just beyond is huge,” Claire observed as they drove for several miles on the narrow dirt road toward the BAA, a speck in the edge of Everglades land.
“Grant said it goes deeper back than what appears along the road, with hundreds of primitive acres. He said it has cabins for hunters to stay in, a lodge and lots of terrain to hunt. I think they guarantee all kinds of kills for big money there. That reminds me, I want to see Grant soon. It’s in the back of my mind that he said something about wanting to buy up the surrounding land, that the orchard owners might sell, but the Hoffmans never would.”
“Sorry for suspecting anyone and everyone right now,” she told Nick, “but that could mean Stan Helter is not such a good neighbor. Like maybe he wants their few acres, but they’ve refused to sell. Maybe he put pressure on them, maybe had words with Ben Hoffman or even Brittany. His voice had a tinge of disdain and anger in it when he referred to her as the beast-loving blonde. You said he was a womanizer. Maybe he came on to her, and she turned him down.”
“Sweetheart, don’t get carried away with fiction. Let’s avoid the ‘maybes’ unless we have to. We don’t need more nightmares, asleep or awake. I think we decided last night that I’d pass this case on to a colleague if it gets sticky.”
“But we agreed that you help people, and I help you.”
He sighed and nodded as they turned into the now nearly deserted BAA parking lot. A big Lexus sat there with a Going for Baroque decal on the back window and a bumper sticker that read STRINGS ATTACHED.
“I’m not a betting man, but I’d say Lane Hoffman’s here,” Nick said.
But they also saw hand-printed signs at the entrance to the lot and the gate that read TEMPORARILY CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. Someone had also tacked a piece of paper to the entry gate that read RIP, Benjamin Hoffman. And another—Claire swore it looked like Jace’s handwriting, quite large, that read Semper Fi!
As they approached the closed gate—Brittany had told them to knock and Jackson would let them in—their gazes snagged. Claire tilted her head. “I hear a violin. Lively music.”
“Maybe Lane’s playing to lift their spirits.”
“I wish he’d lift ours.”
Jackson let them in, still shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what had happened. A frown made his dark face sag. “Don’t make a bit of sense,” he told them. “Sure, Ben had problems like all of us, but to be off enough to do something like that? No way. ’Preciate it if you can help out Miz Brittany and Miz Ann,” he told Nick, shifting his head shakes to nods. “Now, Lane, like you can hear, he got his own way of dealing with things.”
With a nod toward the music, Jackson locked the gate behind them and headed quickly away, soon lost to their view in the foliage behind the now empty ticket office.
“I suppose in a way it was best that neither Ann nor Jackson saw it happen,” Claire said, taking Nick’s hand. “Remember, Brittany said Jackson and Ben were friends from way back. It was bad enough for Brittany to see her father attacked just before we got to the cage.”
They found Ann Hoffman standing in the petting zoo, stroking a small, nervous ostrich, which had a collar around its long neck. The violinist—likely Lane—seemed lost in his own music and didn’t seem to see them at first, even when Ann nodded and gestured them over. At least the new widow was calm now, though she looked ravaged and haunted. Maybe the music and the animals would help her. Brittany was not in sight.
Claire jumped when the violin screeched out a sound that was a hee-haw, then one she was certain was a roar. Lane lifted his violin, then swept it down to his side and made a flourish with the bow.
Lane Hoffman looked the part of a musician, Claire thought, though she instantly regretted her stereotyping. He wore his blond hair to his neckline and straight; it shifted when he played with such emotion. He had a light brown, perfectly clipped beard. Unlike many Floridians, he had pale skin. He was not really thin, but seemed, well, graceful for a man, or was that just the effect of the music on her?
“I heard you were coming and that you helped yesterday,” he said. “The family appreciates it. You know, this was the most apropos piece I could think of, The Carnival of the Animals by Saint-Saëns.”
“Glad to meet you,” Claire said, and Nick echoed that, though Lane began to play again with a mere nod. “As you can see, we come bearing gifts,” she told Ann.
But it was Lane who spoke while playing. His moving chin bounced the violin a bit, but he didn’t miss a note. “Again, greatly appreciated. Brittany’s with the tiger—which, I hope, will be leaving here soon one way or the other.”
“We can take these things over to her.”
“Oh, let me take them into the administration trailer,” Ann put in. “This is all so kind of you. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll go with you,” Claire said. “The basket’s heavy.”
She took it from Nick and went toward the trailer with Ann. Though she seemed calm and was on her feet, she was a bit out of it and slow-spoken, so maybe she was on tranquilizers.
As they went up the steps into the trailer, Ann said, “I’m sure it was a shock to you—seeing it too.”
“Yes. I’m so sorry. I was worried for Brittany.”
“She loves big cats. Wants to work with them forever.” She cleared her throat and put the vase of flowers on a cluttered table, then began to empty things that needed to be kept cool from the basket into the small refrigerator in the corner.
“It’s a huge mystery, of course,” Ann said, bent over, not looking at Claire who found herself studying Ann’s body language since she couldn’t see her face. “He left a legacy. He had his problems, but don’t we all?” she asked, almost defiantly, as she stood and faced Claire. “As you can well observe, the fact we were all at odds with Lane—well, that was something that haunted Ben. At least Lane’s here today, playing happy music, wouldn’t you know.”
Before Claire could delve into that mixed message, Ann abruptly rushed past her and headed back outside, so Claire followed.
* * *
Pulling a broken strand off his bow, Lane said to Nick, “I understand my sister or my mother might have mentioned something to you about needing representation and you sat in with them for the police interview.”
“In case state or national agencies levy a fee or some charges, they may need counsel. I expect their rulings will blame your father and not the BAA.”
“We all appreciate your advice, but surely an inquiry or possible charges will come to nothing. As far as I’m concerned, if the state wants to take that tiger, the sooner the better. Brittany loves the damn thing, but it’s pretty obvious they were all in over their heads keeping it here after it had been abused by some old woman. That made it more likely to strike out, I’d say.”
“You do realize this might reach beyond the State of Florida. The ultimate authorities are not only the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, which will no doubt investigate, but it could go to the US Department of Agriculture. A bizarre death like this is national news.”
“Been looking into it already? I would like to get my
