The Family Tree (39 page)

D
ora took the day off, riding with Abby as he led the procession of three vans to Randall Pharmaceuticals. This time the vans had been rented by Harry Dionne, who had also provided the other two drivers, local Korèsans who waited outside while Abby and Dora went into the lab. The new lab director, whom Abby had talked to earlier by phone, was waiting for them, a person they had already heard of: Dr. Marsh McGovern, white-faced and petulant, with a shiny little mustache and an air of affected self-importance.

“McCord, McCord? Don’t I know that name?”

“You had a pig of mine. A case of mistaken identity.”

“Oh. Right. The one with the microphone. Well, I did think at the time it was too good to be true. You see, I have this theory about the extraterrestrial inception of evolution on earth….”

“I’d love to hear about it, but not today. We need to get the animals loaded.”

“I was
quite
certain the animals belonged to the lab,” he said in a grating whine. “You’re saying none of them do?”

“None at all,” said Abby pleasantly. “Dr. Winston had some moral and ethical problems with animal experimentation. The only way he could justify it to himself was if he provided good homes for his subjects when he had learned what he set out to learn.”

“When I was promoted to head of lab, they did not inform me, and I’m far from learning everything
I
want to know.”

“Then you’ll have to obtain subjects of your own,” Abby replied, still pleasantly.

“I really think it will be necessary to appeal this. Get a court order or something….”

Dora put on her gravely concerned face. “Mrs. Winston would be very distressed. She might bring suit against the lab. At that juncture, the lab might feel you had made a very expensive choice. You must be very secure in your position here.”

“Oh,” he fretted. “Oh, well. Perhaps I can arrange to keep the beavers, at least. And the parrots. I do want to do some more work with the parrots—”

Dora nodded. “And very brave. Not many people would take that kind of risk with their reputations, particularly not people new to their jobs.”

“All the animals belong to Mrs. Winston?”

“Each and every mouse—”

“We don’t have mice—”

“Each and every beaver. Each and every parrot. How many?”

“Six of each.”

“What else do you have?”

“There are five otters, not that there was any earthly reason for Winston to work with otters. Some of the things that man did. Quite insane. We have monkeys, of course. Ten of those, not counting the babies.”

“Babies?”

“Five babies. Oh, well, I don’t suppose you brought cages.”

“We did, yes,” said Abby. “There are three vans downstairs. We brought enough cages for all the animals.”

“Where are they going?”

“Right now into a large truck that will transport them elsewhere.” This was specious, but everyone had agreed that the fewer people who knew where the animals were, the better. Abby smiled, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder and urging him through the door into the large, bare room where Winston had worked. All surfaces were hard and neutrally colored; even the light falling through the tall windows seemed denatured, and the sky seen through the tinted glass had no color at all. The cages were ranged along one wall, clean, but too small, each holding one or more huddled, depressed-looking creatures who glanced up briefly, then turned away, intent on their own misery. Dora took this in and said in a bright, imperative tone:

“Dr. McGovern, will you go down with Mr. McCord, please, and see that the vans are conveniently located, that the cages are brought up, and that dollies are provided.” She nodded significantly at Abby, and he took the man by the arm, leading him away.

She went to the cage nearest. “My name is Dora,” she said softly. “My friend is Abby, and there are some other friends with us. Daddy Eddy’s wife has sent us. I’m sorry you’ve been here so long, but we’re taking you to safety. Please, help us by coming as quietly as you can.”

She went down the line, repeating this message.

A small gray parrot squawked, “Pretty Polly? Grawk. Rosa’s in the pen, grawk. Sheba’s in the pen.”

“You can knock off the grawks,” said Dora in her most patient voice. “Rosa was in the pen, but she’s been rescued. All the ones outside have been rescued. Rosa is with us, and Sheba, and six pigs and four dogs and
the goats. I understand there are others, in the mountains and with Daddy Eddy’s friends.”

The beavers were in the bottom cages. One of them craned forward, looking up at her. “Thith ith for real?”

“As real as I can make it, friend.”

“I am tho thick of wire…” said someone else.

Muttered conversation ran down the lines of cages, growing gradually louder, culminating in the unmistakable merriment of onchiki speech.

“Hush,” Dora commanded. “They’re coming back.”

