Big Game (29 page)

Unfortunately, Marge was much bigger and stronger than I was. She quickly overpowered me, slamming me chest-first onto a table and wrenching my arms behind my back.

She was so busy cuffing me, she didn't notice that Pancake had emerged from the kitchen.

The orangutan was watching us from behind the counter. He knew me, but he didn't know Marge—and he didn't like what Marge was doing to me.

Marge clicked the handcuffs around my other wrist.

“Marge,” I said. “You better let me go right now.”

“Or what?” she said snidely.

“Or you're going to be attacked by an orangutan.”

Rather than back off, Marge got even rougher with me. She flipped me onto my back and thumped a meaty finger into my chest. “I told you to shut your trap, Teddy. So help me, if you say one more word, I'll smack your fibbing mouth right off your face.” With that, she raised a hand, as though she was thinking of striking me anyhow.

Pancake sprang over the counter, landing on the floor beside us, and grabbed Marge's arm.

Marge reared back in surprise. From the blank, uncomprehending look on her face, I could tell she didn't understand what was going on. Instead of realizing that the very orangutan whom I'd explained had caused all the trouble was right there at the scene of the crime, she seemed to be under the impression that it had appeared out of nowhere and interfered with my arrest. Anyone who knew anything about orangutans—or any animals at all—would have known not to antagonize it. Marge did exactly the opposite.

“Let me go, you stupid monkey!” she shouted. “Or I'll arrest you for assaulting an officer.”

Pancake's lips curled back in a snarl, revealing a set of sharp teeth that put Bababoonie's to shame.

The color drained from Marge's face so quickly, it looked as though she'd been bleached.
Now
it occurred to her that Pancake might be dangerous.

Marge got lucky. If Pancake had wanted to, he probably could have torn Marge's arms out of their sockets. Or crushed the bones of her wrist with one squeeze. Instead, he simply picked up a banana cream pie and smashed it right into Marge's face.

Given that he was an orangutan, though, he did it quite hard. Marge sailed backward, smashing into a cake display, which promptly collapsed on her. A dozen cakes tumbled out, each splatting all over her. A triple-decker chocolate cake plopped right onto her head.

Marge screamed and staggered back to her feet, blinded by icing, spluttering banana cream. I spotted the key to the handcuffs dangling from her belt.

“Pancake,” I said. “Get the keys.”

As I'd guessed, an orangutan who spent so much time trying to get out of his cage knew exactly what keys were. Pancake grinned and pounced.

“Keep your mitts off me!” Marge yelled. She tried to run but slipped in a slick of icing and went down again, this time face-planting into a doughnut rack. Dozens of the pastries exploded on impact, splattering the walls with raspberry jam and Bavarian cream. Pancake hooted happily, as though he found the entire thing hilarious. While Marge writhed on the floor, the orangutan deftly plucked the key off her belt.

I turned around, showing the cuffs on my wrists to Pancake. “Now unlock these!”

Pancake looked at the handcuffs curiously, then the key. Then he turned his attention to the doughnuts and started cramming them in his mouth.

It had been expecting a bit too much for him to unlock me. He was only an orangutan, after all. “Okay, just give me the key!” I said, thrusting my hands toward him with the palms open.

Pancake happily plunked the key into my hands, then squirted the raspberry filling from a doughnut down his throat.

With my hands behind my back, I couldn't unlock my cuffs—or phone anyone—so I simply ran from the bakery, looking for help.

Marge lurched into my path in a desperate last-ditch attempt to stop me. She had so much icing in her face, she couldn't even see me. Her hair was shellacked with chocolate. Two frosted doughnuts were stuck where her eyes normally would have been, giving the impression that she was wearing oversized glasses. “Stop!” she ordered. “You're under arrest!”

Pancake barreled into her, knocking her down once more. This time, Marge landed on her rear in a pile of cherry pies, which made a sickening squelch beneath her bottom. Marge roared in disgust and frustration.

I raced into the park.

Pancake stuffed a few more pastries into his mouth and followed me. He had a chocolate éclair dangling from his lips like a cigar.

