by Betty Webb
I jumped into my cart and drove away.
By the time I reached Colder Climes—renamed from Northern Climes after one of the zookeepers pointed out there were no penguins in the Arctic nor polar bears in the Antarctic—I was beginning to feel guilty about being so short with Lex. But when I made my way to the polar bear enclosure, I forced myself to forget about Amberlyn’s odd request. If those pictures of her on Booth’s cell were X-rated, I didn’t want to know about it.
Magnus, the orphaned cub I’d picked up during my recent trip to Iceland, was splashing around in his pool, knocking a large red ball back and forth as the crowd cheered. Since he was still too small to be of any danger to humans, I needed no extreme safety measures, just entered the enclosure through the keeper’s gate at the rear of the big artificial iceberg. For a bear, Magnus was surprisingly neat, so cleaning out the enclosure didn’t take long.
When I emerged from the plastic iceberg into the more public pool area, he spotted me at once. With a squeak, he hauled himself out of the pool and bounded over, shaking off enough water to drench me. I didn’t mind. With his snow-white fur, and big black eyes and nose, the cub was every bit as adorable as a stuffed teddy bear. My heart gave a little flutter when he nosed my hand.
“Fish? Magnus want fish?”
Yes, Magnus wanted fish.
The cub was still on a fortified milk regimen, but for the benefit of the large crowd, I tossed a few pieces of fish onto a plastic snow mound and watched as Magnus chased after them.
More cheering from the crowd.
While he was busy scarfing up his treat, I let myself out of the rear gate and walked over to the puffin exhibit, which had been placed next to the penguin enclosure. In their black-and-white outfits, puffins and penguins appear to be members of the same avian family, but they’re not. Emperor penguins, which make up our group, can grow up to forty-eight inches high and weigh almost a hundred pounds, whereas puffins are little more than a foot long and weigh less than a pound. The other major difference between the two species is that penguins can’t fly, where puffins are champion flyers, often winging all the way from Iceland, where I’d picked these two up, to Maine. Sometimes even further south.
Sigurd and Jodisi were also shyer than their much-larger penguin cousins, because unlike the penguins, the puffins had been hatched in the wild and still retained their feral nature. They did, however, approach when I showed up with a small pail of herring. To my dismay, when I exited their enclosure I found Lex Yarnell waiting for me.
“Listen, Teddy, I just got off the phone with Amberlyn and she’s desperate to...”
I was saved from breaking my promise to Joe when the radio on my belt squawked, “Keeper Four, come in. Over.”
It was the voice of Aster Edwina Gunn, president of the huge Gunn Trust which ran the zoo, making her my de facto boss. Being summoned by her was never a good thing.
Ignoring Lex, I snatched the radio from my belt and pressed the talk button. “Keeper Four here. Over.”
“Where are you, Theodora?”
“Colder Climes.” Just to goad her, since the enclosure’s original name had been her idea, I added, “You know, the one you wanted to name ‘Northern Climes.’”
“Very funny. Get up here now.”
Here meant her lair at Gunn Castle, the moldering pile her father had shipped over from Scotland stone by stone, including the torture chamber, which, I often suspected, was still being used.
“But I’m working,” I whined.
“I’ve already radioed Zorah to send over a replacement for you, so get a move on. I expect you here in no more than ten minutes.”
Without another word, she killed the call.
“Guess you’d better go,” Lex said. He didn’t look happy.
Nor did I.
Gunn Castle has never been a cheery place. Ignoring the light-filled beauty of Randolph Hearst’s San Simeon a few miles down the road, the dark stone structure looms over the surrounding vineyards like a vulture waiting for something to die. With its six towers, crenellated roof, and series of archer’s windows, it looks like the setting for a horror film, which isn’t far wrong. God only knows how many humiliations I’ve suffered there from childhood to adulthood, and the horrors just kept coming. Today would probably deliver another to add to my collection.
