A Tiger's Tale

Book 2: A Call of the Wilde Mystery

by Laura Morrigan

Genres: Amateur Sleuth; Cozy Mystery; Female Sleuths

Synopsis

When a normally mellow tiger at a rescue facility trees a terrified vet, animal behaviorist Grace Wilde needs to use her psychic ability to get to the root of the problem…
 
A tiger can’t change his stripes—but if his behavior changes suddenly, there’s a reason. So when even-tempered Boris the Siberian tiger goes into attack mode, Grace knows there’s more to the story. Something is agitating the big cat. As she uses her telepathic ability to calm the tiger, she realizes he has witnessed a theft—not of something but of someone. A teenaged volunteer at the animal rescue facility has been taken…kidnapped.
 
The problem is Brooke Ligner’s parents believe their troubled daughter ran away and Grace can’t exactly reveal her source. Even though sexy cop Kai Duncan is aware of Grace’s secret ability, he can’t initiate an investigation based on the word of a tiger. Now, as Grace searches for solid clues to rescue the missing teen, it’s the human predators she’ll need to watch out for…

Release date: May 6, 2014

Publisher: Berkley

Print pages: 336

Sample

CHAPTER 1

The weathered sign on the gate read:

Happy Asses Donkey and Big Cat Rescue

Tours: Tues–Fri 1:00–dark.

Affixed below was a newer sign. The reflective white letters glowed in my headlights, and though the effect caused the words to blur, the message came across loud and clear.

ABSOLUTELY NO TRESPASSING!

We are not responsible for death

or injury due to your own stupidity.

There are wild animals inside this gate.

If one of them eats you, it’s your own fault.

~Ozeal Mallory, proprietress

I smiled. I’d never met Ozeal, but I liked her already.

From what I’d heard, Ozeal Mallory was dedicated, competent, and experienced at handling all manner of big cats. Judging from the sign, no-nonsense could be added to the list of her attributes. I wondered what had gone wrong.

The minute hand on my dashboard clock ticked to twelve past six. I was supposed to be attending a black-tie gala on Jacksonville Beach at seven o’clock. I was going to be late.

Usually, I’d welcome an excuse to avoid any event that had the words black-tie and gala in the title, but tonight’s fund-raiser was an exception.

A local animal charity had teamed up with the sheriff’s office to raise money to provide Kevlar vests for police dogs. As someone who felt the canine officers deserved as much protection as their handlers, I had decided to donate my services as an animal behaviorist to be sold in the silent auction. Unfortunately, this required I be present to smile, answer questions, and talk up what I do.

As much as I appreciated Ozeal’s signage, it was time to get the show on the road.

The problem was, there was no one on the road. Nor was there anyone in the parking area on the other side of the gate. I squinted against the dusky gloom of twilight and was able to make out the shape of a small building nestled in a clump of pine trees at the far end of the lot.

I stared for a few moments but detected no movement.

I knew there were animals just beyond the building. I could feel the low hum of their brains. Equine. Probably the rescued donkeys referenced in the sign.

Not long ago, I wouldn’t have been able to sense their presence, but my telepathic ability had taken a step forward recently. My range for connecting to an animal’s mind used to be limited to about twelve feet. But I’d been faced with a desperate situation and discovered you can accomplish a lot when you’re fighting for your life.

Not that my new, long-distance skill would help me get through the gate. Unless there was a Houdini donkey somewhere in the vicinity, I was out of luck.

I thought about honking the horn but not knowing the scope of the situation, I decided to eschew any loud, unexpected noises. I don’t have many friends—well, human friends, anyway.

Dr. Hugh Murray was one of the few. When he’d called to ask for help dealing with an angry tiger, he’d been in one piece. I wanted to keep it that way.

The thought made my gaze drift back to the warning sign and I noticed a faded arrow painted on the gate’s railing. Following its direction, I spotted what looked like an oversized doorbell with the words RING FOR DELIVERY written in block letters underneath.

Above it was a security keypad.

I cut my engine, pushed my door open, then stopped myself just as I was swinging my legs over the running board and caught sight of my new shoes.

My new high-heeled shoes.

