by Karen Harper
Finally, Jace thought, this jerk was showing some emotion. He’d obviously been hurt either as a child or lately—or both. Yeah, he understood a son being let down and damaged by his father, knew that up close and personal, so maybe this guy wasn’t so bad, just grieving in his own way.
Lane lowered his hand and went on in a shaky voice, “Maybe Dad was just going to shove the food in and fell in—or the cat grabbed him, pulled him in. He wouldn’t be drinking on a Saturday morning, would he?”
“Of course not,” Brit insisted, and blew her nose. “I’ll go see if we can get Mother up and moving. She wanted to stay here rather than go home before, wanted to be here where they were living their dream.”
“Your dream too,” Lane said under his breath as Brit opened the door to the smaller room and tiptoed in, closing the door behind her.
Jace felt torn about Lane. He came off as a self-centered, snobbish SOB, yet maybe Brit had been Daddy’s golden girl. Lane hadn’t taken more than a few steps into the room. He hadn’t hugged his sister. He sounded much more angry than grieved.
And, Jace thought, as the two of them stared at each other, though he was no forensic psych like Claire or a law genius like Nick, hadn’t this guy just spewed out at least two things that would suggest Ben Hoffman’s death wasn’t an accident? That maybe Ann Hoffman—Brit too—had benefited from his demise financially, and Lane himself emotionally?
* * *
Though it had been a hellish day earlier, Nick broke out a bottle of congratulatory champagne to toast Bronco and Nita. Claire and Gina kept fussing over her engagement ring.
“Pretty, huh?” Nick overheard Heck ask Gina. “You want one like that?”
“Maybe someday,” she told him with a tight smile and a toss of her dark hair.
Nick liked Gina, their Cuban refugee. She was bright and perceptive, which he was used to in Claire. Gina had picked up on the fact that Claire was wavering with exhaustion and had taken over hostess duties, insisting Claire stay put and telling the radiant Nita this was her special night and she should sit still while Gina brought in the goblets for Nick to pour the champagne.
Then Gina put dishes in the dishwasher while Claire and Nick said good-night to the newly engaged couple.
“So romantic, so bonita in the moonlight by the gazebo he built,” Nita was telling them at the front door.
Nick had his arm around Claire’s waist, in a way propping her up. He had to get her late-night meds into her, get her to bed. But he should have known his sweetheart had insisted on walking Bronco and Nita to the door for a special reason. He wasn’t surprised that she brought up a plan they had discussed recently.
“Nick and I would like to offer our gazebo, backyard and home for the wedding, if you want,” Claire told them.
“Right,” Nick put in. “You two talk it over and let us know. Or, if you want to be married in a church, the reception could be here. Just if you want—no pressure either way.”
Nodding madly, Nita started to cry again. “Lexi, she can be a flower child,” she told them.
“Flower girl,” Bronco whispered, his arm around her waist. “It would be a great honor—a great gift to us, but we buy the food and drinks, sí? If you two would stand with us, best man and best lady of honor, it could be here. You both already been so good to us. We’ll say yes now, ’cause we got reminded today that life can be over fast, bad things hit people they don’t see coming. Joy in life comes to you, but maybe teeth and claws too.”
As Claire and Nick went back inside, Nick said, “Pretty profound from Bronco.” Heck and Gina were heading toward them, holding hands. They said their goodbyes, then, when they were finally alone, Nick told Claire, “Now let’s get you to bed.”
“You’ll take the case if they ask you, right? It will be cut and dried, obviously an accident.”
“Just don’t you get involved. Obviously is a dangerous word in the practice of law.”
“And for forensic psychs who need to rely on observations, not feelings. I’m just so tired I’m not thinking straight—obviously.”
He kissed her, locked the front door behind them and led her toward the master bedroom, thinking with relief that there could not possibly be another day like this one.
6
Claire stepped into the room that had bars all around it. She was trapped and afraid. Ahead in the cage were two identical doors. She had to protect herself, save Lexi and her new baby. Where was Nick?
