wiggled her butt, and sprang onto my sister’s foot, landing for a millisecond before tumbling off. She raced in a circle and came back for round two.

Emma had become used to Voodoo’s kitty insanity, and put a stop to the mania by scooping the kitten up into her arms and scratching her under her chin. Voodoo instantly melted into a puddle of relaxed kitty bliss. She was purring so loudly I had to wonder how such a small creature could possibly produce such a sound.

“The condo needs better security,” Emma said.

There was a knock at the door. Emma’s gaze narrowed as she turned toward the entrance. She took two steps toward me and deposited the semicomatose kitten in my lap.

“Stay here,” she ordered and headed toward the door.

I glanced down at Voodoo. She hadn’t moved. She looked boneless. I would love to be able to sleep like that. A voice from the foyer made my head snap up.

Kai walked into the room straight toward me. My sister was conspicuously absent. I stood, thankful I’d changed out of the gilded disco outfit.

Voodoo started to slide out of my hand and I had to tuck her into the crook of my arm as I moved to face him.

Kai’s intense gaze searched my face. “Are you okay?”

I nodded. Moss, who had been drooling on a custom-made silk cushion, was roused by Kai’s presence and sat up with a growl.

I glanced at him.
Leave it alone.

Guard.
Moss blinked at me and fixed his attention on Kai.

I was too tired to argue.

“I’m okay,” I told Kai.

He gave me a second once-over, pausing at my bandaged knees. A muscle worked in his jaw.

Kai’s anger drew another growl from Moss.

“I’m fine. The asshole wanted my purse—I gave it to him. I didn’t see his face. But you know this already somehow, right?”

“I have a friend at Saint Johns dispatch who heard your name come across the radio and called me.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. Before I could decide if I was offended or flattered, Kai hooked his finger under my chin and kissed me.

And I mean
kissed
.

It was a real chart topper that left my body warm and my brain numb. When he eased back, I opened my eyes and blinked up at him as I tried to collect my senses.

“Uh . . .” was all I managed.

His lips quirked into a smug half smile. “That good?”

“It’s Voodoo. Her happy-cat brain waves are bleeding into me.”

Kai looked down at the kitten. “She looks dead.”

“No. Just in a bliss-induced stupor.” We both regarded the kitten for a moment, then Kai said, “I’m going to look around outside. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay here.”

I shook my head as I watched him walk away. What was it with people telling me to stay put? Did I look like I was getting ready to run a marathon?

Still holding the kitten, I sat on the couch to wait. Voodoo’s happy oblivion rippled over me with each purr, making my eyelids droop.

Kai returned after a few minutes, sat on the block of cut driftwood that served as our coffee table, and studied my face the way that always made me feel as if he was trying to uncover some bit of evidence he’d missed.

“What?”

“I’m tempted to ask you to walk me through what happened but you look tired.”

“I am.” I set the kitten on the floor next to Moss. “Besides, I already told the deputy from Saint Johns everything and you—” I stopped, not sure what to say.

Kai raised his brows and waited.

“You—Jake said you’re in trouble at work.”

“Suspended at the moment.”

“Because you were helping me look for Brooke?”

“It’s just a lot of bureaucratic BS. Everything will get sorted out. Listen, Grace, there’s something you need to know. Brooke is the daughter of a very dangerous man.”

I nodded. I really didn’t want to tell Kai I’d spoken to Sartori but I wasn’t a liar and I wasn’t a coward.

Usually.

“I’m not talking about Bob Ligner,” Kai said. “Brooke’s real father is a man named—”

“Charles Sartori. I know.”

Kai’s brows drew together, then his eyes narrowed.

Oh boy, here goes.

“He called me.”

“Called you.” Kai didn’t phrase the words as a question, which made them seem more angry.

“He found out I was looking for Brooke and called because he’s worried about her, too.”

“When was this?”

“Last night.”

“What else did he say?”

“Nothing. Just that he was worried about Brooke and . . .” Oh man, I didn’t want to tell him this part.

“And . . .” he prompted.

“He wanted me to meet with some of his . . . people to tell them what I knew.”

“And you agreed.”

“It wasn’t really a request.”

He blew out a sigh and tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling.

“Look, it wasn’t a big deal,” I said.

He leveled his gaze on me.

“Yes, Grace, it is a big deal. You’re telling me you met with mobsters.”

“They’re trying to find Brooke.”

