Matt Finn approached the fence with a weary expression. Dust from the gravel road streaked his dark pants and shirt, and he carried several small picket signs in his right hand. Beside him was a young rent-a-cop with pimples on his brow and a sand-colored buzz cut. Grace didn’t know the younger man’s first name; Finn referred him to only as Scoletti or “the rookie.” Together, Finn and Scoletti had spent the last five hours strolling through the compound, keeping an eye on visitors and volunteers alike.
Finn peered through the wire mesh. “Everything in order?”
“Just finishing up.” Grace picked up the empty food tub, checked the gorillas’ water bucket—nearly full—and then let herself out the gate. Jonathan followed and clicked the padlock shut.
“Zyrnek.” Finn nodded at the volunteer.
Jonathan was equally curt. “Detective Finn. Most people call me Jon now. Or Z.”
“Z?” Scoletti asked.
Finn raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“That’s what Neema calls me. I have a T-shirt like that.” He made a quick motion, carving a letter Z into the air. “It gets weird, having a Josh and a Jon working around here. And since my dad got out and is living with me, it’s confusing to have two Zyrneks around, too.”
“Got out?” Finn asked pointedly. His gaze shifted from Jon Zyrnek to Grace’s face, checking to see if she got his drift.
Jon crossed his arms and stared Finn down. “Dad was released from Monroe twelve weeks ago. He works at the auto salvage yard. He’s staying at my place until he gets a few paychecks in the bank.”
“What was he in for?”
Jon squirmed for a second, but finally muttered, “Robbery. Fraud.”
Scoletti looked from Finn to Jon and back again, no doubt wondering what to make of this conversation.
Grace sighed. Jonathan Zyrnek had been with her over a year now, but Finn still didn’t trust him. The kid started working at her compound as a community service sentence after his conviction for an eco-terrorism stunt. He was still a member of the Animal Rights Union.
While Finn knew only Jon’s record, Grace knew Jon. With a father in prison and a mother in and out of rehab, Jonathan Zyrnek had spent most of his teen years in foster care. The young man had a big heart and a quick mind. A natural leader, he organized her staff and volunteers and doled out work assignments. Best of all, Gumu trusted Jon almost as much as he trusted Josh LaDyne, and her big male gorilla tolerated very few humans.
LaDyne was in the throes of finishing his Ph.D. dissertation and would leave the project within months. Although Jon was not an academic who could design tests and document her research like LaDyne, she hoped Jon would take LaDyne’s place as backup gorilla keeper.
Jon turned his back on Finn to tell her, “Sierra and I are on duty tonight.”
“Thanks, Z.” She gave his arm an affectionate squeeze.
Jon’s companions in ARU crime, Caryn Brown and Sierra Sakson, worked for her, too. She depended heavily on the ARU trio. All three were fluent in American Sign Language. They helped with training as well as basic care of the gorillas. They also claimed to have some sort of commando training. Grace didn’t ask for details; she was just happy they considered it their duty to guard her compound.
All three had stayed with the gorilla language project after their court-mandated sentences were up. Now, thanks to the financial support of the local college and sales of the gorillas’ artwork, Grace was able to pay the three an hourly pittance, far less than they deserved.
Finn held out the signs to Scoletti.
“What are those?” Grace asked.
“Only two troublemakers.” Matt turned the small hand-painted signs so she could read them as he handed them off to the rookie.
Apes Cant Think or Talk. Only humans have souls.
I am NOT a monkey’s uncle.
So maybe the atmosphere at the gate had not been as peaceful as it had been inside.
Matt dismissed Scoletti. “Good job. See you at the station.”
The rookie bumped knuckles with him before walking back toward the front lot where his car was parked.
Sierra and Caryn and a small cluster of volunteers were slumped against the picnic table across the yard, waiting for a final word from her. Grace strolled toward them. “Thank you for a great job today, everyone. I hope you can all stay to celebrate.”
Their expressions perked up. She looked over Jon’s shoulder to focus on Finn and invite him, too. He jerked a thumb toward his chest and mouthed My place. Steak. He mimicked drinking a glass of wine. Hot tub. His intense gaze suggested even more.
