Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  “I appreciate that you tried. Not everything works out.”

  He sounded discouraged. Surely this wasn’t such a big deal?

  He picked up energy. “Hey, I need to talk through this article with someone who understands the issues. I have a draft, but I’m not happy with it. Could we meet over dinner?” His voice changed, softer, serious. “I’d like to see you again.”

  A lonely guy in a city still new to him. “I guess I could try to help. I’m booked up today. It’s a bad time to talk. Call me tomorrow, okay?”

  “Sure. Bye.”

  Ken raised an eyebrow.

  So he had been listening. Well, I would have, too. “That was Craig. The photographer from the Tiptons. He’s writing an article about the whole thing. He wants to go over it with me.”

  A nod. He put a hand on my elbow as we walked back. A friendly touch. A tiny bit possessive? I was tempted to run my fingers through my hair and thrust my chest out. It had been a long time since I’d indulged in girl power. I was a free agent checking out two appealing men. Pair bonding might fail in the long run, but it sure was fun in the early stages. I linked my arm through Ken’s and walked into the crush of potential reptile buyers.

  With the worst of the culture shock over, I realized that the animals looked healthy and everything was clean. Still…“I hate these little plastic containers. Totally sterile environment.”

  “Same as portable dog kennels. They’re just for transport.”

  That made sense, especially since several vendors sold habitat wares—aquariums, plastic plants, and heating equipment. I bought an expensive bulb for the macaws’ heat lamp.

  Only a few vendors had tortoises. At one of them, two red-footed tortoises in a big wash pan tried and failed, tried and failed to climb out. A heap of Eastern box turtles scrabbled in a bin next to them. The turtles lacked the uniform size and coloring of other groups of animals for sale. Some of their shells were nicked or scarred. The vendor, a skinny woman with ear lobe plugs and multiple piercings, told me she had bred them and that they were various ages. She described her breeding facility and management techniques in detail. My suspicions faded and we had a friendly conversation.

  Before I gathered myself to ask about collectors of rare tortoises, Ken motioned from where he had drifted to the other side of the room. “Iris, over here.” I edged through the throng until I stood next to him. Cute little sulcata hatchlings moved about in an open plastic container. The sign said they were African desert tortoises that grew to over eighty pounds and lived fifty years. Whoever bought these tykes would have to think about what they were getting into. Ken said, “Tell her about that woman.” He indicated the other tortoise vendor with his chin.

  This vendor, a small man with a frog tattoo on his neck and a blond ponytail, leaned close. “Those Eastern box turtles—the ones across the aisle? They’re wild-caught. Some of them are from states where it’s legal, and some of them aren’t. I happen to know that an investigation is under way.” He bobbed his head at me, lips compressed. “Every vendor at this sale guarantees that none of the animals are wild-caught. She won’t get away with it for long.”

  The accusation caught me by surprise. I’d been duped by the other vendor. Or else this one was enlisting me in a feud. “I won’t buy one. Thanks for the tip. Listen, what can you tell me about the customers for rare tortoises? Really valuable ones.”

  “Rich people who want to impress their friends. Why are you asking me?” His voice had gone cold.

  I’d put my foot in it. “I’m not looking to buy anything illegal. Honest. But I am looking for people who would. If I can find the customers, I might find a person I’m looking for, someone who imports illegal tortoises.”

  He seemed to think this was total bullshit. “I don’t know if you’re with the Feds or what, but I have nothing to do with that kinda business whatsoever. You people can quit bugging me.”

  “What do you mean? Did somebody else ask you? Today?”

  But he turned away to another customer, determined to ignore me. Ken’s hand on my elbow steered me away. “Give it a rest,” he whispered. “Let me try in a few minutes.”

  I headed back toward the box turtle vendor, this time to convince her I was a collector of rare tortoises. She was busy with customers and wouldn’t meet my eye. I deduced she’d seen me talking with her competitor and probably knew what I’d been told about the box turtles. I gave her five minutes to acknowledge my existence, but she preferred to depart in the direction of a door labeled Staff Only.

