A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (5 page)

“Spectacular. Now, give me the name and phone number of the person you’re looking for and I will set my minions on the task. They should find something soon.”

“Thanks, Wes.”

“Anything for you, my sweet.”

I hung up and wandered in the direction of the barn. Several donkeys grazed in an adjacent pasture, and I walked toward the split-rail fence that separated us.

Whoever came up with the term
dumbass
probably never knew a donkey. Generally speaking, donkeys are intelligent, calm animals. They like attention, and when the small herd noticed my approach, they moved forward en masse—heads up and ears pricked. The feeling from the group was a mixture of anticipation and interest, along with mild curiosity.

“Hi, guys.”

I folded my arms to lean on the rough-hewn wood of the top rail and propped one foot on the bottom.

“Jack-Jack, you in here somewhere?” I scanned the group and finally saw the miniature donkey. To say he was cute was an understatement. Like a lot of donkeys, his coloring was a grayish dun with the characteristic cross of darker hair at his withers. Light tan capped his muzzle and ringed his eyes.

All in all, he didn’t look like a genius donkey—but looks could be deceiving.

Curious, I zeroed in on his brain and learned two things.

One—the little guy was off-the-charts smart; and two—he didn’t want to talk to me.

The donkey was hiding something.

Okay, you little sneak.
Just as I was about to pull out the big guns, hop the fence, and lay my hands on him for a proper Grace mind-meld, my phone chimed.

I glanced at my screen. A text message from Wes with Mrs. Johnston’s information.

“That was fast,” I said.

According to the text, Clara Johnston was fifty-one and married. It listed both her office and her home address, which, as luck would have it, was only a little out of the way from my first consultation appointment. Before I headed for Bluebell, I turned to Jack-Jack.

“When I get back, we’re gonna have a talk.”

Jack-Jack pulled his lips back in a donkey snicker, then turned and trotted away.

• • •

My appointment was with Brian Crews and his exceedingly hyper and loving Labrador, Jacoby. I’d worked with them before, so was able to quickly determine the catalyst behind Jacoby’s sudden need to turn his owner’s new flower beds into WWI-worthy trenches.

Bonemeal. A great fertilizer, but to a dog like Jacoby, it was a buried treat that could never be located.

With some effort, I was able to explain to Jacoby that all the digging in the world would never yield the bone his nose promised, and I suggested Brian use something else to feed his plants.

All in all, the appointment took around half an hour, so it was barely past eleven when I started on my own hunt for Brooke’s caseworker.

I spotted Clara Johnston’s house as soon as I turned onto her street. It was hard to miss the profusion of giant, inflatable Halloween decor covering her lawn.

There was so much vivid orange and violent purple that it was hard to make out the house.

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays. Probably something to do with the magical concept of trick-or-treating and staying out past my bedtime. But as much as I liked the holiday, and as inept as I was at understanding design and decor, even I knew Mrs. Johnston had taken things a little too far.

Like a cobra entranced by the movements of a mongoose, I was so mesmerized by the colors that it took me a minute to notice a woman had pulled into the drive.

Like always, I wrestled with the best approach. I figured in her line of work, the woman had been fed enough BS. I’d probably be better off playing it straight and telling her the truth. Well, except for the bit about a tiger seeing Brooke’s kidnapping.

“Mrs. Johnston?” I called out as I passed the VW-sized pumpkin marking the corner of her lawn.

She turned to me and nudged her car door closed with one hip. “Yes?”

“My name is Grace Wilde. I was hoping I could ask you about Brooke Ligner.”

“Who?

“She’s one of your . . .” I wasn’t sure of the term.
Client?
“You’re her probation officer.”

And just like that a switch was flipped.

“If you want to report a problem or file a complaint, you’ll have to call the office Monday.” She turned away before she’d even finished the sentence.

“Wait, that’s not why I’m here.” I faltered at the entrance of the poofy orange tunnel leading to the front porch, then hurried through, nearly bumping into the woman as I walked up the steps and emerged on the other side. “I think something may have happened to Brooke.”

“Then I suggest you contact the police.”

