A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) (7 page)

Meet me at the condo. Need your assistance.

“I’ve got to run.”

He flashed that killer smile. “See you tomorrow. Maybe we’ll call it a date,” he said with a wink before turning to walk away.

When I got my heart rate under control, I climbed into Bluebell and headed home. Emma was going to flip when I told her she’d interrupted what might have been our first kiss.

• • •

The sight of my sister stopped me in my tracks.

Emma wore a black and garnet bustier with a ragged, asymmetrical skirt. Her hair was covered by a wild, black wig. Gold bones fanned out to form a crown on her head. More bones dangled from a scarf at her waist.

“What the hell are you supposed to be?”

“A voodoo queen.” She gestured in a regal way, and I spotted a voodoo doll dangling from one wrist. Her other hand, which was cupped to her chest, held something black and fluffy. I stepped forward for a better look.

“What is—is that a kitten?”

“Some idiot thought it would make a great costume accessory. Of course, the poor thing flipped out as soon as they carried it into the venue. I found it cowering under a table.” She held out the tiny ball of black fur. “I figured you’d know how to deal with it.”

I stared at my sister, stunned.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing, it’s just . . . I never expected you to bring an animal into your sanctum sanctorum.”

“What was I supposed to do? Toss it in the trash?”

Sadly, that was exactly what some people would’ve done.

“I’m just surprised, that’s all.”

She lifted a shoulder, her bone earrings swinging with the movement. “We’re starting your house hunt next week. I can put up with that little thing for a little while.”

“I’m not sure you’ll feel that way when it decides to sharpen its claws on your designer couch.”

She dismissed my comment with a wave. “You’ll just train it.”

“Emma, it’s a
cat
.”

Of course, we’d grown up with pets. Dogs, cats, squirrels, birds, snakes, lizards, you name it—if it was stray or injured I brought it home.

My mom was softhearted when it came to animals and welcomed each creature. My father, a master mechanic and certified tough guy, didn’t. At least not out loud. He would grumble and complain as he built little houses and cages for every new arrival. Emma reminded me so much of him sometimes, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Anyway,” she said airily, “if I can deal with Moss, I can deal with that little—” Her eyes widened. “He won’t hurt it, will he?”

“He’ll be fine. Moss!” I called out for my dog. He ignored me.

I could feel his mild interest, but he was comfortably stretched out on the couch and wasn’t inclined to move.

“Come here, Moss.”

Nothing.

I have a kitty cat.

Kitty?

I heard the jingle of his tags, and a moment later Moss trotted into the room. His eyes instantly fixed onto the black fuzz ball in my hand.

Kitty!

I held out the kitten and Moss busily began his examination, sniffing every inch of the cat with tail-wagging exuberance.

Moss’s kitty.

“Yes, this is your kitty. Be gentle.”

I placed the kitten on the floor. It opened its eyes slowly, fatigue and confusion making it wobble as it sat up.

“It’s okay, little one.” I reassured it with thoughts as well as words.

You’re safe.

The kitten mewed. Moss took this as his cue. Unable to pick it up by the scruff of its tiny neck, Moss gently clamped his jaws over the kitten’s entire head.

“Um—Grace?”

“It’s okay. Moss likes cats.”

“Because they taste just like chicken?”

I laughed. “They remind him of his old buddy, Charm.”

“That little thing reminds him of a jaguar?”

“Domestic cats and jaguars don’t smell the same, but they’re close enough.”

Moss lifted his kitten and took it back to his spot on the couch. He plopped the kitty down between his forepaws and began giving it a bath. I could hear the purring from where we stood.

I went to the pantry and rummaged through my stockpile of emergency animal supplies. I had a few cans of kitten food and even a small bag of cat litter, but no litter pan.

“Emma, do we have any of those disposable roasting pans?”

My sister opened the cabinet and pulled out an aluminum dish. “Will this work?”

“It will have to.”

As I set up a temporary kitty station in my bathroom, I told Emma about meeting Kai for dinner and that his questions seemed to be geared toward helping me rather than doubting my ability.