The bigger question was—where was the tiger?
Her mother was reading a story out loud to her called The Lady and the Tiger. The tiger was behind one of the doors, and Nick was behind the other. She was being forced to choose by the king in trial by ordeal... If she chose the door with Nick, she was safe. If she chose the one with the tiger...
She heard a rumbling roar, but where did it come from? She was certain she had seen the tiger kill someone already. Why did Mother always have to read them books for adults when they were little? Some were scary and hard to understand. Why did she bury herself in books after Daddy left? Their parents had let her and Darcy down. Now that dead man in the cage had let his wife and children down.
But Claire loved to read to Lexi too, so maybe she was like her mother. She wanted to hide so she and her family would not be hurt anymore. They had almost been killed by a human predator, Nick’s enemy. Mother was at the end of the story, and Claire had to choose which door. She pointed toward one. At first, she was sure that Nick would come out to help her. Maybe Jace was behind the other one. Trial by ordeal...
But no—in the darkness outside their house a big cat crossed in front of her and turned toward her with burning eyes. It had clawed a man and there was blood, but then it leaped at her and she screamed...
“Claire. Claire, sweetheart, you’re having one of those dreams.” Nick’s voice. Was he behind the other door? “You cried out and screamed.”
Nick holding her. In their bed. Dizzy. Crazy. Was this real?
“A t-t-tiger...” she stammered in a whisper.
“Yes, I can see why you’d be dreaming of a tiger, but it’s not real. You were just having a narcoleptic nightmare. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Maybe you’d better go back on your regular meds, not try to get by on those herbal teas.”
“I just got off the timing today, with everything that happened.”
He sat up with his back against the headboard, pulled her to him and held her tighter with his chin on the top of her head as she nestled against him, her face pressed to his warm neck.
“Then for sure we’re not getting involved in this,” he said. “We’ll take the flowers and food to Brittany and her mother tomorrow, but I’ll pass the case on to someone else at the firm, if they still need help.”
Her head began to clear. The image of the animal, the fear began to fade. Yes, they were in their bedroom. She could see the wan glow of the nightlight from their bathroom. Safe here. Safe in their new home. Still, she held on to Nick even tighter.
In a stronger voice she told him, “But if Brittany and Ann still need help, especially if there’s a question of whether it was suicide, that’s what you do, give help. And me too. I help you.”
He kissed her damp forehead and smoothed her tousled hair back from her face. “You do help me. You—Lexi too—are the best thing that ever happened to me, and I will protect you both with my life. The new little one too,” he added, and his voice broke as he put a gentle hand on her rounded belly.
Her head was clearer now. Clear enough to know that, despite her horrid dream, Brittany and Ann were the ones in a cage and they had to help them.
* * *
Sunday afternoon, while Jace took Lexi to the stables for a riding lesson on her beloved pony Scout, Claire and Nick took a basket of gourmet food and a big bouquet of flowers in a vase to the Hoffmans. They had called their house, but when
they heard they were at the BAA, decided to go to see them there. Brittany said the gawkers and media were gone now. Claire told her they didn’t plan to stay long.
“I’ve heard that Trophy Ranch just beyond is huge,” Claire observed as they drove for several miles on the narrow dirt road toward the BAA, a speck in the edge of Everglades land.
“Grant said it goes deeper back than what appears along the road, with hundreds of primitive acres. He said it has cabins for hunters to stay in, a lodge and lots of terrain to hunt. I think they guarantee all kinds of kills for big money there. That reminds me, I want to see Grant soon. It’s in the back of my mind that he said something about wanting to buy up the surrounding land, that the orchard owners might sell, but the Hoffmans never would.”
“Sorry for suspecting anyone and everyone right now,” she told Nick, “but that could mean Stan Helter is not such a good neighbor. Like maybe he wants their few acres, but they’ve refused to sell. Maybe he put pressure on them, maybe had words with Ben Hoffman or even Brittany. His voice had a tinge of disdain and anger in it when he referred to her as the beast-loving blonde. You said he was a womanizer. Maybe he came on to her, and she turned him down.”
