The Trouble With Tigers Read online

“Nothing you get involved with is ever simple.”

  “True. I’ll take Dad fishing to make it up to him,” I said.

  “That’s a start, but you owe me big time.”

  “I’ll do the funeral procession escorts for the rest of the month. Will that help?”

  “It will.”

  I petted Grumpy. “And I’ll wash and wax the motorcycles too.”

  “Deal. I have a funeral scheduled at four tomorrow. The graveside services are at Resthaven Cemetery.”

  “I’m meeting a client at ten. After that I’m all yours.”

  “Unless Dutch arrests you first,” Jana snarked.

  “That’s always a possibility.”

  Chapter Five

  Finders Pet Detective Agency is in a strip mall surrounded by high-rise office buildings. I share the space with a liquor store, a pizza parlor, a sub shop and Sparky’s Title Loans and Check Cashing.

  The interior of my office is a diverse mixture of hand-me-downs, Goodwill and vintage furniture. I love Grandma Hester’s antique oak desk and her old Remington Standard typewriter. She refused to use my laptop and banged out all her reports on it. Two brown leather chairs are positioned in front of the desk. Pictures of found pets decorate the walls. In the backroom there is a tiny kitchen with a microwave and a small refrigerator. Crammed against the other wall is a variety of dog and cat crates.

  To make the office more festive, mom hung Christmas garlands from the ceiling. The stupid stuff almost strangled two of my taller clients. Every time I take the garlands down, they mysteriously reappear.

  Tinkerbell barked loudly from the kitchen.

  “No. You cannot have another treat.”

  Woof?

  “Because you’re putting on weight.”

  Arf.

  “You gained a pound.”

  Arf.

  “Yes, you did.”

  Arf. Arf.

  “I’m not lying and you’re having grilled chicken for lunch.

  Tinkerbell trotted up to my desk and yipped.

  “No, we’re not going to Hilberto’s. Mexican food is fattening.”

  Tinkerbell growled.

  “Lose the attitude, young lady.”

  The determined Yorkie gave me her best sad puppy dog eyes.

  “Not working.”

  A bright pink SRX Cadillac pulled into the parking lot. The oversized tires had pink and white striped rims. It was the kind of car you would expect a rap star to drive.

  To my surprise, a Marilyn Monroe look-alike climbed out. She had long, silver blonde hair and her lips were painted a bright magenta. Her white dress had a spandex halter that showed off her breasts perfectly. A sparkling pink bag and heels completed her outfit.

  My ten o’clock appointment was with a Stephanie Boyd who wanted me to find and retrieve her Bengal tiger. This woman looked more at home on a movie set instead of running a traveling circus. Maybe she needed to cash a check at Sparky’s.

  Nope. She walked straight to my door and opened it.

  Ruff-ruff?

  “She’s our new client.”

  Tinkerbell gave Stephanie a welcoming bark, sat politely and offered her front paw.

  “What a little cutie,” Stephanie exclaimed as she shook Tinkerbell’s foot. “What’s her name?”

  “Tinkerbell.”

  “Nice to meet you Tinkerbell,” Stephanie said.

  Woof.

  “I’m Kandi Cain.” I held out my hand.

  Stephanie gave it a brisk shake and got right to business. “Neither the police nor the private detectives I hired have found any trace of Karma. You’re my last hope.”

  “Please have a seat.” I gestured at the chairs in front of my desk. “Would you like some coffee or water?”

  “No! All I want is for you to find Karma.”

  I waited until she was seated to ask, “When was the last time you saw your tiger?”

  “Two weeks ago. We had finished a show in Tucson and my ex-husband just waltzed in and took her. He’s still pissed over the divorce settlement.”

  “Do you have any proof he took her?”

  Stephanie placed a thumb drive on my desk. “The security cameras caught him in the act.”

  I pushed the thumb drive into a port on my laptop. A grainy picture of the circus’s animal trailers appeared on the screen. A white panel van backed up to the tiger’s cage. A man in a clown’s costume got out of the driver’s seat, opened the cage door and used a cattle prod to force the tiger into the back of the van.

  Bad guys sure liked to disguise themselves as clowns. Wonder why? “What makes you so sure that’s your ex-husband?”

