Murder After a Fashion

by Grace Carroll

  “Yes, I wonder if she gets to feed them their cottage cheese.”

  “I would prefer to feed the small animals,” Nick said. “Like penguins or baby koalas.”

  That’s what I liked about Nick. He was secure enough in his masculinity that he didn’t have to act all macho. Another man might have insisted his favorite animals were the lions and tigers. Not Nick.

  When most of the crowd had disbursed after Diana finished her talk, I rushed up to her, with Nick following close behind me.

  “Diana,” I said. “So good to see you.”

  She nodded, but she didn’t seem that happy to see me. Was it because she was in her docent mode and wasn’t supposed to fraternize with the customers? But then why would she have invited me for a VIP tour? Or had I done something wrong at her house, either at the jewelry workshop or at the open house?

  “This is my friend Nick Petrescu,” I said.

  She glanced in his direction but ignored the hand he held out.

  “I missed you at the house and garden tour,” I said. “What a wonderful day.” The more she didn’t respond, the more I continued to talk, hoping to reach her. “And your house looked beautiful.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “And the pizza was fabulous. Do you use the oven often?”

  “Not really,” she said. “Although…” She looked over my head and waved her hand at someone. “Sorry, I have to go. I have another primate tour waiting for me. And there’s a cobra missing. The world’s longest venomous snake. You might want to leave now to be absolutely safe. Good to see you again.”

  Nick and I looked at each other in alarm. A cobra missing? Why didn’t a siren go off? Why didn’t they close the zoo? I had to admire Diana for being cool in the face of an emergency like a missing cobra. That was probably part of the docent training. Don’t alarm the visitors. But she was so casual about it. Why suggest we leave now but let everyone else stay? What was wrong? Had something I said caused her to invent a crisis?

  “Are you afraid of snakes?” I asked Nick.

  “Only the ones which are poisonous,” he said. “I wonder if it’s an Egyptian cobra, the kind that killed Cleopatra.”

  “I believe that was a suicide,” I murmured. I looked around at the ground and up in the trees above us in case the cobra was going to drop down on me, bite me and leave me to die an agonizing death while waiting for the ambulance to come with the antivenom. I hoped no one would say it was a suicide. I didn’t want to die. I had my whole life ahead of me. Men I hadn’t met yet. Racks of clothes to wear. Styles I hadn’t tried yet.

  “They’re not what you call slimy, you know,” Nick said. “They have smooth, dry skin.”

  “I’m sure they do. It isn’t their sliminess that worries me. It’s the venom. You know, the poison. Do you think we should leave?”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said. “Why would a cobra attack us when we are harmless visitors?”

  I figured if he wasn’t afraid of a snake on the loose, then I shouldn’t be either. If we saw the snake, Nick would bravely grab it by its smooth, dry body and take it back to its cage, holding it tightly around the neck so it couldn’t strike with its poisonous fangs.

  To my relief, there were no snakes in sight anywhere and no signs of panic. Quite a few people were strolling around looking at a male gorilla who was beating his chest. I didn’t know whether he was warning us or just exhibiting typical male gorilla behavior. I decided it was Diana’s job to alert the authorities or the visitors about this snake. Not just us. Instead of leaving now and missing the other exhibits on a day when the entrance was free, I planned to forget about the snake and move on to the penguins.

  And so we headed toward Penguin Island. I figured if no one else was running for the exits, then Diana must have been mistaken. But where was she? I’d pictured her giving us a special behind-the-scenes tour. Instead, she’d given us a special brush-off.

  “The woman, she is your friend, yes?” Nick asked me. Probably wondering what kind of friend would ignore me like that. I was wondering too.

  “Not really a friend,” I said. “She’s a customer at the shop. And I have been to her house a few times. I think she takes her job as docent seriously and probably didn’t want to be interrupted while she was working. I understand that.”