  I puttered around, giving Ken time to soothe the man I’d alarmed. Ken examined every molecule of that vendor’s display, chatting at length. Why did his charm work when mine failed? Finally he appeared alongside me.

  “What did he say? Did someone offer him illegal animals? Was it today?”

  “Whoa. Not quite. Someone asked him who handled spider tortoises. I think that’s the name. Northern ones.”

  “Today? What did he look like? Or she?”

  He steered me out of the throng toward the lobby. “Yes, today. A guy. Not much of a description. Chubby, average height, glasses. Not old, not young. Didn’t seem to know much about herps. What are herps?”

  “Herptiles. It lumps amphibians and reptiles. Is that all you got?”

  “He wore a Blazers cap.”

  “Great! That narrows it down to two or three million people.”

  We sat down on a bench in the lobby. My excitement ebbed. “Ken, both Jeff and Tom have blue eyes. Mr. Frog Tattoo would remember that they’re big and young and klutzy. It wasn’t one of them. It was some random tortoise beginner.”

  We sat and were disappointed together. I said, “I’m still glad I checked out this show. And your boyish charm is impressive.” It was having its effect on me. He was good company. I liked him. I got up to return to the event.

  Ken held up a hand. “Aren’t we done? You’ve seen everything.”

  “We can’t just walk away from the illegal box turtles.”

  He seemed amused. “What do you think we should do?”

  We didn’t have any evidence or any way to get it. “I don’t know.” This was frustrating.

  “Mr. Frog Tattoo said there was already an investigation under way. And didn’t you already strike a blow for reptiles by rescuing those tortoises? Not to mention the parrots?”

  “I’m done when the bad guys are in jail. That sick tortoise at the zoo? It would still be fine if it hadn’t been captured. Maybe the box turtle woman knows the buyers the Tiptons were dealing with.” What were the odds of that? Slim. What were the odds of her telling me? Zero.

  “Come on, Warrior Princess. Let’s get you out of here before you slay somebody.” His chipped tooth showed as he smiled. He draped an arm over my shoulders.

  Was he patronizing me? I must have stiffened because he took his arm away.

  A step later, I ducked down to put it back.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mid-afternoon, dim with cloud cover and the tedious first hints of twilight, found me many miles north of the reptile show. This trip was the second reason I’d taken the day off. Hap and I had run out of chat, and we drove in silence. That gave me time to plan how to convince Pluvia to spill everything she knew about the Tiptons. Instead I spent it thinking about Ken. He’d kissed me good-bye in the parking lot at the reptile show, a little tentative, on the cheek, but a real kiss, not a peck. He’d suggested dinner, but I had to put him off. “I can’t tonight. How about Monday? I’m off Mondays.” But he had to work Monday and go to a work-related class that evening. Tuesday looked better, but we agreed to talk in a day or two.

  Pluvia’s place was tough to find. The first driveway north of the Tiptons’ was little more than an unmarked trail. At the end of it, blending into the thick-trunked fir trees close around, sat a dark cabin that I hop
ed was hers.

  Hap’s Crown Victoria stopped amid ferns and salal on the overgrown driveway. He waited in the driver’s seat. The cabin was small but in decent repair, with a modern metal roof and a sturdy porch running across the front. I stepped up on the porch. The Tipton brothers could be hiding inside or in the woods nearby, watching us now. Was coming here pure insanity? No, just desperation. I’d asked Hap to stay in the car, but I wished he were closer.

  “Pluvia?” I knocked again. “It’s Iris Oakley. I’ve seen Wanda.” No one answered.

  An electrical line ran to the roof. I could hear a stream nearby. An open shed held neatly stacked firewood. It looked like a weekend retreat for a fisherman rather than a year-around dwelling, but I could see the appeal of the solitude and untrammeled woods. Pluvia, or whoever, kept it neat.

  The porch had only a sprinkling of fir needles. That and the broom next to the door implied someone had swept it recently. A thin path led from the porch steps across a mossy clearing and into the woods. I stepped off the porch and followed it, my back to the cabin. I didn’t go far. The thick, wet understory offered far too much concealment.