I held up my hand. “I know—don’t say it.”

“You do tend to assume the worst in people. I’m just glad Kai continues to prove you wrong.”

“So far. The jury is still out.”

She shot me an arch look. “Is it?”

“I haven’t known him that long. People aren’t always who they seem to be.”

“I won’t argue that. But even so, you never know until you take him for a test drive or two.” She bit her bottom lip and grinned. “Or ten.”

I pressed my lips together to stifle a giggle.

My sister’s eyes narrowed. “Are you blushing?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Lie.”

“Well, something might have happened if my sister hadn’t called and interrupted.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “Were you going home with him?”

“What? No! Lord, Em, it wasn’t like that. I thought he was going to kiss me.”

Her mouth dropped open in astonishment. “You haven’t kissed him yet? Grace, it’s been over two months.”

“No it hasn’t. And half the time one of us was either working or out of town.” I used the small desk chair for balance as I toed off my dusty tennis shoes.

“Okay, fine, one month. That is glacial, even for you. Kai is a fox. He’s hot for you. What’s your problem?”

“You assume I have a problem?”

“Um, yeah.”

“The problem is time. Look at me, Emma.” I turned in a circle so she could admire the grime and bits of hay that were no doubt clinging to my clothes. “And this is mild. I can’t leave work and go out on a real date. I smell like a barnyard.”

“You could make time.”

“I’ve been trying to. But I had to go up to Savannah to help Wes with that cat burglar thing. Kai was gone for two weeks for his cousin’s wedding.”

“Which you could have gone to.”

“In Hawaii?” I gave her an incredulous look.

She shrugged, conceding the point.

“Including tonight, Kai and I have only been out four times. If you don’t count meeting at the firing range—which I don’t.”

“You guys need to get it together and by together, I mean—”

I grabbed her hands before she could elaborate with a gesture. “I get it. Thanks.”

“Are you sure time is the only factor?” she asked as I went into the bathroom to turn on the shower. “You’re not coming up with excuses to ditch him because of trust issues?”

“I don’t have trust issues,” I said, walking back into the bedroom. “People are generally not trustworthy. That’s not an issue . . . it’s a fact.”

She stared at me for a long moment then said, “Wow. Just . . . wow.”

I waved her off and decided to change the subject. Even with all she’d been through, Emma would forever believe in the power of love. I had my doubts.

“Do you have to go back to the event?”

“Yep. And it will be a late one. Can you train with me in the morning? Sensei will be here at seven.”

My sister had converted her garage into a mini-dojo, complete with training equipment and a dressing area for when she had guests. Sometimes, I joined her in her private classes.

“How can you stay up half the night and then go to the dojo so early?”

“This body”—she swept her hand in an arc from head to waist—“is a finely tuned machine.”

I snorted out a laugh. “Fueled by martinis and malarkey.”

“And vitamins and green tea. So, are you in?”

I used to make excuses to get out of class, but the little aikido I’d learned had helped save my life recently, so I meant it when I said, “I wish I could, but I’ve got a busy day. I’ll have to get the kitten squared away and I want to find Brooke’s boyfriend—which could take a while.” I pulled off my dirty shirt and tossed it in the hamper. “Have you heard of something called
Pretty Little Liars
?”

“The books or the TV show?”

“The show, I guess. Caitlyn said Brooke’s boyfriend looked like the bad boy. Someone named Caleb.”

“Tyler Blackburn.” Emma turned to my small desk and opened my laptop. A few keystrokes later, the screen showed a teenager with shoulder-length dark hair and a smile too perfect to fit a bad boy. He was cute, though. Wangster or not, if Stefan looked like the actor, I could see why Brooke would be interested.

“How do you know who this kid is?”

“I did a
PLL
-themed sweet-sixteen bash a few months ago.”

“
PLL
?”

“
Pretty Little Liars.
And, yes, before you say it—I know way too much about teenage stuff. It comes with the job. Don’t even get me started on Bieber fever.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” But I’d just realized something. “Since you know so much about it, where would you go hang out if you were a wangster who thought you looked like a teen heartthrob?”