There was silence. Dora moved out to the middle of the room, where she was ostentatiously examining her nails when the double doors crashed open to the thrust of a long, low, cage-laden, powered truck driven by her old friend Joe.

“Hey, Sergeant Henry,” he said, grinning at her. “How come you’re here?”

“Mrs. Winston asked me to come along,” she said. “I met her when we were investigating…you know.”

“Hey, what’s this I heard? Some nutcase named Gerber? Lived with his ma? Went crazy, killed a whole pile of Ph.D.s?”

Dora looked at him closely. He was without guile and obviously didn’t know anything about her having been married to the nutcase.

She murmured, “That’s what I hear, too.”

“So, this guy McCord’s going to take the animals, huh? McGovern’s having a fit. Tell you the truth, I’ll miss them, but they’ll be better off. Dr. Winston, he never left them in these little cages this long.”

“Dr. McGovern will, when he gets others.”

Joe looked over his shoulder, hunching toward her in conspiratorial pose. “Tell the truth, Sergeant, he’s no good. If that guy ever had an idea, he’d faint from the shock.” He took a cage and positioned it next to a door where a beaver waited, suspiciously eager to depart.

“How come Mr. McCord’s taking them?” Joe asked.

“Well, Dr. Winston’s wife didn’t want his animals misused or hurt.”

“Who would?” he remarked, heaving a thirty-pound beaver onto the truck. Dora positioned another cage. Even Joe looked slightly surprised at how amenable the animals were. They seemed almost to leap into the cages. When the truck was loaded, Joe drove it out, saying he’d be back. It took three trips, the last two assisted by Abby, who returned sans McGovern.

“He’s in somebody’s office having a fit,” Abby murmured. “I didn’t get the feeling anyone was paying much attention.”

“This is the guy who believes in UFOs,” said Dora. “We should be more sympathetic.”

“Why? All that superstition—”

“In the same category as talking animals and time travel and that stuff, right?”

His lips twisted, acknowledging the jab. “That was the last load.”

“Did they all fit in the vans?”

“So far we’ve got them all into two vans. We got some of them to share cages. If it wouldn’t have attracted too much attention, we’d have done without the cages entirely. Anyhow, the two vans can go directly to the distribution point they set up without having to sort the critters out.”

“That’s probably safer,” agreed Dora. She was rather sorry about it, actually. She had wanted to talk to the beavers. She fidgeted. “Did the otters manage to keep quiet?”

“One boss beaver had to tell them to shut up.”

“Before the van leaves, Abby, ask the creatures again if there are any other speaking critters out in the pens. I keep having this horrible feeling we’ve missed somebody.”

“Will do.” He departed, leaving Dora with one lone parrot, the small gray one who had mentioned Rosa.

“I can ride on your shoulder,” offered the parrot. “I don’t need a cage.”

Dora opened the cage door and offered an arm, which the parrot walked sideways along, ending on the shoul
der. “I won’t poop on you,” it said. “Daddy Eddy taught us that isn’t polite.”

“Thank you,” murmured Dora. “Well, farewell to the old homestead, and all that.”

“I could do a verse of ‘Home Sweet Home,’” the parrot offered. “My name’s Francis, by the way.”

“You all have people names,” she commented as they went out the door and down the corridor.

“Daddy Eddy thought it was smarter. It’s less suspicious to be overheard talking to someone named Francis than to someone named Spot or Fluffy. Most of us named ourselves. I rather like Francis. Of course, I found out later it could be either male or female.”

“Hush,” breathed Dora, alert to several curious faces looking their way.

“Cracker,” said Francis loudly. “Polly wants a cracker, awk.”

The persons turned away, no longer interested.

“Put a cork in it,” squawked Francis, feelingly. “Polly put a cork in it.”

“Probably best,” murmured Dora, as several someones looked up from their desks, smiled and went back to business. “Definitely best.”

When they came out of the building, the second van was already halfway to the gate.

“You’ve missed your ride,” Dora said. “You’ll have to come with me.” They got into the third van, where Francis moved onto the back of the seat and teetered there, peering alternately through the windshield and side windows at Abby, who was signing some kind of paperwork on the dock. He lifted a hand in farewell and trotted over to the van.

