Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  Persuasion and politics: not my strengths.

  I gave it my best shot. Kip was wrapping up her reports when I dropped the data sheets on her desk. She glanced at them while I summarized the observations. “I’ve got an idea that might help,” I said. “If you like it.”

  Her attention stayed on the reports. “We’re not pulling Violet out of the group. It could turn into a nightmare reintroducing her. Sky might think he has to beat her up to remind her who’s boss. And Carmine was awful to her when they were first together. So forget that.”

  “Not what I was going to suggest.”

  “We aren’t pulling Sky out for the same reasons.”

  “I get that.”

  She looked up. “And I’m not sure we have a problem. It’s a little hectic in there, but not all that bad. They could use more exercise.”

  “Can I say what I had in mind?” I tried to keep the annoyance down.

  “Sure.” She sat back and crossed her arms, her mouth a thin, straight line. “Let’s hear it.”

  I hate doomed endeavors when the only possible reward is to say, “I told you so. I tried to get you to do something.” I reached deep for positive energy. “Let’s give Sky something to do so that he’s occupied for a couple hours a day. A puzzle feeder. If it works out, he’ll sit in one place giving the feeder all his attention and Violet can relax.”

  “He’ll get fat.”

  “His daily ration, not extra.”

  “By the time Maintenance gets the thing built, the baby will be breeding age.”

  “Not if we get Neal behind it. And Dr. Reynolds. If you tell them it’s crucial to keeping the baby alive, they’ll make it a priority.” The emphasis on “you” was inspired, my subconscious coming through in a pinch. Was it enough? “Mr. Crandall must be putting out a press release about the birth. He won’t want to announce it died.”

  Kip’s mouth twisted. “It’s not going to die. Don’t be dramatic.”

  But she didn’t dismiss the concept. She pushed out her lips a little and thought. “Like I got nothing else to do. But I’ll talk to Dr. Reynolds tomorrow and see what she says.”

  I did not pump the air with my fist. I said, “Sounds good.”

  Kip added, “We’ve done that kind of thing before, you know. I’m not convinced it’s really necessary in this case.”

  Whatever.

  Warmed by the tingle of triumph, I headed off to clock out and prepare for my first date since I’d married Rick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Linda was describing a promising hint of flirtation between the clouded leopards when Cheyenne joined us at the time clock and interrupted. “Pete and I are going out tonight. You’re on your own for dinner. We’ve got some shopping to do, then a friend’s in a gamelon performance.”

  “Gamelon?”

  “Indonesian. Bunch of people whacking on weird musical instruments. Strange and cool.”

  “Have fun.” No need to mention that I wouldn’t be dining at home either, so I didn’t have to explain. I was on a roll. When Cheyenne was gone, I said, “They’ve been out almost every night for weeks. Expensive way to get private time together.”

  Linda said, “You remember how to manage without them, right?”

  “No problem. In fact, I’m going out tonight myself.”

  “That sounds like a date. Unless it’s a lecture on potty training.”

  I looked around. No one else was within earshot. “Dinner with an Animal Control guy. I met him at the Tipton place. Don’t tell anyone.”

  She did a little jig in place. “Hot damn! The price of my silence is full disclosure. Tomorrow without fail.”

  “No way. You never tell me about your dates.”

  She blushed. “That’s different.”

  The blush was too intense. My eyes narrowed. “Who is she?”

  “I’ll tell you later, if it keeps working.”

  “Tell her that if she trifles with your affections, I’ll come hurt her.”

  “Tell your dog catcher the same.”

  And I had to be satisfied with that. I crossed my fingers for luck, hoping for a happy ending to Linda’s long, hesitant search for a partner. And crossed them again for myself.

  In the parking lot, I sat in my car and called Marcie, hoping to catch her before she left work. This was a desperation move since calling her house wasn’t working. She picked up, said she was fine, much better, thank you, and it wasn’t a good time to talk. “Let’s get together soon,” I said, and we hung up.

