The Koala of Death

by Betty Webb

  “A person can’t be crass and charming at the same time!”

  “A person can when an endangered species is involved.”

  She fumed all the way to Old Town, but as we pulled into her driveway, she relented. “I guess your appalling manners made no difference because he was definitely smitten. Why, he could hardly take his eyes off you! I’m so glad I had the foresight to plan that little do tomorrow night. You’ll wear the lavender satin. That color looks particularly ravishing on redheads. And I’ll loan you my diamonds, of course. They leave no doubt as to the kind of people we are.”

  Right. Cattle thieves. Tax evaders. Embezzlers. Serial-marriers. “What little do are you talking about, Caro?”

  “Um, perhaps I forget to mention it. I’ve invited Ford and a few close friends over for cocktails. I expect you to be as charming as you were today, but without the crassness. Understood?”

  Since I had yet to turn hers and Bronson’s checks over to the Bowling for Rhinos treasurer, I agreed. But I would rather have spent the evening with Joe.

  ***

  After returning to the Merilee and changing into my uniform, I scooped Roger and Ebert, Zorah’s two tabbies, into an animal carrier and took off for the zoo. Imagine my surprise when I clocked in and found TV host AnnaLee Harris talking to Zorah.

  “We’re announcing the winner of the Name the Baby Anteater Contest today during KTSS-TV’s noon broadcast,” Zorah explained, as she took the cats into her office. “The station sent over a remote van and the cameras are already set up in front of Lucy’s enclosure. Since you’re her main keeper, I want you there. I’d planned to do it, but you’re much better at this sort of thing.”

  Exhausted from my flirting practice session, I merely said, “Want me to say anything special?”

  “AnnaLee will ask you a few questions. This is a public relations event for the Gunn Zoo, but if you can, get in a pitch for the San Sebastian No-Kill Animal Shelter Marathon, too. About half our staff have volunteered to man the phones.”

  “I have, too.”

  To my surprise, she shook her head. “No. You’re taking Wanchu. You two will be in that lineup of movie stars and whatnot Ford Bronson has arranged to put in an appearance.”

  I blanched. “Me? With movie stars?”

  “Yeah, you. And make sure you behave yourself. Drew Barrymore is emceeing, and if you pull anything cute with her, she’s liable to hit you upside your head.”

  “But…”

  “Don’t ‘but’ me, Teddy. Just do your job.”

  With that, Zorah turned Roger and Ebert loose, expecting them to hide underneath her desk. Instead, they immediately ran to the window to watch the monkeys, who in turn, watched them. Cats and monkeys thus entertained, we humans walked up the hill to Lucy’s enclosure, where a small crowd had gathered. A cameraman, his camera almost as large as he, leaned precariously over the rail.

  “Be careful!” I warned. “The last man who fell into Lucy’s enclosure lost his skin.”

  The cameraman swiveled around until the lens pointed straight at me. “This is the same anteater that killed that guy?”

  “Lucy never killed anyone. He was shot. Lucy was just trying to scrape some ants off his face.” Too late, I noticed the red light flashing. “Hey! Turn that thing off!”

  “Taping for stock. I’ll let you know when we go to live feed.”

  Lucy, attracted by all the fuss, had moved to the edge of her moat and was peering up at us. Baby Boy Anteater, riding on her back, looked sound asleep. I hoped he would move around when the live feed began, because his diagonal gray, black, and white shoulder stripes blended so perfectly with his mother’s that you could hardly tell where he began and Lucy left off.

  “Let’s get this party started while she’s facing the camera,” AnnaLee said. “Better now than a shot of her big hairy ass as she walks away.”

  For that uncalled-for remark, I wanted to pick up her own big hairy ass and toss her to Lucy, but since it was against the law, I didn’t. Unlike my parents, I have scruples.

  “Little Ricky, get over here!” AnnaLee snapped to a small tow-headed boy.

  Dressed like a miniature gangsta rap artist in a Raiders team shirt, enough bling to sink the Titanic all over again, and Levis three times too large for his tiny self, Little Ricky looked thrilled. When he smiled into the camera, it was with all the sincerity of a child actor.

  “And four and three and two and we’re live,” the cameraman said.