“Abby, this is Francis,” said Dora, as Abby slid behind the wheel. “Did we get them all?”

Abby nodded, starting the van and driving slowly away from the dock. “According to the monkeys, yes. The only reason they’d been brought to the lab at all was to do some genetic tests on the babies.”

“I was so afraid we’d miss somebody.” She heaved
a deep sigh as they approached the gate, where a large panel truck was stopped, the driver arguing with the gate guard. Abby didn’t turn his head, but Dora, glancing sideways, recognized the driver.

“That’s Mr. Calclough,” she breathed. “Abby. That’s one of the boarders!”

“You want me to stop?”

“Not where he’ll see us, no. Park somewhere we can see the truck. We’ll wait until he leaves the gate.”

“Who is Mr. Calclough?” asked Francis.

“Well, he may be the current Woput,” said Dora. “I can’t imagine why else he’d be here!”

“Woput?”

“The bad guy. The one who’s trying to do you in.”

“Somebody’s trying to do us in? You mean, as in dead?”

“Francis, it’s a long story, one I’ll let Blanche tell you when we get home. Right now I need to concentrate, so be very quiet, will you?”

They parked around the nearest corner, the truck still in sight. After some time, it backed up to make the turn, then went off down the street. Dora got out and walked back to the gate.

“The guy who was just here,” she said, showing her badge. “The one in the panel truck. What did he want?”

“Said he was here to pick up some animals. He had a letter from Mrs. Winston, but I told him it was a mistake, Mrs. Winston’s animals were already gone.”

Dora nodded thanks and jogged back the way she had come. “Winston’s place,” she said to Abby. “Quick as we can. When was Mrs. Winston leaving town?”

“Yesterday, wasn’t it?”

“I thought that’s what she said. We need to check.”

“What’s going on?”

“The guy had a letter purportedly from Mrs. Winston,” Dora answered. “I’m afraid he may have gotten it by…violence, maybe. She could be hurt.”

“Damn, this gets worse and worse,” murmured Abby. “She could be dead.”

Mrs. Winston, according to the housekeeper, was neither hurt nor dead, but had departed in a taxi the previous afternoon, on her way to the airport. The housekeeper had seen her go, had locked up the house and departed, returning this morning to pick up some dry cleaning. She had found the french doors onto the back terrace broken open, the desk in disorder, and Mrs. Winston’s stationery thrown around.

“I just got here a few minutes ago,” the housekeeper cried. “I didn’t even see that someone had broken in until just before you came.”

Dora asked her to call the police and report the incident, then returned to the car where Francis still teetered, singing softly to himself. “Mid pleasures and palaces…”

He interrupted his song as Abby got behind the wheel once more, “Now where?”

“Home,” Dora said. “My home. The others went other places, because, unfortunately, the bad guy knows where I live.”

“Into the jaws of death flew the six hundred,” caroled Francis. “Nice of you to include me.”

“You’ll be company for Blanche.”

“Blanche is?”

“A cockatoo.”

“Not exactly my class,” said Francis. “Cockatoos are too, too, don’t you know. They consider us common.”

Abby interrupted. “Where did you all learn so much language? You have better vocabularies than nine-tenths of my college students!”

“Books on tape, mostly,” said Francis. “British and Canadian films. Audio-visual courses. Daddy Eddy was determined we should have the best, and when we were at the cabin, we had lots of time to play Scrabble.”

“Do you know where the others are, the ones he gave away?” Dora asked.

“Placed,” said Francis stiffly, with a definite sniff. “He didn’t
give
us away, he placed us. Yes, I do know. Several of us know. It’s our job to know, so when we
need to, we can get in touch with one another. We are, so to speak, psittacimemoranda.”

“Can you remember an additional phone number?” Dora asked, repeating it twice.

“Can I remember my own name?” the parrot remarked, rather snippily, repeating the number back to her “What’s this number for?”

“Sheba and Dzilula are still with us, but the others who were in the pens outside have been placed among the local Korèsans. Rosa and her cubs. The pigs. The dogs. The goats. I’m sorry, I never learned their names; we were in too much of a hurry. That phone number can be used to get in touch with one of the Korèsans, who will get in touch with others. The code word is
Niagara Falls McCord
.”