  Actually I didn’t understand it at all. I had a job, but I always had time to socialize with the customers. Just a “Hello, how are you?” would have been nice. Especially after I’d missed her at her open house. Where had she been that day? I was starting to get worried. Had I said something wrong? Done something out of line? The last time I’d seen her, she was standing at her front door waving a cheery good-bye to me, Maxine and Patti. Then Armando had his so-called “accident.” Next Diana was a no-show at her own open house.

  I was determined to face off with Diana and ask her what was wrong, because clearly something was. But when I suggested we follow Diana and even join her next tour, Nick said we should first see the penguins. He’d read a lot about them and wanted to observe their behavior and their habitat as close up as we could get.

  I felt that way about Diana and her husband. I’d observed their behavior and their luxury habitat up close, and I had more questions. It seemed obvious that Diana was avoiding me as if she thought I was going to butt into her life. But I wouldn’t. Not really. I just wanted to know if I’d done something to offend her or her husband. And of course I wanted to know about Armando’s “accident.” But I would never come right out and ask. Not me. I’d try to find out in some subtle way. Of course I would.

  The penguins were fun to watch as they waddled on the walkways and paddled in the man-made pool around the man-made gunite rocks. I leaned over the fence to admire them. “No poison, nothing dangerous here,” I remarked to Nick. “No way for them to escape if they wanted to, which I don’t think they do. They look happy.”

  “But all is not calm as what you see on the surface,” Nick said. “I read about the problems in the newspaper. So not so happy for every penguin. Didn’t you read this story?”

  I shook my head.

  “Some penguins are homosexuals. Not surprising, since they all look the same to me. Male and female. Maybe they can’t tell either.”

  “They look the same to you and me, but I suppose the penguins know which is which and who’s who,” I said.

  “See the two penguins over there?” He pointed to a couple of identical penguins on a rock by the water. “Many couples are here like those over there.”

  “You mean that’s a gay couple?” I asked. “Oh. How can you tell?”

  “I can’t, but as you said it, the penguins can. I just think that they might be gay or not. Anyway, they look like they belong together.”

  “I don’t know how you can tell they’re a couple,” I said. “They’re just standing there together.”

  At that moment a man in khaki shorts with an “Ask Me” button on his shirt came up to the exhibit with a crowd of visitors.

  “Our penguins have a good life here at the zoo,” he said. As usual I was eager to learn more about animals and people too, so I took Nick’s arm and we stepped up and got in with the group. I loved hearing the scoop from well-informed volunteers like Diana. Only this guy, because of his uniform, seemed to be a regular zoo employee and not a volunteer. Even better.

  “They’ve got the water at the right temperature for swimming, fish to eat that they don’t have to catch themselves. What’s not to like?” he asked with a smile.

  “Is it true some of the penguins are gay?” an older man asked, looking like he wanted to hear it was just a rumor. “I read about this gay penguin couple in the paper.”

  “You may be referring to Harry and Pepper,” the guide said. “They aren’t the only gay couple. Many penguin couples, gay or straight, will raise their adopted children together like humans do. I think I know which story you’re talking about, the one that made the newspapers. Probably because of the female penguin we call Lin
da. She had a reputation for being a home wrecker. Sure enough, she came in and broke up Harry and Pepper’s marriage, or rather, their same-sex union.”

  “Where is she now?” I asked, wondering if he would point her out or if she’d changed her cheating ways.

  “She left the zoo some time ago,” the guide said. Then he went on to describe other fascinating penguin behavior traits.

  “I wonder,” I whispered to Nick, “if she’s breaking up some other couple’s life somewhere.”

  He shrugged and I glanced around, startled to see Diana at the edge of the crowd, listening and looking upset. Her face was pale, and her brow was creased. Hadn’t she heard this story of the penguin Linda before? It was a disturbing story, but I would have thought that working at the zoo, she’d have gotten used to these kinds of things. I was surprised to see her there with the other visitors like us; I’d assumed she was off leading another tour, but maybe she was on her break. I couldn’t deny that she’d hurt my feelings when she brushed us off the way she had.