“Come on. We’re talking about a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“So are most of my other cases.” She spoke without looking at me and unlocked her front door.

“So, what? You only care Monday through Friday?”

“Pretty much.”

The door slammed in my face and I stood there for a moment, too stunned to move. I had a hard time equating the cheerful decorations with the cold woman I’d just met.

Maybe she was married to someone with a sunny disposition and a love of hyperbole. Either that, or she was like the witch in “Hansel and Gretel,” and the decorations were Mrs. Johnston’s version of the gingerbread house. A tool to lure children close so she could snack on them later.

“The witch gets it in the end, you know!” I called out before turning with a sigh to walk back to Bluebell.

Discouraged by my lack of progress with Mrs. Johnston, I was not in the best mood when Kai called.

“Hey. Sorry about earlier. Did you find anything?” he asked as I drove back to Happy Asses.

“Yes. Mud, dirt, leaves, and pine needles.”

“No squirrels to interrogate?”

I knew he was only teasing, but after last night, I was feeling sensitive so I didn’t reply.

“Grace?”

I choked back the snippy comment I wanted to make and tried to be logical.

“No squirrels. But I’m hoping to talk to the other volunteer. Maybe she can tell me something.”

“One of the other teens in the rehab program?”

“Her name is Caitlyn. She and Brooke are friends—or at least I hope they are. I’m batting zero today.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Trust me, I feel like I’m running on a hamster wheel.”

“I mean you might not want the girls to be friends. If Caitlyn and Brooke are buddies, she’s probably not going to tell you anything. Loyalty is big with these kids. Snitching is a no-no.”

“Snitching? How can talking to me be snitching? I’m not a cop.”

“You’re an adult.”

Crap.

“So what do I do?”

“If you talk to her, don’t jump in with a bunch of questions. Talk about something else. Find something you have in common.”

“In common?” First Emma, now Kai. My people skills must have been worse than I thought for them both to compare me to juvenile delinquents.

“If you can get her talking first, you’ll have better luck. Trust me.”

Great, I had to chitchat. I sucked at chitchat.

Over the phone, I could hear a gruff voice speaking with the abruptness and cadence of a Yankee.

“Is that Jake?” I asked.

“Yeah. He wants to talk to you. Hang on.”

A moment later, I got Detective Jake Nocera’s signature greeting.

“Yo.”

“What’s up, Jake?”

“When are you bringin’ Moss over for a playdate?”

“Soon. How’s Jax doing?”

“Getting fat. Mary says I need to take him for more walks, but with this knee I’m lucky to make it off the toilet in the morning.”

“Nice. Thanks for that visual.”

“No problem. So, I’m thinking if you bring Moss over, he and Jax can play and I’m off the hook.”

“For a day.”

“I’ll take what I can get.”

I understood. Keeping up with a young Doberman pinscher who was trained as a personal protection dog wasn’t easy. But Jax was such a good dog, it was worth the time and effort.

“Okay, I’ll call Mary and set something up.”

Jake handed the phone back to Kai with what might have been a
thanks,
but with Jake’s Northern accent and general grumpiness, it was hard to tell.

“I was going to ask if you wanted to grab lunch,” Kai said, “but I’m going to be stuck here awhile. What are you doing for dinner?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“How about the Pizza Bar?”

“Sounds good.”

I heard more voices in the background.

“I’ve got to go. Maggie is turning things over to us. I’ll see you tonight.” I knew from past conversations that Maggie was the medical examiner, and the fact that she had only just turned the crime scene over to the police meant Kai would be busy for a while.

After we hung up, I concentrated on divining a way to approach Caitlyn.

I thought about calling my sister for advice. Emma could make small talk with anyone. Infant or octogenarian—people loved my sister. But I knew the glam Goth wedding was later that night and Emma was probably up to her eyeballs in black tulle and brocade velvet.

I was on my own. Hopefully, I would do better with Caitlyn than I had with Ms. Nasty Pants Johnston.

I parked near the Happy Asses office and hopped out of Bluebell. It didn’t take long to spot my quarry. Caitlyn was dragging a large trash can toward the donkey pen and carrying a fan rake and an oversized shovel. Though she was taller than me—not hard given that I’m barely five foot three—she was fine boned, a bit scrawny, and was having a tough time maneuvering the can along with the tools.

