The Anteater of Death (16 page)

Hoping to calm him, I switched to the same soothing voice that usually worked with upset animals. “There, there. Everything will be all right.” As he began to settle down, I reverted to human-speak. “Look, these things happen when you work around animals. At least the monkeys have never attacked the kids, but I guess that’s because kids have the common sense to pay attention when we tell them…”

Oops. I cleared my throat and blundered on. “From what I can see, the monkeys didn’t do any real damage. We’ll slap on a few bandages, get you a tetanus booster, and you’ll be fine.”

He blew his nose on a soiled handkerchief. “Are you nuts? They tried to kill me!”

“When an animal is serious about killing you, it’s quick.”

“I want those monkeys
dead!”

“But…”

“As for you, Ms. Bentley, I’m holding you responsible for what happened.”

Ms. Bentley? The return to formality wasn’t a good sign. But why be mad at me? I hadn’t bitten him.

His next words answered my question. “And why the hell did you have to throw water on me? Don’t you know how much this sports coat cost? It’s a
Cavalli!”

With that, he stalked off.

The monkeys hurled curses at him as he disappeared.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

There are things you can fix and things you can’t. Fortunately, the memory of my mother’s necklace must have put Barry in a forgiving state of mind, because when I dropped by his office first thing the next morning to plead the monkeys’ case, he rescinded their death-by-crocodile sentence.

“I was upset,” he admitted, speaking to the spot on my throat where Caro’s necklace once dangled. “And for what I said to you, I apologize.”

For his words, not his actions? “No problem. You were having a bad time of it.”

At that, he rose in his chair, rushed around the desk, and before I could stop him, wrapped his arms around me. Apparently he was one of those men who thought physical contact solved everything. Without letting my disgust show, I stepped out of the embrace.

“How long do I need to wait, Teddy?” he whined. “You know I’m crazy about you. Let me come over to your boat tonight and make it up to you. I’ll bring champagne…”

I’d rather have a hungry python slithering around the
Merilee
than Barry, but he did look lonely. Maybe, just maybe, I could teach him to love animals the way the rest of us did. After all, there was a chance he wasn’t as bad as I thought. It never hurt to give someone another chance. “Tonight? I’ll have to check…”

Sensing capitulation, he attempted to hug me again. This time I was ready and he bounced off my raised hands.

“Gotta go!” With that, I hurried out of his office, climbed into my cart and took off.

I was thinking so hard as I sped toward the anteater’s enclosure that I almost had a head-on collision with the vet. After we both braked, Dr. Kate leaned out of her cart and said, “Hey, do you know what happened to Barry? I saw him leaving the zoo last night and he looked like he’d gone ten rounds with an alley full of cats.”

The circles below her eyes had deepened, which made me wonder if the combination of job stress, the demands of her three hyperactive children, and the declining health of her husband were overwhelming her. But I didn’t dare ask. She was a very private person, so I kept the conversation professional.

“He had some problems in Monkey Mania but it wasn’t anything serious. The report’s in your mailbox.”

Whenever there was an animal-versus-human incident on zoo grounds, the keeper had to file a report in quadruplet: one copy for the head park ranger, one for Zorah, one for the vet, and—ironically, in this case—one for the zoo director, who was supposed to file additional paperwork with the necessary agencies.

Alarm leaped in Dr. Kate’s tired eyes. “Perhaps we should close the exhibit for a few days until things settle down. We can’t risk having a child injured.”

“They gave him a nip or two, that’s all. He provoked the incident himself when he hurt one of the females, then kicked Marlon.” After the monkey bit him, but no need to mention that.

At this, the vet looked like she wanted to bite him herself. “What was he doing up there in the first place? He hates animals.”

“He needed to talk to me.”

Her next question proved she didn’t miss much. “Then why didn’t he summon you to his office?” She motioned to the radio hanging from my belt.

Since the truth was embarrassing, I merely shrugged.

My nonanswer didn’t get by her. “Are you having a problem with Barry?”

I tried to force a smile, but those muscles were already exhausted from their performance in the zoo director’s office. “What makes you ask?”

“There’s been talk.”

“About the director and me?”

