by Betty Webb
When she turned to me, her mad smile was back. “But now the baton has passed to my new friend…” She checked her notes, “…zookeeper Theodora Esmeralda Iona Bentley, but who prefers to be known as plain old ‘Teddy.’ Tell me, Teddy, are you one of the famous Gunn Landing Bentleys?”
Oh, dear. Surely she wouldn’t ask about my father. “Uh, yes, I am.”
“Well, I’m certain that you had no knowledge of your father’s criminal activities, but tell me…”
Oh, crap. “No knowledge whatsoever, AnnaLee, and look whom I’ve brought you today. Wanchu, one of the Gunn Zoo’s most popular koalas! Now let me tell you about this adorable Australian marsupial. As I’m certain you know, a koala’s diet consists purely of eucalyptus leaves, which makes them difficult to care for in most zoos, but our zoo is fortunate in that the Gunn estate has a large blue gum eucalyptus forest situated right next door.” Before she could start up on my father again, I jiggled Wanchu awake. As she gazed sleepily around, I continued jabbering about koalas and their rapidly diminishing natural habitat.
Just as I finished describing a koala’s backwards-facing pouch, Wanchu roused herself, loosened her sphincter, and deposited a load on my lap. It didn’t faze me. “One of the great things about taking care of koalas like Wanchu is that they’re so easy to clean up after. See how tidy their fecal pellets are? Why, you just brush them away like cookie crumbs!”
Smiling madly away, AnnaLee turned to the camera. “And now a word from our sponsor, Harmon’s Boat Works at Gunn Landing Harbor. You sink ’em, Harmon resurrects ’em.”
Bernice sprang forward, and with a paper towel, cleaned the koala pellets off my lap. Wanchu, deciding that she’d done enough work for one day, started snoring again.
“Do koalas always sleep this much?” AnnaLee said, when we went back on the air.
“From nineteen to twenty hours a day. If you want to see an active koala, visit the Gunn Zoo in late afternoon. That’s when they wake up and bounce around. We have two koalas, by the way, Wanchu here, and her mate, Nyee. We’re very hopeful that one day we’ll have a baby koala—known as a pup, by the way—to increase the Gunn Zoo’s koala population to three.”
“Fascinating.”
I jiggled Wanchu. “Wake up, pretty girl, and tell the viewers hello.”
As if on cue, Wanchu opened her eyes, stared at the glowing red light, and said, “Eeep!”
“Awwwww!” the studio technicians chorused.
Gratified, Wanchu went back to sleep.
Recognizing that Wanchu’s act was over, AnnaLee asked, “What else have you brought for us, Teddy?”
Bernice rushed forward, snatched Wanchu away, then returned with Malka-Malka, the numbat. Unlike Wanchu, the non-marsupial numbat was wide awake and wriggling his snout in curiosity.
More awwwww’s from the dark shapes in the studio.
“My, he’s a lively one!” AnnaLee said. “What’s his story?”
While the squirrel-sized Malka-Malka struggled in my lap—I suspected he wanted to play with AnnaLee’s flappy artificial eyelashes—I gave the viewers a condensed version of numbat lore, ending with a segue I thought quite clever. “Because of a numbat’s diet, which consists almost entirely of termites, you could call them Australia’s version of a giant anteater. And as I’m sure you know, KTSS viewers, the Gunn Zoo is holding a naming contest for the giant anteater’s baby. Whoever wins gets a free one-year pass to the zoo, so mail in those entries today!”
Another mad smile from AnnaLee. “And now a word from our sponsor, The Foot Fetish, more than two hundred sexy styles, located in beautiful downtown San Sebastian.”
As soon as the red light blinked off, AnnaLee leaned forward and scratched Malka-Malka on the head. He thanked her by embracing her wrist with his long, sticky tongue, then struggled toward her eyelashes. Before he could reach them, Bernice sprang forward again, wiped numbat spittle off AnnaLee’s hand, and with a lightening-quick movement, snatched him up. A few seconds later she staggered onto the set lugging Tuang. The wombat looked barely conscious. By now my earlier anxiety had vanished, and although Tuang was obviously no adolescent—he had to weigh at least forty pounds—I settled him as comfortably as possible in my lap.
