by Karen Harper
“Had a migraine headache and stayed put at their—her—house,” he told them with a heavy sigh as he scattered cut-up vegetables and shrimp for the flamingos. He had mud on his jeans and had stuck a shovel in the soil near the moat. “She’s kind of losing it, and I don’t blame her. Folks mourn in their own ways. Brittany’s here, though, brought by your friend Jace. They’re back in the trailer mapping strategy. We gotta reopen soon, but we been threatened with more than one group picketing out front if we do.”
Claire told him, “But you’re doing what’s important, taking care of these beautiful birds and the other animals here in honor of Ben and for Ann and Brittany.”
“Sure am, though Brittany’s totally in charge of that tiger now. Two of these birds here getting ready to nest,” he announced with a grin, as if he were a proud grandfather. “Not only are they pretty, they’re smart.” He came a few steps closer and leaned with both muddy hands on the handle of the shovel. “Monogamous—mate for life. Don’t lay a whole bunch of eggs, so no hatchlings get ignored. In a nest of mud, feathers, a few stones or shells, they lay only one egg that hatches after thirty days, then they take good care of the chick. Believe in marriage for life, myself. Just missing my wife, Pearl, real bad now and then.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Claire said. “I’m sure you had a happy marriage.”
“Funny to say this, but so do some of my pink pets here.” He nodded at a pair of flamingos who were actually billing and cooing. “So today, I’m working to dig them a little canal on the elevated spot on this small island back in there.” He nodded at the elevated islet, heavy with foliage and surrounded by the shallow, three-sided moat. “It’s the highest spot not only on this property, but for miles around, far as I can tell. They can nest real private back in there, build on dry ground, not be gawked at, though they seem happy enough to be admired the rest of the time.”
Nick said, “They’re lucky to have you, and Ann and Brit are too. See you later.”
As they walked back toward the trailer, Nick told Claire, “Since Ann’s not here, why don’t you stash the Ben/Lane letter in your purse? Let’s try talking about Lane without letting Brit know we have it, especially since Ann doesn’t seem to have told her.”
“I wonder if they’re a family that kept secrets from each other,” Claire mused aloud. “Serious ones.”
When they knocked and called out, Jace came to the door.
“We thought Ann would be here and we’d see how she’s doing,” Nick explained as they went in and sat across the messy desk from where Brit and Jace had been working.
“Paying some bills Dad used to tend to,” Brit told them. “Which makes me realize, like I said before, I’ll never afford lawyer’s fees.”
“I told you I’d help,” Jace put in.
“As my grandmother used to say,” Brit went on with an affectionate pat on his arm when he sat back down next to her again, “we don’t like to be beholden.”
“I understand,” Nick said, “but there’s something to be said for be-holdin’ on. Jackson says you need to open soon, but there are problems, outside pressure. At least it looks like you’re not going to face a legal problem, so I can certainly advise you pro bono. I have a discretionary fund for that.”
Claire and Jace exchanged a glance, but since Nick did not elaborate, neither of them brought up Nick’s dedication to his South Shore clients.
Brit sighed and blinked back tears. “Pro bono—defending something good for free. I have no clue what I would do without you and Claire stepping up like this—Jace too, of course.”
Claire saw her chance. “Because your mother’s grieving and Lane is—well, really, what is Lane feeling?” she asked, looking directly at Brit.
“Eternally hurt,” she said. “Bitter. Overly pompous and music-possessed to make up for and hide out from all that.”
Claire was stunned at how honest and perceptive that was. “Who hurt Lane, would he say? Would he blame your father or mother?”
“Both, and me, I suppose. Head in the clouds, that’s Lane, but don’t get in his earthly way. Our parents just didn’t get it that someone could live off his musical talent if he wasn’t some rock star. A classical music major in the family? What a shock. No way that could make sense to practical, hardworking people.”
