by Betty Webb
“Yeh, yeh, you wasn’t really snoopin’ around. Now rack off and let me get back to work, which is something you should be doing yerself, rather than wasting yer time yabbering.”
I racked off.
Watching Zorah gobble down that pizza had reminded me it was lunchtime, so I wandered over to the Congo Café and purchased a foot-long smothered in chili, onions, and mustard. For dessert, I chose with a strawberry smoothie topped with a tablespoon of wheat germ; we keepers have to watch our health. I was about to sit down at one of the umbrella tables when I was hailed by rhino keeper Buster Daltry, who was carrying a cardboard lunch tray heaped with burgers and fries. Trailing him were Robin Chase, big cats; Jack Spence, bears; Myra Sebrowski, great apes; Manny Salinas, birds; and Lex Yarnell, a spectacularly hunky park ranger most of the female zookeepers had shown interest in at one time or another.
“Look, it’s the big TV star!” Lex quipped. “Descend from your throne, oh magnificent one, and join your loyal subjects in the employees’ lounge.”
Happy not to be eating alone, I grabbed my things and followed the group along the Africa Trail. Although Tuesday wasn’t the zoo’s busiest day, children from several Monterey day camps were crowding around the mountain gorilla’s habitat, while a group of teens whose tee-shirts identified them as summer-schoolers from San Jose pretended to be bored. Balozi, the male silverback, who normally kept to the rear of the exhibit, had approached the Plexiglas barrier. He was aping them.
Hoping that Balozi would mind his manners—you can never tell what an ape will do when faced with tattooed and nose-ringed teens—we continued on.
The employees’ lounge was located at the northeast corner of the zoo, but despite its lofty title, the building was little more than a shack. Outside, its plain lines were softened by a flowering castor bean bush and several banana trees, while inside, the decor was what you might call Zoo Modern: comfortable but mismatched furniture, walls brightened by posters of endangered animals. Scattered along the tables were years-old issues of National Geographic, Cat Fancy, Audubon, Wildlife Conservation, and The South African Journal of Wildlife Research. In the corner stood a battered old television set which, on occasion, actually worked.
Nothing being hungrier than a hungry zookeeper, we settled at the scuffed dining table and started shoving food into our mouths. For a while, all you could hear was the sound of munching, but as soon as Robin finished her soy burger, she voiced her disapproval of the way I had handled the runaway wallaby situation.
“That leash was awful, Teddy. You’re lucky he didn’t break his neck.”
“The leash wasn’t my idea, Robin. Besides, it was stretchable.”
Beautiful Myra joined in. Since men were present, and she liked men, she was careful not to sound waspish. “Couldn’t you have done something about that rhinestone collar? The poor little thing.”
“Same answer.”
Seeing the men nodding in agreement, she heightened her criticism. “Well, you need to know that when Zorah told me she was picking you to replace Kate, I voiced my concerns about your ability.”
“Myra, for God’s sa…” Buster began, but she cut him off.
“I warned Zorah about Kate, too, but she paid no attention.”
At this, Lex spoke up, his bright blue eyes flashing. “What Kate did in her own time is none of your business, Myra.”
Shocked—there had been rumors that Myra had a crush him—she fell silent.
But her comment made me curious. What did she “warn” Zorah about? Besides being a good zookeeper, Kate had always performed well on her Good Morning, San Sebastian segments. And from all accounts, she had done well at her other PR duties, too.
Did Myra know something I didn’t?
Chancing the danger of irritating her further, I said, “Kate carried a fairly heavy workload. Did you think she was letting some of her tasks slide?”
Myra, having learned her lesson, remained silent, but Robin said, “Kate had plenty of time left over to cause trouble with that damned blog of hers.”
The comment puzzled me. Besides writing ZooNews, the zoo’s newsletter, Kate had also written Koala Kate’s Outback Telegraph, the zoo’s online blog, or “diary,” where her descriptions of a zookeeper’s typical day ranged from the hilarious to the downright terrifying. When I’d checked her site’s stat counter once, I wasn’t surprised to see that the blog’s regular readers numbered in the tens of thousands nationwide. Apparently most people, especially wildlife-starved urban types, enjoyed reading about animals.