“Back again, this time with something called a wombat!” AnnaLee couldn’t have sounded more exited if she’d just won the Powerball. “Tell us about that big boy, Teddy! He looks like a giant gopher!”
As Tuang dozed peacefully, I ruffled his thick fur and delivered a basic run-down on Southern hairy-nosed wombat habits and habitat. They were grass-grazing, burrowing marsupials, and like koalas, seldom drank water because they received most of their moisture needs from plant life. Wombats were like koalas in another way, too, in that they were rapidly losing so much of their native habitat that their species had become highly endangered. Once during my spiel, Tuang roused himself enough to crap on my lap, but I didn’t mind because it gave me another talking point.
“See Tuang’s fecal matter, AnnaLee? Unlike the koala’s, it’s cube-shaped and is about the size of gambling dice. Cool, huh? Scientists believe this unusual shape keeps the fecal matter from rolling away on a slope, thus aiding wild wombats to successfully mark their territory. But kids, don’t try making fecal cubes at home!”
“Uh, and now a word from our sponsors, Cappuccino & Chowder.”
I was feeling good. Confident. Knowledgeable. A credit to Gunn Zoo. A keeper able to work on live TV, regardless of whatever organic matter an animal deposited on me. But I’d forgotten an important life lesson. During my teen years at Miss Pridewell’s Academy for Young Ladies, I’d been taught that the Greeks called this kind of confidence hubris, known to us contemporary folk as the pride which goeth before a fall. Alas, I’d been so thrilled with my interview skills that I neglected to remain cautious, because away went the placid Tuang and here came Abim the wallaby. Looking alert, he hopped slowly ahead of Bernice, with a blue rhinestone-studded leash attached to his matching collar. Goody, he wouldn’t defecate on my lap; he’d go on the floor.
Bernice handed me the leash. “Better be carefu…”
“We’re back!” AnnaLee trilled, flapping those immense eyelashes as the red light blinked on and Bernice faded tactfully into the shadows. “Oh, look what we have here! A baby kangaroo! You folks sitting at your breakfast tables or sipping your full-bodied coffee drink at the nearest Cappuccino & Chowder location, isn’t he simply the most adorable thing? And look at his pretty collar and leash! Why, they’re just as sparkly as he is! Teddy, I’m going to walk him…”
Before I could explain that Abim was a full-grown wallaby and not a baby kangaroo, and say that no, of course I wouldn’t let a stranger walk him, AnnaLee snatched the leash from my hand and stood up. She made it two steps from the sofa before all hell broke loose.
After one tentative hop, Abim looked behind him only to see that neither Bernice nor I held the other end of his leash. Instead, his handler was a vividly dressed, garish-cheeked creature with flapping eyelashes the size of an Australian bird-eating spider. With a coughing sound—the wallaby version of “Holy shit!”—Abim gathered himself and gave a great, arcing leap, ripping the leash from AnnaLee’s hand. Once loose, he bounded off the well-lit set and into the darkness beyond, fear-coughing as he went.
I flashed a quick smile at the red light, and with an Aussie accent, yipped, “Crikey, mates! Wallaby on the loose!” Leaving AnnaLee looking at her empty hand as if she hadn’t yet figured out what had just happened, I hurried after him, Bernice following close behind.
Once out of the spotlight’s glare, it took a moment for my eyes to grow accustomed to the relative darkness. I was kept apprized of Abim’s general whereabouts by the series of shrieks and curses spreading throughout the studio. Keeping silent myself, since my voice would simply add more noise to the chaos, I quick-stepped toward the loudest screams. Considering that the wallaby was so small, it was surprising to see two grown men cowering in the corner. What did they think
Abim was going to do? Nibble their pinkies with his tiny teeth? Hoping to quell their whimpering because it would further frighten the wallaby, I put my finger to my lips. At that, the duo fell silent. One even made an excuse for his wussiness, saying, “Oh, we were just getting out of his way.”
Only one cameraman remained at his post, pivoting his camera to follow the wallaby’s hopping progress through the studio. Oops; make that camera woman. Taking my cue from the direction in which her camera was pointing, I spotted Abim hopping toward a glowing red EXIT sign. Fortunately, a line of desks barred his way.