“Did Lane avoid them or clash with them?” Claire asked, trying not to sit forward in her chair or sound too eager. If she glanced down, she could see the corner of the plastic-covered, so-called suicide note protruding from her purse at her feet. And if there were any chance at all that Lane could have arranged for his father to be hurt, that paper was legal evidence, at least of possible fraud if not much more.
“He clashed with Dad,” she admitted with a sigh. “Sulked. Threw each performance, each great review in Dad’s face, though Dad said he was proud of him and went to lots of his performances, at least these last few years. Why? You don’t think Lane would do something to hurt Dad? He was miles away when Dad died, and he’d want nothing to do with Tiberia or this place.”
“Lane’s wife didn’t seem too hard hit by the loss,” Nick put in.
Jace said, “I’ve met her. She’s an airhead. Sculptured, sprayed hair. The perfect tan, the perfect nail polish job, a husband who is an ar-teest, kids who behave.”
“Which they don’t,” Brit said, raking her fingers like a huge comb through her hair. “What’s that about the sins of the father can be spread to the children? But listen, I do have something to tell you. I’ve already explained it to Jace, something I should not have done but I thought it would work out. About two weeks ago now, I approached Stan Helter on neutral ground to see, since the BAA is in my name, if we could work out a deal where he bought the land but didn’t take over or even let on until my parents were both gone.”
“Damn,” Nick whispered. “I mean, not that you did that—risky as it was trusting him—but I’ll be damned if that doesn’t give Helter even more of a motive for possibly hurting your father—to hurry things along before Ben could step in and mess up his plans. You ever hear that saying, ‘Lord, give me patience, but give it to me right now’? That’s the way I read Stan Helter. No one crosses him for long.”
Tears filled her eyes. Claire felt for her. She too had lost a father, even much earlier than Brit did, and it still hurt. Her dad had intentionally deserted them, and sometimes, when she and Darcy were young, they blamed themselves rather than him.
“I’m glad you told them, honey,” Jace said, and put an arm around her. “The three of us are going to help you through this. And I’m glad they’re here, because I’ve got to go fly. Remember what I told you about pilots needing to have situational awareness? You do too. Just keep on a steady course until you see which way to turn the wheel, okay?”
Brit walked Jace outside to see him off. Claire touched Nick’s arm. “Speaking of that, maybe Jace can drop you off at the office, and I can stay here with Brit for a little while. Since Jace drove her here, that way, I’ll have your car to bring her back into town on my way home—if she’s not staying here.”
“Sounds like a plan, because I should get going. I’ll catch Jace. Besides, I see that I-can-learn-more-from-her look in your eyes. Let me have the Ben/Lane letter then,” he said, and she handed it to him. “As for situational awareness, just be careful driving out on this narrow road.”
“As Bronco and Heck say when you give them an order, will do, boss.”
“And if she says anything else about meeting with Helter, take mental notes, but don’t go near the ranch yourself. I wouldn’t even trust him on so-called neutral ground.”
He kissed her quickly and went out to explain to Brit and go back into town with Jace.
* * *
In Jace’s car, Nick said, “I was thinking maybe you could fly over the Trophy Ranch, scope things out there. I’ve seen it on the ground but not way back in the pr
ivate hunting area. Jace?” he prompted when there was no answer. “I’ll pay for the flight.”
“It isn’t that. I already did it. Took Brit up a couple of months ago and went up myself since Ben died. There’s nothing unusual I spotted even far back in, except for what looks like a couple of roofed buildings.”
“Actually, tree houses for the highest-paying guests. Helter doesn’t make a secret of that, and I can’t see it relates to any of this. But you didn’t want to mention that second flight?”
“You and Claire aren’t the only ones who want to help Brit. If I’d have seen anything off, I would have told you.”
“I can tell you’re serious about her.”
“I am, but things are a little delicate lately so I’m trying to be understanding. But it really ticks me off she went to Helter behind her father’s back—actually, behind mine. How can a bright woman do something so damn risky and just plain dumb?”