Eunice Snow, the maid Aster Edwina had hired away from my mother, led me down the long entry hall to the library. Bad sign. My boss always chose the library when delivering bad news.
“How are things, Miss Theodora?” Eunice asked, as our footsteps echoed along the cold floor stones.
“Same old, same old. How’s it going with you and Bucky?”
Her smile couldn’t have been broader. “They’re expanding his television segment to a full half hour!”
Bucky Snow, father of Eunice’s twins, Bucella and Bucky Jr., was an ex-con who had at long last landed on his feet. Always a film buff—yes, they screen movies in prison—he had parlayed the job I’d gotten for him at the San Sebastian CinePlex into a segment as film critic for KGNN on Bucky Goes Hollywood.
“Is he enjoying the work?”
“He says it’s even more fun than boosting cars.”
“How nice.”
“Well, here we are.” Eunice opened the two-hundred-year-old oak doors and ushered me into the library, where Aster Edwina sat at a long table, spider waiting for fly. Then Eunice wisely made tracks.
“I want you to keep me updated on this Booth thing,” Aster Edwina said, moving aside the stack of legal documents she had been going through.
No hello, no how-ya-doing. Why bother with social niceties when you can go directly to scaring the hell out of your employees?
“Sorry, Aster Edwina. I promised Joe I’d keep my nose out of it this time.”
“You work for me, not him.”
“Hmm.” I looked around, saw an empty chair. Several of them, actually. “May I sit down?”
“Why? You’ve got your orders, now hop to it.” To signal the meeting was over, she picked up another document.
I sat down anyway, as close to her as I could get. “That’s impossible.”
“Choose a chair farther away from me. You smell of offal.”
I remained put. “One of my job’s perks. Anyway, why do you care who killed Professor Booth?”
She put the document down and glowered at me. Although well into her eighties, she was still a terrifying woman with her narrowed eyes and hawk-like nose. They say she had once been a great beauty, but as often happens with the elderly, her fierce soul was now showing through.
“I’m worried about Blue Seas Marine Laboratory,” she said.
“Why? From what I hear, they’re doing well. I was talking to Preston Morrell the other day and he sounded pretty happy.”
“Happy is as happy does. The problem is this thing with that despicable Booth person. I’d hate to see any blowback about his time at Blue Seas, understand?”
“Not really.”
As usual, she ignored my bafflement. “You need to keep a lid on that ruffian’s days with the organization. We can’t have its reputation smeared.”
Ruffian? It was all I could do not to laugh. “But Aster Edwina, today’s article in the San Sebastian Journal mentioned Booth’s association with Blue Seas, so that cat’s already out of the bag.”
“He only worked there for a couple of months, yet still created a mess. After he left, I made certain his employment file was sealed, so don’t you let that sheriff of yours get it unsealed.”
Aster Edwina was so used to everyone dancing to her tune—no matter how discordant—she forgot that the rest of the world didn’t always want to dance along. To remind her of reality, I said, “Sealed or not, Booth’s already in the public record as a former employee of Blue Seas. Come to think of it, he made the local paper when he first got hired over there. I was in San Francisco at the time, but Caro sent me a copy of the article. You know how the San Sebastian Journal always writes
about anything having to do with Blue Seas.”
She pursed her lips, which made her look even meaner. “Two inches on B-4. Big deal.”
“Oh, but when he left, they followed up with a longer article stating that he left to ‘pursue other interests.’ Caro sent me a copy of that one, too. It was at least six inches. On the front page.”
“But below the fold,” she snapped. “And ancient history, nothing to do with that sordid business down at the Slough. You have your marching orders, Theodora. Let me know if Sheriff Rejas starts nosing around about Booth’s former connection to Blue Seas.”
Although Aster Edwina was usually a cautious person, she had erred badly in referring Booth to Blue Seas. In a way it was understandable. Booth had been a good-looking man, adept at schmoozing elderly, wealthy women like her. Nevertheless, almost as soon as his new office furniture had arrived at Blue Seas, he was gone.
