The New Jerseyite! I signaled frantically, pointing at my chest and shaking my head no, no, no. The last thing I needed was her tale of woe about what I suspected was a neighbor’s fat cat. If it was a panther, it’d be after bigger prey, like her obnoxious poodle.

I was tuckered out, mentally. All I wanted was some peace and quiet to try to make sense of recent events: The come-on by the DVD-peddling pastor. The truck at Emma Jean’s. The possible connection—beyond cigars—between Martinez and Big Sal.

I went back outside to the storage room to dump Ollie’s food in the freezer. Rhonda was just hanging up when I returned.

“You owe me.’’ She rubbed at a phone-related crick in her neck. “You owe me big.’’

She stood up to stretch. Not many women are as tall as me, but Rhonda had an inch and a half on me. Nearly six feet, she should be wearing designer clothes instead of government-uniform green. She’s as beautiful as any model, and at least three times as smart.

“I know I owe you, Rhonda. I’m taking you to dinner at the Speckled Perch when all of this is over.’’

She sat back down, a smile spreading from her mouth all the way up to her angled cheekbones. The Perch is famous for its fried hush puppies. Blessed with the metabolism of a marathon runner, Rhonda devours the round corn-meal morsels by the dozen.

“I’ll handle all your unpleasant details for dinner at the Perch, Mace.’’

“Believe me, boss, you don’t want that burden right now.’’

I sat at my desk and attacked some paperwork, separating letters and messages into Soon, Later, and Never piles. A call from a retirement home in Highlands County went into Soon. Sometimes, I’ll take an orphaned possum and a few snakes and give a talk for the old people. They get nearly as big a kick as the kids do out of seeing the animals. A request to speak about wildlife at the country club, not exactly my natural audience, I filed in Later. An invitation to attend a fashion-show? Mama must have gotten me on that mailing list. Never.

When I’d cleared enough paper to see some of the daily squares on my desk calendar, I stood up and stretched. I’d been at it for fifty-five minutes. That was long enough. I needed to breathe some outside air.

“I’m gonna take a look around the park, then hit the vending machine. Want anything?’’

Rhonda looked up from a towering pile of permit cards and requisition forms. If that was management, she could have it.

“No, thanks. Take your time. I can tell from the way you’ve been jiggling your leg that you’re itching to get outside. Say hi to your animals for me.’’

“Will do.’’

“And, Mace?’’ Rhonda’s shift to her supervisor tone stopped me with my hand on the doorknob. “If you see any visitors, please say hi to them, too. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little friendlier to the park’s humans.’’

Some guy had complained to Rhonda that I was rude to his girlfriend. She was whining about how the brush and the bugs on the nature walk had eaten up her legs. All I said was it was plain stupid to come to the woods in short-shorts and high-heeled sandals, so what did she expect?

“Got it, Rhonda.’’ I pulled open the door. “I promise not to use the S-word, even when people are stupid.’’

Outside, I headed straight for the far corner of the park, where I keep the injured and unwanted animals. I could see Ollie on a sloped bank. He was sunbathing, with his body half in and half out of the water. I leaned over the concrete wall that encloses his pond.

“Hey, buddy,’’ I called down to the gator. “How’s it hangin’?’’

I talk to the animals. A lot. Maddie says it’s a clear sign I need more friends.

“Listen, I just put a dozen plump hens in your freezer. You’re going to be dining fine.’’

Ollie blinked his good eye.

With a brain a little bigger than a lima bean, he’s not much for conversation. I started to push myself away from the wall, when I heard a distant rustle in the brush behind me. I’ve spent a lifetime in the woods, and rarely been afraid. But something about that movement didn’t sound natural. A wild hog will crash through the undergrowth, not caring who all’s around. A deer will pass by, as quiet as a sigh. But the movement I heard sounded different: Sneaky. Stealthy. Big.

Maybe the New Jersey woman was right about that rogue panther.

I turned slowly, straining to hear the sound again so I could try to place it. The woods grow all around the animal area, close enough for the tallest hardwood trees to throw shadows across half of Ollie’s pond. A mockingbird sang. Dragonflies hummed. Whatever else was out there was silent now. I turned back to the gator.

“You didn’t hear anything, did you, buddy?’’ My voice sounded unnaturally loud and hearty, like I was trying to sell something.

Ollie wasn’t buying. He was so still, he might have been an alligator-hide duffel bag with a head. But he can move plenty fast when he’s motivated.

I peered into the dark shade of the woods. Laurel oaks lifted their branches. Air plants nestled in the crooks of the trees. All of it looked ordinary. Yet, I sensed unseen eyes watching me. A clammy rivulet of sweat worked its way past my waistband, rolling down the gully of my lower back.

Then, I heard the rustle again, nearer now. Something was moving toward me through the trees. I backed up, hard against the concrete of Ollie’s wall.

The rustle got louder. Moving faster. Coming closer.

My heart pounded. Every nerve cell screamed, “Run!’’ but I had nowhere to go.

Whatever was in those woods was in front of me. Ollie’s pond was behind. And I was frozen in between, as motionless as a rabbit in the moment before its predator strikes.

Loud, angry voices suddenly rang out from my left.

“And I say it’s this way!’’

“Is not!”

I turned from the woods. A sunburned man with a camera and a woman in a Hawaiian-print shorts-set were arguing at a fork in the trail. The debate: which path to follow for the parking lot.

I’d never been so happy to see two human visitors. My slamming heart slowed. My lungs clocked back in on the job. I gulped in a big, shuddery breath.

For the first time, the woods had seemed like a threat, not a comfort. I was afraid. That must be how my sister Marty feels all the time, I thought. I didn’t care for it much.