Cat In A Leopard Spot

Once ensconced where he was least likely to be expected, on a perch well greased with bird droppings, he had recorded various wheeled arrivals. A white van proved to be a meat delivery truck and left after unloading. A bronze Ford Expedition, that held the title for biggest dinosaur in the outsize SUV world, was the second arrival. It had disgorged a man in an Aussie-style hat, not pinned up on one side, so that Max couldn’t see his face. Obviously the hunter. Shortly after that had come Temple’s aqua Storm, now parked by the house’s soaring entry door in front of the bulbous behemoth that was the Expedition, looking like a mislaid turquoise chip in this dun-colored setting.

Meanwhile…Max switched the camera for a pair of binoculars that were both surprisingly powerful and incredibly petite. Kind of like Temple.

His vulture’s-eye view of the scene showed the trio of hunt protesters hunkered down sixty yards away in the desert and creeping ever closer.

Not thirty yards away one of the rifle-bearing security guards scanned the terrain like a point man.

Max raked the magnifying lenses over the compound and spotted a cluster of feminine hair colors by the ranch’s soaring entrance doors: Temple’s cocklike comb of red, the tawny mane of the widow Van Burkleo, the assistant Courtney’s slick yellow poll.

He lowered the binocs, disturbed to see the guards stationed all around the area, like beaters. Now that he had inventoried the forces assembling, he was sorry he had asked Temple to be on hand. He was even sorrier that she didn’t have the Colt pocketlite he had offered her. Although in a crisis she was more likely to draw her cell phone than a gun.

He swooped the binocs back to the hunt breakers: more unarmed innocents in a nest of vipers.

A movement in the desert between the compound and the nothingness that stretched to the horizon caught his eye. Something black like him, but smaller.

Wait a minute. He swept the binocs over the empty horizon again. Not quite empty. Max saw something else he didn’t like. Something he never would have noticed had he not taken the high ground to look around. Odd how earthbound people thought, in terms of miles and roads and fences. Not as the crow flies, though…or the vulture. The vulture was a far more appropriate image for this situation, with so many human vultures gathering around for what human vultures crave…not dead flesh, but the material remains of the dead flesh.

His heartbeat accelerated. In disbelief? Or disappointment? Or did he just not want to tangle with this particular opponent? Damn! He was less interested in finding a murderer than a missing leopard, but now he’d managed to do both. Just this minute, just when he was trapped in this perch, watching and recording.

But was there any new danger? The worst was over, wasn’t it? Van Burkleo was dead. That’s what everyone had wanted, each in his own way. Van Burkleo dead. The hunts were over. The beatings ended. The ranch was about to be sold. The money made and taken away. The animals dead or dispersed…

Then why one last hunt?

Was there one last victim?

Chapter 44

Pretty Please Don’t!

“I can’t have the panther?”

Temple managed to sound both astounded and indignant. Your typical disgruntled customer.

She had been pretty pleased with herself for using the panther as an excuse for her latest visit to Rancho Exotica. She didn’t have another pretext to hand or in brain. She would have to ride that panther until it dropped.

And it was warm out here. Temple blew upward to lift her curls from her damp forehead. She hated being the only curly-haired woman in the girl group.

Leonora and Courtney exchanged pointed looks.

“My heart was set on the panther,” Temple said.

“I thought your heart was set on Mr. Maximilian.” Leonora glanced pointedly at Temple’s ring finger.

Oh-oh. She had been much too rash in throwing the trinket back.

“Sapphires,” Temple said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“We decided I looked better in sapphires. A new ring is on order. Now. About that panther—”

“I’m sorry, but we had scheduled one final hunter and he chose the panther.”

“You’re shooting it?”

Leonora stiffened. “Not personally.”

“When? Where?”

The two women turned to look at the Expedition parked behind Temple’s Storm in the driveway like Godzilla poised over Mighty Mouse.

“Now?”

Temple had never pictured her panther, her Midnight Louie in an extra-large cat suit, as the object of the hunt Max wanted to stop. Where was that nasty little gun when she needed it?

“What is the swine who’s doing the shooting paying for the privilege?” she asked.

“Really, Miss Barr, this is our business and your friend was willing and eager to buy it—”

“I’ll double the fee.”

“I don’t see how—”