Cat In A Leopard Spot

She clattered out of the room ahead of them and led them via a long, circuitous route to the house’s huge institutional kitchen and finally out to the yard that faced into the foothills.

At first one saw only the pool and waterfall, the plantings and rock gardens.

As they walked farther, the desert reasserted itself, and the vast acres of land alongside the house grew apparent.

Although it was still spring in Las Vegas, there was no shade on the desert, only a sense of the sun warming every stone and grain of sand, creating a tanning-booth intensity of light.

Despite her redhead’s pale, freckle-prone skin, Temple could understand why cats basked.

No cats lounged amid the sand and scrub, though.

A long, low structure proved to be a suite of barred cages, like those you see in a circus, under a common roof, accessed by a security-number pad that opened a sliding metal gate. Behind the cage bars within lay, sat, slept, and paced an assortment of big cats.

A smell of sun-warmed fur, dung, and raw meat radiated from the area. The concrete surrounding the cages was streaked with rivulets of water that trickled into the ground-level cages themselves.

Temple was offended by these mean, utilitarian living conditions for the huge creatures, especially after passing through the luxurious house. No wonder Letty the Leopard had wanted in. Or Lennie.

“It’s not a zoo,” Leonora said as if reading Temple’s mind. Or face. “It’s an animal compound. None of them stay here that long. We have quite a demand.”

“All hunters?” Max asked.

She turned quickly, as if liking the question.

“Many. But we resell a few to those requiring exotic animals for business, or pleasure.”

“They don’t look old.” Max had wandered up to a cage holding a black leopard, better known as a panther.

“Some are mere zoo excess,” Leonora said, watching him like a cat.

The panther came to rub against the bars, stopping to sniff Max’s hand.

He uncurled the fingers slowly, like a petal opening. The huge cat pushed its blunt face forward as if to brush against the palm.

“Be careful!” Leonora spoke sharply, her voice a rasp of caution and shock.

Max was concentrating on the cat, not moving.

The two stood there for a few moments, as if communicating in a silent language.

Then the big cat moved on, began pacing against the opposite set of bars.

“Do you know where all your animals come from?” Max asked.

“No. Don’t looked surprised. We have suppliers. Sometimes it’s best not to know too much.”

Max moved on to an empty cage. “It’s always best not to know too much. Is this the cage that the…rogue leopard occupied?”

She came to stand beside Max. From the rear her artfully teased and streaked long hair looked amazingly like a mane.

Her voice was gruff. “Yes.”

“Any idea how the leopard got out, got into the house? Someone had to know the keypad number sequence.”

A silence.

Temple, ignored (and glad that Max and not she was the focus of this strange woman) studied Leonora’s body language as she answered.

Her posture shifted from the weight on one leg and hip, like a model, to an equal-weight stance, like a pugilist. Her shoulders lowered and squared. The mane brushing the tiger-print silk blouse twitched, ever so slightly, like a tail.

Leonora Van Burkleo was not pleased with questions about the how-tos of her husband’s death.

“How did the leopard get out?” she answered the query with another question. “It did not let itself out. Someone had to have released it, admitted it into the house.”

“How is that possible?” Max continued, ignoring her mad-cat signals. He was the same way with Louie. “Even if you knew the code, how would you handle the loose leopard? Granted, you get semidomesticated animals here, but they don’t just trot after people like a dog, into houses. Was it confined and then released inside, do you think? Was it led along, on a leash? Was it a particularly domesticated cat?”

“I don’t know! We never ask these things. They’re not here that long anyway, and if the exotic-pet fanciers don’t select them quickly, we pass them along to the hunt staff.” She paused, shifted her weight back to one leg, leaned inward to Max.

“A leopard is not a particularly large big cat. The hunters prefer lions and tigers.”

Max lifted his hands, framed the pacing panther in them like a film director planning a shot. He nodded. “Big is everything these days. Could your husband have let the animal into the house?”

Leonora’s weight dropped back to both feet, her knees sagging.

“Cyrus? But why? He’d never done such a thing before. These animals are…doomed, most of them. Cyrus was not a sentimental man, but he knew better than to personalize any of the creatures. And you’re suggesting he would ‘let’ one in, like a dog? Why?”