  “Good afternoon, San Sebastian!” AnnaLee bubbled. “We’re here live at the giant anteater’s enclosure in the famed Gunn Zoo, to announce the winner of the Name the Baby Anteater Contest! With us is Teddy Bentley, the giant anteater’s keeper, and seven-year-old Ricky Hartounian, who came up with the winning entry. First, Teddy is going to tell us all about giant anteaters, aren’t you, Teddy?”

  Fulfilling my promise to behave myself, I went into my standard spiel: giant anteaters have yard-long blue tongues; give birth while standing up on their hind legs; are basically peaceful, solitary animals but using their four-inch talons, they can disembowel a jaguar if attacked, yadda, yadda, yadda.

  “My, that’s fascinating!” AnnaLee said. “And now, Little Ricky is going to tell us the new name of Lucy’s baby, aren’t you, son?”

  “Damned straight,” Little Ricky said.

  AnnaLee blinked. “Uh, so go ahead, Little Ricky.”

  Little Ricky puffed out his little chest. “Little Ricky!”

  The kid was naming the anteater baby after himself?

  “That’s right!” AnnaLee enthused, as if self-centeredness was the most delightful trait a child could display. “You see, loyal KTSS-TV watchers, a long, long time ago, there was a television show called I Love Lucy, and in it, an actress named Lucille Ball played Lucy, a New York housewife, who was married to a Cuban bandleader named Ricky Ricardo! When they had a baby, they named him Little Ricky, which also just happens to be the name of our winning contestant here! Isn’t that adorable, Teddy?”

  “If you say so.”

  AnnaLee smiled madly. “And now a word from our sponsor, Clive Clam’s Seafood House. If Clive’s clams were any fresher, they’d walk off the plate.” Her smile vanished when she looked down at Little Ricky—the human one. “We’re done with you, you little shit. Get out of my sight.”

  Television appearance accomplished, I headed to the rhino enclosure to give Buster Daltry the checks I’d received from Caro and Ford Bronson. The big man took them with a mixture of awe and gratitude. After shoving them into his cargo pants pocket, he gave me a slap on the back that nearly knocked me down.

  “You sure hang with the richie-riches, don’t you, Teddy?”

  “Only when holding a WILL MINGLE FOR DONATIONS sign.”

  The next time I ran into Zorah was in the zoo parking lot when we were entering our respective pickup trucks for our journeys home. Roger and Ebert were vocal about being separated from the monkey show at the window. Zorah told me that the monkeys weren’t happy about it, either.

  “These sure are loud cats,” she said, as she placed the tabbies in the passenger’s seat.

  “That’s what Heck’s neighbors always said.”

  Suddenly serious, she said, “I watched the news coverage this morning while I was getting ready for work. So sad. Think the sheriff will let Bill go now? From what they said on the broadcast, it’s obvious the same person killed Kate and that poor old guy.”

  I nodded. “Joe said he needed to talk to the country attorney first, but that it was pretty much a done deal. Bill could be back here as early as tomorrow.”

  “Really? If I were Bill, I’d fly straight back to Australia and hide myself somewhere in the Outback.”

  “Not without your passport, you wouldn’t.”

  Around us, other zookeepers were hurrying to their cars, eager to get home and feed their own menageries. On the other side of Zorah’s pickup, Buster Daltry climbed into his battered ’93 Dodge Shadow; after several c
ranks and groans, it finally started, and he waved goodby to us as it chugged away. Robin Chase, grumpy as usual, slammed the door of her rust-bucket Pinto, studiously ignoring everyone. Across from us, beautiful Myra was putting the top down on the sleek Corvette that a former boyfriend, a hockey star, had given her.

  Watching the Corvette—it was silver with white racing stripes—Zorah sighed. “So pretty.”

  “Myra?”

  “The Corvette. Look, just so you’ll know, I received news that the Oakland police found Kate’s father, but as it turns out, he’s too sick to leave the nursing home. I called Aster Edwina and told her so she can get started on the funeral preparations.”

  I thought about Kate’s father, a man too ill to see his only child buried. While nothing would change his failing condition, there might be something I could do for him. It would entail a trip to Oakland, but if it helped, even a little, what was a two-hour drive compared to the comfort it might give a grieving father?