  I’d planned to coax her toward our normal relationship by talking about my date with Ken, but, on second thought, hearing about my romantic ventures was not what she needed.

  She’d said it wasn’t a good time to talk. She hadn’t suggested a better time. I started the car feeling as uneasy about her as before.

  After taking the dogs on a short walk, I put out the kibble, fed the macaws, and took a shower. I let go of Marcie and focused on courtship. A first date. How about that. If I owned any perfume, I might have put some on. “Mountain Meadow” scented deodorant would have to do. What to wear? Jeans and a sweater were the obvious choices, given the weather and venue. My old black dress boots, still decent. Gold hoop earrings with a sparkly bead sliding on each. Lipstick.

  What else? I glanced around the house, which was reasonably tidy. I wouldn’t be bringing him home, so that didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to his place either. This was a long shot, an opportunity at friendship. Or a small disaster if one of us was enthusiastic and the other wasn’t.

  I’d pay for my dinner to avoid any sense of obligation. One glass of wine only.

  What could we talk about besides dogs? Ah—Liana. Maybe he would have an insight that had escaped me.

  Why was I wishing he were Craig?

  My fussing was cut off by the doorbell. My neighborhood is popular with door-to-door solicitors for political candidates and environmental causes. It wasn’t election season, so probably a college student collecting for some outfit that saves endangered species or scrutinizes logging. Thanks to Pete and Cheyenne’s rent, I could make a contribution now and then. But not tonight. I hadn’t time or patience to listen to a pitch.

  It wasn’t a canvasser.

  It was Thomas Jefferson Tipton.

  Astonishment hadn’t time to turn to fear and action before he nudged his way in and shut the door behind him. The dogs ran up to us and barked, but when a wrenching crunch came from the kitchen, they bounded that direction hollering their lungs out.

  Jefferson Davis Tipton stood in my kitchen, a pry bar in his hand.

  I froze, feeling blood drain from my head, trapped between them.

  The dogs kept barking. I wasn’t welcoming these strangers, and they didn’t know what to do. Neither did I. They subsided into uneasy bursts.

  “Ma’am. We just wanted to talk to you for a minute.” The younger one, Tom.

  Jeff waved the pry bar at the dogs, a mild warning. The dogs didn’t scare them—they were used to big dogs that barked. Denim jackets, heavy cotton shirts, dirty jeans, muddy leather work boots, no hats. The macaws screeched in the basement. The brothers glanced at each other.

  I took a ragged breath. “Sure. Have a seat.” I walked to the kitchen table and stood on rubbery legs by a chair.

  I could look for a chance to pull out my cell phone, dial 911, and leave it open and hidden in hopes that the emergency operator would send someone by to check on us. They could track a cell phone. Or was that just on TV?

  They were watching me. Tom said, “You remember who we are? We don’t mean no harm. Any harm.”

  I nodded.

  Cheyenne and Pete wouldn’t be back for several hours. No one was likely to drop by. What the hell did these guys want? I waved them to chairs. Tom sat. Jeff st
ood. My empty brain channeled my mother’s reflexes. “Would you like coffee?”

  “Coffee would be real nice, ma’am.” From Tom.

  I filled the kettle at the sink and put it on.

  I could smell them—stale sweat, wood smoke. Jeff’s beard was ratty, Tom hadn’t shaved for a couple of days. Neither took his eyes off me. Wide-spaced blue eyes in broad foreheads. Pale skin. Broad shoulders and big hands, although Jeff was taller and heavier. Jeff had yanked me out of the van and pushed me into the mud.

  Tom said, “Sorry to bust in on you like this, but we’re sort of on the run. We just want to talk to you.”

  I could throw boiling water on them. That might buy me enough time to get out of the house. No, it wouldn’t.

  At least Robby was safe with my parents. I had only me to save. I sat down at the table. “So talk.”

  Jeff finally sat down. His left eye twitched.

  Tom said, “We wanted to thank you for trying to save our father. We didn’t know what to do and you and that other guy tried hard. We appreciate it.”