“I think I’ve finally got that message through to Claire. She’s taking fewer risks, not to be bullheaded, at least lately, but we’ve all made mistakes, some dangerous.”
“She’s got to not only put Lexi first, but her—your—baby,” Jace went on, his voice rising. “I know she’s always been a bleeding heart for others’ problems over her own.”
“So, in this case, you think it’s Helter behind all this too?” Nick asked. He trusted Jace’s opinion, but he could get overly emotional at times, when you’d think the guy’s combat training would make him steadier.
“Let’s just say he has the most to gain.”
“How about someone who has motives for revenge?”
“Lane setting a score with his father, you mean?”
“You’re starting to think like a lawyer, Jace.”
“Or like someone in love. The woman I want is obsessed with a tiger and a petting zoo! Her dad had some kind of hold over her from when she was young, I can agree with Lane on that much. And Ann, of course, went along with Ben’s pipe dream. Oh, hell, now a certain criminal attorney’s going to think I parachuted in and shoved Ben in that cage just because I have negative feelings toward him mixed in with hero worship, father figure stuff. Ten to one, Claire’s got that all psyched out.”
“Look, I have father issues, and so does Claire. Let’s all keep calm.”
“Nick, I thought the world of Ben Hoffman. He was almost the father I didn’t have! But the most important person for me here is Brit. I hope Claire can help her. She’s not sleeping much, of course, is obsessed with losing Ben and maybe with losing the BAA too. Why can’t life and love just be simple?”
Nick had no answer to that. He thought of Jackson’s faithful-to-each-other flamingos as they left the lonely, narrow lane road behind and merged with the two-lane traffic heading south into Naples.
* * *
“You didn’t say you had to go to a meeting in town,” Claire told Brit. “I was hoping we’d have more time to talk, that you could even show me behind Tiberia’s cage, maybe where an intruder could get in.”
“Look, sorry, but I wasn’t thinking straight when Jace drove me here today. I forgot I’d accepted a speaking engagement and want to keep it—they’re paying me an honorarium I can use—but if you could just drop me off there, I’ll get a ride back home. It’s at the main library on Orange Blossom.”
“Sure, no problem,” Claire said, deciding she’d just question her more in the car. She’d tread carefully, because she’d already upset Brit when she told her about Gracie Cobham’s claims she had scaled both the ranch and BAA fences to get a glimpse of Tiberia. “I’m still working on preparations for a wedding at our house this Saturday anyway.”
On their way out to Nick’s car in the parking lot, they stopped by Flamingo Isle again. “Jackson!” Brit called. The birds shifted and scattered, though they never did that when Jackson raised his voice. “He’s such a bird person,” she told Claire. “And absolutely irreplaceable here.”
He appeared from the foliage with his shovel again. “Tree roots to cut through,” he called to them, “but I’m making progress. You ladies leaving? I was about to take a break, go get me some coffee back at my place.”
“I forgot I had a paying gig at the main library today,” Brit explained. “I’ll get a ride home from there to check on Mother and then be back out midafternoon. You, dear man, are king of all you survey while I’m gone. And you’ve been working too hard since Dad—Dad left. Take as long a break as you want.”
He gave them a one-handed wave and waded back through the moat toward the isle rather than his apartment back by the fence.
Claire really didn’t like to drive Nick’s car, a large, black sedan—like a hearse, she’d teased him more than once—but it ran beautifully. They headed out on the long, narrow, dirt road. This time of year started the dry season, and the car kicked up a cloud of dust behind them. No doubt, visitors to the BAA or Trophy Ranch thought they were really out in the backcountry here.
After some small talk, Claire was just about to ask more about her meeting with Stan Helter when Brit’s cell phone sounded, and she grabbed it out of her big purse. The library wondering where she was? Jace checking in already? He was surely protective of Brit, but then that was his nature—which could turn a bit too possessive, almost obsessive at times.
Yet Claire had to smile despite it all, because Brit’s ringtone tune was “Talk to the Animals” from an old movie she and Lexi had watched on Netflix not long ago, Doctor Dolittle.