“I don’t care if they’re trying to find a cure for cancer. These men are dangerous.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself but he talked over me.

“Has it occurred to you that Brooke might have been taken by one of Sartori’s enemies? And by associating with Sartori’s
people
you put yourself on their radar?”

“But—”

“You think you were mugged tonight at random?”

“I—”

“How many average thugs use a gun with a silencer?”

It was a good point.

“You think my mugging is connected to Sartori?”

“I’m not sure it was a mugging at all. Bob Ligner was executed. Forced to his knees and shot.”

“Oh, God.” I felt the color drain from my face. Moss rolled to his feet with a sudden growl in response. I reached out with a shaking hand to clamp my fingers in the fur of his coat.

Guard.

I’m okay.
I forced a steadying breath.

“I think you might have been a target, Grace.”

“But why? Why would someone want to kill me?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve gotten close to finding something someone doesn’t want you to find.”

“Like what? I’m looking for a teenage girl.”

“All I know is Sartori is getting out of prison in a few days. Bob Ligner was murdered. Brooke is missing. None of this is good, and you being in the middle of it is making me crazy.”

I looked away, heat scorching my cheeks. Why couldn’t I process the idea that Kai cared about me without feeling like a fool?

“I want to talk to your supervisor,” I said, desperate to change the subject.

Kai leaned back and regarded me.

“Why?”

“You’re suspended because I asked for your help. That isn’t right.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he said and stood. “I’m going to make a few calls. See if I can talk someone from Saint Johns into coming out and looking more closely at what happened tonight.”

“They have the shell casing,” I said.

“Which is good. We—
they
—might be able to match it to evidence from the Ligners’ house. But it can’t hurt to have another look around. There could be more evidence the deputy missed.”

I walked him to the door. “You’re sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“You can stay safe. I’d hate to have to kill someone. Then I’d really lose my job.”

I nudged the piece of broken glass with the toe of my tennis shoe.

Kai had called to let me know he hadn’t been able to convince anyone from the Saint Johns CSU that my mugging could be linked to the Ligner murder. They were working the convenience store robbery angle and didn’t want Kai’s input.

Apparently, he was being blacklisted because of the investigation into his involvement with Sartori, which was continuing during the day with more meetings and depositions.

I felt a surge of guilt and anger at the thought, but pushed the feelings aside. Kai might not be able to look for evidence, but I could.

Instead of our usual walk on the beach, I had decided to take Moss through the parking lot where the mugging had taken place the night before. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.

We’d stopped under the large security light that usually illuminated the section of the parking lot from where my mugger had come. Glass littered the ground and sparkled like diamonds in the morning sun. I looked up at the light.

Shattered.

I thought of the silencer on the gun and a shiver ran through me. Had my attacker planned this? Had he been lurking in the dark waiting for me? The idea of being watched gave me the heebie-jeebies, and I looked over my shoulder just as Moss tugged the leash to drag me away from the parking lot to the line of hawthorn bushes that separated our condominium from the next property. He let out a soft
woof,
lowered himself onto his belly, and squirmed under one of the thick bushes.

I squatted down, wincing as the unyielding denim of my jeans pressed against my injured knees. I squinted through the leaves and spotted what Moss had discovered.

“My purse.”

“Woof,”
he agreed.

I reached past my dog and grabbed the strap, dragging it out from where it had obviously been discarded.

I opened it—keys, wallet, phone. Nothing seemed to be missing. If it had been a robbery, why wasn’t anything taken?

Unless Kai was right, and I had been targeted for more than a random mugging.

Maybe it was wishful thinking, but my gut was telling me I hadn’t been. Slinging the strap over my shoulder, I followed as Moss sniffed around a bit more.

As we walked, another idea started taking shape. One that made more sense than a random mugging or planned hit. I wanted to talk to Kai and get his input but would have to wait. He’d told me he would call when he got the chance, and who knew when that would be.

Our earlier conversation had been rushed and I’d been so tired the night before, I’d forgotten to tell him about my hunt through the woods behind Happy Asses for Brooke’s scent trail, and about finding the tabby and getting a ride with Logan—a man who may or may not be the elusive Ghost.

I grimaced inwardly. I had a feeling Kai wasn’t going to like that last part.

Satisfied there was nothing more to discover in the parking lot, Moss and I headed inside.

Moss trotted off to check on Voodoo as I set my bag on the counter and poured myself a cup of coffee.