I peered out at the muddy ground then glared at my inadequate footwear. After a moment’s consideration, I tugged off the heels and climbed into the backseat of my car, a vintage Skyline Blue Suburban named Bluebell. She’s big and loud and her cargo area is roughly the size of Rhode Island, so it took a minute before my fingers brushed over the hard rubber tread of one of my all-weather boots.

I fished out its mate, clambered into the front seat, shoved my bare feet into the boots, and hopped out of my Suburban, landing with a splat on the sodden ground.

The evening was damp and breezy, the temperature hovering in the mid-sixties, not unusual for October in North Florida. The rain we’d had in the past weeks, however, had been excessive, and I slipped and slid my way over the muddy drive.

I’d just pressed my finger to the buzzer when a four-wheeler appeared, skidding to a stop just on the other side of the fence. The driver, a young, willowy blonde, called out over the soft putter of the idling engine.

“Are you Grace Wilde?”

“Yep.”

The girl swung her leg over the seat and hurried to a post half a dozen feet inside the gate. She pressed something I couldn’t see, and, with a whirring click, the gate popped open.

“Ozeal said to come and get you as quick as I could,” the girl said as she opened the gate wide enough for me to walk through.

“What about my truck?”

She glanced up, eyes wide. If it hadn’t been for the numerous piercings dotting her pale skin, I would’ve said she looked like a typical girl next door. Big hazel eyes, a dash of freckles dusting her nose and cheeks.

“Oh—um . . . I guess you should pull in and park up by the office.”

I clomped back to Bluebell and hauled myself behind the wheel as the girl swung the gate open.

I drove through, parked, and grabbed the dainty beaded bag that was to serve as my purse for the evening.

A moment later the girl arrived on the four-wheeler. Her brows rose when she got a good look at my outfit.

Maybe she didn’t think the rubber boots went with the formfitting cocktail dress.

“Problem?”

“Um . . . I’m not sure you’ll be able to ride in that.”

I looked at the four-wheeler’s long, narrow seat and sighed.

“I’ll ride sidesaddle.” As we started off, I added, “Just try not to fling too much mud on me, okay?”

My sister would have a fit of apoplexy if she knew what I was doing. Emma had worked hard on putting me together for the evening. She’d chosen everything from my earrings to my underwear, and I was grateful.

It wasn’t that I lacked the ability to dress myself. The issue was dressing myself up. Every time I diverged from my standby jeans and T-shirt ensemble, I ended up looking like a clown in drag.

Really, I had to think of the children.

And my date.

Kai Duncan was a crime scene investigator for the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office. I’d been surprised to learn he owned a tux, but I was looking forward to seeing him in it.

Aside from quick lunches here and there or meeting at the shooting range where Kai was teaching me how to handle a firearm, we’d had a hard time getting it together in the date department. Inevitably, one of us would have to cancel because of work.

I’d be damned if I was going to do it tonight.

“Pick it up, girl. I got someplace to be,” I called over the growling engine.

We zipped around a barn and turned onto a narrow road that most likely ringed the perimeter of the property to provide access to the buildings that housed the animals. We passed several enclosures as we went. Most were empty, their occupants secured in the adjoining houses for the night. Finally, we slowed to a stop when a figure came into view.

Trying not to flash anyone on my dismount from the four-wheeler, I walked to where the woman stood and introduced myself.

“Ozeal Mallory,” she said and gave my hand a firm shake. She didn’t so much as blink at my odd outfit.

I couldn’t attempt to guess her age in the harsh glow of the four-wheeler’s headlights, but judging from other physical characteristics I’d say she was a mix of Hispanic and Sasquatch.

Tall and barrel-chested, with skin like mocha cream and rowdy black curls framing her face, she looked like she could play safety for the Steelers.

“I don’t want to spook Boris any more than he already is. We’ll walk the rest of the way.” She motioned for us to continue down the access road.

“What happened?” I asked, struggling to keep up with her long strides. My boots squeaked with every swift step.

“I wish I knew,” she muttered, then fell silent as we neared a large concrete-block building, where I assumed Boris was fed and housed at night.