  “Zorah, do you still have that photo we took of Kate when the koala enclosure had its grand opening?”

  “Of course. I had several copies made for publicity purposes, but why…” She got it. “You want to give one to Kate’s father.”

  “Exactly. She looked great, smiling broadly with Wanchu in her arms. He’d be so proud.” If he even recognized his daughter, that was. Alzheimer’s wasn’t only a thief of memory, it was a thief of the heart.

  Zorah breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Tell you what. If you drive the photo up there tomorrow, I’ll count the trip as work time and you won’t have to report in at all.”

  “I’ll come in, all right.” Being with my animal friends would give me the strength I needed to survive Caro’s next Let’s-Find-Teddy-a-Suitable-Husband party, where she would dangle me in front of Ford Bronson like a worm on a hook.

  The drive to Gunn Castle took five minutes, since it was more or less right next door to the zoo. Set on the highest hill in the center of the massive Gunn estate, the castle lorded over everything: the Gunn Zoo, the Gunn Eucalyptus Forest, the Gunn Winery, even the thousand-acre Gunn Vineyard, with its undulating rows of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Syrah, and Grenache grapes.

  It was a spectacular drive, but an uncomfortable one, because what lay at the end of it was the castle, which looked like something out of an old Dracula movie. Hauled over stone-by-stone from Scotland by railroad baron Edwin Gunn, the dynasty’s founder, the castle sported six towers, a crenelated roof, and rows of archers’ windows. I’d never enjoyed my childhood visits here to play with the Gunn children, but the dour architecture and the moldy smell of ancient walls was only partially the reason. To tell the truth, Aster Edwina scared me half to death.

  As a child, I’d been a friend of the younger Gunns—Aster Edwina’s great-nieces and nephews, since she had no children of her own—and whenever there’d been a falling out, the formidable old woman had no qualms about swatting me with the same enthusiasm with which she swatted them. Even now I was careful to keep more than an arm’s length away from her.

  Memories churning, I finally made it to the end of the eucalyptus-lined road and parked my pickup behind an elderly but still-gleaming Rolls. Seconds after I had pulled at the massive door’s entry bell the just-as-elderly butler let me in. He led me through the marble-tiled entryway, past the immense drawing room, and into the castle’s dark, multi-fireplaced library, where Aster Edwina sat waiting for me on a Jacobean armchair every bit as stiff and formal as herself.

  Her silver hair was almost the same shade as her dress, but the library’s dim light was merciful to her wrinkle-ravaged face. “And now comes Theodora Bentley, metaphorical tin cup in hand. How’s the begging going, dear?”

  Having been subjected to her rudeness for years, I didn’t bother to blush. “Not well, Aster Edwina. Thanks to the crummy economy, everyone’s broke. And that’s a tragedy, because rhinos are…”

  “Endangered. Have you forgotten that I oversee the zoo, endangered rhinos and all? And therefore I can tell you exactly how many rhinos remain at which sanctuary or zoo, and which of them are pregnant?”

  “I didn’t forget.”

  “Of course you didn’t. You were just warming up for your sales pitch.”

  Despite the library’s lone stained-glass window, I detected a slight smile on Aster Edwina’s face. She had always enjoyed seeing people squirm, but since the result of my humiliation would be a big donation for Bowling for Rhinos, I didn’t mind.

  “How well you know me, ma’am. Now about that contribution…”

  A thin shaft of sunlight struggled through the stained glass and illuminated the portrait above the fireplace mantle. Painted when Aster Edwina was in her early forties, it portrayed her with a handsome elegance that made mere beauty seem irrelevant. With her gray eyes, hawk nose, and hair just beginning to gray, she looked like an aging Valkyrie.

  But there was something…something…

  Oh, my god.

  “What is it, Theodora? You look rather foolish with your mouth hanging open like that.”

  “It’s just that I…that I…Hey, how come you never married?”

  She drew herself back as if she’d just confronted a leper. “My personal life is of no concern to you.”

  Remembering the rhinos, I forced myself to calm down. “Um, um, I’m sorry and all that, Aster Edwina. I, um, I don’t know what came over me. Maybe this past couple of weeks has been more of a strain that I believed.”

