Tiger's Eye by Barbra Annino

Author:Barbra Annino [Annino, Barbra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Mystery, cookie429, Extratorrents, Kat
ISBN: 9781612186146
Publisher: Thomas & Mercer
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Liberty was on her outside perch when we pulled up. She bobbed her head up and down and squawked as soon as I got out of Cin’s car.

“I’ll just wait to make sure the car starts.” Cin cut her engine.

“Okay, just let me tell Mr. Scoog I’m picking it up. Be right back.”

I hopped up the steps and tapped on the old man’s door. “Mr. Scoog? It’s Stacy Justice.”

After a few seconds, I knocked again. “Mr. Scoog?” The door creaked open. “Hello?” I took a step inside and Liberty swooshed over my head, flapping her wings, then flew back out.

I turned and flashed Cinnamon a sign to say “just a moment.”

She nodded. Thor was sitting upright in the backseat.

I hadn’t been inside the trailer before. I was surprised to find it filled with boxes and boxes overflowing with paperwork stacked in no logical order that I could discern. I recalled Scoog saying he kept good records of any local wrecks. I guessed this is what that looked like after several decades.

“Mr. Scoog?”

No answer. Maybe he was out on the property? This wasn’t a large home. Surely he would have heard me calling him.

I ducked into the kitchen. Nothing but a few empty beer cans and a half-eaten jar of Dinty Moore stew.

From the window over the counter, his backyard looked just as cluttered as the rest of the property. There was an old wheelchair propped next to a dilapidated outhouse, a few rusty bicycles, and a wind chime hanging from a plant stake.

I pulled out my cell phone and called the number he had called me from. A phone rang somewhere inside the trailer and I hung up after the third ring.

I decided to just grab the car and ask Leo to send a patrol to check on Mr. Scoog. If he was out on his property somewhere in this heat, there was no telling what could happen.

When I turned to head out, I noticed a spot of blood on the linoleum.

From the open door, Liberty screeched.

I stopped short, focusing all my energy on how my body felt in that moment. I stared at the red dot, which, come to think of it, could have been paint or ketchup.

No glaring signals, but there was a tickling at the back of my throat. Just the slightest hint of unease settled into my stomach. I wasn’t sure how to read that. Usually my intuition was fine-tuned to protect myself and my circle, not strangers.

I scanned the floor, looking for more traces of red, but didn’t find any.

What I did find, however, was a finger poking out from the corner of a dirty brown sheet sprawled across the sofa.

Silently I made a plea for the junk man to be sleeping peacefully.

I crept forward.

My voice cracked. “Mr. Scoog? You okay? You asleep?”

I watched for movement. Listened for wheezing.

Nothing.

I touched the finger. Still nothing, which was a good sign. No visions meant he wasn’t dead.

“Mr. Scoog, I’m just going to lift up this sheet and make sure you’re all right.

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