Did Not Survive (14 page)

Her professional competence was never in question…what the hell did that mean? What
was
in question?

Chapter Fifteen

The deadline loomed, my future was at stake, and I had no idea what to do. I took a poll.

Marcie said over the phone, “I don't think you should. You have enough on your plate with a new baby. A new job is too much.”

Linda looked up from her crossword puzzle and said, “Bring it on! Mr. Crandall can tie a four-foot rope to our left wrists like they did in old California. He hands us each a hoof knife, and we fight to the death. The winner is Queen of Bears and Felines.”

Dr. Reynolds paused in her weekly inspection of the aviary. “I don't see why not. Felines has not had a senior keeper to represent it at meetings with Kevin…with the foreman. Neither has Bears. You have feline experience, and you'll be able to work that area as soon as the baby's born.”

Hap put down a crate of broccoli. “Whoa! Are you
serious
?
You
in management meetings? Not that you wouldn't be good at the job, I mean, you'd be great…”

Denny waited at the time clock to tell me this: “I figured out why you're falling apart. It's your Saturn return. Saturn is back in the same position it was when you were born. You're getting reborn, including the painful part. Everything changes, everything falls apart. So you'll be a new person. Or maybe you already are, I'm not sure where you are in the process. You have to decide your new relationship with power: totally corrupting or leveraging your positive energy.”

I didn't ask Calvin. What if he said it wasn't a good idea? That I wasn't ready to be a senior keeper? That would sting.

I didn't ask Jackie, because she would spin it into some deep psychological disaster I was courting, either way, and then tell everyone.

I had no idea how strong a candidate I was, but the odds of success were at least a little better if I actually applied. Soon. If Mr. Crandall didn't choose an applicant from the current staff, the position would be advertised nationally and hundreds of people would apply.

I could always turn the job down if it was offered. I couldn't decide whether that would be smart or hopelessly lame. Maybe it would get me black-listed, forever rejected as a senior keeper. Better to decide up front whether I wanted the job or not.

Easy to say.

When I left work on Wednesday, I did not drive straight home to feed my dogs. I took a different freeway exit and cruised across the Columbia River to Oregon using the broad, wide-open Sam Jackson Bridge instead of the old Interstate Bridge with its thicket of green struts overhead. After winding around through a light industrial area—you-pull-it junk yard, a body shop, Foster Feed & Seed—I parked in front of Oakley Signs and Banners and hauled myself out of the Honda.

The black Dodge Ram parked in the next space spoke truth: my father was inside. He stood at a thick plank propped up on a workbench. Five numbers were carved into the surface, and he was carefully filling them in with gold leaf. The contrast between the gold and the rough wood looked sharp. “Hey,” he said, “come to see how honest people earn their living?”

“No, that's two doors down. I came to see sign painters slacking.”

The shop was barn-like with a high ceiling, concrete floor, and a row of windows along the back. While he finished laying the leaf, I examined a round cracked mirror on a chair. “Wolcutt's Barber Shop Shaves Haircuts Beard Trims” ran in blocky old letters along the top and bottom. Dad said, “Aaron found that at a flea market. We're trying to date it, maybe 1920.”

I drifted around the shop, ran a finger along the rim of the big sink stained with years of washing out brushes and rollers, admired the tidy tool rack, the screwdrivers and hammers lined up neatly. A huge Christmas cactus hanging under the skylight looked even more limp than usual, so I poured a mug of water into it. The water ran out immediately, so I took it down and set it in a bucket to soak properly.

I sat in a tall swivel chair and twirled while he dabbed another scrap of leaf into the top curl of a six. The shop was soothing.

“You coming for dinner?”

I sighed. “No. I have to feed the dogs. Need some input.”

“Input. Is that the same as advice?” He put the little booklet of leftover gold leaf into a drawer in the workbench.

“Could be. There's a senior keeper position over Felines and Bears that's come up. Take a step up the food chain or stay a grazer? More money, more meetings, supervising other keepers.”

“You want to supervise other people?”

I thought about that. “Not much. It's mostly the money that appeals.”

“I thought you were doing okay financially.” He cleaned a brush at the sink.

“Surviving.”

“We could help.”

“You could save for retirement.”

“It's a three-bedroom house. Could rent a room.” He spun the brush dry and stroked it smooth. Hung it up on a nail with similar brushes.

True. A paying housemate. Would that be the same amount of stress as a bigger job? I hopped down and wandered to the back windows and looked out at cabin cruisers and drift boats on trailers waiting for the boat repair shop next door. “I'm going to need flexibility with the kid. Might be harder to get if I'm a senior keeper. I hear babies get sick a lot.”

“Yup.” My father took a rag, dampened it under the faucet, and wiped the top of the workbench.

“I'd like to show Mom that I'm on a career path.” The Christmas cactus had soaked enough. I set it in the sink to drain.

He took a push broom and swept the floor where he'd been working. Bits of gold leaf took flight and floated at knee height, glinting in late afternoon sunlight from the windows.