“Oh, c’mon, Robin,” I said. “The Outback Telegraph is fun. How could it possibly cause trouble for anyone?”
Everyone stared at me in amazement. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“That’s not the blog Robin was talking about, Teddy,” Buster said gently. “She meant the other one.”
“There was another blog?”
Under his voice, Lex mumbled something about what people didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, then changed the subject. “So, you zookeeper people, what new animals are coming in?”
“We’re getting a new female Hamadryas,” Myra offered. For Lex, she explained, “That’s a baboon. From North Africa.”
“And a breeding pair of golden eagles,” said Manny Salinas, who up until now had sat quietly. “Those’ll be fun. They’re going into the area where the Watusi cattle used to be before we built their larger enclosure.”
“Don’t forget the new snow leopard,” Robin said, happy to turn the attention to her beloved big cats. “I’ve seen pictures, and he’s a beauty.”
I wanted to ask again about that other blog Kate reputedly wrote, but by then, the others had resumed their chatter, so I filed the question away for later.
The rest of the day proved uneventful. Lucy and Baby Boy Anteater were dozing when I dropped by to replenish their termite supply, and the squirrel monkeys were calmer than usual. Between tasks, I thought about Kate. Dying alone at night, in a place where she hadn’t had time enough to make true friends. That was the problem with a mobile society. When you disappeared, hardly anyone noticed. I would have spent more time getting to know Kate, but we had worked competing schedules. Still, I wondered who her people were and sympathized for the pain they must have felt when receiving the news about her death.
I decided to ask Zorah about Kate’s family when clocking out for the day. Although we’d been only nodding acquaintances, I wanted to send them a condolence card and flowers. White roses, for a woman who had died too young. But at six o’clock, when I returned to the Administration Building to clock out, Zorah was holed up in a meeting with the Monterey Bay Women’s Beneficent Society. I left for home, intending to speak to her the next day.
***
As harbors go, Gunn Landing’s is considered small, but it’s actually the largest commercial fishing harbor in the Monterey Bay area. A natural three-quarter moon shape, the harbor is sheltered at the flat end by a mile-long sandbar where seabirds flourish and harbor seals doze. Liveaboarders like myself make up about one-fifth of the harbor population. Most of us live here not only because we love seaside living, but also because even if we wanted to live inland, we couldn’t afford the rent. Other than the refurbished garbage scows and sailboats that made up the liveaboard fleet, most of the other boats were commercial trawlers and pleasure craft, the sole exception being the large research vessel that belonged to the Gunn Landing Marine Institute.
I love the social mix that harbor life offers. Marine biologists, fishermen, whale watch skippers, Sunday sailors, bikers-turned-seadogs, scrimping liveaboarders, and a few folks like me—refugees from well meaning but manipulative mothers. Notwithstanding our varied population, life at the harbor tends to be peaceful. However, we aren’t without the standard problems that plague the rest of the human race.
Once at the Merilee, I fed Bonz and Miss Priss and refreshed the kitty litter. When Bonz finished eating, I grabbed his leash.
“Ready for walkies?”
As we strolled down the dock toward Gunn Park, I heard Linda Cushing, owner of the Tea 4 Two, arguing with Hector “Heck” Liddell, owner of the ill-named My Fancy, the rusty trawler he’d turned into an ill-kept houseboat. Curses flew fast and furious, most of them coming from Linda. In only three years at the harbor, Heck had managed to rile just about everyone, but the animosity between the two was particularly intense. This time, Heck claimed that Linda’s dog, Hans, had peed against My Fancy’s stern. Linda counter-claimed that the other night, Heck himself had done the same thing to Tea 4 Two.
“That garbage scow of yours ain’t worth pissin’ on!” Heck snapped.
“Don’t insult my boat, you old fart, or I’ll…”
I closed my ears to the rest and concentrated on getting Bonz to the park before he added more urine to the argument. Fortunately, we made it. As Bonz happily relieved himself against a trash can, I saw the über-rich Ford Bronson taking his regular evening jog along the harbor’s southern promenade. I waved, he waved. But he kept on moving, probably in a hurry to finish his run and get back to making billions.