“I’d start at the Regency Square Mall.”

Then that was exactly what I’d do.

I had a dream I was on a powerboat. The engine rumbled as we sped over the water. Contentment washed through me as I turned my face to the bright sun, until suddenly I had the feeling I was being strangled. A beach towel had somehow gotten wrapped around my neck. I tried to untangle the towel but couldn’t.

I woke with a start and lifted my hands to my neck. My fingers connected with soft fur and I let out a sigh. Apparently, my new kitty had decided my larynx would be a great place to sleep.

Scooping the kitten onto the bed, I sat up and glanced at the alarm clock. Six fifteen. I started to lie back down but noticed Moss was nowhere in sight. My dog was not an early riser. After a quick mental scan, I felt him near the front door. There was a sense of urgency radiating from him.

If he had needed to pee he would have gotten me up. Had someone been knocking? Why hadn’t I heard him bark?

Tossing back the covers, I hauled myself out of bed, jabbed my legs into a pair of sweatpants, and shuffled toward the door.

Moss wasn’t in the hall or the foyer.

“Moss?”

The door burst open and my sister and my dog came barreling toward me.

“Hang on, you lunatic!” Emma dropped the leash and Moss charged past me. He lost his footing on the marble floor as he tried to turn toward the bedrooms. Skidding and slipping, legs splayed, with a grunt, he crashed into a potted palm.

Oops.

“Moss!”
What are you doing?
I put some force into the question.

He ignored me, scrambled to his feet, and disappeared down the hall.

“Your dog has lost his mind.” Emma panted from behind me. “I was going to take him out for a walk, but he didn’t want to go past the sidewalk. He stopped and lifted his leg on the first patch of grass and then almost yanked my arm off trying to get back inside.”

I stared at her, bewildered, before I realized what was going on. I focused on Moss’s thoughts and smiled.

“What’s funny about this?” Emma demanded.

“Moss was in a hurry to get back to his kitten.”

“Seriously?”

I motioned for her to follow me down the hall. We stopped in the doorway of my bedroom. Moss was on the bed, his body so tightly curled around the kitten that all you could see sticking up out of the wall of off-white fur were the points of two black ears.

“Did he really think something would happen to it?”

I shrugged. “The novelty will wear off soon enough. Once the kitten gets some energy back, Moss will be glad to get a break from his mothering duties.”

We headed into the kitchen, where I made coffee and Emma brewed her green tea.

“So, what are you going to name the kitten? It’s a girl kitty, right?”

“Right,” I said as I poured a cup of coffee. “I haven’t thought about names yet.”

“How about Voodoo?”

I smiled. “After her queenly benefactor?”

“Why not? It’s better than Fluffball or Blackie.”

“I like it—Voodoo it is.”

Emma finished her tea and headed downstairs to the dojo to warm up before class. I showered and started the manhunt for Brooke’s boyfriend, Stefan.

I was so hopped up on caffeine that I’d made it halfway to Cesery Road before I made an astute observation.

My chances of finding a low-life druggie like Stefan out and about before eight on Sunday morning were pretty much zip.

The coffee would not be defeated so easily. I needed a way to channel my energy. I thought about what Kai had said about the police being unable to start the search for Brooke until she was reported missing. What if I could convince Brooke’s parents she hadn’t just run away?

I called Ozeal, who’d probably been up since dawn, and asked her for Brooke’s home address. “I’ll have to call you back, Grace. I’m still making the breakfast rounds.” Before she hung up, I heard the lion, Larry, belch out a hungry roar.

My stomach grumbled, echoing the sentiment. I spotted a Krispy Kreme up ahead. The
HOT DOUGHNUTS NOW
sign flashed like a neon beacon guiding the wayward and lost to the goodness of fried dough and sugar glaze.

Five minutes later, I was hopped up on coffee
and
sugar.

My fingers danced on Bluebell’s steering wheel and my leg bounced up and down as I sat next to the empty box of doughnuts and stared at the clock.