Attached to the building was a large enclosure. We slowly made our way along the side of the tall, chain-link fence, Ozeal’s troubled gaze fixed on the Siberian tiger as it paced in a tight circle around the base of a spindly pine tree.

We stopped and I reached out mentally for a quick evaluation, brushing the tiger’s mind with my own. No trace of aggression. Boris had moved past whatever had spurred him to go for Hugh and moved on to neurotic pacing.

I pulled my focus back and scanned the enclosure. I saw neither hide nor hair of Hugh—but there also wasn’t any blood, which I took as a good sign.

“Where’s Hugh?” I asked.

Ozeal started to answer when a wolf whistle cut through the air. The tiger glanced up and I realized the sound had come from the flimsy pine sapling growing in the center of the enclosure.

I followed the tiger’s gaze to see Hugh grinning down at me from the precariously bent treetop. He cocked an eyebrow.

“Nice boots.”

“I have a date and didn’t want to get my heels muddy.”

His grin widened. “Must not be a very hot date if you came all the way out here just for me.”

“Careful, Dr. Murray, these boots are made for walkin’. I might just leave you up there.”

“Sorry. What I meant to say was, you look amazing and if you get me out of here in one piece I will make sure you have a chance to wear your heels. Even if I have to take you to dinner myself.”

I shook my head. “Do you ever give up?”

“Why? One day you might say yes.”

Not long ago, his flirtation would have ticked me off but I’d gained some perspective in the last few months. Maybe it was the whole almost-getting-murdered thing, but I didn’t take Hugh as seriously as I once did.

I turned to Ozeal, who stood with her hands on her stocky hips, frowning through the chain-link at the tiger.

“Okay, give me the short version,” I said.

“Boris has been agitated for the last couple of days so I asked Hugh to come out and take a look at him. He’s the most gentle cat we have. Even-tempered. Low-key.” She shook her head. “If he was a horse, he’d be giving pony rides to three-year-olds.”

“Okay,” I said. It was the best I could come up with. We all knew there was a big difference between a horse and a tiger. To my knowledge, horses didn’t eat people. Tigers, on the other hand . . .

“It’s just so out of character,” Ozeal continued, mystified. “There must be something wrong.”

“Your concern is touching,” Hugh called out.

Ozeal sent him a dismissive wave. “You’re not on the endangered species list.”

“Actually, at the moment, I’m not so sure about that.”

As we’d been talking, I’d noticed the lion in the pen across from Boris was watching us with interest—and hunger. It wasn’t that he wanted to eat us. He didn’t know what the humans were doing with the tiger and he didn’t care. It was past dinnertime and he expected Ozeal to get on with it.

Lions can be pretty bossy when it comes to keeping a schedule.

“Have you fed the other cats?” I asked Ozeal.

“Not everyone. I was in the middle of the evening feeding when—”

The lion chose that moment to voice his impatience with a roar. The reverberating bellow cut off Ozeal’s words. I was expecting it, but my heart still leapt at the sound. Even Ozeal flinched.

It didn’t matter how many times you heard it, a lion roaring that close made the caveman inside want to haul ass in the opposite direction.

“The natives are getting restless. Why don’t you deal with dinner and I’ll work on Boris.”

Ozeal gave me a long look. “Hugh says you’re the best. Can you get him out of there?”

“Yes.”

Probably.

“How?”

“I’m going to get Boris inside his house.” I motioned to the building.

“I already tried to lure him with food.”

“He’s beyond taking that bait. I’ll have to try something else.”

“And by ‘something else’ you mean . . . ?”

“I have a few ideas.”

“She eez the tiger wheesperer,” Hugh said.

I cast him a quick, unamused glance.

Ozeal gave me one last appraising look. “All right. Don’t let Hugh get killed. I’ll lose my accreditation.” With that, she turned on her heel and walked away.

I looked up at Hugh. “Dr. Murray—”

“Yes, Dr. Wilde?” I narrowed my eyes at the title. Though I kept my license current, I no longer practiced as a veterinarian and it sounded weird to be addressed as doctor.

I pointed my finger at him in warning. “Not a sound.”

“You’re the boss.”

