Karen Harper - Shallow Grave

“Okay, fine. But Brittany was in charge of that tiger. Could the State of Florida at the very least accuse the BAA of inadequate safety procedures or something like that?”

“Her father’s the one who went in the cage. Thank God it wasn’t that the beast got out. She’s still adamant that the tiger was only doing what came naturally. She told the police that the cat should not be punished, not be put down, and she wanted to be there to watch when it regains consciousness. But about your question—yes. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission and even the US Department of Agriculture might get involved, but for a private, small zoo—not sure. There’s Jace’s car. I’ll go snag him.”

Nick got out and hurried over to where Jace parked. Claire had to admit, despite trying to keep it together in front of Nick and the police, that she felt emotionally drained and exhausted. Feeling revved up could actually slow her responses, and her narcolepsy was kicking in to make her want to sleep on her feet. In the chaos, she hadn’t taken her herbal stimulant, Country Mallow, on time either. It was at home with her other herbals, which is where they should have been by now. Timing was the problem with herbs, at least hers, so maybe she needed to start carrying a thermos of two kinds of herbal tea around with her.

At least talking on her cell earlier to Lexi and Darcy had calmed her some. Her sister still had Duncan because his mother had not yet been back from her job. Darcy said they had decided not to tell the children what had happened, only that there had been an accident, but Claire figured Darcy was waiting for big sis psych major to explain. And in case they heard about it elsewhere, it was going to be best to tell them the truth.

Claire watched Nick flag down Jace as he parked. She got out and walked over one lane and several spaces toward them as the men walked toward the gate. They evidently didn’t see her.

The only two men she had ever loved seemed so different from each other. Nick was dark-haired with silvering at his temples and gray eyes—her brilliant silver fox. He was several inches taller than Jace, who was more muscular. At age forty, Nick had a sexy, deep voice and tightly coiled but smoothly controlled body and demeanor. He was a deep thinker, with deeper emotions, who had helped many people—mostly without fanfare. Jace was thirty-four, blond with a broad face and blue eyes, still navy-short hair, sharp movements, a modern day Viking with a swashbuckling aura. His feelings were usually all on the surface and sometimes likely to explode.

“What’s with the crowd?” Claire heard Jace ask Nick. “Can’t they leave a tragedy alone? It’s worse than rubbernecking at a car wreck. I—I really liked Ben. Hell of a thing.”

Claire could tell even from this distance that Jace’s face looked ravaged, as if he’d been crying or trying not to. His body language showed he was not only tense but angry.

As she joined the men, she saw Jace study her also, narrow-eyed as he always did, a quick check of her belly. Awkwardly, at first, instead of looking at each other, the three of them turned to look at the people milling around by that entry gate. Their chants swelled, and some held signs picturing lions, tigers and the Florida panther. The original ragtag bunch must be getting more organized.

“Save big cats! Don’t be rats!” they recited over and over. And, once in a while from another group, “Keep the wild in wildlife!” Claire wondered if those people could be from the Save Our Wildlife group Darcy had recently joined, but no time to think about that now.

“Lexi’s all right?” Jace asked her, raising his voice over the noise.

“The kids are all safe,” she told him.

“Thank God. Gotta get to Brit. But why would her dad go into a tiger cage?”

“Good question,” Nick said. “I hope she or the BAA won’t need representation, but she’s asked for it, just in case. I didn’t want to get involved but I told her sure. If it gets sticky or drawn out, I can always assign a partner.”

“Good. I told her you could help.”

Jace extended his hand, and the two men shook. Despite some rough spots in the past, they’d worked together to live through worse than this. They had been on edge with each other at first, but they had saved each other’s lives since. What was that Chinese proverb, Claire thought, that if you saved someone’s life, you were somehow responsible for them?

“Be safe,” Jace said with a lift of a hand as if he were blessing them. But he turned back. “Does Lexi—the other kids—know what really happened?”

Claire shook her head. “I asked Darcy and Bronco to tell them there was an accident, but they don’t know details—not that anyone really does. I’m going to explain as best I can.”

“Tell Lexi that I—we—love her. Gotta help Brit,” he threw over his shoulder and jogged toward the crowd at the gate.

Nick took Claire’s arm, and they were starting toward their car when a sleek, black pickup truck pulled up to them. The door was emblazoned in gold with the words TROPHY RANCH, NAPLES, FLORIDA, HUNTER’S HEAVEN. A rugged-looking, handsome man with a mustache, wearing a Western hat, leaned out and called to them, “I’m the neighbor. Just heard what happened. Hope I can help. You’re Nick Markwood, right? We’ve met before.”

“Right. I recognize you, Stan Helter,” Nick said and reached toward the driver’s window to shake hands. “Nothing to do now, I think, unless you can get rid of this crowd—or want to be interviewed by the media.”

“Even for free publicity, hell no. Don’t need our future guests getting gun-shy over an animal killing a man. Big ex-marine shoulda had a gun on him. As for the crowd, coupla blasts with a hunting rifle in the air might clear them out.”

Claire figured that was his idea of humor, but she wasn’t so sure when she saw he had a gun rack mounted in the back cab window, one obviously not for show since it bristled with rifles, some with big scopes attached.

“They gonna keep the killer cat alive?” Helter asked Nick.

“It wasn’t really theirs. A refugee, kind of a ward of the state they took from some old woman who couldn’t keep it and shouldn’t have had it. Its BAA keeper insists the killing was instinct, not intent.”

“Brittany Hoffman, you mean, the beast-loving blonde. But they’re sly and crafty—big cats. Hope I can help the Hoffmans later somehow. Listen, Markwood, come visit us someday, almost always something doing. Bring our mutual friend Manfort with you. See you, Counselor. Ma’am,” he said, giving Claire a good once-over before he drove off.

“Someone who works at the Trophy Ranch?” Claire asked as they headed toward their car again.

“Its mastermind and owner. That place is big business. I met him once at a Save the Glades charity event. A friend of mine from way back, Grant Manfort, introduced us. I think Grant’s a shareholder in the Trophy Ranch.”

“But they shoot big game there, don’t they? Those ‘save big cats’ protestors should go picket his spread. And he asked what they were going to do with the tiger as if he’d like to get his hands on it.”

“I think they hunt everything there from gators and wild boars to who knows what else.”

“I noticed—maybe he did too—that you didn’t introduce me.”

“Not the type of guy you’d like to know. Grant says he’s savvy, but a rough character and a real womanizer.” He opened the car door for her, and she got in. “Sweetheart, let’s just go get Lexi before either of us starts cooking up suspicions or strategies about Ben’s death. Besides, you look like you need your meds before a bad dream hits.”

“This is already a bad dream. Yes, let’s go try to tell the kids a version of what happened before we go home.”