What seemed like an hour later, Ozeal called me back and read off an address not far from the Krispy Kreme.

“You’re going to talk to the Ligners?”

“I’m hoping to persuade them to file a missing person report on Brooke.”

“You going to tell them about the other missing girls?”

I winced at the reference to my lie.

“I’ll do whatever I can to convince them,” I assured her before hanging up, feeling terrible that I had been dishonest.

My conscience chanted
Liar, liar, pants on fire!
as I pulled out of the Krispy Kreme.

The Ligners’ neighborhood surprised me. I was expecting an area of Arlington with a harder edge, but the houses were spacious and neat. Solidly upper-middle class. Lawns were manicured and trash cans and skeletons kept well hidden from view.

I parked in the drive behind a newer Lexus SUV and climbed out of Bluebell. A few doughnut crumbs and flakes of glaze clung to the front of my shirt and I brushed them off as I walked down the path toward the front door.

I rang the bell and stood admiring the cheerful Halloween wreath while I waited.

The woman who opened the door looked to be in her forties. A blonde with blue eyes. I wondered if I had the wrong house. Aside from her coloring, she didn’t look like the mother of a missing teenager. No trace of worry lining her face or dark circles under her eyes.

“Mrs. Ligner?”

“Yes.”

“My name is Grace Wilde. I work with Ozeal Mallory at the rescue facility.”

She blinked at me for a moment before seeming to connect the dots. I wondered if this woman, with her perfect hair and spotless shirt, had distanced herself from the unpleasant reality that her daughter was in a program for troubled teenagers.

“I’d like to talk to you about Brooke, if you have a minute.”

“Brooke?” A little frown creased her brow.

“May I come in?”

She glanced over her shoulder and back at me. “I don’t know . . . we were just on our way to church.”

“It won’t take long. Do you know that Brooke is missing?”

Again she blinked at me as if she didn’t quite understand. I was beginning to think I would get more response from a goldfish. I tried again. “Brooke hasn’t been to work in three days.”

“Oh, yes, well, Brooke does that. You know how teenagers can be.”

“I think you should file a missing person report.”

“A what?” Her eyes went wide.

“Anne? Who was at—” A man appeared behind her, stopping when he saw me.

“Hi, Mr. Ligner? I’m Grace Wilde. I work with Brooke,” I lied as I offered my hand. He gave me a perplexed smile before taking it.

“She’s looking for Brooke.”

“Have either of you spoken to her in the last few days?”

Mrs. Ligner shook her head, then looked to her husband as if he held all the answers.

He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, why don’t you go finish getting ready.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and she turned and walked away without another word. Her husband watched her go with a small shake of his head.

“Come in, please. I’m sorry about Anne. Everything with Brooke . . . it’s just gotten to be too much,” he said, pulling the door wide.

I followed him into a foyer that opened onto a spacious living room. The decor was modern—angular, sleek, and white. The wall leading to the backyard was made of solid glass. Sunlight streamed into the room, reflecting off an abundance of stainless steel. I had to squint in the glare.

“I didn’t mean to upset anyone,” I said when Ligner turned to me. “But I’m concerned about Brooke.”

He blew out a hard sigh. “If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard those words.”

“You’re aware that she hasn’t come to work since Wednesday?”

He nodded. “I talked to Mrs. Mallory. She’s being patient with Brooke, and I appreciate that. I haven’t had the heart to tell Anne that Brooke has missed work.”

“Why not?”

“Last week, Brooke and her mother had a fight. I don’t know what it was about. Brooke left. We assumed she’d run off again and was staying with a friend. I’d hoped she’d keep up with the job. It’s really her last chance.”

“What do you mean?”

“She has to stick with her job as part of her probation.”

“When was the fight?”

“Tuesday night, I think.”

The day before Brooke was taken. “I told your wife—I think you should file a missing person report.”

“Missing person?” He shook his head “No. Brooke’s not missing. She’ll call eventually. When she runs out of money or, heaven forbid, needs to be bailed out of jail again.”