Strictly speaking, Hugh had no idea how I did what I did. He just knew it worked. I have a good reason for hiding my telepathic ability: People would think I was nuts. I couldn’t do my job if people thought I was nuts. You have to have a certain amount of street cred to do what I do.

Before I could solidify my plan, or rather, wing it and pretend I had a plan, I needed to understand how the tiger’s compound was configured.

I walked back along the fence to the attached building and stepped through the door. Buzzing, fluorescent lights clearly illuminated the space. The layout was pretty standard. A hallway ran the length of the structure along the back wall. A trio of tiger-sized runs lined the corridor. Each had two doors—an access gate that opened into the hall and a guillotine door that led to the exterior enclosure.

I noticed several offerings had been tossed through the chain-link to entice Boris to come into his run so he could easily be secured.

I clasped the lock on the gate that separated the hallway from the run and gave it two swift tugs.

Better safe than dinner.

I checked to make sure my phone was on vibrate—which was about the only thing I knew how to do with the new iPhone—and noticed it was nearing six thirty.

I was going to be so late.

Pushing the thought away, I stuffed the beaded clutch under my arm and walked out to where I could see Boris, pulled in a slow, calming breath, and began speaking in a low monotone.

“Hey there, Boris. Hey, gorgeous boy.”

I continued my litany of praises and slowly, gingerly opened my mind to the tiger’s.

The neurotic pulse of his thoughts matched his pacing. But there was an undercurrent of worry or fear that kept flashing to the surface.

Ozeal’s instincts had been spot on; something was wrong with the big cat.

Boris. I gave the tiger’s mind a little nudge and his head swiveled toward me. Like many animals, Boris had never encountered a human like me. Curiosity short-circuited the pacing for a moment and he slowed.

Gotta love cats.

Now that I have your attention . . .

“Come here, big guy.” I urged the cat to come to where I stood, halfway between the outside corner of the fence and the guillotine door leading into his indoor enclosure.

Boris came toward me and I edged sideways toward the door. All the while, mentally urging him to follow. I lost sight of him for a moment as I rounded the corner into the hall but by then he already knew where I wanted him to go and it didn’t take much to coax him through the door into the interior pen.

As quickly as I could, I released the latch, slid the guillotine door closed behind him, and let out a relieved sigh.

The tiger pressed his head against the chain-link that separated us.

Pet.

I smiled and obliged by rubbing my fingertips on his forehead. For a moment, I could understand why Hugh would have trusted the cat. Boris seemed docile and calm, but I could sense something very different. The undercurrent of emotion I’d felt earlier remained.

My ability worked better with physical contact so I placed my other hand through the fence and rested it on the smooth fur between the tiger’s ears.

I focused and tried to understand the origin of the tiger’s unease. The emotions were jumbled. A mix of fear, anger, and a touch of . . . sadness?

It was almost as if he missed someone.

Separation anxiety?

I’d experienced this mix of emotions plenty of times in my work but there seemed to be more to it for Boris.

But what?

I can’t look through an animal’s mind the way you flip through a magazine. I can only read their thoughts and feelings as they experience them.

“Talk to me, handsome. What’s going on?”

I tried to focus on the mysterious feeling, but trying to lock on to an abstract, underlying emotion was like trying to grab an eel. Finally, I managed to catch just a wisp of it, and pull it to the front of both our minds.

Boris let out a low, mournful growl, and I instantly moved to soothe him.

“It’s okay.”

Gone.

Who’s gone?

Taken.

The murky image of a dark-haired girl fluttered through my mind. The girl laughed. She smelled like peppermint. But she was too out of focus to distinguish her features. I tried to latch on to the image and projected back to the tiger with a question.

What happened?

I got a flash—the merest blink of an image.

The girl was standing outside a fence, her face in profile as if she was turning to look at something behind her.

A sharp stab of alarm pulsed from the cat, followed by a surge of anger so strong I felt my lips curl back in an answering snarl.

“Whoa.” I blinked and struggled to get a hold on my own emotions.

Boris let out a growl—it seemed to rumble endlessly against the bare, block walls.

“It’s all right,” I said. Though my heart was still pounding, I tried to smother the burning helplessness radiating from the cat with calming thoughts.

