“What?”
“The variety—there are a few, right?”
“Riiight.” He drew out the word and studied me for several seconds.
I returned his scrutiny. His hair was cropped military-short, but looked like it would be blond if allowed to grow out. Sculpted cheekbones, chiseled jaw, and a muscular build rounded off the stud-muffin package.
Yard Guy was a fox. And though he was closer to my age than Brooke’s I wondered if his looks hadn’t contributed to her request for catnip.
“How well do you know Brooke?” I asked.
“Like I said, she’s the Ligners’ kid. Look, I’ve got to get to work.”
He turned away and I hesitated, not knowing how to get him talking. I cast a quick glare at the cat door. I hated talking to people. Even foxy guys—no, especially foxy guys.
Yard Guy was walking toward the gate and I hurried to catch up.
“Do you always work on Sunday?” I asked as I followed him into the side yard.
“My boss expects a lot.”
I read the logo on the pickup we were approaching: GREEN’S LAWN AND LANDSCAPING. “Mr. Green’s a slave driver, huh?”
Yard Guy didn’t answer.
“Do you happen to know when the Ligners will be home?”
“Sometime after noon, I guess.”
“Does Brooke usually go with them to church?”
He shrugged and slipped on a pair of sunglasses he’d had clipped to the front of his shirt.
“Is that your Suburban?”
“Yes.” I smiled. I could talk vintage cars—no problem.
“Can you move it? I need to back this load of mulch into the drive.”
I left the Ligners’ feeling frustrated and a little dejected. Not knowing what else to do, I decided to try my luck finding Brooke’s boyfriend, Stefan, again. I cruised down Merrill Road, scanning the mini-marts and fast-food joints on my way to the mall.
I spotted a likely group of wayward teens loitering on a street corner near a Burger King. One of the boys had longish hair but was too far away to tell if he looked like the TV bad boy Emma had shown me.
As I pulled into the lot, the realization struck that I would have to get Stefan alone if I wanted to get any information out of him.
I wished I’d thought to bring Moss with me. To some, he was big and scary, but for whatever reason, most teenagers got a kick out of the great white wolf.
Moss was home guarding his kitten so I tried to think of another in with the group. I was still squinting through my windshield at the teenagers when my phone rang.
“Hi, Grace,” Ozeal’s voice crackled across the line. “Is there a chance you can come by later? Boris didn’t eat much of his dinner and he didn’t touch his breakfast. I was hoping you could take a look at him.”
My heart sank at the words, and I couldn’t help but feel a flare of anger. Boris, the tiger, was more affected by the disappearance of this girl than her own parents.
I huffed out a breath and muttered, “This is so frustrating.”
“Sorry, Grace, I would have called Hugh, but I was afraid seeing him would add to Boris’s stress.”
“I understand and I’m happy to check on Boris. It’s just sad; this girl has gone missing and the one who’s most upset is a tiger.”
“I take it Brooke’s parents didn’t want to file a missing person report?”
I gave her a summary of my conversation with them. “They seem convinced Brooke ran away. Well, her stepdad is, anyway. Brooke’s mom seemed a little out of it.”
“You spoke to Brooke’s mother?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I’ve never met or spoken to her, even over the phone. I got the feeling she’s not very . . .” Ozeal paused, seeming to search for the right word. “I guess you could say she wasn’t interested in Brooke’s life.”
“What made you think that?”
“Brooke never mentioned her mother and, mostly, it was her stepfather who would pick her up or drop her off.”
“Who else would Brooke get rides with?”
“Friends. Occasionally.”
“No one in particular? Maybe someone named Stefan?” I asked as I watched the band of teenagers split into two smaller groups. The boy with the long hair came closer to Bluebell and as I got a better look, I knew I didn’t have the right guy.
“I never asked for names,” Ozeal said. “I wish I could think of something to help . . .” She breathed out a heavy sigh and I could almost feel the weight of her worry.