Marge howled after me. “This isn't over between us, Teddy! I'll get you one of these days!”

Bizarrely, this was the second time I'd run through FunJungle with my hands cuffed behind my back. The first time had happened while investigating the disappearance of Kazoo the Koala. So I already knew that it wasn't easy. As I raced through the park, I looked around for someone who could uncuff me.

A low rumble echoed, so deep I could feel it in my bones.

I froze, recognizing the sound. It was the purr of a happy elephant. Though most people think that elephants usually vocalize by trumpeting, they actually use lower tones much more often—including ultrasound, which is so low that humans can't even hear it. These tones can carry great distances, allowing elephants miles apart to communicate with one another. Their happy purring sounded a lot like a cat's—if the cat weighed four tons.

I hopped onto a nearby bench, looking for the elephants. Pancake sat next to me and noisily slurped the cream filling out of his éclair.

I spotted the backs of the elephants above some landscaping near Shark Odyssey. Apparently, Pete Thwacker had been successful in getting them to resume their morning walks. They were heading toward us, just beginning their loop of the park.

I ran after them and Pancake joined in the chase. “Bonnie!” I yelled, figuring the head keeper would be out with them. “Help!”

“Teddy?” I heard her respond.

I cut around behind the landscaping to find Bonnie at the front of the herd. I'm not sure which startled her more, the fact that I was handcuffed or that I was accompanied by a chocolate-smeared orangutan.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

I tried to explain as quickly as possible. “Pancake escaped and broke into the bakery, but Marge thought I did it and tried to arrest me. We escaped and I know who shot at the rhino, so I need my hands free.”

Bonnie didn't question any of this. At FunJungle, bizarre events were starting to become commonplace. “Do you have the key?”

“In my hand.”

Bonnie quickly took it from me and unlocked one of the cuffs, freeing my arms. Time was so precious, I couldn't even wait for her to unlock the other. I simply took the key back from her and started running again. “Thanks!” I cried.

“Need me to do anything else?” Bonnie yelled after me.

“Call Chief Hoenekker!” I shouted back. “Tell him to meet me at Athmani's office!”

Pancake sprang off the bench and bounded along beside me, enjoying our romp through the park.

I fished my phone out of my pocket, speed-dialed my father, and told him to call Mom and meet me at Athmani's office as well. He had lots of questions, but there wasn't time to answer them and I needed to save my breath. “It's urgent,” I told him. “Just meet me there.”

“Will do,” Dad said.

I hauled through the rest of the park as fast as I could. I tried to unlock the remaining handcuff en route, but I couldn't do it while running, so I crammed the key in my pocket instead. The administration building was on the opposite side of FunJungle from where I'd started, so it was a long run. I was nearly exhausted by the time I got there. Pancake seemed to be, too, although maybe he was nauseated from exercising so much on a stomach full of pastries.

“Teddy!” Mom yelled. She was at the door of the administration building, waiting for me. “You found Pancake, too?”

“Yeah,” I panted. “He was in the bakery.”

“Pancake,” Mom chided. “You've been a bad boy.”

Pancake grinned in response, revealing plenty of chocolate frosting jammed in the gaps between his teeth. He followed us right into the main lobby of the administration building.

The guard posted at the desk snapped to his feet in astonishment. “You can't bring a monkey in here!”

“It's an
ape
,” Mom corrected. “And he escaped his exhibit. Call Monkey Mountain and have a keeper come over to get him right away. And keep a close eye on him in the meantime. J.J. McCracken doesn't want him getting away again.”

While we passed through the metal detector, Pancake vaulted over the security desk and plopped into the guard's chair. There was a bowl of candy on the desk and, despite the fact that he'd recently eaten several pounds of cake, he went to work on this as well.

“Hey!” the guard snapped. “That's for humans!”

Before he could protest that we were leaving him with an orangutan, we ducked into the elevator. Normally, we would have run up the stairs, but Mom couldn't handle them so well on her crutches.

“Where's Dad?” I asked.

“Already here,” Mom said. “And Hoenekker is too.”