  She handed me her phone. “He sent me that text.”

  The text read, Karma’s my bitch now. It was vague enough the police wouldn’t consider it a confession. “Are you afraid he might harm her?”

  Anger flashed in Stephanie eyes. “Archie thinks he’s the next Siegfried and Roy, but what kind of animal trainer uses a cattle prod on a tiger?”

  A not very smart one. “So, you think he took Karma to use in his new show?”

  “Yes. I’ve reached out to all my contacts, but no one has heard from him,” Stephanie said.

  “Did you bring me something of Karma’s and anything your ex-husband might have handled?”

  Stephanie opened her bag and pulled out a .50 caliber, gold Desert Eagle pistol.

  I nervously eased my chair back. Why did clients always insist on bringing guns into my office? “Is the safety on?’’

  “Of course. See?” She pulled the trigger. Bang!

  A bullet whizzed by my arm. Thwack! A gigantic hole appeared in Grandma Hester’s old Remington Standard typewriter.

  Tinkerbell shrieked like she had been hit by a car and darted under my desk.

  A uniformed police officer charged into my office with his gun drawn. “Freeze! Put the gun on the desk, lady. Slowly.” He gestured at me. “Get your hands up too.”

  “You know this isn’t really necessary. This is my business; she’s my client and I’m not pressing charges.”

  “Hands up. Now!”

  Crap, he was using the scary cop’s voice. “Yes, sir.” I raised my hands. I hoped Dutch didn’t hear about this.

  Her eyes wide with horror, Stephanie carefully placed the Desert Eagle on the desk and put her hands up. “I’m so sorry officer. I thought the safety was on.”

  Tinkerbell yelped pathetically.

  The officer winced. “Was the dog hit?”

  “No, gunfire frightens Tinkerbell. She witnessed her former owner being murdered.” I sent my little Yorkie soothing vibes.

  “Murdered? When? Where? Was that gun used in the homicide? How did you get possession of the dog?”

  I gritted my teeth. “The murder occurred a month ago. Detective Callaghan arrested the suspects with my help. I adopted Tinkerbell.”

  The officer raised a skeptical brow. “From the dead owner?”

  “I got her from the North Phoenix Animal Rescue.” Sorta.

  Several more police car squealed to a stop in the parking lot and my office was suddenly full of cops with their guns pointed at me.

  Must be a slow day. “Look, guys, this is all a big misunderstanding. No one was hurt. It was an accidental discharge. No harm. No foul.”

  A burly cop with sergeant stripes on his arm asked, “You got a permit for the Desert Eagle, ma’am?”

  “The gun belongs to my ex-husband,” Stephanie said, giving the sergeant a seductive Marilyn Monroe smile. “Could I interest you in some donuts?”

  I smothered a groan.

  Dutch wove his way through the crowd. “I heard the call go out for shots fired. Did you get robbed?”

  “It was one shot and there was no robbery,” I snarled. “Can I put my hands down now?”

  Tinkerbell whimpered.

  “Did Tinkerbell get hurt?” Dutch peered under the desk. “You okay, sweethe
art?”

  Tinkerbell whined.

  “What did she say?”

  “The loud, scary noise hurt her ears,” I answered.

  “I bet a treat will fix her right up.”

  Woof. Tinkerbell shot out from under the desk and ran into the kitchen.

  “I’ve got this,” Dutch told the sergeant, and followed my sneaky Yorkie.

  The sergeant nodded. “You heard the detective. Go back in service.”

  The officers obediently left.

  “Ma’am, my daughter’s cat has gone missing.” The sergeant looked at me hopefully. “Do you think you can find Missy?”

  I gave him one of my business cards. “Call me in an hour and we’ll talk.”

  “Thank you.” The sergeant walked out.

  “I am so sorry. I’ll pay to get the typewriter repaired,” Stephanie said.

  Dutch examined the Remington. “Relax, it’s not the first time a gun has gone off in Kandi’s office. Right, sweetums?”

  Sweetums? Seriously? I frowned at him. I didn’t like the snarky way he pronounced sweetums or the feral glint in his eyes. “You need to leave honey bunny, I’m with a client.”

  Dutch totally ignored me and reached for the pistol. “You got a concealed carry permit ma’am?”