From the enclosure, Neema grunted softly, calling Gumu. Kanoni chirped in response.
Grace focused on her staff again. “Crew, there’s a keg of beer in the staff trailer. Pizzas, too. Have a party. You earned it. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She had planned to stay with her volunteers, but Matt’s invitation sounded like heaven. Adult talk, or even better, no talk at all. And no gorillas.
Chapter 2
Happy quiet. Neema listened to the birds. She liked to watch the little ones that flew in and hopped around. She liked to hear them sing. She hated big black birds. Grace had a name sound for them: crows. They stole her food. Their noises were loud and ugly. Crow shouts.
She put another strawberry in her mouth. Good sweet cold. Her favorite red food. She picked up another. Kanoni grabbed for it. Neema grunted and flashed her teeth. Kanoni let go. Crouching over the pile of fruit, the baby picked up a strawberry with her lips, and then moved it around inside her mouth with a question on her face.
Good, Neema signed.
Snow walked over to the strawberries and sniffed, moving his whiskers. No cat food, Neema signed. Gorilla food Neema. Kanoni stretched her hand out to grab the long white tail. Snow ran into the barn.
Neema grunted for Gumu. Come tickle Neema. Chase. Laughs came from the trailer where Z and the others stayed. Then music started again. She hooted louder for Gumu. No Gumu sound came back. She sniffed. Only dirty smells from toilet boxes.
Neema pushed a chunk of cauliflower into her mouth, then swept Kanoni into her arms. Clutching the baby to her chest with one arm, she pulled herself into the webbing and climbed to Gumu’s nest. She poked his blankets with a finger. Kanoni sucked a corner of a blanket into her mouth.
The blankets felt apart.
No Gumu there. Only his nest.
From this high place, Neema saw a tiny piece of red-orange sun, almost gone. White dust over the road. Grace gone in gun man’s car. Almost dark.
Z laughed from the trailer across the yard. Then Caryn did, too. Funny jokes? She wanted Grace to come back, tickle her, make her laugh. Tickle Neema, she signed to Kanoni. The baby stared, her eyes big. Neema pushed out her lips and dug her fingers into the baby’s stomach. Kanoni hooted and rolled over backwards, then scampered down the netting, wanting a game of chase.
Was Gumu hiding in the barn? Was he sleeping in her nest, using her blankets? Did he have strawberries? Did he have candy? She climbed down the rope webbing, landed on the ground with a thud. She hurried into the dimness of the barn. Kanoni followed.
Dark inside. She knuckled her way over toys and blankets. The tire swings were empty. No Gumu in her blankets. Snow and Nest cats curled up there, washing each other’s faces with pink tongues. Grunting, she signed gorilla nest mine, but they were not watching.
No Gumu in the corners. No Gumu on the tree trunks. On the floor was a big wet spot. Neema caught Kanoni as she scampered by. Creeping closer to the big dark wet, holding Kanoni tight, she looked at the spot out of the corner of her eye. Red wet. She leaned close. Meat smell. She touched her fingers to the red and tasted the wet. Meat wet. Red meat smell. Bad, hurt, she signed.
Where was Gumu? Kanoni slipped from her arms into the wet red. Raising her baby arms, she slapped them on the red dirt and rolled across the wet.
The red smelled like meat. Gumu was gone. Bad, Neema signed. Bad. Bad. Bad.
When Spencer was meat, he was gone. Was Gumu meat? Was Gumu gone for always?
She backed away from the meat smell and turned toward the back of the barn. Light. The wall was open, just a crack. It never was open before. She walked to the crack, looked through the open. Cars were there. She put a hand on the wall and pushed. It slid away. She could get out, away from the meat smell.
Was Gumu out? She hooted for Gumu. Kanoni’s hand brushed her leg as she tried to slip past. Neema caught her by a foot. The baby screeched.
Neema squeezed through the opening. Out. She sat in the dust between the cars and pulled Kanoni into her lap. More bad meat smell. More car smells.
Gumu? She hooted. Kanoni copied her cry. A crow shouted back.