“Sweetheart, don’t get carried away with fiction. Let’s avoid the ‘maybes’ unless we have to. We don’t need more nightmares, asleep or awake. I think we decided last night that I’d pass this case on to a colleague if it gets sticky.”
“But we agreed that you help people, and I help you.”
He sighed and nodded as they turned into the now nearly deserted BAA parking lot. A big Lexus sat there with a Going for Baroque decal on the back window and a bumper sticker that read STRINGS ATTACHED.
“I’m not a betting man, but I’d say Lane Hoffman’s here,” Nick said.
But they also saw hand-printed signs at the entrance to the lot and the gate that read TEMPORARILY CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Someone had also tacked a piece of paper to the entry gate that read RIP, Benjamin Hoffman. And another—Claire swore it looked like Jace’s handwriting, quite large, that read Semper Fi!
As they approached the closed gate—Brittany had told them to knock and Jackson would let them in—their gazes snagged. Claire tilted her head. “I hear a violin. Lively music.”
“Maybe Lane’s playing to lift their spirits.”
“I wish he’d lift ours.”
Jackson let them in, still shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. A frown made his dark face sag. “Don’t make a bit of sense,” he told them. “Sure, Ben had problems like all of us, but to be off enough to do something like that? No way. ’Preciate it if you can help out Miz Brittany and Miz Ann,” he told Nick, shifting his head shakes to nods. “Now, Lane, like you can hear, he got his own way of dealing with things.”
With a nod toward the music, Jackson locked the gate behind them and headed quickly away, soon lost to their view in the foliage behind the now empty ticket office.
“I suppose in a way it was best that neither Ann nor Jackson saw it happen,” Claire said, taking Nick’s hand. “Remember, Brittany said Jackson and Ben were friends from way back. It was bad enough for Brittany to see her father attacked just before we got to the cage.”
They found Ann Hoffman standing in the petting zoo, stroking a small, nervous ostrich, which had a collar around its long neck. The violinist—likely Lane—seemed lost in his own music and didn’t seem to see them at first, even when Ann nodded and gestured them over. At least the new widow was calm now, though she looked ravaged and haunted. Maybe the music and the animals would help her. Brittany was not in sight.
Claire jumped when the violin screeched out a sound that was a hee-haw, then one she was certain was a roar. Lane lifted his violin, then swept it down to his side and made a flourish with the bow.
Lane Hoffman looked the part of a musician, Claire thought, though she instantly regretted her stereotyping. He wore his blond hair to his neckline and straight; it shifted when he played with such emotion. He had a light brown, perfectly clipped beard. Unlike many Floridians, he had pale skin. He was not really thin, but seemed, well, graceful for a man, or was that just the effect of the music on her?
“I heard you were coming and that you helped yesterday,” he said. “The family appreciates it. You know, this was the most apropos piece I could think of, The Carnival of the Animals by Saint-Saëns.”
“Glad to meet you,” Claire said, and Nick echoed that, though Lane began to play again with a mere nod. “As you can see, we come bearing gifts,” she told Ann.
But it was Lane who spoke while playing. His moving chin bounced the violin a bit, but he didn’t miss a note. “Again, greatly appreciated. Brittany’s with the tiger—which, I hope, will be leaving here soon one way or the other.”
“We can take these things over to her.”
“Oh, let me take them into the administration trailer,” Ann put in. “This is all so kind of you. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Claire said. “The basket’s heavy.”
She took it from Nick and went toward the trailer with Ann. Though she seemed calm and was on her feet, she was a bit out of it and slow-spoken, so maybe she was on tranquilizers.
As they went up the steps into the trailer, Ann said, “I’m sure it was a shock to you—seeing it too.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry. I was worried for Brittany.”