  Right. They broke into my house to thank me. I waited.

  Tom shifted in his chair. “And we wanted to ask if maybe he said anything, there at the end. Last words, I mean.”

  Ah. That was it. I thought back. Mostly I remembered the feel of the thick body under my palms, Denny stepping up to the mouth breathing, all in slanting, unreliable illumination from the headlights.

  Tipton had said something. “I think he said, ‘Look after slither,’ something like that. It didn’t make any sense to me.”

  Tom and Jeff looked at each other. Tom was apparently the designated spokesman. “Look after Stridder?”

  “Yeah. That sounds right.”

  “Like I keep telling you,” Tom said to his brother with sudden venom, “all he cared about was those birds. He didn’t give a wad of spit about his family.”

  Jeff shook his head. “He was dyin’. You can’t blame him.”

  “It’s always been that way. You know it and I know it. He treated us worse than dogs and treated himself just fine.”

  Jeff flushed and started to rise.

  The kettle whistled and I got up. Jeff settled back. I set up the French press under watchful eyes. “Who’s Stridder?” I leaned against the counter while the coffee steeped.

  Tom looked surprised. “The parrot. The other one’s Stanley.”

  The macaws, then. Old Man Tipton’s last words were to take care of his pets. I’d be pissed, too.

  I pulled half-and-half out of the fridge and set it on the table. “So what’s the story with the parrots in the barn? And the tortoises?”

  Jeff frowned a warning at Tom. Tom said, “What about them? Lots of people have birds and turtles.”

  I gave him a look. “I work in a zoo. I know about this stuff. They were illegal. You were going to sell them. And they were suffering and dying because you weren’t taking good care of them.”

  Tom shrugged. “They’re birds and turtles. It’s not like dogs. They don’t feel things. People have dominance over them anyway, it’s in the Bible.”

  Jeff cut off this line of bullshit with one of his own. “We came here to see that his birds was taken care of properly. Stridder and Stanley.”

  I couldn’t hide how lame this sounded. Tom looked embarrassed.

  “They’re in the basement. Go take a look if you like.”

  Neither budged.

  Jeff said, apparently to mollify me, “The big birds, they were different. He could do anything with them. He’d pet ‘em and hold them on his lap. They like peanuts. Popcorn, too. He had a lot of fun with them.”

  “Do they talk?” I wasn’t sure where this was going, but conversation was better than any action they might have in mind. The dogs were lying down, panting from worry.

  “Nah. He tried to teach them, but they never talked back.”

  “He thought we had them in the van,” I said.

  They looked at their coffee cups. Tom said, “He liked those turtles, too. Liked them a lot. Are they here?”

  “Nope. They’re at the zoo.”

  Tom wrinkled his brow at me, an attempt at sincerity? “We’d like to go see them, see that they’re all right. If you could tell us where they are.”

  “Locked up somewhere in a back room. I don’t really know. I’m a bird keeper.”

  They looked at each other, defeated. Good grief, they really were smart as hemlock stumps. On the other hand, they had eluded the police for a week and had tracked me down. How? My name hadn’t been in the news as far as I knew. I poured out the coffee and set down the sugar bowl. They used lots of sugar and cream.

  Tom was a lousy liar, but he had persistence going for him. “Do you know how we could talk to the people in the ambulance? He might of said something to them.”

  I thought about it. “I can’t remember which ambulance company it was. You could make some calls and find out.”

  I might as well suggest they don magic helmets and use telepathy.

  Tom reached out toward Winnie, who slid back away from his hand. “Would that guy who was helping you, would he of heard any last words maybe?”

  “Nothing I didn’t hear. I’m sorry, but that’s all there was. Your dad was in bad shape.” What were they hoping for? Proof that their father loved them? Instructions for surviving without him? The password to his brokerage account?

  Jeff spoke to himself as much as to Tom or me. “He’s dead, and Liana’s dead. He said that’s what the government would do if they came. They shot her and got him so stirred up that his heart quit.” His eyelid spasmed.