Meat. Bad black bird noise. No Gumu. This was bad. Bad. This was danger.
Chapter 3
Early morning sunlight poured through Finn’s bedroom window, illuminating the intriguing sight of Grace McKenna sleeping beside him. He’d like to paint her just as she looked now. Her eyelids were pale lavender fringed by black lashes, the delicate skin there fading to rose and then to ivory under ebony eyebrows. Her face was tranquil, her lips parted slightly. Her dark hair fanned out over the pillow like a halo radiating from the moon on a frosty night. Spoiling this vision, however, was an orange cat that had snuggled into that luscious hair. Kee, one of the tabbies he’d inherited from his traitorous ex-wife Wendy. Finn briefly considered poking the cat, but Kee was unpredictable. He might unsheathe his claws and use Grace’s head as a launch pad.
Cargo, the black behemoth of a dog also left behind by Wendy, sauntered into the room, toenails clicking against the hardwood floor. The Newfie-Chow mix rested his heavy skull on Finn’s hip, fixing his eyes—one brown and one blue—on Finn’s face. The dog sighed melodramatically to show he was waiting for Finn to fill his food bowl. The muggy wave of dog breath wafted across the bed. Kee opened one sea green eye. Half a second later, Grace opened her eyes, too. When she jabbed a finger into the warm fur above her head, Kee merely stretched to show his disdain, and then jumped off the bed. Grace had a magic touch with all his animals.
She slid toward him, finger-combing her hair away from her face.
He murmured, “Hello, beautiful.”
Her brow abruptly furrowed. “Shit!”
“That wasn’t quite the response I was hoping for.”
She gestured at the bedside clock behind him as she climbed out of bed. “Sorry, Matt, it’s just that I should already be back at the compound. Where—?”
Then, spying her clothes heaped on the chair against the wall, she began to pull them on. Cargo trotted over to help and they engaged in a brief tug of war with her brassiere until Grace told the dog to stop.
Finn groaned. “It’s not even seven-thirty. My shift doesn’t start until three this afternoon.”
“Josh is out of town. I have to do the morning feedings and lesson setups.”
Sighing, Finn climbed out of bed and pulled on his own clothes. Cargo bounced to his side of the bed, grabbed the leg of his trousers and pulled, growling fiercely.
Grace extracted her long hair from the neck of her T-shirt. “You don’t have to get up, too.”
He flicked Cargo on the nose. The dog spat out his pants, sat back on his haunches and barked. Grace laughed.
His home life was a circus. How the hell was he supposed to romance a woman? He pulled his slobber-stained khakis over his jockey shorts and reminded Grace, “We drove here in my car.”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry. And thank you.” Snapping her jeans, she gave him a chagrined smile. “Forgive me for eating and running?”
“What? No mention of dessert?” He raised an eyebrow. This was only the third time she’d stayed over. He was delighted to wake up with her. But did she feel the same?
Grace stepped toward him, gave him a hug and a quick kiss. “Dessert was wonderful, too, Matt. But I really have to get back to the gorillas.”
Why was his life ruled by animals? Two cats and a dog at home were bad enough. How had he fallen for a woman who kept gorillas? “Coffee before apes?”
“One cup.”
They padded barefoot toward the kitchen, passing his home office, which he used mostly as a painting studio. The eastern light from the windows illuminated the back side of the watercolor he was working on, giving the field of red poppies a luminous glow.
Grace paused in the doorway to view the painting. “Oh, Matt. That’s lovely.”
He was ridiculously pleased. He had the brilliant reds and oranges down, but he needed to add the blue shadows. And the flesh tones to fill out the figure of the woman wandering through the meadow. “It needs a few more layers.”
She leaned against him, teasing. “Is the woman me?”
He’d roughed in the figure with only a suggestion of blue jeans and yellow peasant blouse and long black hair streaming in the breeze. “I like to think so.”
“Me, too.” She splayed her fingers against his chest as she gazed at him, smiling. “Maybe tonight I can get Jon to gorilla-sit again.”
He’d planned on painting the woman from the back, moving away, but maybe he’d change it so she was walking toward the viewer. “I’m on duty until midnight, but I’d love to meet you afterwards. We could share dessert again.” He leaned forward to press his lips to Grace’s.