  It was not only Diana who was interested in the flightless birds; Nick was also staring at the penguins with an intensity that worried me. I thought he was over his breakup with his so-called fiancée, but maybe not. Maybe he was hurting but pretending to be fine.

  “Nick, are you all right?” I asked. “You can’t say your life is like that of a penguin, can you?”

  “Of course not. I am not a penguin. I know that. I can find a new girlfriend. Maybe I have found her already.” He gave me a sideways look and a half smile that made me think he meant me. What if he did? Could I handle a Romanian boyfriend, or was I jumping to conclusions a little too soon? I wasn’t ready to settle on one man. I wanted a choice, and I wanted Nick to be in my life as someone I cared about. Who else would go to the zoo with me and take me to the Cliff House afterward?

  But what about Diana? As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. The story of the homosexual penguin couples and the female who broke them up had clearly affected her. Why? Had she broken up some gay couple’s affair? Was her husband gay? I couldn’t ask her, but at least I could try again to talk to her. As a friend who wanted to help. But when I glanced up, she was gone. Never mind. The zoo was not the place to talk over personal matters unless they pertained to the animal kingdom.

  “What about you, Rita?” Nick said. “Any plans for getting married?”

  “Married? No.” Me, married, when I didn’t even have a steady boyfriend? I was glad I didn’t live in Romania where I might be forced into an arranged marriage. “I’m not ready to get married at this moment. In America women don’t need to marry young anymore. We can wait until our thirties or later and no one says a thing about it. You’re the first person in ages who’s asked me if I have any plans. Maybe others have thought about it, but never said anything.” If anyone would bring it up, you’d think Dolce would, but being single herself, she hadn’t said a word.

  “I have heard this custom of older people marrying late in your country,” he said. “But in my country marriage is very important for happiness and prosperity. We must ask three times of the girl, and she doesn’t accept until the third time. Then is the discussion of the dowry. But this is not interesting to you,” he said. “Let us move ahead to see some more monkeys. They are always amusing and will make us smile.”

  “Maybe we should move on,” I said.

  The next exhibit we came to was the chimpanzees.

  “These chimps are our closest living relatives,” I read aloud from the sign on the fence.

  We watched the playful chimps climb the fence, eat bananas, toss the skins aside and chase each other around the cage.

  “I understand they are very intelligent animals,” Nick said, leaning forward to watch their antics. “See the one in the back of the cage throwing something at the other one, who is perhaps his rival.”

  I leaned forward for a better look just as the chimp came racing toward the moat and threw something smelly and rotten right at me.

  I stumbled backward. “Ow, oh no,” I shouted as I was sprayed with smelly monkey poop from head to toe.

  Other visitors jumped back, shocked and astounded. I couldn’t believe it. My outfit was ruined.

  Nick stood and stared. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought he was going to laugh. But this was no laughing matter. I sputtered, I choked and I gagged.

  “Chimps are the only species besides humans who throw things at a target. That is what I have read,” Nick said with a shrug, as if it was no surprise to have a chimp toss his feces at a visitor. “Now what will you do?” he asked, shaking his head “We must go home.”

  What, and miss dinner at the Cliff House? No way! I shook my head. “I will just change in the restroom,” I said, thankful I’d brought a new outfit. It was a good reminder never to leave home without a change of clothes, even if you aren’t going to the zoo.

  “But you must have a bathe,” Nick said.

  I grabbed my tote bag, which he’d been toting around for me, and headed for the ladies’ room in the green building. There I stripped off my smelly outfit and wrapped it all, including the shoes, in a plastic bag I kept in my tote. Ignoring the curious looks from women who came and went, I focused on washing my hands, arms and even my legs with the dispenser soap and drying off with wads of paper towels. Then I slipped into my new dress, my vest and my shoes. I ran a comb through my hair, reapplied my makeup and gave myself a pep talk.

  “Look at you. You’re fine. No one would ever know you’d been attacked by a primate.”

  A woman came out of the stall behind me and gave me a funny look.