The mention of Brooke getting a ride sparked a memory.
“Ozeal, you said you let Brooke drive to the feed and seed store, right? Did she go on Wednesday?”
“Now that you mention it, she did. I sent her for some weekly supplies right after we got everyone fed that morning. Do you think her going to the store could have something to do with what happened?”
“I don’t know, but I’m going to check it out.”
CHAPTER 6
Ozeal gave me directions to the feed and seed, which, as I’d guessed, was close to Happy Asses, off Cedar Point Road. The mall was only a five-minute drive from where I was on Merrill, so I headed there first. As soon as I turned into the nearly vacant lot, I knew my aversion to shopping had finally caught up with me.
Most people would know the mall didn’t open this early on Sunday.
With a muttered grumble of irritation, I hauled Bluebell around, jumped onto the expressway, and headed north. Twenty minutes later, I was pulling into Billy’s Feed and Seed.
A demure chime heralded my entrance to the store, and I was immediately greeted by the malty scent of sweet feed, dried grain, and . . . goat?
I got a mental bead on the creature and turned to my left.
The aisle was empty.
Confused, it took me a moment to realize I needed to look up.
A solid-white goat stood on a stack of fifty-pound bags of birdseed. The goat cocked its head and regarded me with its strange, goat eyes.
Billy, I presume?
He gave me an affirmative bleat.
I was about to ask Billy if he had seen Brooke the day she went missing when a man said, “He’s harmless, you know.”
I turned to see an older, paunchy man wearing a Billy’s Feed and Seed T-shirt and a pair of honest-to-goodness overalls.
“Who?” I asked.
“Billy. The way you were looking at ’im, I thought maybe he’d spooked you. Can I help you find something?”
The idea of being spooked by a goat made me smile. “Actually, I was wondering if you were working last Wednesday morning.”
“Billy and me work every morning,” he said, returning my smile. “I’m Doc Riggins . . . This is my place. Don’t tell Billy, though, he thinks he’s the sole proprietor,” Doc said with a wink.
“My name is Grace Wilde. There was a girl here last Wednesday—dark hair, a little taller than me, maybe around ten o’clock. Do you remember her?”
“Teenager?”
“She’s sixteen.”
“Yep. She’s come in a few times with Ozeal Mallory. Works at Happy Asses, right?”
I nodded. “Her name is Brooke. She’s missing.”
His salt-and-pepper brows shot up. “Missing?”
“She disappeared last Wednesday. Do you recall if there was anyone else in the store around the same time she was here?”
“Are you a cop?”
“I’m helping Brooke’s family look for her.” Not really a lie—I considered Boris family, of sorts. “Brooke got into some trouble not long ago, so the police have been a little slow on the uptake.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “We’ve been awful busy lately. You know, the old farm and fishing supply out by Fort George got shut down. Foreclosed. It’s a damn shame what the economy is doing to people.”
“So you’ve had more customers recently?” I prompted, not wanting to get into a discussion about the state of the union.
“Yes, ma’am. As I recall, t
here were a few other customers in here that morning.”
“Anyone seem to be paying attention to Brooke?”
“Most everyone—she was so upset, it was hard not to notice.”
“Upset?”
“Crying so hard, she could barely give me her order. And, come to think of it, there was a young fella that seemed to notice her, just as she was leaving.”
“Really?” I couldn’t believe I was finally getting a lead. “What do you mean by notice? He didn’t speak to her?”
Doc squinted at the door, as if trying to picture what had happened. Finally he shook his head. “No, she was on her cell phone and getting upset again.”
“What did he look like?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Doc removed his ball cap to rub his nonexistent hairline with the back of his hand. “Average build, I guess. Maybe in his early twenties, maybe a little younger.”
“Race? Hair color? Eyes?”
“He was white. Didn’t notice his eyes and he had on a hat.”
“What kind of a hat?”
“A ball cap. Brown, or navy blue, maybe.”