  I turned back to the cabin, flinching at every little noise, and confirmed that no smoke rose from the metal chimney. An Adirondack chair on the porch looked like my best option. In short order I was cold despite my heavy jacket, the damp air sucking heat away. It wasn’t raining at the moment, but had been recently and would be soon. The trees dripped. A bird called, one I didn’t recognize. A raven croaked in the distance. After long minutes, a car hummed on the highway and faded away. If I waited in the car with Hap, I’d be warmer. But then she couldn’t see to recognize me. I relaxed my focus the way my father had taught me, using peripheral vision to pick up movement.

  She appeared on the trail where I’d stopped, an indistinct shape with her brown shawl and tousled hair. I waved and tried a smile. She watched for a minute, then walked up to the porch. She carried the shotgun at the ready. The muzzle wasn’t quite pointed at me, but my stomach quivered.

  “You’re the zoo person. Iris. Who’s in the car?”

  “Hello, Pluvia. I wanted to see you, and I was afraid to come alone. That’s my friend Hap. Do you want to meet him?”

  “No. Why are you here?”

  “I’ve seen Wanda. I went to the hospital.” Pluvia had been eager for news. I didn’t expect her to be this hostile. I did not like that shotgun.

  She kept her eyes on the car. “Why did you do that?”

  “I wanted to tell her that I’d seen her sons.”

  No easing of the shotgun or the suspicion. She chewed her upper lip. “Well, then. How is she?”

  “May I come in? It’s cold out here.” I wasn’t eager to be alone with her and the shotgun, out of Hap’s sight, but I had to build a relationship or she’d never tell me anything. Standing on her porch wasn’t going to do it. And, like it or not, I needed to see who was in that cabin.

  She hesitated, lips pursed, and made a decision. “Come have some tea, as long as you’re here. Will he stay there?”

  “Yes.” I stood up and walked through the cabin door, telling myself that she wouldn’t let me inside if the Tiptons were there.

  The cabin interior was open, one room except for a back corner that must have been a bathroom. It was dense with rugs and bookcases, clothing hanging from a rod set across a corner, one huge upholstered armchair, a little table with one small chair. A bed was piled with pillows and blankets. The window sills were lined with rocks and white bones. It took me a moment to identify the kitchen area, a camp stove with a propane tank and a little sink set into a short wood-plank counter. Shelving held cans and boxes of food. Pots and a skillet hung from the ceiling inches above her head, too low for mine.

  Pluvia lit a fire already laid in a small wood stove. “Sit there,” she said, pointing to the arm chair. I smelled wood smoke, garlic, a hint of wet wool. No sign of any large men—no big boots or denim jackets. Nothing on the table to indicate other guests.

  “Just a sec.” I stuck my head out the door and waved to Hap, indicating everything was okay.

  Pluvia kept her shotgun handy as she put a kettle on the camp stove and set out a tea pot and a box of Twinings English Breakfast tea. “I don’t have milk. Never drink it.”

  “No problem. How do you do your shopping? Do you have a car somewhere?”

  “A friend commutes past here to work in town. He picks me up on Tuesdays and delivers me back.”

  “You have a cozy place,” I said. She stood near the stove watching me and didn’t answer. When the water boiled, she poured a little of it into a white teapot, swirled it around, and dumped it out. Then she measured three spoonfuls of loose tea into a metal basket that fit inside the pot. She poured hot water over that, set the lid on, and flipped over a little hourglass. She washed cups and saucers at the little sink, still silent.

  She knew when the hourglass ran out without looking, maybe from doing this every day, and lifted out the metal strainer with the dripping tea leaves. She said at last, “I hate teabags. They make terrible tea.” She filled two white porcelain cups with gold rims. I declined sugar.

  She settled herself in a chair facing me. “Now tell me about Wanda.”

  I told her about my visit. That was the coin to compensate her for telling me what I needed to know. Was it enough?

  She seemed to relax a little. “Thyroid and diabetes. I’m not surprised. Liana knew there was something wrong. She got Wanda to tell Jerome she wanted to go to a doctor, but of course he wouldn’t have it.”