Then Cargo nearly knocked them down in his rush to pass down the narrow hallway, eager to beat them to the kibble cupboard.
* * * * *
Clouds scudded across the sky from the west as they drove, obliterating the bright dawn, and a rising breeze gusted through the tall evergreens bordering Grace’s compound as they drove in. From the courtyard, she could see neither gorillas nor humans.
“Looks like the gorillas are sleeping late,” Grace said.
Finn’s stomach chose that moment to growl.
Grace grinned and looked at his belt buckle. “After I feed them, how about I cook you an omelet?”
He rubbed his belly, embarrassed. “Sounds wonderful.”
He trailed behind her as she hurried toward the mobile home she called the study trailer, where she worked with the gorillas and recorded their lessons. Finn leaned against the counter as she unlocked the chain on the refrigerator door and pulled out items. She quickly tossed together an array of whole fruit and vegetables and then used a giant knife to hack a loaf of heavy mixed-grain bread into chunks.
From what he’d witnessed so far, gorillas ate everything short of cheeseburgers. He was glad it wasn’t his job to feed an ape. She loaded the hodge-podge into a plastic dish tub, which he carried as they walked toward the enclosure. Grace’s two cats—a white one and a calico—materialized from wherever cats hid out. Just like his, these two did their feline utmost to trip him, twining around his feet, mewing hopefully.
“You’re next,” Grace told them. “Gorillas first.”
“I thought Snow and Nest were the gorillas’ pets.” Finn still couldn’t wrap his brain around the concept of one animal having another as a pet.
“They are.”
“Then why aren’t they the gorillas’ responsibilities? Why don’t you make the gorillas feed them?”
She laughed. “Because I don’t trust gorillas with can openers? Because they’d eat the cat food themselves?”
Good points.
A door banged on the staff trailer across the yard. Jonathan Zyrnek stumbled out, raking his long dishwater-blond hair with his fingers. Looked like the kid had slept in his rumpled jeans and T-shirt. He wore tennis shoes without socks. He caught the door and carefully fastened it shut against the wind, then trotted down the steps toward them.
“Busted,” he groaned, reaching to take the food tub from Finn. “Here, let me do that.”
The cats promptly transferred their affections from Finn to him. “Sorry I’m late getting up,” he apologized, ending with a yawn.
Grace shot the kid a dismayed look. “I’m surprised the gorillas aren’t raising the roof.�
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“Me, too.” He yawned again. “The barn was quiet all night long. Neema only hooted for a little while after she saw you leave.”
Grace stiffened, and Finn wanted to smack the kid for laying a guilt trip on her. “Are you sure the barn was quiet? Maybe you couldn’t hear the gorillas over your music,” he suggested.
Zyrnek scowled at him. “Our music wasn’t loud.”
The kid turned to Grace. A long strand of hair blew across his face. He shoved it back behind his ear. “Gumu must have been stressed out. He left his nest blankets up in the net. He and Neema are probably huddled together inside. Maybe they don’t want to come out because of the portable johns.”
“Maybe,” Grace agreed. When Finn raised a skeptical eyebrow, she explained, “Apes tend to get upset when unfamiliar objects suddenly appear in their environment. And they have sensitive noses.”
Finn thought about how his cat Kee peed on his jockey shorts if he left them on the floor. And Cargo—the mutt ecstatically immersed himself in dirty laundry whenever he got the chance; the filthier the better. He didn’t want to imagine what gorillas would do with portable toilets if they had access to them.
Pulling out a key on a retractable tether from her belt, Grace unlocked the padlock securing the gate. “Wait here.”
Taking the tub of food from Zyrnek, she walked into the enclosure. The cats scampered in on her heels, and she pulled the gate closed behind them. “Breakfast, Neema! Gumu!”
Finn was surprised that three gorillas didn’t race out of the barn. Even the cats seemed perplexed. They strolled to the entrance and stared in, switching their tails. Grace disappeared inside the building. “Neema? Gumu?”
The Only Clue Page 2