Easy.

The echoing growl subsided.

“I see he’s back to being Dr. Jekyll,” Hugh said quietly from the doorway. Obviously, he’d made it out of the tree and through the enclosure’s exterior gate.

I eased up on the connection with the tiger and turned my attention to Hugh, motioning for him to head outside.

Thanks to the tiger’s eruption of emotion, I was feeling jumpy and on edge. Suddenly, I was irritated with Hugh.

“The cat has an issue and you go in the enclosure with it to do an evaluation? What were you thinking?”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t.”

“You could have been killed.”

“I had my tranq gun.” He motioned to the pistol holstered at his side.

I arched my brows. A tranquilizer gun would have knocked Boris out about ten minutes too late, and we both knew it.

“Okay,” he conceded. “I only wear it to look cool.” Hugh offered me a charming half smile that could probably be weaponized to disarm a legion of Amazon warriors.

I wasn’t in the mood. “Next time you decide to be dinner for someone, don’t call me to clean up the mess.”

“All right.” His smile faded a notch and he eyed me with curiosity.

I understood why. Usually, I’m as calm as a glacial lake when I deal with animals. I have to be.

Shielding against the onslaught of an animal’s thoughts and emotions was the only way I could help them—and keep my sanity. I had rushed it tonight and was paying the price—and so was Hugh.

I took a deep breath. I still wanted to berate him for being careless, but I’d known Hugh a long time. If he’d gone into the enclosure, he’d had his reasons.

“Sorry—let’s just focus on what’s making Boris suddenly want to eat people he supposedly likes.”

“No, you’re right, Grace, it was reckless of me to go in there. But to be fair, Boris isn’t like any other tiger I’ve known. He bonds with people quickly. And he’s never so much as sneezed at a human. His previous owner rescued him from a breeder as a cub—she was training him to work in movies—so he’s been socialized with people and other animals.”

“Then what’s he doing here?”

“The woman was injured in a car accident and had to give him up.”

Ozeal approached, stuck her head through the door to check on Boris, and turned to beam at me.

“Well, I have to say, I am truly impressed.”

I acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “We’re trying to understand the root of what’s upsetting Boris. It’s almost as if he has separation anxiety. Has someone he was attached to left recently?”

Ozeal’s brow furrowed.

“Brooke.”

“Who’s Brooke?”

“One of my volunteers.”

“When did she leave?” Hugh asked.

“Wednesday. Which is when Boris started acting strange.” She shook her head. “I should have made the connection. Boris loves Brooke. He took a shine to her right off.”

“Is Brooke coming back?” I asked.

Ozeal pressed her lips together. “I don’t know,” she said with a sigh. “We had a disagreement and when I went to ask her to help with one of the tours, she was gone.”

“She didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t even see her leave.”

“What about her car?”

“Brooke just turned sixteen. She doesn’t have a car.”

I felt a knot of apprehension tighten in my stomach. Sixteen.

Taken.

I stepped away from Ozeal and Hugh, who had started talking about the best treatment for Boris’s separation anxiety. I opened the little beaded clutch, pulled out my phone, and called Kai.

“Have you made it to the restaurant yet?”

“I’m pulling up to the valet now.”

“Do you have your crime scene stuff with you?”

“My field kit? Yes. Why? Your friend didn’t get eaten, did he?”

I hesitated a bit too long.

“Grace?” There was an edge to his voice.

“No. Hugh’s fine.” I explained the situation as quickly as I could.

“So you think this girl, Brooke, is missing?”

“Not just missing. Taken.” Boris’s description echoed through my mind. “Kai, I think she was kidnapped.”

CHAPTER 2

I hesitated before turning back to where Ozeal and Hugh stood. Over the years, I’d gotten pretty good at tiptoeing around the truth when it came to my telepathic ability. Kai, being one of the few people who knew the truth, had kept his questions brief when I’d asked him to come to the rescue facility, before hanging up with, “I’m on my way.”

Explaining to Ozeal why I wanted a crime scene investigator to come snoop around her place would be more complicated.