“Hey, you found your purse.” My sister paused as she walked into the kitchen. Her hair was pulled back in a fashionable twist that showed off the sapphire earrings she wore.

“Moss did, actually.”

I told her about the broken light and the location of my bag.

“But I’m starting to think this isn’t about me or my purse.”

“Then why were you mugged?”

“Because I wasn’t just carrying my purse. I had Brooke’s, too. I found it at Happy Asses and unsuccessfully tried to use it to locate her trail in the woods.”

“I’m not following you, Grace. You think someone mugged you because they wanted Brooke’s purse? Why?”

“That’s just it, I don’t know. There wasn’t anything unusual in it. At least not that I remember. Her wallet, a brush, keys—”

“Keys? To what? I thought you said she didn’t have a car.”

“Her house key, I guess, and . . .”

Emma arched her brows. “And?”

“What if that’s what they wanted? A way into Brooke’s house?”

“Someone eviscerated those poor stuffed animals looking for something.”

“Kai thinks Brooke might have hidden Stefan’s stash for him.”

“If she did, he, or someone he knows, could be after it,” Emma said.

“I don’t know. Stefan didn’t seem like the type of guy to commit armed robbery. He ran from me in the mall, remember?”

“Well, you were pant-less.”

“Not going to let that go, are you?”

She shook her head. “If I could get my hands on that security footage . . .”

“You would be a good sister and burn it.”

“After uploading it to YouTube.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You’re right. But it would still be incentive to stay on my good side.” Emma looked at my purse and asked, “You’re sure nothing’s missing?”

I opened my purse and dumped the contents onto the kitchen counter. The piece of tabby tumbled out. I caught it before it could go over the edge and held up the shell. Once again I was struck with the feeling that it was some sort of clue.

“What’s that?” Emma asked.

“A piece of tabby.”

“Of what?” I relayed what I learned from Uncle Wiley about the shell.

“And you found it near where Brooke went missing?”

I nodded. “It has to mean something, right?”

“Maybe. What did Kai think?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I was going to ask him to examine it with his fancy
CSI
stuff. But thanks to me he’s been suspended.”

“Well, that’s . . . unfortunate.”

Understatement.

“Why don’t you ask Uncle Wiley? Maybe he can tell you more about this stuff. Where it comes from or something?”

It was a good idea. I called Wiley, who was more than happy to meet me for breakfast and tell me all he knew about tabby, which turned out to be quite a bit.

• • •

“Look here, see?” Wiley held up the shell. “This is fossilized. You can tell by the color. A fresh oyster shell will be bleached white by the sun. This one is gray and kind of lustrous, which means it came from some of the prehistoric middens that the native Americans had left behind.”

“So you think this came from a specific place?” I asked before downing the last bite of my hash browns cooked with onions and jalapeños and covered in cheese. Delicious.

“Stands to reason. There aren’t that many old tabby structures in the area.”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Well,” he said. “The Kingsley Plantation on Fort George Island, for starters.”

Fort George? Hadn’t I just talked to someone about Fort George? My mind tried to shake the memory loose but it didn’t come.

“And people used tabby for other things, too,” Wiley continued. “There are even some tabby grave markers up around Fernandina Beach.”

“Grave markers?”

“Yep. I know of one cemetery with a tabby wall around it.”

“Can you tell me where it is?”

“Well . . .”

I narrowed my eyes. “What? It’s on private property, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But I know the woman who owns the place.”

“I don’t need to get arrested for trespassing.” Especially since I’d trespassed at the Ligners’ and Bob Ligner was dead. I shook off the thought.

One thing at a time, Grace.

“Why don’t we split up?” Wiley asked. “I’ll take a look around the cemetery and you can go to Fort George.”

I agreed, and as I climbed into Bluebell it hit me.

Doc at Billy’s Feed and Seed had mentioned a farm and fishing supply store near Fort George. It had gone out of business, which was why he’d gotten so many new customers.

New customers—like the young man in the dark ball cap who’d followed Brooke.

Had I found a clue after all?

I cranked Bluebell’s engine and headed north to find out.

Half an hour later, I located what used to be the farm and fishing supply off Heckscher Drive, less than a mile past the bridge leading to Fort George Island. I pulled into the drive and parked, getting out and crouching to examine the oyster-shell-and-gravel lot. Just as my uncle had said, there was a marked difference between the shell I had found and these cracked and dusty modern oysters.

