Not again. Might as well fess up. “That’s right. But I’m on this case now. My husband investigated Dr. Boudreaux’s situation when he was arrested.”
Nodding, the doctor put his glasses back on. “He came to see me then. And several times thereafter. And of course, the police were here, too.”
“Of course,” Wesson echoed.
Dr. Quigley moved over to another aisle and began to examine the inhabitant of one of the tanks. “This is Mzuri. She’s a Gaboon viper from a rainforest in Africa.”
Miranda peered into the enclosure. It held a long fat snake. It was huge. Its pale body, marked with blackish-brown hourglass shapes, was wrapped in a disturbing coil in a corner.
“She’s about to lay eggs.” The doctor checked a gauge, reached for a bottle, and began to spray water onto the snake through the screen covering the top. Mzuri lifted her head as if she liked it. “It’s important to maintain the proper humidity level.”
Of course, it was. “Dr. Quigley, how well did you know Dr. Boudreaux?”
“Well. We worked together every day. Except when he was on an expedition, of course.” Quigley moved to another tank and bent down to study its occupant. A smaller lime green snake. “About time for another feeding for you, isn’t it, boy? It takes a lot of man-hours to keep this place up.”
“Expedition?” Miranda asked, ignoring the doctor’s commentary.
Dr. Quigley stepped across the aisle to another tank and adjusted the light. “Clarence took several trips every year. He went to Africa and China and Australia. He was hunting new specimens for our exhibits.”
“That must have been exciting.”
“Oh, it was. Thrilling.” He studied the black viper at the level of his face.
Ignoring the creepy feeling in her stomach, Miranda pressed on. “But you were left behind?”
“I took over Dr. Boudreaux’s duties when he was away, if that’s what you mean.”
“Didn’t you feel left out?”
“Left out? I don’t understand.” He turned and moved to another enclosure.
“I mean didn’t you feel passed over? As if Boudreaux was getting to do all the fun stuff while you got stuck with the mundane work? All those man-hours of maintenance, etcetera?”
He paused in the aisle to scratch his beard as he considered her words. “Ah, I see where you’re heading. Your husband went down the same route. I’ll have you know that I had the utmost respect for Dr. Boudreaux. He was a rare intellect. He and his wife were embarking on research that could save many lives. I was never jealous of him. I was proud to work under him. I said all of this at the trial.” He turned away again.
Again Miranda followed him. “And yet here you are in his position. Do you get to take those trips now? To Africa and China and Australia?”
Shaking his head, Quigley scoffed. “The younger staff members do that now. I have no interest in travel. As I said, taking care of these creatures requires a lot of effort. It’s important work and I’m proud to do it now, just as I was then.”
Once again, they were getting nowhere. Miranda was considering leaving when she remembered what Spring Fairchild said yesterday.
“What kind of relationship did Dr. Boudreaux have with his wife?”
Quigley stopped fiddling with the snakes and turned to her. “His wife?”
“The one he was convicted of killing?”
His face went sour. “I can’t really say. I didn’t know Clarence socially. We kept our interactions on a professional level.”
Now Quigley sounded evasive. “Do you remember when Dr. Boudreaux’s last excursion was?”
“It was about five weeks before—before he was arrested.”
“That was when he returned from Australia with Ozzie.”
“The western taipan, yes.”
“And a short time after that, Dr. Boudreaux wanted to take Ozzie home with him, correct?”
“Yes. He insisted the taipan wasn’t adapting to the environment as well as he should have. I said all this at the trial. I assume you’ve read the transcript.” He turned away and gave his attention to a pair of small black vipers in a case at the level of his head.
There was something Quigley didn’t want to admit.
“Did you disagree with him about Ozzie’s condition, Dr. Quigley?”
“No,” he said sounding annoyed. “But removing him from the zoo was an extreme measure.”
“Was Dr. Boudreaux given to extreme measures?”
“Not usually.” Again he stepped away.