His jaded attitude wasn’t surprising, but it was sad. “You’re not worried at all?”

“Of course, we’re worried, but I’ll be honest with you, Miss Wilde, there’s just so much worrying you can do before you drive yourself crazy. Eventually, you have to say enough is enough.”

“I understand.” I also knew my chance of talking him into reporting Brooke missing was dwindling with every defeated answer he gave me. “It’s just that I have a feeling there’s more going on with Brooke.”

“What makes you think that?”

“It’s hard to explain.” And I wasn’t about to try. I was pretty sure Mr. Ligner wasn’t the type of guy who would buy the truth—that I’d gotten the info from a Siberian tiger. “It’s just a feeling, really. Brooke was doing so well with the cats, it’s hard to believe she just ran off.”

Ligner let out a long breath. “I know what you’re thinking—Brooke is smart and funny and charming. You meet her and think maybe she’s learning responsibility. Maybe she’s cleaned up her act. Well, she hasn’t. Just when you think she’s on the right track, she’ll let you down. I look at Brooke and still see a sweet little girl. But that’s not who she is anymore.”

This guy was killing my sugar buzz. It was hard to tell if he was sincere or just a good actor. I just never knew with people.

The thought prompted my gaze to wander around the room in search of dog toys or other signs of animal habitation. Where was a good, faithful mutt when you needed one to interrogate?

I cast my mental feelers out as far as I could and felt a low buzz to my right. Too far to tell what it was or if it was even inside the house.

“Miss Wilde?” Ligner had picked up on my not-so-covert perusal of the area.

“Um . . . do you mind if I use your bathroom?” I offered him a sheepish smile. “Too much coffee.”

He showed me to a door down the hall. The immaculate powder room was so clean it looked as if it had never been used. After I used the facilities, I poked around for all of two seconds, which was all it took to discover there was nothing to discover beyond the brand of toilet paper.

I exited the bathroom and saw Mr. Ligner had donned a sports coat and was holding his keys. I surmised this was a subtle hint that I should go. I thanked him for his time, but just as I reached the front door I paused. The animal presence I sensed earlier had come closer. I heard the distinct flop of a pet door swinging closed.

No jingle of tags and no click-clack of toenails on the tile floor. A cat?

I reached out with my mind to confirm my hunch.

Felis catus.

Not the ideal informant, but beggars and choosers and all that jazz.

I caught sight of the gray tabby just as Mr. Ligner bid me farewell with a solemn nod and closed the door.

I strolled to Bluebell, took my time getting in, and waited until I saw the front door open and the Ligners emerge before backing out of the driveway. I slowly circled the block and pulled back into the drive.

Acting as if I hadn’t just been there two minutes before, I moseyed up the walkway and pretended to ring the bell. I located the cat within a few seconds and mentally urged it to come outside and around to the front yard so we could have a chat.

Here, kitty kitty.

No response. I knew the Ligners had gone to church, so I had time on my side. But just because I could afford to wait didn’t mean I wanted to.

Come on, kitty . . .

Nothing.

Here’s the thing with cats—they have a fine-tuned ability to ignore anything that’s beneath their notice. Cats are like the kung fu masters of the kiss-off.

The only other animal I’ve ever known who could come remotely close to a feline’s capacity to tune out humans was our old basset hound, Bumble. Bumble was so good at playing deaf, my parents believed he had a hearing problem. They took him to the vet and found out his hearing was fine and, after a few tests, suggested that Bumble might be a bit slow. I knew better, but didn’t have the heart to tell my parents the truth. Bumble just couldn’t have cared less.

This cat was giving my old dog a run for his money.

If I wanted to connect with Brooke’s cat, I was going to have to get closer.

Recently, I’d learned the key to avoid getting caught doing something you shouldn’t was to act natural. Keeping this in mind, I unhurriedly, but purposefully, walked around to the side of the house. The gate in the privacy fence was unlocked, so I let myself into the backyard, closed the gate, and went in search of Mr. Snobby Cat.