Though it reaffirmed his claim that my shell was tabby, it also meant the shell hadn’t come from the parking lot.

Not the most encouraging start.

The store looked more like an old farmhouse than a farm supply business. But as I stepped up onto the wraparound porch, I knew I was in the right place.

Cupping my hand against the glass, I peered through the front window, surprised to find the shelves remained fairly well stocked for a place that had gone out of business.

Had the bank foreclosed that quickly?

I started around the side of the porch and paused at the sound of a low voice. A man’s voice, actually, echoed from behind the building.

I crept to the corner and listened.

“I know it’s not much, but till I get paid, this is all I can do.”

He paused.

“Next week will be better, I promise.”

Another pause.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to work, now.”

I slowly peered around the corner, expecting to see the man talking on a cell phone. Instead, I saw him standing near the opposite side of the building with his back to me. He hummed as he dipped a brush into a can of paint and brought it up to sweep over the wood siding.

For a moment, I thought he’d been talking to himself, but then I registered the presence of a feline. I turned and spotted the cat huddled under a small carport. It was completely focused on the small tray of dry cat food on the ground in front of it. I homed in on the cat’s thoughts. It was happy and relieved to have food. I began to draw my attention back to the man when I sensed more cats nearby.

I scanned the area, noting the full-size tan pickup truck and what appeared to be a long, narrow storage shed. The door to the shed was open and after a moment several more cats scurried from their hiding places to get their share of the food.

Before long, five more cats surrounded the tray, including a heavily pregnant female. Within seconds, the food was gone.

The first cat licked its chops and walked to the man to begin rubbing against his leg, begging for a second helping.

“Go on now, Buddy, you know I don’t have any more.”

Buddy persisted with some plaintive mews then gave up. He stalked back to the empty food tray, sniffed it, then wandered off to find a sunny spot for a bath.

I hadn’t expected to run into anyone at the store, let alone a fellow animal lover. Hopefully, the man would be able to tell me where I could find the previous owner.

I stepped around the corner and said, “That’s nice, feeding the strays.”

The man turned to me, surprised. He was young and muscled in a way that hinted more toward physical labor than time in the gym.

“The what?”

“The cats.”

“Oh. Those are Mr. Reedy’s cats. He can’t get around too well so I help out some.”

“Mr. Reedy?”

“His family owned this place for a hundred years. He asked me to paint it for him but I haven’t had much luck lately with all the rain.” He sighed, shoulders slumping, as if his failure was a measure of his character.

“Can’t do anything about the weather.”

He brightened at my words. “No, ma’am. That’s up to the Lord. ‘God is in heaven, he hath done as he pleases.’ That’s what the Bible says.”

I smiled and nodded. I’d have to take his word for it. I only knew one quote from the Bible—the one Sonja had had engraved on the back of a Saint Francis medal for me. It was hard not to memorize something that dangled around your neck every day.

“Do you know where I could find Mr. Reedy?” I asked.

“If he’s not here I’d try his house. Just head up Fort George Road then make your first left. He’s up about a half mile on your left. You can’t miss it. Just look for the
BEWARE OF THE DOG
sign.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry—what’s your name?”

“Josiah.”

“I’m Grace.”

“A pleasure, Miss Grace. Oh, and don’t worry about those old dogs of his, their bark is worse than their bite.”

• • •

I hadn’t been to Fort George Island in a while. The area was heavily wooded with live oaks and a thick undergrowth of palmettos. I had doubts I’d find Reedy’s place as easily as Josiah had promised but my concern proved unwarranted.

I pulled into a dirt driveway with signs posted on either side depicting vicious-looking canines and the word
BEWARE!

Everything Josiah described in his directions was accurate—with one exception. Those “old dogs” happened to be four lean, exceptionally disgruntled pit bulls.

As I rolled to a stop at the fence, they barked like mad and eyed me with silent menace as I approached.

I could smell brine and knew the salt marsh must be close, but I couldn’t see through the thicket of surrounding palmettos to discern a direction.

Spanish moss hung heavily in the trees, so thick that even the bright morning sun couldn’t pierce the gray-green curtain.

I scanned the area for a tabby ruin, but saw nothing more than a small dilapidated shed.

The house, too, was run-down. The cedar planks making up the exterior had warped and faded to a moldering gray. One of the front porch posts was missing, making the corner droop. It reminded me of a partial frown. Dogs aside, Reedy’s house had to be one of the most forbidding places I’d ever seen.