By the time Bonz and I returned to the Merilee, Linda and Heck had retired to their respective boats, and peace reigned once again. Having already showered at the zoo—I’d long ago transformed the Merilee’s tiny shower into a closet—I dressed in my latest wardrobe addition from Sissie’s Second-Hand Stash, an ankle-length cheongsam. Although the dress’ bright crimson clashed badly with my orange-red hair, I knew Joe would appreciate the slit up the side. All gussied up, I went on deck and relaxed with a glass of Riesling and awaited his arrival.
Unfortunately, Mother arrived first. I knew why she was here. Yesterday morning, before I’d left for the zoo, I’d called and told her what happened, stressing that Kate’s drowning was an accident. After recovering from her shock at a death taking place so close to the Merilee, she asked if I’d hurt myself dragging the body out of the dirty harbor water. I assured her I was fine, but given our past history, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.
As always, Mother looked beautiful and was dressed far, far better than I. Rocking a beige Proenza Schouler crêpe de Chine pants suit accessorized by a gold and ivory Galliano necklace and a green-striped Balenciaga tote with matching espadrilles, she was the very picture of Central Coast chic. The only thing strange thing about her ensemble was Mr. Trifle, her new Chihuahua, who was poking his trembling head out of the Balenciaga. His beige jacket and beret perfectly matched her own.
“Hi, Mother. Want some Riesling?”
“Theodora, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Caro? ‘Mother’ is so aging. And no, I don’t want any Riesling, since you never serve anything other than the cheap stuff.” Sermon delivered, she perched her size two butt on a deck chair, but only after dusting it off with a monogrammed hanky.
“That so-called ‘cheap stuff’ is all I can afford.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. I keep a marvelous cellar.”
Here we go again. Since I’d taken up residence on the Merilee last year, Caro had started nagging me to move back into the family home in the Old Town section of Gunn Landing. She not only considered my job beneath the dignity of a Bentley, but feared that the work was too dangerous for her precious only child. Every time an animal so much as sneezed on me, she renewed her pleas.
“I don’t need a marvelous cellar, Caro.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. This Riesling is delicious.” I found it peculiar that she had nothing to say about my appearance on Good Morning, San Sebastian, because she never missed the program. Maybe she thought that a Bentley getting pooped on in full view of several hundred thousand viewers was beneath mention.
“Your taste buds have atrophied, Theodora.”
“No, they’re…Say, Joe’s on his way over,” I said, to break up the monotony.
“That awful sheriff of yours? I don’t want to talk about him. I’m just here to remind you that you promised to attend my soirée Friday night. Considering the state of your wardrobe…” She flicked a disapproving eye at my crimson cheongsam, “…I bought you something nice to wear. When I was in Monterey yesterday, I saw this adorable Basso & Brooke that had you written all over it, so I snapped it up. Multiprint gauze over black silk, with a sweetheart neckline. Devastating. You must come up to the house and see it.” She glanced around my boat and sniffed. “Since you don’t have room for it here.”
For some time Caro had been attempting to marry me off to someone she believed was more suitable for a Bentley; thus the endless soirées where she introduced me to a string of eligible bachelors. While I enjoyed our visits, I liked “that awful sheriff” just fine, thank you very much.
“The dress sounds lovely, Caro, but you didn’t have to…Hey, how long has Mr. Trifle been doing that?”
The Chihuahua had stopped trembling and was lifting his upper lip in a silent snarl. If he’d been ten times bigger, he might have scared me.
She glanced down. “Oh, that. It started last week. I’ve got an appointment next Monday afternoon with that new dog psychic in San Sebastian, and I’m sure she’ll sort him out in no time. But Mr. Trifle won’t bite Miss Theodora, will he?” Cooing, she leaned over the Balenciaga tote, almost touching his nose with her own.
The expression on the Chihuahua’s face made me suspect that Mr. Trifle wanted to chew off Miss Nose. “Pull your face away, Caro. Dog bites can turn serious.”
Still cooing, she chucked the poor creature under his chin. “Mr. Veterinarian gave Mr. Trifle all his shots.”