  I smacked his hand. “Don’t touch it! I haven’t done my reading yet.”

  “As you command, sweet cheeks.” Dutch plopped down in the other chair.

  I shot him a baleful glare. “Ever heard of client confidentiality, snookums.”

  “I haven’t finished my investigation, baby doll,” Dutch stated, giving Stephanie a dazzling smile.

  Stephanie gushed, “Has anyone told you, you’re the spitting image of that actor who plays Thor in the movies?”

  “Thank you, darlin’ and may I call you Marilyn?” Dutch oozed charm.

  Stephanie giggled. “You can call me anything you want but my name is Stephanie Boyd.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you Stephanie.”

  Times like this, I wished mind control was one of my gifts.

  Tinkerbell, the little traitor, jumped on Dutch’s lap and smiled happily as he stroked her ears.

  Dutch was deliberately trying to rattle me, and it wasn’t going to work. My dad had taught me how to handle police interrogations, but I didn’t have time for his games. I needed to focus on helping my client.

  Taking a calming breath, I held my hand over the gun and summoned my psychic mojo. A flurry of images flowed across my mind. It was kinda like watching a choppy movie. I grimaced. A sometimes-pornographic movie. Using the Desert Eagle as a sex toy was a new one for me, along with the unusual sexual positions. I broke the connection with a shudder. Ugh. “Do you know a petite redhead with a ginormous snake tattoo?”

  “Trixie! She’s the reason I divorced the ass.”

  What a surprise. “Trixie and your ex-husband used this pistol to rob your box office.”

  “Dammit!” Stephanie dropped her head into her hands. “I should have known.”

  His gaze fixed on my face, Dutch queried, “Were the suspects wearing a demonic clown disguise?”

  I smiled at Dutch. “Well, sugar lips, there were clowns involved. Right, Stephanie?”

  “Yes.” Stephanie raised her head. “But the robbers were dressed as regular clowns not the horror movie kind. They appeared out of nowhere. We all thought it was a joke until the armored car guard got shot. Then the bastards took the money, dropped a smoke bomb and got away in the confusion. That poor guard almost died.”

  Anger flashed in Dutch’s eyes. “Where did this robbery occur?”

  “Dallas. The police were unable to find them or my money,” Stephanie stated grimly.

  Dutch arched an inquiring eyebrow. “Kandi, my love, are you done with all your woo-woo stuff?”

  “Almost.” I placed a comforting hand on Stephanie’s arm and gave her the rest of the bad news. “Trixie is the one that talked your ex-husband into stealing Karma. Her former lover runs an exotic animal hunting ranch and the going rate for a Bengal Tiger is three hundred thousand dollars.” I was a bit surprised when Dutch didn’t ask how I knew the going price for a tiger. Was he investigating Kuti too?

  The color drained from Stephanie’s face. “Archie’s a low-down snake in the grass, but I can’t believe he would allow some dumb fuck trophy hunter to slaughter Karma.”

  Dutch pulled a notepad out of his pocket and snagged my pen. “What’s your ex-husband’s name and date of birth, ma’am?”

  “Archie Boyd. He was born on the 4th of July in 1980.” Tears leaked down Stephanie’s cheeks.

  I frowned and pushed the box of tissue over to her. The last thing I needed was for Dutch to get involved in my case. I snatched my pen back. “Dallas is a bit out of your jurisdiction, babe.”

  “That gun is evidence in an aggravated robbery, sweetie pie. I’ll run Archie and Trixie through our data base and see if they have any known associates in the area. What’s Trixie’s last name?” Dutch held his hand out for my pen.

  I reluctantly gave it to him.

  “Birmingham and she was born on the same day and year as my ex-husband. Trixie claimed it was kismet,” Stephanie said with a sneer.

  I just bet she did. “How long did it take her to realize you owned the circus not Archie?”

  “She found out a month before the robbery,” Stephanie answered.

  Sooner or later that mercenary bitch was going to turn on Archie. “What does Trixie do in the circus?”

  “She a contortionist. Trixie’s act includes folding herself into a glass jar and shooting a bow and arrow with her feet.”

  Huh? That did explain the weird sexual positions. “Does she hit her target?”

  “Every time.”