“Did he buy anything?”
“I think so. Though I don’t remember offhand. I was on the phone a good bit that morning taking orders.”
“Can you check your sales records? Maybe give me a name from a check or credit card?”
The chime on the door rang as a customer walked in.
Doc gave the tall man a wave in greeting, looked back at me, and said quietly, “I’d like to help, but I can’t give out my customers’ information. You understand.”
“Sure.”
I thanked Doc and decided to have a look around. I wanted to talk to Billy, but I sensed other animal brains in the store as well. I figured I could ask Kai to look into the store’s records when we met at the gun range . . .
Uh-oh. I glanced at my watch. I was going to be late for our lesson.
Again.
Crap!
I rushed out of Billy’s and barreled toward the range. I had to slam on my brakes halfway up the 295 on-ramp, thanks to some fool who’d run out of gas and was trying to push his car into the emergency lane. Traffic was crawling around him. I’d never make it to the firing range in time.
Kai wouldn’t hear his phone, so, with a mental cringe, I sent him a text to let him know I wasn’t coming, then turned back toward Happy Asses.
Time to check on a troubled tiger.
• • •
Boris paced in a long oval near the center of the enclosure. His path encompassed three things: the spindly tree so recently occupied by Hugh, a large log that ran diagonally across the pen, and a thatch of newly planted pampas grass.
It was almost noon and the sun gleamed off the tiger’s coat. Muscles rippled under his shining fur as he padded rhythmically along on huge, silent paws. He moved with fierce, mesmerizing elegance, a living testament of raw power and grace.
I should have been awed by the sight. I wasn’t.
I looked at Ozeal, and could tell from her frown she was thinking the same thing I was.
Boris was beautiful, but he was zombified. Stereotypical pacing is neurotic behavior and it was a bad sign.
The only thing I’d picked up when I’d extended my mind to his was the dull, driving need to walk.
And walk he did. Round and round, unaware of the two humans watching him.
“How long has he been at it?” I asked.
“I’m not sure. At least an hour.”
“You said he didn’t eat last night. Did something happen yesterday afternoon to upset him?”
She shook her head. “He seemed fine all day. A little reluctant to go into his house when it was time, but nothing other than that.”
“Did you have to feed him at an odd time?”
Routines were established fairly quickly with intelligent animals and could cause a problem if interrupted.
“Started at five, same as always.”
“What about Brooke? Did she ever give him treats?”
“The cats aren’t allowed to have anything out of their specified diet.”
That didn’t mean Brooke didn’t sneak in a little bit here and there. I remembered something Yard Guy had said.
“What about catnip?”
Ozeal gave me a startled look.
“The Ligners’ landscaper mentioned Brooke wanted some plants,” I explained.
“Boris and Larry are the only ones who like it.” Ozeal hooked her thumb toward the lion in the adjacent enclosure. “Brooke gave them catnip on Saturdays. I can’t believe I didn’t think about it. We should have some in the commissary. Do you think it will help?”
“Can’t hurt.”
She nodded and trundled off, returning a few minutes later with a paper lunch bag filled with a tiger-sized portion of catnip. She shook the bag and called out to Boris.
Come here, Boris. I added a mental summons, gently urging him to come to where we stood.
Nothing.
What was it with cats today? Was every feline determined to ignore me?
I glanced over my shoulder at the lion, who lounged in his enclosure, dozing at the corner closest to us.
Psst! Larry.
The lion lifted his head, yawned, and pinned me with an inquisitive gaze.
Yes?
I mentally waved him off.
Never mind. Nap on.
He glanced at the bag Ozeal was shaking and his interest spiked.
You’ll get some, too.
Promise?
I promise.
Satisfied, he lowered his great, maned head to rest on his paws and returned to his slumber. I turned back to Boris.
Ozeal had given up on calling Boris. She rolled the bag into a tight ball, took a few steps back, and lobbed it over the fence. It made it a good way into the pen, landing a half a dozen feet away from the tiger. He didn’t break his stride.