I sighed and started toward her.

It looked like I was going to be cleaning up donkey poop. The glamour of my life is almost too much to take sometimes.

“Hey, let me help you.” I held the gate and took the rake and shovel.

“Thanks.”

The donkeys, eager as ever, had surrounded us by the time we took two steps into the enclosure.

Their expectations were clear. Even if I hadn’t been inundated with
Treat. Treat? Where treat? Have treat?
the nosing at our pockets and hopeful expression in their large, liquid eyes would have told me what they wanted.

I pulled up my mental shield to cut off the pleas.

“So, how do you plan to scoop if we can’t move?” I asked with what I hoped was a casual smile.

“Dang it. I forgot about their treats. Brooke always brought them.”

I kept a supply of dog and cat treats in Bluebell but was fresh out of donkey snacks.

Peppermint.

I remembered Boris saying Brooke smelled like peppermint.

“Do they like candy? I have some in my truck.”

“Yeah. That would be great.”

I went and grabbed a packet of Skittles out of the bag of Halloween candy I’d picked up in case we had any trick-or-treaters. No peppermint, but they’d have to do.

We fed the donkeys the Skittles and I offered to help Caitlyn rake the pen. As we worked, I tried to chitchat about the only thing we had in common.

“So, you like volunteering here?”

“It’s a lot of work, but it’s fun, you know? The animals are cool.”

“Brooke liked working with the animals, too, didn’t she? It seems weird that she’d just take off.”

Caitlyn shrugged. Maybe I’d jumped the gun on asking about Brooke. I started to go back to the chitchat stuff and had an idea.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you about last night.”

Caitlyn glanced at me before dumping a load into the can. “You mean what happened with Boris?”

“We’ve been trying to figure out what upset him. Did you see what happened?”

“Yeah!” Caitlyn perked up. Apparently Hugh getting treed like a raccoon warranted her interest. I was happy to use that to my advantage and not only get her talking but also see if she could provide insight into what had triggered Boris’s attack.

“It was crazy. Like, I was standing right there with everyone else. One second, Boris was on his back getting his belly rubbed and next thing he’s up and after Dr. Murray.”

The fact that Boris had been on his back was probably the only reason Hugh had been able to make it up the tree. It was also interesting because by exposing his belly, Boris was expressing trust. Something that had clearly changed in the blink of an eye.

But why?

“So you didn’t hear Dr. Murray say something or hear a noise that might have frightened Boris?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“You said you were watching with everyone else. Who else was there?”

“Ozeal, me, and the maintenance guy, Paul. It was crazy. I was afraid Ozeal was going to have to dart Boris. And that wouldn’t have been good.”

Even with her limited experience, Caitlyn knew the risks in tranquilizing a large animal, especially in an uncontrolled situation.

“I’m glad we didn’t have to,” I said.

“Because of you.” She looked at me, wide-eyed.

“Yep. I’m like the Ghostbusters.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Ozeal mentioned Brooke had been doing some work trying to get some more toys and stuff for the cats.”

“Yeah. Brooke is real smart. You can apply for all this money and stuff. She spent a lot of time filling out forms. She even wrote a paper or something.” She made a face as if she found the idea of writing truly horrifying.

“I wonder if that’s what’s upsetting Boris: Brooke leaving.” Grace Wilde, Queen of Subtle.

“That can happen?”

“Sure. Animals are affected by separation anxiety just like people.” We dragged the can to the other section of the pen, our shadows stretching out in front of us in the late-afternoon sun. The air was still and warm enough to make sweat bead on my brow as we raked.

“Do you think Brooke is coming back?” I asked.

“I don’t know.”

“So she didn’t tell you she was leaving?”

“I wasn’t here.”

“I mean before that. She never said she might take off?”

“Me and Brooke have different shifts. We overlap sometimes and grab lunch or whatever, but we don’t spend much time together. I mean, like, we talked some, but she wasn’t really into sharing.”

“I wish I could talk to her. Maybe let her know that Boris was upset. Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”