The Koala of Death (6 page)

“Want some pizza, Teddy?” Zorah asked, as I plopped myself in the visitor’s chair.

I shook my head. “There’s tomato sauce on your chin.”

She swiped at the spot with a paper napkin, only further smearing the red stuff. I might be wrong, but I’d swear I saw one of the monkeys waggle his tongue toward it. Maybe he wanted a taste.

“Saw you on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
,” Zorah said, ignoring him. Pizza wasn’t good for monkeys.

“Then you know my TV career is over.”
And wasn’t I relieved.

“You’re kidding, right? I just got a call from the program manager and he told me that the station’s phones have been ringing off the hook. People are asking when that cute redheaded zookeeper will be back and what animals will she bring next time because they want to set their TiVo’s to record. We took a couple dozen calls here, too. The president of the Monterey Bay Beneficent Women’s Society called and asked if you’d personally conduct the group on a guided tour of the Down Under exhibit. She hinted at a donation in return, which could be sizeable, seeing as how all those broads, ah,
ladies,
have serious money.” She looked at her watch. “She’s due here any minute to discuss a luncheon on zoo grounds, too. I told her you’d be more than willing to give a talk.”

None of this made any sense. My talk show debut had been a disaster. “Zorah, I wound up with shit all over my lap.”

“As if that ever bothered you. You’re failing to see the bright side, girlfriend. Yes, we lost Kate, and yes, it’s tragic, but weirdly enough, you’ve turned out to be a bigger hit than she was. A lot funnier, one of our callers said.” Her smile disappeared. “Speaking of, your sheriff boyfriend’s in Down Under, talking to Bill. Tell me the truth. When you hauled Kate out of the water, did anything seem funny to you?”

“Funny? As in ha-ha?”

“Bad choice of words, but you know what I mean. Did her death truly look like an accident? Or could she have been, well, killed?” She took another bite of pizza, leaving a string of cheese hanging from her bottom lip. The monkey outside the window cocked his head, studying it.

“Kate
was
killed, Zorah. She fell off the
Gutterball
, cracked her head on something, and drowned.”

“I must be having trouble making myself understood. What I’m asking is, could she have been murdered?”

The question, delivered so baldly, shocked me. “Of course not!”

“Then why’d Sheriff Rejas look so grim when he came in here?”

My heart gave a leap that had nothing to do with love. “Was Joe accompanied by a deputy?”

“Not that I could see.”

Having a sheriff for a boyfriend had taught me a few things about criminal investigation. When an arrest was imminent, the arrester never showed up alone, especially when the arrestee was a man as big as Bill. “Then he just wants to talk to him. But isn’t all this worry a bit premature? Kate’s death was accidental. I’m certain of it.”

“Hmm.”

“Tell you what. Before I start on my rounds, I’ll drop by Down Under and see what’s happening.”

“Pump the sheriff for more information, okay?”

I stood up. “I can try. Oh, Zorah? You’d better take a look in the mirror before you see president of the Monterey Bay Beneficent Women’s Society. You’ve got more pizza on you than in you.”

When I left, she was hurrying toward the ladies’ room.

***

Joe, looking handsome as ever in his sheriff’s khakis, was walking away from Bill when I braked my zebra-striped zoo cart in front of Down Under. He looked thoughtful; Bill looked smug.

Catching sight of me, Joe smiled. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Shouldn’t come as a surprise since I’m here six days a week. How’re things going?” In anticipation of the probing questions I was about to ask, I kept my voice casual.

Joe’s face closed in. “Mom’s fine, and so are the kids.”

“I meant about poor Kate.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly. “What about her?”

“Autopsy done yet?”

“This morning, as a matter of fact.”

“And?”

“Did I ever tell you that I love it when you’re interested in my job?”

Hints weren’t working, so I came right out with it. “The medical examiner didn’t find anything suspicious about Kate’s death, did he?”

“That information will be released to the media tomorrow. By the way, are we on for tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“It’s Tuesday, Teddy. Dinner date.”

“Oh. That.”

The smile returned. “Yes, that.”

“How about instead of going out, I just fry up some fresh fish at the
Merilee
, and we eat on deck? And sip wine. And, well, maybe have some dessert.”

A broader smile. “See you at seven. I’ll bring the wine.”