  Liana hadn’t been shot during the bust. I considered pointing this out, but they were the top candidates for her killer. Instead, I said, “Sorry for your loss.”

  The men acknowledged my cliché with subdued nods. Tom cradled his coffee cup in both hands. “He never knew. He thought she got away.”

  My head felt full of helium, floating into some universe where this was a normal conversation.

  Jeff said, “He found her at a highway rest area. He felt sorry for her and brought her home. He saved her from a life of disrespect and danger. She was going to be my wife when she turned eighteen.” He seemed to be defending his father’s memory. “The birds liked her, too. They bit at me and Tom, but they liked her.”

  Tom’s mouth twisted. “You couldn’t even buy her a ring.”

  Jeff sat back in his chair, his cheekbones turning an angry red.

  I tried to shift the topic before this escalated. “So how did you make bail?”

  Jeff shot Tom a clear “shut up” look.

  Tom ignored it. “He had money. He just liked to keep us poor. He was giving it away to certain people and…Well, he had some set aside.”

  Jeff’s mouth was set in a grim line. “That’s enough out of you. I mean it.”

  “What’s the big secret?” Tom said. “Everyone knows what he—”

  The phone in my pocket rang. I reached for it and Jeff half-stood, his face determined. I put my hand back on the table. I watched my fingers quiver and let it ring. When it stopped, I sought to regain some leverage. “How’s your mother?” Surely that would nudge them away from violence.

  They both stiffened. “We got no way to know. Government’s got her locked up,” Tom said.

  I spoke carefully. “I heard she’s in a hospital, not in jail. Once you turn yourselves in, you can probably talk to her on the phone or get a doctor’s report.”

  Jeff snorted. “Hospital? That’s just another word for prison. She’s locked up tight. And we aren’t never going to turn ourselves in because we’d be dead. The government men shot Liana, and they’ll kill us just as quick.”

  I looked for the eye twitch, but it didn’t happen.

 
“Besides, they brainwash people in the hospital,” Tom explained. “Modern medicine poisons people so they don’t ever revolt. They stay tame and quiet because of the drugs. That’s what they’re doing with our mom, and we can’t do nothing about it. We don’t even know where she’s at.”

  And just as well, I thought. They were both getting worked up. I was familiar with this type of logic from working with Denny, but Denny never seemed to take his theories all that seriously. These guys believed.

  The phone blared in my pocket and was silent, announcing a voice message. We all jumped.

  “More coffee?” I asked, and they split the last of it. Getting them wired was not my first choice, but I didn’t have a lot of options. I took a breath and pushed my luck. “I can make you some sandwiches, but then you’ll need to leave. Friends of mine will be showing up soon, and things could get complicated.”

  That got nods, so I threw together two peanut butter and jam sandwiches at lightning speed and shoved them into a paper bag. Tom stood up and took the bag. “Thank you, ma’am, for the coffee and food. Sorry to be beggars, but we got nothing.” He looked embarrassed, and I took advantage of it.

  “You guys leave now and stay away. You pushed me in the mud before and tonight you scared me again. You broke my door. Don’t ever come here again.” My voice barely trembled.

  “We’d better get back before we catch hell,” Jeff said. His eye twitched.

  Tom nodded, shame-faced. “Yes, ma’am. We won’t bother you again.” He picked up the pry bar off the kitchen table and stuck it in his rear pocket.

  Jeff examined the door latch on his way out. “It’s not so bad. A little glue and it’ll be fine.”

  Pete and Cheyenne walked in an hour later and found a Portland Police officer finishing up his questions. His partner returned from a stroll around the neighborhood and reported that a neighbor had seen a green VW van driving away. I remembered to tell them about the dogs barking in the back yard a night or two ago. I was still shaking. What if Robby had been home? It was pure luck he wasn’t. What if Cheyenne and Pete had showed up before they left? The brothers might have panicked or gotten aggressive, who knew?