She shook her head.

I said, “I can assure you that there’s nothing to worry about, at least where I’m concerned.” After all, I’d brought my problem on myself, hadn’t I?

“Positive?”

“Yes. Listen, about that independent vet study…”

Before I could finish my sentence, she started her cart again. Without another word, she headed toward the lemur enclosure, steering carefully around the visitors now trickling into the zoo.

As I watched her go, I wondered where she had been when Grayson was shot.

The squirrel monkeys still appeared agitated when I arrived at Monkey Mania, but after I released them from their night quarters and fed them large helpings of fruit mixed with mealworms, they settled down. At one point Marlon crept over to give me a conciliatory stroke on my ankle.

“Yeah, you’re tough,” I told him. “Personally, I sympathize with last night’s temper tantrum, but you need to steer clear of Barry for a while. He has more clout than you.”

Poor Marlon had no clout at all. Granted, he was larger than the other squirrel monkeys, which theoretically made him the alpha male of the exhibit, but in reality he was Big Boss Man only when the females allowed it.

Satisfied that life in Monkey Mania had returned to crazy-normal, I continued my rounds, eventually winding up at the anteater’s enclosure. When she spotted me bustling around her holding pen, she gave a happy buck and rushed over.

“How’s my Lucy?”

As if in response, her blue tongue snaked out, flapping against the chain link fence that separated us.

“I’m fine, too. Ready for breakfast?”

“Grunt.”

“I brought some nice termites. And a couple of bananas.”

“Squeak!”

“No, they didn’t come all the way from Belize, but I’m sure they’re lovely bananas anyway. Teddy wouldn’t give her Lucy second-rate fruit.”

“Grunt.”

After stuffing a small portion of termites into the Wellington boot in her holding pen, I held up the safety board and opened the gate, expecting her to rush in. She didn’t. Instead, she backed away, emitting what sounded like a growl. Apparently she’d had enough of the holding pen and wanted nothing else to do with it.

Somehow I had to transfer her to the pen. Regardless of her new loathing for it, I couldn’t let anteater droppings pile up in the large enclosure until they became a health hazard. The mess would not only impact Lucy, but her baby, too.

“Lucy, I…”

Before I could react, she reared back and slashed at me, knocking the safety board out of my hand and tumbling it against the gate, which exposed my torso to those four-inch talons. Instinctively, I snatched up the safety board and slammed the gate closed between us.

“That was rude!”

I didn’t take the attack personally. After all, she was a Code Red animal, and such behavior was to be expected given what she’d gone through the past week. For a moment I considered radioing another keeper and asking for help, but my pride kept me from it.

As I watched from behind the safety of the sturdy gate, she moved to the edge of her enclosure slashing at everything in her path: flies, a stand of bougainvillea, a clod of dirt. She was in what zookeepers call “attack mode,” and there was nothing I could do until the mood wore off.

Moments later, it did. Once she finished her circuit and returned to the holding pen gate, her eyes looked into mine, imploring. With a low groan, she leaned against the links.

My heart ached for her. “Lucy doesn’t understand why she tried to hurt Teddy, does she?”

Another groan.

Animal behaviorists say animals can’t feel guilt, but I’m not sure I believe that. Talking softly, I fished a banana out of my pocket, mashed it into my palm and pressed it to the gate. Lucy’s blue tongue flicked out and made short work of the mush.

“Feel better now?”

With another plaintive groan, she turned sideways and pressed against the fence. I reached out and scratched her coarse fur.

“Still friends?”

“Grunt
.” And something that sounded oddly like a sob.

“I’m sorry, too. And don’t worry. I still love my sweet girl.”

To make certain she and her unborn baby were all right, I decided to remain with her for a while. I peeled the other banana and squashed half of it into my hand. While she lapped it up, I began to wonder what Grayson was doing alone by the anteater enclosure, since she was Code Red and he was afraid of even the meekest animal. Had he made an appointment to meet his killer there? The more I thought about it, the more I wondered about something else: why had Grayson appointed Barry Fields as the new zoo director? The ability to raise money was important, yes, but it wasn’t everything. Other candidates were much more qualified—Zorah, for instance—yet he chose that idiot over her.