No problem for the wallaby. Abim did what wallabies are famous for. He gave his greatest leap yet and bounded onto the center desk, sending papers and coffee mugs flying.
“Huh-huh! Huh-huh!” he coughed, his distress growing.
His feet started a tap-dance, another sign of wallaby terror. After splashing coffee all over the room, he leapt down to the ground and continued bounding his way toward the EXIT sign as if he was trying to get back to the zoo.
But before Abim could reach the door, he caught his leash between two of the many cables that snaked across the floor. His head disappeared briefly from sight. Then I heard another cough, followed by a straining grunt, then a crash. Freed, Abim appeared again, hopping on until he managed to trap himself in the corner by the EXIT door. His chest heaved in and out, and his forepaws trembled. I knew that if I approached him, it would frighten him even further, and I didn’t want the poor thing to have a heart attack, which had been known to happen with terrified animals.
Then I remembered something. Abim was an adult wallaby, but during times of fear even the adults often regress and seek security in anything that resembled a pouch. Keeping my voice low, I said to Bernice, “Bring me that burlap sack from his carrier.”
“Gotcha,” she whispered back, then tiptoed away.
Mere seconds later Bernice was back, sack in hand. Humming the tune to “Waltzing Matilda”—marsupials particularly liked my rendition—I unfolded it slowly, facing the dark opening toward Abim.
“Hey, baby,” I murmured. “Come to Mama’s big, soft pouch.”
The wallaby blinked at the sack a couple of times, then looked around nervously. Except for the camerawoman still filming, the now-silent station crew remained frozen in place.
Abim cocked his head and gave a tentative hop forward.
Encouraged, I began to sing.
“Waltzing Abim-boy, waltzing Abim-boy
You’ll come a-waltzing Abim-boy, with me.
And he sang as he shoved that jumbuck in his tucker bag,
You’ll come a-waltzing Abim-boy, with me.”
Another hop and he was in.
As the camera crew erupted into applause, I closed the sack, handed Abim off to Bernice, then walked back to AnnaLee with the camerawoman swiveling to follow me.
“And that’s how you catch a runaway wallaby, mates,” I said, smiling at the red light.
CHAPTER FOUR
After returning to the zoo, Bernice and I left the animals in the Animal Care Center for Dr. Francks to check out, then she made her way back to Monkey Mania. I headed up to the administration building, where I found the zoo director eating her way through a cheese-and-anchovy pizza while the squirrel monkeys watched from the other side of the window.
“Want some pizza, Teddy?” Zorah asked, as I plopped myself in the visitor’s chair.
I shook my head. “There’s tomato sauce on your chin.”
She swiped at the spot with a paper napkin, only further smearing the red stuff. I might be wrong, but I’d swear I saw one of the monkeys waggle his tongue toward it. Maybe he wanted a taste.
“Saw you on Good Morning, San Sebastian,” Zorah said, ignoring him. Pizza wasn’t good for monkeys.
“Then you know my TV career is over.” And wasn’t I relieved.
“You’re kidding, right? I just got a call from the program manager and he told me that the station’s phones have been ringing off the hook. People are asking when that cute redheaded zookeeper will be back and what animals will she bring next time because they want to set their TiVo’s to record. We took a couple dozen calls here, too. The president of the Monterey Bay Beneficent Women’s Society called and asked if you’d personally conduct the group on a guided tour of the Down Under exhibit. She hinted at a donation in return, which could be sizeable, seeing as how all those broads, ah, ladies, have serious money.” She looked at her watch. “She’s due here any minute to discuss a luncheon on zoo grounds, too. I told her you’d be more than willing to give a talk.”
None of this made any sense. My talk show debut had been a disaster. “Zorah, I wound up with shit all over my lap.”
“As if that ever bothered you. You’re failing to see the bright side, girlfriend. Yes, we lost Kate, and yes, it’s tragic, but weirdly enough, you’ve turned out to be a bigger hit than she was. A lot funnier, one of our callers said.” Her smile disappeared. “Speaking of, your sheriff boyfriend’s in Down Under, talking to Bill. Tell me the truth. When you hauled Kate out of the water, did anything seem funny to you?”