“Great.” We emerged onto the third floor and raced down to Athmani's office. His door was open. As Mom had said, Dad and Chief Hoenekker were waiting, along with Athmani.

Dad gave me a hug as I arrived. Hoenekker gave me a scowl. “This better be good,” he said. “We've been here all night. I was about to go home and finally get some sleep.”

“You know who tried to shoot the rhinos?” Athmani asked curiously.

“Yes,” I said. “
You
did.”

All the adults reacted with astonishment, as though I'd done something terribly offensive, like made a rude noise in church. Even Athmani. “Me?! Is this a joke?” He did such a good job of acting confused that for a moment I actually doubted myself.

But then I looked down at the floor of his office. As I'd remembered, the carpet was still covered with tiny shavings from his sculptures. Little flakes and curls. The moment I saw them, I knew I was right.

“He wasn't trying to kill the rhinos,” I explained to the others. “He was only trying to make us
think
someone was trying to kill them so that we'd cut the horns off.”

Athmani laughed as though this was ridiculous. “Oh, goodness me, Teddy. I thought you were going to be serious. We all know the hunter was a woman. . . .”

“No,” I said. “The hunter was
you
. You wore a wig to throw us off your trail. Along with doing a whole lot of other things.”

Athmani started to protest again, but Hoenekker held up a hand, silencing him. “Let the kid talk.”

“Oh, come now!” Athmani cried. “You can't possibly believe this nonsense!”

“I'm at least going to listen to it,” Hoenekker told him. “McCracken's forcing me to work with Teddy, so let's hear what he has to say. If it's crazy, you've got nothing to worry about, right?”

“I suppose.” Athmani rolled his eyes in annoyance and sullenly leaned against his desk.

Hoenekker turned back to me. “For your sake, this better not be a big waste of our time.”

“It won't be,” I said, and then launched into my explanation. “There were a bunch of things that kept bothering me about the hunter's behavior through all this. Why did the hunter not use a silencer the first time? Why did the hunter climb over the back fence so close to the camera? Why did the hunter go after a rhino inside a building instead of a rhino out in the open? No real hunter would do things like that. A real hunter would try to make sure we didn't know he was here. But what if the hunter
wanted
us to think he was going after the rhino? Then all those things made sense. The morning of the elephant stampede, the reason we heard a rifle without a silencer was because Athmani wanted us to hear it.”

“How could I have fired the rifle?” Athmani asked. “I was with you and the elephants when it went off!”

Hoenekker spun toward me, annoyed that I'd overlooked this. Even Mom and Dad looked concerned by the flaw in my logic.

“He triggered it remotely,” I told them. “So that he'd have an alibi. Dad, the other day you said you could set up a remote system to do almost anything. Could you make one fire a rifle?”

“I suppose,” Dad said thoughtfully. “Setting up a wireless control system is quite easy. You could even control it with a smartphone. But rigging a machine to depress the trigger on a rifle would be a little more difficult.”

“It could be done, though,” Hoenekker said. “I've seen setups before. They use hydraulics to pull the trigger.”

“Well, Athmani did something like that,” I said. “He set the rifle up close to FunJungle—probably in the woods—then made it go off when he was with all of us to give himself the alibi. And to frighten us all into thinking there was a
real
hunter around.”

“But the bullet went through the window of the rhino house!” Athmani exclaimed. “Are you honestly saying that I set up a rifle to make that difficult a shot remotely?”

“No,” I replied. “You'd already taken the shot at Rhonda much earlier. Only, you used a silencer then so no one would hear. You missed her on purpose, but made sure there was plenty of evidence of an attack. Then, at Rhonda's house later, you pointed out the bullet in the wall to us—and we all simply
assumed
it had been fired from the gun we'd heard. That's why you shot at Rhonda, rather than a rhino that was outside. Because a bullet in the wall would be easy to see and would make it obvious that someone was specifically going after the rhinos.

“But that didn't convince everyone to cut the horns off yet. So you tried again. This time you climbed over the back fence. And even though there were plenty of places where there were no cameras, you came over right by one to make sure it filmed you. To throw us off the scent, though, you wore a wig to make it look like a woman was the hunter.”