“He doesn’t seem interested,” Ozeal said with a sigh.
I agreed with her. But I’m nothing if not determined.
Emma would call it stubborn—but it’s the same thing, right?
“Do you mind if I go in with him?”
“Be my guest,” Ozeal said, to my surprise. Boris’s welfare obviously trumped any worry she might have for me.
We walked to the small access gate and as she unlocked it, I mentally scanned the tiger again, checking for any signs of aggression or anger.
Though I found nothing menacing, I entered the enclosure slowly and spoke to Boris in a soft monotone.
“Hey, Boris. Let’s stop that pacing, okay?”
He didn’t acknowledge me.
I eased over to where the bag of catnip lay in the grass. Keeping my movements careful, I retrieved the bag and watched the tiger stalk past. I waited until he was at the far side of the oval near the pampas grass before walking to stand at the opposite end of the log, at the base of the sapling.
I glanced down as I stepped over the log to place myself in Boris’s path. Gouges an inch deep sliced into the wood—a reminder of just how lethal a tiger’s claws could be. Not that I was worried about it.
Nope, not at all.
Boris rounded the clumps of grass and headed straight for me.
“Come on, handsome. Want some catnip?”
The tiger seemed to look right through me as he stalked closer.
I bent at the waist and rolled the bag toward his legs like a bowling ball. It tumbled forward and bounced off his paw.
That caught his attention.
His eyes snapped into focus, gaze locking on to the rolling bag. With lightning speed, Boris struck, crushing it under a paw.
A moment later, the scent of the herb reached his nose and he plopped down to pin the bag between both massive front paws. After a couple of quick, assessing sniffs, he began pulling the paper apart with his teeth.
“You’re a fan, huh?” I asked softly as I approached. The cat welcomed my presence, or at least he didn’t object to it.
I felt the effects of the catnip as the first wave flowed over him.
Nip—good, he affirmed and began rolling on the bag.
I bet.
I extended my senses out to him like an invisible hand, assessing his mood as I searched his thoughts.
The catnip seemed to have done the trick. Boris was no longer Panthera zombis.
I didn’t want to delve too deeply into the cat’s brain while he was blitzed out, so I simply skimmed over his thoughts.
“Is this your scratching post?” I lowered myself onto the log and settled in to watch him for a few more minutes.
I noticed something in the dirt next to the log. A dark green baseball cap. I reached down and retrieved it. The cap was embroidered with a stylized, circular design similar to a yin and yang symbol, with the head of an elephant on one side and a fish on the other.
I recognized the logo for the World Association of Zoos and Aquariums. A smile tugged at my lips.
Hugh must have lost the hat in his mad scramble up the tree.
I stuffed the dusty hat in my back pocket and turned my attention to the tiger rolling around in front of me. In his zeal to spread as much catnip over his body as possible, he had decided to flip on his back, smacking me with his tail as he went.
“Hey!”
Watch it, goofball, I chided.
My voice seemed to break his focus and he shifted to look at me. All four paws were in the air. Bits of paper bag and flecks of catnip clung to his face and whiskers.
“You look ridiculous.”
He sneezed, twisted toward me, flopped over, and sat up. Plopping one paw on my foot he butted his head against my cheek.
That’s when things got weird.
CHAPTER 7
“What do you mean, you saw Brooke?” Kai asked as he opened the box of doughnuts on his desk.
I’d taken a detour through the Krispy Kreme drive-through on my way to the sheriff’s office, deciding a token of apology was necessary for missing my lesson. A box of assorted tokens, actually.
“I mean I saw her standing by the fence, plain as day.”
“How?”
“Catnip.”
He raised his brows and I explained Boris’s affinity for the stuff.
“So your vision of Brooke was what? A hallucination?”
A Tiger's Tale (A Call of the Wilde Mystery) Page 8