“Shots won’t protect you from bacteria. Ever hear of necrotizing fasciitis, the flesh-eating disease? First the derma goes, then the subcutaneous tissue starts…”
She jerked her head away. “I saw some Fendi strap pumps, so I picked up those, too. And of course I’ll loan you my diamonds. We need to make an impression, don’t we?”
No, we don’t. I was going to point that fact out to her, but then I spied a San Sebastian County sheriff’s cruiser pull into the parking lot. “Oh, how nice! Joe will be so glad to see you.”
My mother and Joe had, as the saying goes, issues. She had broken up our teenage romance by sending me away to a boarding school in Virginia. Years later, Joe married Sonia, and I married Michael. One divorce and one murder later, we were back together. Not that Caro accepted the situation.
She gave a quick look at her watch and stood up. “My, my. How time flies. I must be going.”
Keeping a wary eye on Mr. Trifle’s tiny fangs, I gave her a peck on each cheek. “Love you, Mother.”
“Caro,” she corrected, as she strutted away.
Seconds later, Joe stepped on deck. He had changed into civvies, but I could see the outline of his handgun under his blue windbreaker. As always, it made him look even sexier. After a deep kiss that took my breath away, he said, “I ran into your mother in the parking lot and she actually said hello. Quite an improvement for her, wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t kid yourself. Caro can’t bear the idea of her daughter dating the grandson of a migrant worker; she’s just getting more subtle. She’s holding another Let’s-Find-Teddy-A-Suitable-Husband party Friday night. Want to be my date?”
He sat down on the same deck chair Caro had vacated. “As much fun as that would be, I have to work.”
I scooted my chair closer to his and was rewarded with another breath-stealing kiss. Once I’d recovered, I said, “That’s right. Friday’s a big night for law enforcement. All those drunken brawls and domestic spats, so predictable. It’s too bad you don’t have any good cases to challenge that fine mind of yours, isn’t it?”
When he didn’t answer, I shot him a look. I knew him well enough to know something was up, and it made me uneasy.
“What?” His face assumed an expression of feigned innocence.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Wasn’t it purely rhetorical? Hey, what’s for
dinner? I’m starved.”
I didn’t want to say it, but I had to. “There’s a problem with Kate’s death, isn’t there?”
“If you don’t want to cook, let’s walk over to Fred’s Fish Market. I’ll treat you to the works. Chowder, lobster…”
“That makes two questions you didn’t answer.”
“What questions?”
I swallowed. “Stop dancing around, Joe. Kate didn’t drown, did she?”
His innocent expression slid away, revealing a blankness I found unsettling. “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you, Teddy. Now let’s go get something to eat.”
There. He’d said it. Case.
What I’d begun to suspect was true.
Kate had been murdered.
CHAPTER FIVE
Although Outback Bill was now the interim head keeper of Down Under and my services there were no longer required, I made a beeline for Wallaby Walkabout as soon as I arrived at the zoo the next morning.
Entering Down Under was like taking a microtrip to Australia. Taking up approximately five acres, the area was surrounded by tall eucalyptus trees, and every time visitors opened the Aboriginal art-decorated gate the music of a didgeridoo wafted from speakers hidden among their branches. The Aussie animals lived in large, separate enclosures that mimicked their individual native habitats. Besides the stars of yesterday’s television program, the zoo boasted four dingoes; several tiger cats; a mating pair of Tasmanian devils, both thankfully untouched by the horrific cancer that was decimating their Australian relatives; and various rodents. Wallaby Walkabout was set up much the same as Monkey Mania, with the animals roaming free and sometimes even hopping across the visitors’ path.
I wandered through Down Under until I arrived at Wallaby Walkabout, where I found Abim hopping in tight circles around Bill’s feet. The nervy look in Abim’s eyes showed that he hadn’t yet recovered from yesterday’s experience.
Poor Abim wasn’t doing much roaming today. Instead, he clung to Bill’s shadow. Wherever Bill went, so did he.
“Don’t come bargin’ round here trying to get on my good side,” Bill groused, as he tossed chopped fruit on top of a tub of compressed nutrient pellets. “Like I said yesterday, yer not takin’ any more of me animals back down to the telly station. You came a gutser once and yer not doin’ it again.” Came a gutser, meaning that I’d screwed up.
