Free Cougar's Eve by Kelly Ann Long Page B

“Yeah.”
    “Ah, no,” I answered with certainty. “Why in the world would you think that?”
    Almost excited, he whipped out his phone and scrolled through the pics. “Take a look at this.”
    He handed the phone to me, and I saw a huge bloodstain on my blue carpet. Right in the center of the stain was a set of canine prints.
    “What the hell?” I said aloud, suddenly confused.
    Bud concurred. “Doesn’t make sense, does it?” He cocked his head sideways. “You didn’t see them?”
    I shook my head. “No.”
    “There was one set. It looked as though one of the men walked his dog right through the bl—” He stopped short. “The mess,” he corrected.
    “I didn’t see a dog.” Now, what had happened made even less sense. It did, however, explain the reason the detective had asked if I owned a dog. At the time, I had no idea why he’d asked such an absurd question, considering I didn’t own a leash, had never registered a dog with the county for its rabies shot and didn’t buy anything but cat food.
    “Oh,” said Bud, suddenly disappointed. “I thought you’d taken my advice and finally adopted a dog.”
    “No,” I answered.
    “Look, Eve.” He ran his hand through his hair. “No one is supposed to know about this, so what I’m about to tell you is in complete confidence. Understand?”
    “Of course,” I replied.
    “Three weeks ago, there was a murder near Alton, Illinois. The only prints found at the scene were from a canine, which didn’t make sense. The case is still active, but the police have zero leads.”
    “Do you think this is the same guy?” I asked.
    “I’m not sure,” he said.
    “Can I look at the prints again?” I asked, suddenly extremely interested. He handed the phone back to me, and I zoomed in on the pic of the scene in my house.
    “The piece of paper next to the impression is one-inch long,” he informed me.
    I nodded to let him know I’d heard him. After studying the print, I shook my head in disbelief. The paw print looked similar to a dog’s but was more oval in shape. I’d always loved animals and had followed their tracks through the snow when I was little. When my dad had given me a how-to book about identifying and tracking local animals, I’d absorbed the information like a sponge. Because I’d studied animal prints for nearly ten years, I was able to make an educated guess as to the print’s owner, which made even less sense to me.
    “This is a coyote print, but…” I stopped talking, trying to put the pieces together.
    “That’s what I figured,” he agreed.
    “But it still doesn’t answer the question of how it got there,” I said, becoming frustrated.
    I told Bud about the strange scene of the coyotes running through my yard, and to his credit, he didn’t laugh or say I was crazy. I left out the fact they’d been chasing a cougar, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. A part of me sensed it would cause more problems than answer questions right now.
    “Let’s think about this logically, all right?” he suggested. “A print like that could only get there by the following: you owned a coyote or the person changed shape.”
    “Uh, yeah, right,” I said sarcastically. I looked at Bud and realized he was serious.
    “No other way to explain it.” He spread his hands wide.
    I stood up and put my hands on my hips. “But that can’t be the only explanation. It doesn’t make sense!”
    “Look at the flattened carpet where the guy rolled over,” he pointed out. “Only after he rolled do you see the coyote prints appear.”
    “Okay, but what happened to his clothes?” I smirked at him. Ha! Gotcha there!
    “He carried them in his mouth,” he suggested. “Or they’re part of his shifting ability.”
    “This is insane!” My head spun. My intelligent, logical, level-headed, reasonable friend was suggesting something absolutely unheard of.
    “Is it really so hard to believe?” he asked. “After all, you have special