  Dutch wrote the information down. “I’m impounding the gun as evidence in your robbery. Do you have the Dallas Police Department’s report number?”

  “I do.” Stephanie dug in her purse. “I know I put it in here. Ah. Gotcha.” She pulled out a business card and gave it to Dutch.

  He wrote down the report number.

  I swiped the card and pen out of his hand and copied down the number for my report before giving it back to Stephanie. “What did you bring that’s Karma’s?”

  Out of the depths of her purse Stephanie produced a well-chewed rawhide bone and placed it on the desk.

  Grabbing a map out of the desk drawer, I spread it out and picked up the bone. A sensory barrage slammed into my mind. The smell of popcorn, the stench of manure, the distance pop of balloons and laughter. I cocked my head and concentrated. A black and white image of a Ferris wheel was followed by people milling about a carnival midway.

  Karma’s belly rumbled as she hungrily watched several goats, a pony, a miniature donkey and a llama being petted by children. The bastards weren’t feeding her properly. I linked minds with her and looked around. We were in a converted horse trailer. Rearing up on our hind legs we peered out the small window. Dozens of travel trailers surrounded us. I caught a glimpse of a banner draped on motor home. It proclaimed: Queen’s Carnival.

  I sent Karma a mental picture of Stephanie. “She’s coming for you.”

  Karma let out a rumbling growl and looked at a badly mangled head in the corner of the horse trailer. “Holy hell!” I broke the link.

  Dutch eyed me with concern. “Run into another ghost?”

  “You could say that.” I turned to Stephanie. “Do you have a picture of your ex-husband?”

  She picked up her cellphone and scrolled through a shitload of pictures. “This is Archie.”

  Dammit! The hair was the same, but there wasn’t much left of the facial features to make a positive ID. I chewed on my lower lip. Did I tell Stephanie there was a good possibility her ex-husband had been murdered? Or wait until the police could confirm it with his DNA?

  Dutch subtly shook his head.

  “Good news Stephanie. Karma’s alive
and unharmed.

  A relieved smile lit up Stephanie’s face. “Oh, thank God. Any sign of Archie or the bitch?”

  I winced when Dutch squeezed my wrist in warning. “No, didn’t see them, but they have Karma locked in a converted horse trailer.”

  “Any idea where?” Dutch demanded.

  I glanced down at the map. The bone rested on northern New Mexico. “Karma’s with the Queen’s Carnival. I think she’s near Albuquerque.”

  “The Queen’s Carnival is in Santa Fe this weekend,” Stephanie advised.

  Dutch put Tinkerbell on the desk. “I’m going to call my lieutenant and let him know what’s going on.” Pulling out his phone, he walked outside and stood where he could watch us.

  What? Did he think we were going to make a run for it?

  “Do you have a backdoor?” Stephanie picked up the pistol.

  Letting out a yelp, Tinkerbell leaped off the desk and ran into the kitchen.

  I jumped to my feet. “Put the gun down and let Detective Callaghan handle this, please. He’s very good at what he does.”

  “I’m not letting them turn Karma into a wall ornament.”

  “It’s an eight-hour drive to Santa Fe. You don’t have a plan or any backup. I have a friend with a Cessna. Let me give him a call. Please, sit back down. These people are dangerous. You can’t rescue Karma if you’re dead. Let’s do this the right way.”

  Stephanie dropped the gun and sagged down on the chair. “You’re right. I bottle fed Karma after her mother rejected her. She’s family. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to her.”

  “Believe me, I do understand.”

  The Yorkie nudged my hand.

  I glanced down at her, extended three fingers and touched her face. It was our signal for kisses.

  Tinkerbell hopped into Stephanie’s lap and kissed her face.

  Dutch motioned to me.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Cradling Tinkerbell against her chest, Stephanie wiped at the tears rolling down her cheeks and asked, “Archie’s dead, isn’t he?”

  Very. I gave her a reassuring smile. “I don’t know. As soon as I find out, I’ll tell you. Okay?”

  She nodded.

  I opened the door and joined Dutch on the sidewalk.

  “My phone’s on speaker. We have a three-way call with Captain Marie Martinez of the Santa Fe Police Department and Lieutenant Wilson,” Dutch held out his cellphone. “Any idea how Archie Boyd died?”