I couldn’t tell her the truth—that Boris had told me Brooke had been taken. Maybe it was a cop-out, but I was guessing claims of psychic abilities would come under the category of nonsense in her book.

So, I decided to rely on a tried and true method—when in doubt, make something up.

With the phone still pressed to my ear, I walked back to Ozeal and Hugh.

“Ozeal, does Brooke have dark hair?”

“Yes, why?”

“Can you describe her physically?”

“Average height, I guess. Pretty. She wears her hair long.”

Acting as if I was still talking to Kai, I grimly relayed this news into the phone and then said, “Okay, we’ll be here.” I turned my attention to Ozeal as I slipped my phone into my bag. “That was my date. He works for the sheriff’s office. They’ve been investigating a series of missing persons cases involving girls who match Brooke’s description. He wanted to come by and ask a few questions. Is that okay?”

“You think Brooke was kidnapped?”

The idea clearly troubled her and I felt a pang of guilt. I hated being deceitful but sometimes it was the only way to express what would otherwise take a lot of explaining on my part as I tried to prove I really could talk to tigers.

“I think it’s possible,” I said.

“Weren’t there tour groups here that day?” Hugh asked Ozeal.

She nodded. “We had a school field trip and a few other groups.”

“That’s a lot of people. What are the chances of someone snatching a sixteen-year-old girl in broad daylight with a tour group snapping pictures in every direction?”

“We’ll ask Kai when he gets here.”

“When will that be?” Ozeal asked.

“Wait, your boyfriend’s name is Kai? Isn’t that a type of tea?” Hugh said with a lopsided grin.

I ignored him. “He’s coming from Jax Beach so, thirty, maybe forty-five minutes.”

Ozeal nodded. “We’re running behind schedule tonight. Hugh, why don’t you make yourself useful and help me get the rest of the big guys put up before the next bout of storms moves in. Grace, could you take another look at Boris? I want your opinion on the best treatment for his anxiety.”

And just like that, I was recruited into the ranks—sparkly purse, mud boots, and all.

We’d just finished getting everything secured for the night and made it to the main building when lightning splintered across the sky. Rain swept over the grounds in a rush.

The temperature dropped on a gust of wind, causing goose bumps to cascade over my skin, but I lingered on the porch as Ozeal and Hugh filed inside. I liked to watch storms, and smiled when the monotonous roar of the downpour was punctuated with sporadic bursts of thunder and the echoing caterwaul of a bobcat.

Caitlyn, the girl who had fetched me on the four-wheeler when I’d arrived, had gone home, and Hugh had been volunteered for gate duty. He stepped out of the front door and lifted a bright yellow raincoat from a peg on the wall.

“Ozeal’s putting on some coffee,” he told me as he shrugged into the jacket. “I’ll wait here till your boyfriend pulls up and let him in.”

I started to correct Hugh’s designation of Kai. Technically, he wasn’t my boyfriend but I decided to let it go. I nodded my thanks and went inside to find the kitchen. It was easy to spot. Judging by the avocado green stove and matching Frigidaire, in the seventies the building had been a ranch-style family home. Now it functioned as reception, gift shop, and offices.

Ozeal handed me a mug displaying the Happy Asses logo: a rear view of a donkey and a tiger side by side, their tails entwined like friends holding hands.

“Donkeys and big cats? Seems like an unlikely combination.”

Ozeal let out a short laugh. “Well, you have the asses to blame for the cats.”

She lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table and I did the same. I took a sip of coffee, breathing in the rich aroma, and waited for her to continue.

“I bought this house after my husband died. Thought I could have a nice, quiet life out in the country. My son and I showed up with our U-Haul and found three donkeys in the pasture. The previous owners had left them to fend for themselves.”

She shook her head as if she found the idea of someone abandoning an animal baffling.

I shared the feeling.

“So you decided to keep them?”

“What else could I do? We got them fixed up and fed. One of them, Jack-Jack, is a mini. Only three feet tall at the withers, but he has the biggest personality. Smart as a whip, loves to play, and he’s an escape artist. He used to get out of his pen and wander all over the place. One day, he came home with another donkey. A little jenny—she was in poor shape, too.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. “Jack-Jack rescued another donkey and brought it home?