Again Miranda followed him. “Were you here the day Dr. Boudreaux took Ozzie out of his case to take home?”
“I was. I warned him he shouldn’t do it. We argued about it.”
Now they were getting somewhere. “About what, specifically?”
He let out a breath of frustration. “Strictly speaking it was against zoo regulations, but Clarence didn’t listen. He told me he had the authority to break regulations and it was none of my business.”
“That seems harsh.”
“He did have a temper now and then.”
Bingo. “How hot of a temper?”
“Well, I couldn’t say. One has to keep emotions under control here. The animals can sense stress. It would be dangerous to fly off the handle. Clarence was usually even-tempered.”
Unless things didn’t go his way. “Dr. Quigley, do you believe Clarence killed his wife?”
“I don’t know. He might have. Personally, I’m inclined to think it was an unfortunate accident. Clarence made a bad mistake taking Ozzie home and now he’s paying the price for it. I’m sorry. I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.” He gestured toward the end of the aisle. “I have a feeding to do and I can’t risk civilians being back here. If you don’t mind?”
“Sure. Thanks for your time.”
Miranda gave Wesson a nod and they hurried out of the creepy room.
“Rather unforgiving, wasn’t he?” Wesson murmured in her ear as they headed down the steps to the pavement. “If he thinks it was an accident, I mean.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Had Dr. Quigley been jealous of Boudreaux? Maybe. It was tempting to wonder if Quigley could have orchestrated Charmaine’s death. But it didn’t fit the facts. It certainly didn’t explain the DNA.
But the new herpetologist did tell them that dear Dr. Boudreaux wasn’t always as calm and mild-mannered as he looked.
Unfortunately that was only more proof that Clarence was guilty.
Chapter Seventeen
“Where to now?” Wesson asked.
They were back on I-75, fighting through traffic, and Miranda’s mind had been wandering back to her snaky dream last night. She’d seen Mackenzie trapped on a ledge in a cave, surrounded by hissing vipers. The memory made her feel sick.
She knew what Dr. Wingate would say about it. The dream was a symbol of her worry about her daughter and what she might be going through right now. That wasn’t much of a revelation. And it didn’t give her any solutions. Her dreams never did.
“Earth to Steele.”
“Sorry.” Miranda pressed the brake as the car in front of her slowed. “Apparently we’re going nowhere now.”
Wesson was on her phone. “There’s an accident up ahead. Alternate route is just as heavy.”
Miranda’s cell rang. It was Becker.
She pressed the button on the dash so Wesson could hear what he had to say. “Good news, Steele.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Sergeant Chambers came through. The DNA sample was delivered an hour ago. Fry’s working on it now.”
Parker’s nudge had worked. “About time for some good news.”
“I’ll say.”
“How are you two coming along?” she asked.
“We’re down to the vic’s acquaintances and no one seemed to have had a grudge against her for anything. No indication from anyone that Charmaine was abused.”
Miranda glanced at the clock. It was alre
ady ten-thirty. “Wrap up what you’re doing and head back to the office. We’ll all get together, go over our progress and brainstorm. We’re stuck in traffic, so it’ll be lunchtime by the time we get there.”
“We can pick up some sandwiches.” Becker was always thoughtful.
“Sounds good. See you then.”
Just as she hung up, her phone buzzed with a message. She hoped it wasn’t Colby wanting to talk about Mackenzie again. No, it was Fanuzzi. This could be personal. Glad she was at a standstill, she grabbed the phone and scrolled to the message.
“Hey, Murray. I know you’re on an important case, but I’m wondering if I can talk to you a few minutes in person. Maybe for lunch today?”
Again she thought about Mackenzie and her dream. An idea came to her. She shouldn’t take the time, but she felt she had to.
She thumbed back a reply. Sure. Meet me in the Agency parking lot at eleven-thirty.
She turned to Wesson. “I’m going to be a little late for that meeting. Can you cover for me?”
“Okay. What’s up?”