“She loves big cats. Wants to work with them forever.” She cleared her throat and put the vase of flowers on a cluttered table, then began to empty things that needed to be kept cool from the basket into the small refrigerator in the corner.
“It’s a huge mystery, of course,” Ann said, bent over, not looking at Claire who found herself studying Ann’s body language since she couldn’t see her face. “He left a legacy. He had his problems, but don’t we all?” she asked, almost defiantly, as she stood and faced Claire. “As you can well observe, the fact we were all at odds with Lane—well, that was something that haunted Ben. At least Lane’s here today, playing happy music, wouldn’t you know.”
Before Claire could delve into that mixed message, Ann abruptly rushed past her and headed back outside, so Claire followed.
* * *
Pulling a broken strand off his bow, Lane said to Nick, “I understand my sister or my mother might have mentioned something to you about needing representation and you sat in with them for the police interview.”
“In case state or national agencies levy a fee or some charges, they may need counsel. I expect their rulings will blame your father and not the BAA.”
“We all appreciate your advice, but surely an inquiry or possible charges will come to nothing. As far as I’m concerned, if the state wants to take that tiger, the sooner the better. Brittany loves the damn thing, but it’s pretty obvious they were all in over their heads keeping it here after it had been abused by some old woman. That made it more likely to strike out, I’d say.”
“You do realize this might reach beyond the State of Florida. The ultimate authorities are not only the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, which will no doubt investigate, but it could go to the US Department of Agriculture. A bizarre death like this is national news.”
“Been looking into it already? I would like to get my father’s cell phone back, though. The cleanup crew found it wedged way back on the floor of the cage when he must have dropped it or maybe thrown it, and the police have it.”
Nick saw him shudder. As cold as Lane Hoffman seemed to him, maybe the man did have feelings for his father. But, damn, his attorney antenna said this man was covering up something.
“I can look into that,” Nick said. “As a favor for Brittany.”
The two of them stared at each other. A lamb baaed, and the ostrich Ann had been petting strutted off. Nick was amazed to see a flamingo sprint by with Jackson chasing it. Despite t
he tragedy here, this place had a certain strange charm, something Lane obviously didn’t get despite his The Carnival of the Animals music.
As Claire and Ann came back, Nick said, “If you two don’t mind, we’ll just go see Brittany before we leave. She has my number in case you need any advice. I’d be happy to help with anything, minus which music to pick to calm the savage beasts around here.”
“You know a lot of people misquote that,” Lane called after them. “It’s correctly said, music to soothe a savage breast—of people, that is. And some of us need that. Evidently my father did, and—as usual in his life—went about it entirely too gung ho.”
7
As they walked over the moat bridge, Claire observed to Nick, “No wonder Jace said Brit doesn’t get along with her brother. I’ll cut him some slack since he’s no doubt shocked and grieving.”
“Maybe in the orbit he travels, he was ashamed of them and this little place and feels guilty now.”
“I read anger in him covered by flippancy. And I read avoidance in Ann.”
“Lane may not want me on the case, but I see you’re working it already.”
“Not really. It’s just me, curious but cautious. Look, Nick,” she said, pointing, “both of them are pacing.”
They stopped when they turned the corner by the otter and beaver display. The tiger was stalking back and forth again as it had before, and Brittany was pacing with it, though she could hardly keep up, on the outside of the bars, but as fiercely and seemingly just as caged.
Claire had to call Brittany’s name to break the spell. She jerked her head around and frowned.
“Oh, glad you’re here. I’m just trying to calm him down. And myself too, of course. I think Darcy said you’re a shrink,” she told Claire as she left the edge of the cage, climbed the restraining fence and came closer. “I could use that as well as a lawyer, I think.”
“Actually,” Claire told her, putting a hand on the woman’s shoulder—she was shaking—“I’m a forensic psychologist, someone who works in the area where the law meets forensics. I observe and analyze people, advise lawyers, sometimes testify in court.”