“Oh, Jackson, I see it’s you on caller ID,” Brit said. “Did I forget something? Is anything wrong?”
Claire could hear Jackson’s voice raised but not quite what he was saying. He did sound upset, though, maybe panicked. Claire slowed the car.
“He found something,” Brit said. “He wants us to come back right away, not tell anyone.” She spoke into the phone again. “Jackson, is it about Dad? Just tell me. All right. All right. On our way, only about ten minutes down the road.”
She turned back to Claire. “He won’t say what it is, don’t know why. Says we have to see it to believe it.”
With difficulty since there were no driveways or turnoffs out here—the ranch lay behind them, beyond the BAA—Claire carefully turned the car to head back. Then she went faster than she wanted to.
“Does Jackson have any medical problems?” Claire asked as she leaned closer to the steering wheel. “Maybe he fell and hurt himself. Did he sound delirious or in pain?”
“Nothing I know of. It doesn’t sound like he’s hurt, just that he saw something, I think. He should have said what it was. Maybe he’s called the police or the paramedics. I just hope it’s nothing about Tiberia.”
“Despite saying he was going for coffee, he was heading back toward Flamingo Isle when we left. Do you want to try calling him again? Do we want to run into a situation that might be—well, surprising? We need to know more. Nick would say we need to be careful.”
“Okay, okay,” Brit said. “I suppose Jace would have my head too. I’ll call back and tell him to sit tight, and we’re just a few minutes away. Darn. I’m going to be late for that library talk. It’s all just too much right now.”
“I know, believe me, I do. I’ll be right there with you,” she promised as she did a quick turn into the BAA parking lot and drove as close as she could to the gate instead of going into the parking lot.
But, Claire thought, when Jackson didn’t answer his phone and they jumped out of the car, she could only hope she wasn’t tempting danger and disaster again.
19
They couldn’t find Jackson anywhere. Claire even waded through the shallow water onto Flamingo Isle, calling his name. The flamingos peered at her and shied away as if she were an alien being. On the edge of the small raised island, she could see where he’d been digging to make an inlet for the nests. But he’d evidently decided to just cover up what he’d done,
heaping soil back in. He’d even thrown some palmetto fronds across it. His shovel was nowhere in sight.
Claire hurried toward where Brit had gone to check the trailer and his apartment attached to the supply building, but she came running toward her.
“He’s not back there. No coffee cup out or anything.” They hurried toward Tiberia’s cage. The tiger was restlessly pacing and glared at them, but Jackson was nowhere around, including in the work area behind the cage.
“Tiberia’s upset about something,” Brit said. “Someone’s been on the grounds, besides Jackson or us, that is. God forgive me, but I was scared we’d—we’d find him here. Let’s walk the whole perimeter of the fence before we call the police. After what you said about the crazy Cobham woman and her sons climbing fences—well, maybe she came back and Jackson chased her off and one of her bruiser sons slugged him.”
Claire wanted to defend Gracie, but she knew now was not the time. Yet how would Brit feel if someone took the tiger from her and gave it to someone else? She scolded herself for always getting emotionally involved with people. It was one of the pillars of forensic psychology that you had to learn to stay objective. Not doing so on an earlier case had almost cost her her life, and now she had another life she needed to protect too, she thought as she pressed a hand to her belly.
Claire was soon out of breath at the pace Brit set around the perimeter. But at the back turn toward the ranch, probably near where Gracie had said they’d scaled the fence to see the tiger, they saw Jackson on the ground on this side of the fences, turned away, sprawled in an awkward position.
“Jackson!” Brit screamed, and fell on her knees beside him.
“Don’t turn him over! He may have hurt his head or his neck, even his spine. He’s obviously unconscious.”
“He didn’t fall. There’s no ladder here, and he couldn’t climb that without one!”
Claire noticed a piece of snagged denim high on the fence, then bent over the prone man to feel for his neck pulse.