When he hurried away without another word, I realized I’d been punked. Joe had had no intention of sharing any details about Kate’s death. Oh, well. Two can play that manipulation game. He might have won this round but I’d turn the tables tonight.

Not so optimistic about my chances with Bill, I nonetheless stepped into the koala enclosure. He was busy cuddling Wanchu, but to my surprise he was willing to talk, just not about Kate.

“You think you’re taking one of me babies onto fookin’ telly again, you got another think coming, you silly sheila. Letting that drongo grab Abim’s leash like that, what’re you playin’ at? Me and me mates was watching telly over in the employees’ lounge, and it near sent me into a Technicolor yawn.” Translation:
Silly Teddy can’t take another Down Under animal back to the F-bombing television studio; anchorwoman AnnaLee Harris is a fool; watching the runaway wallaby fiasco made me want to vomit.

“Bill, I’m truly sorry about what happened, and I promise to be better prepared for anchor interference next time. But not to worry. The Aussie animals have had their fifteen minutes of fame, and we’ll be moving on to another continent.” And to something more manageable. Like a grizzly.

Somewhat mollified, Bill gave Wanchu a final pat and lifted the koala into the crook of her favorite tree. “Just dropped by to say yer sorry, then?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t help noticing that Sheriff Rejas was talking to you. What’d he want?”

“Not having kangaroos loose in me top paddock, I won’t be tellin’ the sheriff’s sheila anything.” Translation:
I’m not crazy enough to give any information to the sheriff’s girlfriend.

“I was just…”

“Yeh, yeh, you wasn’t really snoopin’ around. Now rack off and let me get back to work, which is something you should be doing yerself, rather than wasting yer time yabbering.”

I racked off.

Watching Zorah gobble down that pizza had reminded me it was lunchtime, so I wandered over to the Congo Café and purchased a foot-long smothered in chili, onions, and mustard. For dessert, I chose with a strawberry smoothie topped with a tablespoon of wheat germ; we keepers have to watch our health. I was about to sit down at one of the umbrella tables when I was hailed by rhino keeper Buster Daltry, who was carrying a cardboard lunch tray heaped with burgers and fries. Trailing him were Robin Chase, big cats; Jack Spence, bears; Myra Sebrowski, great apes; Manny Salinas, birds; and Lex Yarnell, a spectacularly hunky park ranger most of the female zookeepers had shown interest in at one time or another.

“Look, it’s the big TV star!” Lex quipped. “Descend from your throne, oh magnificent one, and join your loyal subjects in the employees’ lounge.”

Happy not to be eating alone, I grabbed my things and followed the group along the Africa Trail. Although Tuesday wasn’t the zoo’s busiest day, children from several Monterey day camps were crowding around the mountain gorilla’s habitat, while a group of teens whose tee-shirts identified them as summer-schoolers from San Jose pretended to be bored. Balozi, the male silverback, who normally kept to the rear of the exhibit, had approached the Plexiglas barrier. He was aping them.

Hoping that Balozi would mind his manners—you can never tell what an ape will do when faced with tattooed and nose-ringed teens—we continued on.

The employees’ lounge was located at the northeast corner of the zoo, but despite its lofty title, the building was little more than a shack. Outside, its plain lines were softened by a flowering castor bean bush and several banana trees, while inside, the decor was what you might call Zoo Modern: comfortable but mismatched furniture, walls brightened by posters of endangered animals. Scattered along the tables were years-old issues of
National Geographic, Cat Fancy, Audubon, Wildlife Conservation
, and
The South African Journal of Wildlife Research
. In the corner stood a battered old television set which, on occasion, actually worked.

Nothing being hungrier than a hungry zookeeper, we settled at the scuffed dining table and started shoving food into our mouths. For a while, all you could hear was the sound of munching, but as soon as Robin finished her soy burger, she voiced her disapproval of the way I had handled the runaway wallaby situation.

“That leash was awful, Teddy. You’re lucky he didn’t break his neck.”

“The leash wasn’t my idea, Robin. Besides, it was stretchable.”

Beautiful Myra joined in. Since men were present, and she liked men, she was careful not to sound waspish. “Couldn’t you have done something about that rhinestone collar? The poor little thing.”

“Same answer.”

Seeing the men nodding in agreement, she heightened her criticism. “Well, you need to know that when Zorah told me she was picking you to replace Kate, I voiced my concerns about your ability.”

