Chapter 6
“The bite radius doesn’t match a clouded leopard,” Brenda said. “The lacerations from the claw marks are too wide and deep to be a leopard. We’re dealing with something else.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I’m trying to find something that matches this pattern.”
“You’re not buying into this whole werewolf thing, are you?”
“No. I’m just saying I don’t know what did this yet.”
“What about DNA? There’s gotta be some trace evidence.”
“I’ll let you know what comes back.”
“Keep me posted,” I said before ending the call.
I pulled myself out of bed, got dressed, and headed down to the galley to grill breakfast. Bacon sizzled in the pan, and I fixed French toast and hashbrowns. The smell of coffee swirled as it began to brew.
Paris Delaney was all over the news, reporting about the incident at the zoo.
The segment cut to clips of Animal Control trying to recover escapees on the streets of Coconut Key.
Responders tried to coax stubborn chimpanzees out of trees, round up sly foxes darting through neighborhoods, and lure prairie dogs back into captivity.
Most of the exotic birds were long gone.
The segment cut to a clip of Animal Control rounding up the leopard in question.
The ferocious little beast was drilled with a tranquilizer dart that put it to sleep long enough to load it into a cage and return it to the zoo.
“Zoo and county officials will make a full investigation to determine if this clouded leopard is, in fact, responsible for the death of Ophelia Grace last night,” Paris said.
“Authorities are still searching for the perpetrators who infiltrated the zoo and released these animals.
If you have any information, please contact the Coconut County Sheriff's Department, or you can use our tip line. " It flashed on the screen.
So far, no activist groups had taken responsibility for the incident at the zoo.
Paris ended the segment with her tagline, "I’m Paris Delaney, and you heard it from me first."
I rousted JD out of bed, and we chowed down on the skydeck, soaking in the amber rays of morning. I caught him up to speed on Brenda’s findings.
With full bellies, we set out to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Grace. Deputies had already done a death notification, but I wanted to get additional insight. We weren’t dealing with a leopard.
The couple lived in Whispering Heights in a nice two-story, coral-colored home. It had white trim and a large veranda supported by square columns. A white picket fence enclosed the manicured lawn, and a few lazy palms watched over the property.
Jack parked at the curb, and we hopped out, strolled through the gate, and up the walkway. I knocked on the door.
Someone shuffled down the foyer a moment later. A frail voice called through the door, "Who is it?"
I flashed my badge and said, "Coconut County.”
Bonnie Grace pulled open the door a moment later, looking hollow.
Understandable, given the situation. She was in her mid-40s with short blonde hair, blue eyes, and soft features.
The resemblance to Ophelia was obvious. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, along with her nose from an excessive use of tissues.
I offered my condolences.
"Please, come in." Bonnie stepped aside and motioned us into the foyer. She led us into the living room and offered us a seat on the sofa. It was a nice home with dark hardwood floors, pastel walls, and French doors that opened to the patio and the pool beyond.
"Can I offer you anything to drink? Water, soda, coffee?”
"No, thank you,” I replied.
Bonnie took a seat catty-corner to us in the chair. She steadied herself, then attempted to say, "I heard they caught…" She couldn't finish, tears filling her eyes. She grabbed a tissue from the coffee table and blotted her eyes dry.
"I believe they did catch the leopard in question, but I'm not sure the animal is responsible."
She looked at me with confusion, her brow knitting. "What do you mean?”
I told her about Brenda's findings.
She looked stunned. "If the leopard isn't responsible, then what is? Another animal? An escaped tiger, a lion, perhaps?”
"We're unsure at this time.”
Her suspicious eyes narrowed. "Unsure?”
"It will take time for the lab results to come back. We should have more information in a few weeks.”
"Weeks?"
"These things take time. I'm sorry.”
She sniffled and blotted her eyes again.
"When was the last time you spoke to your daughter?"
Bonnie thought for a moment. "I think early that afternoon.” Her eyes filled again. "She was all excited about her date that evening.”
"Can you tell me the gentleman's name?”
Bonnie’s brow tightened as she tried to recall. "Austin Edwards. I’ve got his phone number. I make her give me contact information for everybody she spends time with. You can't be too careful in this day and age." She paused. "You don't think he could have done this, do you?"
"Like I said, ma'am, we are uncertain. I'm keeping my mind open to all possibilities at the moment."
"You don't believe in that werewolf nonsense, do you?"
"I'm keeping my mind open to all logical possibilities," I said, not buying into the nonsense.
I dug into my pocket and pulled out a card. I handed it to her and asked her to text me Austin's contact information.
She did.
"Grace was such a good kid,” she said, sadness filling her eyes. "She was getting straight A’s at Vanden. She was so happy. She had her whole life ahead of her," she said, barely able to finish the phrase before breaking down again.
"Does she have any close friends on the island? Anyone she might confide in?”
"Annabelle Jackson. They’ve been friends since childhood.
They're both attending Vanden. They're both business majors.
If anyone would know the inner workings of Ophelia's life, it would be Annabelle.” Bonnie took a breath.
“We were close. She told me everything. But I'm sure there were some things that she saved for herself and her friends. " Bonnie paused. "Why do you ask?"
"I just want to get the full picture.”
She nodded. "I understand.” After a solemn moment, she said, "I want you to find out what happened.”
"We will do our best," I assured.
"Do you live here alone, Mrs. Grace?"
"No. My husband is not here at the moment. He was having a really hard time, as you can imagine. I told him to get out of the house and go do something to focus his mind.”
I thanked her for her time and offered our condolences once again. We showed ourselves out and strolled the walkway back to the Porsche.
Jack said, “I think Scruffy was so drunk he couldn’t tell the difference between a lion and a tiger.
And there’s a slight possibility the zoo is not being entirely forthcoming about the types and amounts of animals that escaped.
I hate to be that guy, but even with the break in, the zoo could be named in a wrongful death suit.
It’s arguable they didn’t do enough to secure the property or the animals.
The whole place secured by a padlock on a construction gate?
They should have had more security personnel on staff.
Better protocols to handle this kind of thing.
Right now, they dodged a bullet that the leopard isn’t a match.
But that doesn’t mean a panther or a tiger didn’t maul the poor girl. ”
We climbed into the Porsche and headed across the island to find Austin.