“Funny? As in ha-ha?”
“Bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. Did her death truly look like an accident? Or could she have been, well, killed?” She took another bite of pizza, leaving a string of cheese hanging from her bottom lip. The monkey outside the window cocked his head, studying it.
“Kate was killed, Zorah. She fell off the Gutterball, cracked her head on something, and drowned.”
“I must be having trouble making myself understood. What I’m asking is, could she have been murdered?”
The question, delivered so baldly, shocked me. “Of course not!”
“Then why’d Sheriff Rejas look so grim when he came in here?”
My heart gave a leap that had nothing to do with love. “Was Joe accompanied by a deputy?”
“Not that I could see.”
Having a sheriff for a boyfriend had taught me a few things about criminal investigation. When an arrest was imminent, the arrester never showed up alone, especially when the arrestee was a man as big as Bill. “Then he just wants to talk to him. But isn’t all this worry a bit premature? Kate’s death was accidental. I’m certain of it.”
“Hmm.”
“Tell you what. Before I start on my rounds, I’ll drop by Down Under and see what’s happening.”
“Pump the sheriff for more information, okay?”
I stood up. “I can try. Oh, Zorah? You’d better take a look in the mirror before you see president of the Monterey Bay Beneficent Women’s Society. You’ve got more pizza on you than in you.”
When I left, she was hurrying toward the ladies’ room.
***
Joe, looking handsome as ever in his sheriff’s khakis, was walking away from Bill when I braked my zebra-striped zoo cart in front of Down Under. He looked thoughtful; Bill looked smug.
Catching sight of me, Joe smiled. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Shouldn’t come as a surprise since I’m here six days a week. How’re things going?” In anticipation of the probing questions I was about to ask, I kept my voice casual.
Joe’s face closed in. “Mom’s fine, and so are the kids.”
“I meant about poor Kate.”
His eyebrows lifted slightly. “What about her?”
“Autopsy done yet?”
“This morning, as a matter of fact.”
“And?”
“Did I ever tell you that I love it when you’re interested in my job?”
Hints weren’t working, so I came right out with it. “The medical examiner didn’t find anything suspicious about Kate’s death, did he?”
“That information will be released to the media tomorrow. By the way, are we on for tonight?”
“Tonight?”
“It’s Tuesday, Teddy. Dinner date.”
“Oh. That.”
The smile returned. “Yes, that.”
“How a
bout instead of going out, I just fry up some fresh fish at the Merilee, and we eat on deck? And sip wine. And, well, maybe have some dessert.”
A broader smile. “See you at seven. I’ll bring the wine.”
When he hurried away without another word, I realized I’d been punked. Joe had had no intention of sharing any details about Kate’s death. Oh, well. Two can play that manipulation game. He might have won this round but I’d turn the tables tonight.
Not so optimistic about my chances with Bill, I nonetheless stepped into the koala enclosure. He was busy cuddling Wanchu, but to my surprise he was willing to talk, just not about Kate.
“You think you’re taking one of me babies onto fookin’ telly again, you got another think coming, you silly sheila. Letting that drongo grab Abim’s leash like that, what’re you playin’ at? Me and me mates was watching telly over in the employees’ lounge, and it near sent me into a Technicolor yawn.” Translation: Silly Teddy can’t take another Down Under animal back to the F-bombing television studio; anchorwoman AnnaLee Harris is a fool; watching the runaway wallaby fiasco made me want to vomit.
“Bill, I’m truly sorry about what happened, and I promise to be better prepared for anchor interference next time. But not to worry. The Aussie animals have had their fifteen minutes of fame, and we’ll be moving on to another continent.” And to something more manageable. Like a grizzly.
Somewhat mollified, Bill gave Wanchu a final pat and lifted the koala into the crook of her favorite tree. “Just dropped by to say yer sorry, then?”
“Yes, but I couldn’t help noticing that Sheriff Rejas was talking to you. What’d he want?”
“Not having kangaroos loose in me top paddock, I won’t be tellin’ the sheriff’s sheila anything.” Translation: I’m not crazy enough to give any information to the sheriff’s girlfriend.
“I was just…”