“Myra, for God’s sa…” Buster began, but she cut him off.

“I warned Zorah about Kate, too, but she paid no attention.”

At this, Lex spoke up, his bright blue eyes flashing. “What Kate did in her own time is none of your business, Myra.”

Shocked—there had been rumors that Myra had a crush him—she fell silent.

But her comment made me curious. What did she “warn” Zorah about? Besides being a good zookeeper, Kate had always performed well on her
Good Morning, San Sebastian
segments. And from all accounts, she had done well at her other PR duties, too.

Did Myra know something I didn’t?

Chancing the danger of irritating her further, I said, “Kate carried a fairly heavy workload. Did you think she was letting some of her tasks slide?”

Myra, having learned her lesson, remained silent, but Robin said, “Kate had plenty of time left over to cause trouble with that damned blog of hers.”

The comment puzzled me. Besides writing
ZooNews
, the zoo’s newsletter, Kate had also written
Koala Kate’s Outback Telegraph
, the zoo’s online blog, or “diary,” where her descriptions of a zookeeper’s typical day ranged from the hilarious to the downright terrifying. When I’d checked her site’s stat counter once, I wasn’t surprised to see that the blog’s regular readers numbered in the tens of thousands nationwide. Apparently most people, especially wildlife-starved urban types, enjoyed reading about animals.

“Oh, c’mon, Robin,” I said.
“The
Outback Telegraph
is fun. How could it possibly cause trouble for anyone?”

Everyone stared at me in amazement. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“That’s not the blog Robin was talking about, Teddy,” Buster said gently. “She meant the other one.”

“There was another blog?”

Under his voice, Lex mumbled something about what people didn’t know couldn’t hurt them, then changed the subject. “So, you zookeeper people, what new animals are coming in?”

“We’re getting a new female Hamadryas,” Myra offered. For Lex, she explained, “That’s a baboon. From North Africa.”

“And a breeding pair of golden eagles,” said Manny Salinas, who up until now had sat quietly. “Those’ll be fun. They’re going into the area where the Watusi cattle used to be before we built their larger enclosure.”

“Don’t forget the new snow leopard,” Robin said, happy to turn the attention to her beloved big cats. “I’ve seen pictures, and he’s a beauty.”

I wanted to ask again about that other blog Kate reputedly wrote, but by then, the others had resumed their chatter, so I filed the question away for later.

The rest of the day proved uneventful. Lucy and Baby Boy Anteater were dozing when I dropped by to replenish their termite supply, and the squirrel monkeys were calmer than usual. Between tasks, I thought about Kate. Dying alone at night, in a place where she hadn’t had time enough to make true friends. That was the problem with a mobile society. When you disappeared, hardly anyone noticed. I would have spent more time getting to know Kate, but we had worked competing schedules. Still, I wondered who her people were and sympathized for the pain they must have felt when receiving the news about her death.

I decided to ask Zorah about Kate’s family when clocking out for the day. Although we’d been only nodding acquaintances, I wanted to send them a condolence card and flowers. White roses, for a woman who had died too young. But at six o’clock, when I returned to the Administration Building to clock out, Zorah was holed up in a meeting with the Monterey Bay Women’s Beneficent Society. I left for home, intending to speak to her the next day.

***

As harbors go, Gunn Landing’s is considered small, but it’s actually the largest commercial fishing harbor in the Monterey Bay area. A natural three-quarter moon shape, the harbor is sheltered at the flat end by a mile-long sandbar where seabirds flourish and harbor seals doze. Liveaboarders like myself make up about one-fifth of the harbor population. Most of us live here not only because we love seaside living, but also because even if we wanted to live inland, we couldn’t afford the rent. Other than the refurbished garbage scows and sailboats that made up the liveaboard fleet, most of the other boats were commercial trawlers and pleasure craft, the sole exception being the large research vessel that belonged to the Gunn Landing Marine Institute.

I love the social mix that harbor life offers. Marine biologists, fishermen, whale watch skippers, Sunday sailors, bikers-turned-seadogs, scrimping liveaboarders, and a few folks like me—refugees from well meaning but manipulative mothers. Notwithstanding our varied population, life at the harbor tends to be peaceful. However, we aren’t without the standard problems that plague the rest of the human race.