“But Aster Edwina…”
She pursed her lips into such a tight line they almost disappeared. “Good-bye, Theodora.”
Resistance being futile, I left.
Lex Yarnell ambushed me again as soon as I got back to the zoo.
“Amberlyn’s headed to class now but she’ll be home in a couple of hours. And all day tomorrow.” He handed me a slip of paper. “Here’s her phone number.”
Lex’s determination to have me contact his ex-girlfriend was puzzling, and I told him so. “She broke up with you months ago, so why do you still care about whatever’s going on with her? And why should my relationship with the sheriff get me involved? Like I told you earlier, I really don’t know the woman.”
He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it was in a voice so low I had trouble hearing him over the trumpeting of a nearby elephant. “It’s complicated.”
Hardly a clarification, but it aroused my curiosity. “Does she live in one of the dorms?”
“Um, off-campus, in Point Deem.”
That took me aback, since Amberlyn’s family didn’t have Point Deem-style money. Like Lex’s family, they scratched out a living near Castroville, picking crops on other peoples’ farms. Then again, maybe Amberlyn shared digs with several other young women, the common housing solution for cash-strapped students.
“I’ll give her a call tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Teddy. I appreciate it.”
He walked away quickly, as if afraid I’d change my mind.
The rest of the day passed without any more trouble, unless you count the snarl-fest between two pumas in California Habitat, or the kick-a-thon several Grevy’s zebra mares in Africa Veldt got into when one grazed too close to another mare’s new colt. Walking by the eastern end of the Veldt, I noticed that even the giraffes acted snappish, slinging their long necks against each other in irritation.
After the angst of the last two days I decided to visit the elephant sanctuary. Elephants always have a calming effect on me. Herd animals, they delight in each other’s company. Today was no exception. Reba, Sheena, Indu, Mbutu, Carolyn, and Aliah—all rescued circus performers—were splashing around in the big pond when I arrived. When my old friend Aliah saw me, she trumpeted a hello, but didn’t leave the others. I continued on toward the other end of the five-hundred-acre sanctuary where a group of eight basked in the shade of a big eucalyptus. They ignored me, too. Well, except for Mary. She flicked her trunk at me, then returned to swatting flies. I watched them for a while, allowing their gentle contentment to soothe my frazzled nerves.
Workday finally over, I went home to Gunn Landing Harbor, where I found Lila Conyers waiting for me next to the Merilee.
“I thought you’d never get here, Teddy,” she said, as I approached on the floating dock. Her face was drawn, making her look more like forty-four than thirty-four. Unless I was mistaken, her second-hand blouse was on backwards, too. Maybe they didn’t notice things like that at the day care center.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. No. Oh, hell, I don’t know. Can I come aboard?”
At my nod Lila followed me below deck, where DJ Bonz greeted her with a stumpy tail wag. Miss Priss ignored her. All the cat cared about right now was being fed, which I proceeded to do.
“Tell me what’s going on, Lila.”
She slid onto the kitchenette bench and watched the cat and dog beg for more. “It’s just that, well, Sheriff Rejas has been bugging me.”
“What do you mean, ‘bugging’?”
Priss mewled for seconds, but the last time I had given her seconds she’d barfed on my dolphin-print duvet, so I hardened my heart.
“He’s stopped by my houseboat twice.”
“Twice? Joe did?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Was he alone, or did he have someone with him?”
“The first time he was alone. The second time he had a deputy with him.”
That meant Joe wanted a witness to the follow-up conversation, never a good sign. “What kind of questions did he ask you?”
“Like, well, stuff.”
“Stuff?”
Priss started to yowl, so I relented and gave her another scoop of Friskie’s Classic Tuna Paté, her current favorite. She gobbled it up between purrs while Bonz left his now-empty bowl to scramble into Lila’s lap. Lila had been a volunteer at the animal shelter when he was brought in with his hind leg mangled beyond repair. She had talked the shelter vet out of euthanizing him, promising that if he couldn’t find a home, she would adopt him herself. Then she had called me and asked if I wanted to adopt the best three-legged dog in the whole wide world.