  “I’m not crazy,” I said.

  “Of course not,” she said, then she hurried outside.

  Nick gave me a thumbs-up when he saw me, and I felt much better. We walked past the anteaters, who, according to the sign outside their area, were solitary animals except for the mothers and babies. They were usually eating or relaxing. It seemed that the relaxing part took up about fifteen hours a day. What a life, I thought. And no predatory females to steal your mate, I hoped. Some people found them to be very cute with their three-foot-long tongue, but I didn’t, so we didn’t spend much time with them. I was ready to leave the zoo, and Nick was looking forward to eating at the Cliff House. I kept my eyes open for a glimpse of Diana, hoping we might catch her on the way out, but I didn’t see her.

  I wondered if Nick was aware that the Cliff House was an expensive, upscale restaurant. I’d been there with Jonathan, but he was a well-paid doctor. Nick was a gymnastics teacher. How much money did he have? I decided to relax and enjoy it.

  I realized Nick was happiest when he was playing the role of tour guide for his adopted city. Maybe he was that way in Romania too. Some day I’d go there and see. First he’d explained about the penguins at the zoo, then he’d explained primate behavior, now at the Cliff House he was anxious to tell me the history of the place, which had been a San Francisco landmark since the Civil War.

  The restaurant was quiet at this time of night. Too early for dinner for most people, but the bar was already crowded. We got a table at the window where we could watch the waves crashing against the rocks below and see the sleek shiny seals swimming and cavorting in the sea.

  “The first Cliff House was built in 1863,” Nick said, putting the menu aside while he filled me in. “Naturally, since this is such a place for a beautiful scene. But perhaps you already know its story.”

  I shook my head. I would have said no anyway because he took such pleasure in telling stories about the past. That’s where he resembled his aunt. Only he didn’t claim to have lived through the times he was describing.

  “Well, if we could look at the guest list, we would see three U.S. presidents who came here to the Cliff House, but sadly the guest book was destroyed in a dynamite explosion. But many big names of San Francisco, like Crocker, Stanford and Hearst, would drive out in their carriages on Sunday to watch horse races and have recreation.”

&nbs
p; Nick waved to the waiter, and since we weren’t driving, he ordered a bottle of a certain California white wine I hadn’t heard of. The waiter complimented him on his good taste, then he continued.

  “I will skip forward past other happenings to the time of the Sutro Baths,” he said.

  “I’ve heard of them,” I said. “And seen the pictures of the men in one-piece bathing suits and women in bloomers and long black stockings.”

  “Six large swimming pools,” Nick said, seeming almost as proud of this accomplishment as if he’d built them himself. “Plus a museum and skating rink. Not only the rich ones but also so many ordinary San Franciscans came out on steam trains or bicycles to enjoy a day at the beach. Then came the earthquake of 1906, which you know about.”

  I nodded. I was no history buff, but that date stuck in the mind of everyone who’d ever lived in the city.

  “But you know, by some miracle the Cliff House didn’t get any damage then, until one year later when it burned to the ground. Sad, yes?”

  I agreed. I was wondering how much of the story was left for Nick to tell when he suddenly glanced over at the wall behind us. He said he’d continue the fascinating history later.

  “Notice the photographs,” Nick said. “I like that one of Judy Garland, famous movie star.”

  Judy seemed to be watching us from the wall. The autograph under her picture said she was sending her best wishes.

  After studying the menu, we ordered crab and shrimp salad with Louis dressing. Served with warm sourdough bread, it was delicious. We followed that with clam chowder rich with cream and huge chunks of clams.

  “Nick, this is wonderful. You are so kind to take me to dinner. I must make dinner for you some time soon.”

  “You told me you studied Italian cooking.”

  “Oh, I did. But then the chef died.”

  “Before the class was over?”

  “No, much later. It was mysterious. The police think it was murder.

  “As for cooking,” I added, “you’re not bad yourself.” He’d supplied me with a few choice dishes when I was recuperating from my sprained ankle.