Sookie Stackhouse Boxed Set (Books 1-8) - Charlaine Harris [408]
“What?” I said. I couldn’t have uttered another word.
“The blood on the dock is probably feline blood, and there’s a print in it, besides Jason’s boot print,” said Andy. “We’ve kept this quiet, because we didn’t want those woods crawling with idiots.” I could feel myself swaying in an invisible wind. I would have laughed, if I hadn’t had the “gift” of telepathy. He wasn’t thinking tabby or calico when he said feline; he was thinking panther.
Panthers were what we called mountain lions. Sure, there aren’t mountains around here, but panthers—the oldest men hereabouts called them “painters”—live in low bottomland, too. To the best of my knowledge, the only place panthers could be found in the wild was in Florida, and their numbers were dwindling to the brink of extinction. No solid evidence had been produced to prove that any live native panthers had been living in Louisiana in the past fifty years, give or take a decade.
But of course, there were stories. And our woods and streams could produce no end of alligators, nutria, possums, coons, and even the occasional black bear or wildcat. Coyotes, too. But there were no pictures, or scat, or print casts, to prove the presence of panthers . . . until now.
Andy Bellefleur’s eyes were hot with longing, but not for me. Any red-blooded male who’d ever gone hunting, or even any P.C. guy who photographed nature, would give almost anything to see a real wild panther. Despite the fact that these large predators were deeply anxious to avoid humans, humans would not return the favor.
“What are you thinking?” I asked, though I knew damn good and well what they were thinking. But to keep them on an even keel, I had to pretend not to; they’d feel better, and they might let something slip. Catfish was just thinking that Jason was most likely dead. The two lawmen kept fixing me in their gaze, but Catfish, who knew me better than they did, was sitting forward on the edge of Gran’s old recliner, his big red hands clasped to each other so hard the knuckles were white.
“Maybe Jason spotted the panther when he came home that night,” Andy said carefully. “You know he’d run and get his rifle and try to track it.”
“They’re endangered,” I said. “You think Jason doesn’t know that panthers are endangered?” Of course, they thought Jason was so impulsive and brainless that he just wouldn’t care.
“Are you sure that would be at the top of his list?” Alcee Beck asked, with an attempt at gentleness.
“So you think Jason shot the panther,” I said, having a little difficulty getting the words out of my mouth.
“It’s a possibility.”
“And then what?” I crossed my arms over my chest.
All three men exchanged a glance. “Maybe Jason followed the panther into the woods,” Andy said. “Maybe the panther wasn’t so badly wounded after all, and it got him.”
“You think my brother would trail a wounded and dangerous animal into the woods—at night, by himself.” Sure they did. I could read it loud and clear. They thought that would be absolutely typical Jason Stackhouse behavior. What they didn’t get was that (reckless and wild as my brother was) Jason’s favorite person in the entire universe was Jason Stackhouse, and he would not endanger that person in such an obvious way.
Andy Bellefleur had some misgivings about this theory, but Alcee Beck sure didn’t. He thought I’d outlined Jason’s procedure that night exactly. What the two lawmen didn’t know, and what I couldn’t tell them, was that if Jason had seen a panther at his house that night, the chances were good the panther was actually a shape-shifting human. Hadn’t Claudine said that the witches had gathered some of the larger shifters into their fold? A panther would be a valuable animal to have at