Bonz never forgets.
Neither do I.
“Who’s the good boy?” Lila cooed to Bonz, ruffling his ears.
Arf!
“Yes! You’re the good boy!”
Arf! Arf! He gazed at her lovingly.
“Lila, what did you tell Joe about Booth?’
“I, uh, I told the sheriff and the guy with him that I hadn’t seen Professor Booth since I was his student.” Her cheeks flushed red.
Rule Number One in dealing with the police: never tell them a lie you can be caught in.
“Oh, Lila, why did you say that? Everyone in the harbor knows about the time you vandalized Booth’s boat. Several witnesses spotted you running away covered in paint. You’re lucky none of them reported you.”
“Well, somebody did, because the cops showed up thirty minutes later.”
“From what the newspaper article said, you still had paint under your fingernails.”
She looked down at Bonz, who wouldn’t have cared if she’d defaced the Statue of Liberty. “That spray stuff’s hard to get off.”
When the tagging incident happened, I had been living in San Francisco. Lila’s harassment complaint about Booth was ancient memory, but Caro, ever the gossip, had phoned me to yak about the fallout over Lila spray-painting LIAR!!! in Day-Glo Orange along the side of Booth’s brand new ninety-seven-foot Azimut Motor Yacht. Before her visit, the yacht—a wedding present from Booth’s filthy rich bride—had been a pristine white. At the time I’d been experiencing marital troubles, so I wasn’t as interested in Lila’s woes as I normally would have been.
“You were charged with criminal mischief,” I pointed out.
“The charges were dropped. Besides, I didn’t see Professor Booth while I was spray-painting his boat, so I wasn’t actually lying.”
Maybe not, but Lila’s earlier sexual harassment charges against Booth, followed by the vandalism, did give her a motive for murder. “My source said you vandalized the boat because you were jealous over him marrying Harper.”
“How can you be jealous about a man you hate?” Then her shoulders slumped. “Nobody ever believed me about him, the school, the lawyers, not even my own mother. She thought… she still thinks that I, that I… that I made everything up.”
“I believe you, Lila.”
She gave me a grateful look before her face crumpled. “Oh,
Teddy, I know you do. But I’m so scared!”
Bonz, who I sometimes suspect of being a telepath, looked at her face and whined.
I slid onto the kitchenette bench and put my arm around Lila’s shoulders. Since I couldn’t think of anything comforting to say, I said nothing.
I was still hugging her when Joe showed up for the dinner date I’d forgotten about.
Chapter Six
The date didn’t go well.
Joe had made reservations at Brownlee’s, a San Sebastian gastropub specializing in nouvelle French/American cuisine and beers I had never heard of. The food was okay, but the house brew was sweet enough to pour over ice cream. To add to my discomfort, I was still wearing my zoo khakis, along with the scent of Eau de Mammal. Joe didn’t mind—he never does—but the well-groomed couple at the next table kept throwing nasty looks my way. And then there was the conversation, which started out okay, then took a dive.
“Colleen watching the kids?” I asked him.
After the children’s mother’s death, Joe’s widowed mother had moved in with him, providing a comforting presence for Antonio, nine, and Bridget, four. They were great kids, so I wasn’t worried about my upcoming role in their lives. I was worried about something else.
“Yep, babysitting as usual,” Joe answered. “When I left, they were all playing that new child’s version of RISK, and Bridie had just invaded New Jersey. By the way, Teddy, what were you doing, talking to Lila Conyers? Didn’t I tell you to stay out of the Booth case?”
Just what I was afraid of. Joe hated it when I got involved in a murder case. In an attempt to give myself time to think up an explanation, I said, “I wonder why there isn’t a salt shaker on our table?”
“Ask the chef about the salt, not me. This Booth thing, it’s more complicated than you realize, so for your own safety I…”
“I prefer beer that tastes like beer, too. Not Coke.”