Grayson himself remained an enigma. Was he the nice man I’d always believed him to be, or the manipulative double-dealer Roarke had described?

Still baffled, I discussed my quandary with the anteater.

“What do you think, Lucy? Was Grayson a good person? Or like most of us humans, was he a mixture of good and bad? Whatever he was really like, he never locked you up in this awful holding pen, did he?”

At the words “holding pen,” I thought I saw another flash of anger in her eyes, but I may have imagined it.

“If Jeanette ever gets her migraines under control, maybe she could come back and work here. Maybe even become director! She has the contacts, and it would certainly help keep her mind off her troubles. Don’t you agree?”

Lucy lapped up more banana.

Jeanette had always enjoyed her days at the zoo. Three times a week she and her husband walked the zoo’s trails, assuring themselves of each animal’s comfort and condition of its enclosure. He always hung back, as if afraid something might escape and bite him, but she, the recipient of old Edwin Gunn’s genes, was fearless. Sometimes she even helped the vet with an animal. She was the one who’d demanded Grayson take over her duties when migraines rendered her helpless. For his part, he could have refused, but didn’t.

Something occurred to me. “On one of his walks through here, did he see something he shouldn’t have?”

The anteater didn’t answer.

A few minutes later, having finished her treat, a calmer Lucy moved away from the fence and ambled over to a faux log, snuffling for termites. Since she hadn’t allowed me into her enclosure yet, she found none. Whimpering, she returned to the holding pen gate.

“Whumph?”

I felt bad for her, but couldn’t enter the enclosure without having her stashed safely in the holding pen. Once again I cursed the ignorant Barry. The anteater needed to be fed, and just tossing a bucket of termites over the fence wouldn’t do it. To best accommodate her long nose, the insects should be stuffed into the logs.

I decided to give it another try. After mashing the other half of the banana, I crammed it inside her Wellington boot and threw it in the holding pen. Then, hefting my safety board up, I inched open the gate.

“Teddy’s going to try to feed you again, so please cooperate this time.”

Smelling the banana inside the boot, she rushed into the holding pen and I slammed the gate shut behind her. After casting me a betrayed glance, she licked the boot.

Problem solved, I got busy in the enclosure. I dumped an extra helping of termites into the various logs, and as quickly as possible, swept the area clean. As I worked, I forgot about Lucy’s behavior and began thinking about the murder again.

Since I couldn’t seem to find any actual clues, the solution to the mystery might be found in behavior. For all their purported brainpower, people are still animals. Deny them food, exercise, or sex, and they get cranky. Threaten them and they become downright dangerous.

Had anyone been behaving as if he—or she—felt threatened? Or at the very least, more wary than usual?

Zorah, of course. But since I knew she had to be innocent, I moved onto someone else.

How about Dr. Kate? Usually the soul of openness and geniality, the vet had seemed edgy lately. As an example, whenever I had tried to ask her about the independent vet study, she gave me short shrift, and I didn’t think it was because the study was confidential.

How much did I really know about her? She and her husband, Lowell, had moved from the Kansas City area several years earlier when he’d been offered a job with a Silicon Valley dot-com. Shortly thereafter, he had been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and as his health declined, was forced to leave his job. Dr. Kate, who’d given up her own associate vet position at the Kansas City Zoo to follow him to California, found a job here, where her salary took up some of the financial slack. Selling their large home in San Jose and moving into the smaller, on-site house the zoo furnished had helped, too.

Which brought me right back to the independent vet study.

A few hours before the murder, Barry had given Grayson a copy of the preliminary report without reading it. I was certain Grayson had read it, though, and if serious flaws had been discovered in the zoo’s treatment of its animals, he would have held Dr. Kate accountable.

Her continued evasiveness troubled me. The zoo hadn’t escaped its own health dramas. No zoo does. Barely a month earlier, one of our lemurs died while undergoing a routine checkup. Granted, the ensuing necropsy revealed a cancerous lesion on its left lung, but questions had been asked in a staff meeting. Had Dr. Kate been too slow in noticing the animal’s declining health? And had Grayson demanded her resignation over it?