“Just an errand I have to take care of.”
Chapter Eighteen
Miranda was watching Wesson’s sassy butt sashay through the back entrance to the Parker Agency when Fanuzzi’s big blue SUV turned into the parking lot.
Her friend parked a few spaces down, gave her a wave, and got out wearing a breezy purple floral dress with a shirt collar. She’d cut her hair and gotten rid of the frosting, bringing it back to its natural dark color, which went better with her Italian features, in Miranda’s opinion. White sandals flapped on her feet as she moved.
She looked comfortable and happy.
Hurrying over to the Acura, she opened the passenger door and slid in. “Thanks for seeing me, Murray. I know you’re busy with that new case. Dave was up half the night working on it.”
“Don’t mention it.” She pointed to Fanuzzi’s feet. “Didn’t anyone tell you you’re not supposed to wear white after Labor Day?”
Cackling, she swatted Miranda’s arm. “Knock it off. These temperature swings are driving me nuts. I feel like I’m going through menopause instead of having a baby.”
Miranda had to laugh at that. She still couldn’t believe her two best friends were pregnant at the same time.
Fanuzzi gazed up at the fifteenth floor of the Imperial Building. “You got my honey slaving away up there?”
“He and Holloway are getting sandwiches for a meeting.”
“Did I interrupt that?”
“No. I needed to get away for a little while.” She started the car and rolled out of the parking lot.
“Don’t blame you. I’d like to try that new place on Peachtree, if you’re up to it.”
“Uh, I need to ask you for a favor first.”
“Yeah?”
Miranda tapped the steering wheel. “I want you to come with me somewhere.”
“Where?”
“Where I need to get away to.”
“O—kay.”
Miranda turned right and instead of downtown, headed toward the hilly neighborhood where she used to live with Parker.
“Man.” Fanuzzi put her hand to her chest.
Miranda glanced at her, wondering if she should hit the brake. “What’s the matter?”
“Heartburn.”
Was that all it was? “You eat your five-alarm chili for breakfast or something?”
“No, I’m pregnant.”
As if she needed reminding. Miranda shook her head. “I don’t remember ever having heartburn.”
“I do. With every single one of them.” Her face turned sentimental. “This morning before school Callie put her arms around me and begged me to have a little sister. She said it wouldn’t be fair if there were three boys and only one girl.”
Fanuzzi’s little girl was seven and the youngest. A cute kid. “That’s sweet.”
“Yeah.” Now Fanuzzi was frowning.
Mood swings, Miranda guessed. “Everything’s okay, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just worried. I don’t know how I’m going to take care of a new baby and keep up my business. I’ve got two luncheons and a wedding in the next two weeks, and Charlie and Tommy both have after school games coming up.”
Her life sounded hectic, but Fanuzzi’s catering business meant a lot to her.
“And if I don’t keep it up, we’ll really be struggling.”
“Parker and I will help. So will Coco and Estavez.”
“Thanks.” She fidgeted a little in her seat. Fanuzzi rarely fidgeted.
“What’s up?”
“Aren’t you gonna ask me why I wanted to go to lunch?”
Fanuzzi had been trying to be friends ever since she’d met her. But this time she seemed to have a special reason for the impromptu girl outing. Miranda had been too preoccupied to ask.
“Okay. Why did you want to go to lunch?”
Fanuzzi twisted her shoulders. “Dave said we should ask formally. He wanted us all to get together. Him and me and you and Wade. But I said I wanted to talk to you first and see how you felt about it.”
Uh oh. “Felt about what?”
She put her hands on her stomach as if bracing herself. “We want you and Wade to be godparents for little Whatshisdoodle or Whatsherdoodle, whenever he or she comes along.”
“Godparents?”
“You don’t like the idea, right?”
“I—I don’t know.” Estavez and Coco had asked her and Parker to be godparents to their little Whatsitdoodle.