  Hap would be starting to worry, but I didn’t dare rush. “Was Jerome a bully and an idiot or just crazy?”

  “All of that. He wasn’t too bad when he was younger, but he kept getting worse. Every now and then he’d surprise me by doing something sensible, but it got rarer and rarer. I think he was paranoid.” She said “paranoid” as if the diagnosis summed up all anyone needed to know about Jerome Tipton.

  I sipped tea and burned my tongue. “He left his sons in big trouble. Jeff and Tom don’t seem to manage very well without him.”

  “Those boys... Jeff got the worst of it.” She studied me before she went on. “Jerome bullied him and Wanda spoiled him. She was sweet and lenient because Jerome was so hard on him. He got caught in the crossfire. Tom did a little better because he kept away from them more. Isn’t that a sad thing to say? I excuse Wanda because she tried her best and she wasn’t well, not for a long time.”

  “You’ve known them since they were little boys.” The tea was cool enough to sip.

  She refreshed our cups. “Tom was the prettiest child, blond and bright and full of fun. He was always hungry, and Jerome never let them eat all they wanted. I’d feed him. He’d eat pasta by the quart and a loaf of bread at a sitting, if I’d let him. Oranges, bananas. He’d eat pretty much anything.”

  “That would be a relief. My boy is two and a half and he’s a picky eater.”

  “Oh, he’ll be like that when he’s maybe thirteen. You’ll see.”

  We sipped in a companionable silence for a moment. Hap, be patient, please. “Wanda brought Tom over?”

  “He’d come by himself or with her. He’s come alone since he was four or five years old.”

  “That sounds so young. I guess I don’t know yet how much supervision a four-year-old needs.”

  “More than Tom got, I’ll say that. Don’t you hesitate to supervise your boy.”

  “I won’t.”

  She sighed. “Wanda faded before my eyes. She put on weight and her brains turned to mush. Until she got so sick, she and Liana would visit when Jerome was out of town. Sometimes Tom would come, too. We’d have tea. Liana was all rough edges, but she looked after Wanda as best she could, and she didn’t take any guff off Jerome. At least to hear her tell it.”

  “They s
topped visiting because Wanda couldn’t walk this far?”

  “Even Tom stopped. Wanda always had to sneak out to see me. Jerome didn’t like it. Then she just wore out entirely. So I had to go visit her. Jerome would go off in that van of his for weeks at a time. He always took Jeff with him. That’s when I could go over.”

  I drank my tea and did my best to be a rapt and harmless audience. She was edging up to the present, to what I wanted of her. How long could Hap tolerate not knowing what was happening in here?

  She said, “I checked a month or so ago and the van was gone, so I went up to the house and called out to Wanda. But Jeff opened the door instead of Tom. He was very ugly to me. I could hear Wanda and Liana telling him to knock it off. Liana came out onto the porch, and they yelled at each other. She was little, and I was afraid he’d hit her. The best thing to do seemed to be to leave, so I did. That’s when I started carrying my shotgun. He threatened me.”

  “Two nights ago he scared me, too.”

  She looked sharply at me. “How’s that?”

  “Tom and Jeff came to visit. They broke into my house.”

  “Whatever for? Why would they do such a thing?”

  “I was with Jerome when he died. They asked me about his last words. I think they’re looking for his money. You’ve seen the treasure hunters?”

  “I’ve chased them off my property. Arrogant fools.” She looked at me narrowly, the fragile trust ebbing. She set down her cup. “A reporter came here asking me questions. I’m wondering if you’re looking for the money. I cannot imagine those boys breaking into your house in the city.”

  I kept my voice even. “It’s the truth. I had to move out to keep my child safe.” Now for the point of this visit. “They need to turn themselves in. That would be best for them, not just for me. I was hoping you’d know how to contact them.”

  “How could I? They’re hiding or else they ran away.” Her eyes darted to the shotgun and back.

  Pressing her was risky, but it was that or retreat empty-handed. “Pluvia, I want to tell you how I think part of this worked out.”