  Her eyes grew hard. “I would have believed you’d be well-acquainted with murder by now.”

  “You never get…” Better not go there. This conversation was tanking fast, and I had to turn it around. “The rhinos, Aster Edwina. They’re in desperate shape and we need to do something to help them, that’s why I’m here, not to reopen old wounds. Bowling for Rhinos is day after tomorrow, and we’re having trouble selling raffle tickets, but even worse, we’re abysmally behind in our donations, so I was hoping…”

  “Your mother didn’t contribute?”

  “Of course she did, but…”

  “Her portfolio took a big hit, right?” A thin smile. “Excellent. A little humility will be good for her. So how much do you want from me, Theodora, to make up for your mother’s lack of economic foresight?”

  I took a deep breath. “Ten thousand.”

  “Pardon me while I laugh.” She forced out a raspy sound that might have been a chuckle. “Try again, you foolish girl.”

  “But Aster Edwina…”

  “I said, try again.”

  The old harridan was enjoying herself, all right. “Nine thousand.”

  “Keep going, Theodora, in a downward direction.”

  “Eight?”

  “Five. Not a penny more.”

  “Oh, come on. Even Caro gave me five.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I suppose you believe that I’m obliged to trump her, am I correct?”

  “You always did before.”

  She nodded. “And I will again, because that gold-digging social upstart needs to be taught her place. But I won’t do it with more money. I have something even better. A seed that can grow into a rather large plant if your finance committee handles it correctly.”

  Remembering the rhinos again, I swallowed the insult to my mother.

  “Late last year I purchased something that for business reasons I am now unable to use. So I’ve decided to offer it as the grand prize at the Bowling for Rhinos raffle. Thus, I’ll see your mother’s five thousand, but I’ll raise her an all-inclusive, two-week safari to Africa. For two. All land and air expenses paid.”

  “Africa?” I squeaked.

  “It’s that big continent on the other side of the Atlantic, dear. The one with rhinos.”

  “Holy shit!”

  “Language, Theodora.”

  “I meant to say, wow, that’s very generous of you, Aster Edwina.”

  “It most certainly is. Now, in order to get the most financial mileage out of the pri
ze—and the Africa trip is worth quite a bit, you understand, bringing my total contributions to Bowling for Rhinos to around twenty-five thousand dollars, which leaves your mother’s paltry five thousand in the dust. And it should, as that appalling television chef says, kick raffle ticket sales up a notch. Now, will you call the media or shall I? Folks up in San Francisco or down in Monterey will need at least a day’s warning to participate in the raffle, and we don’t want my generosity to go to waste, do we?”

  We most certainly didn’t.

  ***

  After a quick dash back to the Merilee to pick up Kennedy and Rockefeller, I barreled down the dirt road that led to the DiGiorno property. Located at the far eastern edge of the old Bentley cattle ranch, Speaks-to-Souls’ stone cottage was tucked into a shallow valley. Although it was partially hidden by a large stand of live oaks, I could see the warm glow of lights peeping through the trees.

  From the outside, the cottage looked little different than the one I remembered from my childhood. There could have been new paint on the window sashes, and the front door might have been new, but in the growing dusk, I couldn’t be certain. Behind the house stood a series of shaded, roomy corrals that held a collection of animals ranging from burros to llamas to some very big dogs of indeterminate breeding. Chickens, ducks, geese, and even peacocks strolled free on the grounds. One small gray rooster—I think it was a speckled Hamburg—strutted up to me as if expecting to be fed.

  Nudging him away with my foot, I hauled the cat carriers out of the pickup and approached the door. It opened before I had time to knock.

  “Welcome to Casa de Castaway,” Speaks-to-Souls said, her face shadowed by the light behind her. She cradled a cat in her arms while several others swirled around her feet. Further on in the house, I saw at least four small dogs and a few more cats. This was a woman who not only talked the talk, but walked the walk.

  “Thank you, Speaks-to…”

  “Call me Josie, but never in public. It’s short for Josephina.”

  “Okay, Josie, where shall I put Kennedy and Rockefeller?”