“It just means you participate in the ceremony and sort of mentor the kid. It’s not about custody or anything, should the worst happen.”
Mentor? Parker could do that, but her? With two kids? “I’m not up for Mother of the Year, in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I think you’re a terrific mother.”
Little did she know. But she couldn’t say no. Not with Fanuzzi looking at her with those big brown Italian eyes.
“Sure. I’m sure Parker would love to.”
“Great. That’s a load off my mind, Murray.”
“Glad to be of service.”
Fanuzzi frowned out the window. “Where are we going?”
They were north of Mockingbird Hills now, rolling through the trees and over the curvy road in the direction of Old Ferncliff Academy.
“I just want to stop by the school for a minute or two.”
“You need to drop something off for Mackenzie?”
“Not exactly.”
Miranda pulled along the curb under a shady oak where the car couldn’t be seen from the school. It wasn’t the best, but she had a decent view of the grassy yard where the kids had PE and played soccer and other sports at various times of the day. The solid red brick building stood alongside the yard, like a hundred-year-old sentry, its walls covered with ivy.
A collegiate looking place. Better than what she could have hoped for her daughter.
But it was what was going on inside her daughter’s heart that was the problem.
She turned off the engine and stared at the building. There should be a break soon.
“What are you up to, Murray?”
Miranda let out a sigh. “I’m worried about her, Fanuzzi. And so is Colby. She sent me a text yesterday about her.”
She pulled out her phone, scrolled to the text and handed it to her.
Fanuzzi read it out loud. “I’m concerned about Mackenzie. She’s been so listless lately. I don’t know what’s wrong. Any ideas?” Then she read the next one. “You must be busy. Sorry to bother you, but did you see my earlier text?”
She handed the phone back. “Okay, you’re both worried about Mackenzie. So what exactly is going on?”
Miranda fingered the cell case. Fanuzzi had been as close a friend as she’d ever had. They’d confided a lot of personal things to each other. She knew all about Leon. Why not tell her the rest?
“Did Becker say anything to you about our last case?”
&
nbsp; “The one with the senator’s son?”
“No. The one before that.”
“Oh. That serial killer. The one who murdered the college girl you were looking for. The one who went after Gen. Not really. He doesn’t talk much about work.”
Apparently Becker had kept his mouth shut. She felt grateful for that. “We found the guy in a house in Jasper County.”
“Yeah. It was on the news. That guy had killed a lot of women. I had to turn off the TV when the story came on. Couldn’t let the kids see that. It gave me a nightmare.”
“Me, too.” A lot more than one. Miranda stared down at her hands. “Well, that guy, that serial killer—” her throat caught.
Fanuzzi reached for her arm. “What about him, Murray?”
“Turns out he’s Mackenzie’s real father.”
Fanuzzi stared at her for a long moment, her lips struggling to form words. “What?” she said at last. “He’s the one who—”
“It’s a long story.” Miranda took a deep breath and hurried through the details. Tannenburg’s connection to Leon. What Leon had planned with him. How much he hated her. How much they had both hated her.
By the time she finished, Fanuzzi’s olive toned skin had turned pale. “My God. I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to say. ‘I’m sorry’ is just too lame for this.”
She was grateful her friend understood that much. “I didn’t want to tell you, but that’s why we’re here.”
Fanuzzi’s expression said she needed more explanation.
She nodded toward the school. “I think Mackenzie knows. We’ve been trying to keep if from her. Parker and Colby and Oliver and I, but I think she found out anyway. Maybe.”
Fanuzzi pressed a hand to her face. “Oh, no. Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure. But for a while, she was intent on finding her father.”
“I remember.”
“And then all of a sudden she dropped it. Stopped asking about it. Stopped asking me to find him. And she’s not coaching Wendy in skating anymore, either.”
Her dark brows knit, Fanuzzi nodded slowly. “That doesn’t necessarily mean she knows about her—Jeez how awful. It doesn’t prove she knows anything about it.”
Snakebit Page 10