I held the dust pan. “No, taking care of the baby is what matters. I'm not going to torque my life to impress anyone. But I'd love to get back to Felines, and it might be fun to help design new exhibits.”

He put the brush away.

I emptied the dust pan into the garbage can and hung it up.

He re-hung the plant and put little paint cans away, organizing them by a system that wasn't clear to me on the metal shelves that ran along one wall.

“Linda's going to apply. I've got more experience. I think I'd ace her out, and this opportunity won't come around again for a long time.”

He stepped out of his white coveralls, splotched and dribbled with many colors, and hung them up on their hook.

“But I'd be happy to see her get the job, and I like Birds better than I thought I would.”

He washed his hands using paint-removing goo, with special attention to his fingernails.

“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate the help.” I leaned close to give him a peck on the cheek. Fresh paint will always smell like security to me.

“So which is it?”

I smiled. “Give Mom a hug for me. Bye now.”

Chapter Sixteen

The Vulture's Roost featured four dozen different beers, twelve of them on draft; three kinds of bad wine; and raspberry lemonade. I stirred ice cubes with a straw and wondered whether berries or chemicals contributed the intense pinkness. The vivid cheese on the nachos didn't look any safer, but I was too hungry to pass them up while I waited for a burger.

Hap had whooped at me as I clocked out after a blessedly uneventful day. “Cowboy up, Oakley! We're going to the Buzzard for team building. We've been bummed out too long. Time for
Brew Therapy
.” He had rounded up Arnie, Kayla, Linda, and Denny. Ian, looking confused and reluctant, failed to escape. It was Wednesday and tomorrow was my day off. Why not attempt a little fun?

Vulture's Roost, AKA The Buzzard, wasn't far, and we swept into their little parking lot like The Invasion of The Smelly People. We sat in a half circle at a corner booth, a scarred plank table in front of us, pressing gently against my belly. I was between Linda and Ian. The tavern wasn't crowded and the music was an inoffensive mix of Hank Williams and Jimmie Dale Gilmore. Some of us were still in the pants-and-shirt style of uniform. Those who wore coveralls were in the clothes we'd had on underneath. Kayla wore a low cut top in a crinkly silver fabric, silver disks dangling from her ears. The woman had more style in her little finger than I had in my entire bulging body.

I was giving it an hour, then home. The dogs had excellent internal clocks and well-defined expectations, expectations I had not been meeting lately.

Hap launched into stories from his biker days. Kayla leaned forward to listen, and I watched Hap enjoy the cleavage and Kayla enjoy his interest. Arnie pitched in with rodeo anecdotes he believed were humorous. Denny argued with the blond bartender about not having a vegan selection on the menu, which was foolish not only because he wasn't a vegan, but also because she was a big-boned gal who could probably bench-press twice his weight. Ian, of course, was silent. He sipped a Coors in this shrine to microbrews and looked trapped. He also kept his eyes on Kayla, who was laughing and jabbing Hap in the ribs.

Denny gave up trying to convert the bartender and swung his attention back to the table. “We're on the cusp of a new era. Who's going to be the silverback?” he asked.

Arnie stumbled to a halt in the middle of a story about a rodeo goat who balanced on a medicine ball. “Huh?” he said.

Hap and Ian looked baffled. Kayla cocked her head.

I made the catch. “Jackie says the interviewing's done. The foreman position is combined with curator again. She's waiting for Mr. Crandall to pull a name out of the hat. We should know soon.”

Heads nodded in comprehension.

“Did any of the senior keepers apply?” Linda asked.

I shrugged. Sam had asked me to keep quiet. “We've got more changes coming up, with that new senior keeper position. Anybody know when the winner will be announced?”

Nobody did. My burger arrived and I dug in.

“The third transformation might not happen until the new boss is in place,” Denny said darkly.

Kayla bit. “Denny The Mysterioso. Auf Englisch, bitte.”

“Transformations. Usually you get three. As far as I can tell, we've had two.” He held up his index finger. “Wallace dies under mysterious circumstances. The consequences are still being revealed.” His middle finger. “Rajah, an iconic animal, dies and disappears. We won't know the implications until his body is found, maybe years from now.” Ring finger. “Next? Whatever it is, I think it's going to affect one of the buildings. Or maybe a visitor.”

“And why is that?” Hap asked.

“The first affected a staff person, the second an animal. So it makes sense that the third would be a building or a visitor. Or maybe it'll be meteorological. An earthquake.” He brightened. “Yeah, an earthquake. That would do it.”

Hap wearied of humoring Denny. “I hope he's good. We want someone to fix what's broke and leave the rest alone.”

“He?” Linda asked, with teeth.

“Or she. I got no problem with that,” Hap said, unflustered.

“Finley Zoo is on the upswing,” Arnie chirped. “Fine time to join up.”

“Yeah,” Denny said, “a dead foreman is always auspicious.” He added, “That was sarcasm.”

“Worst part is not knowing who did it,” Linda said. “Could be anybody.”

“I don't think it was one of us,” I said.

“Good. Why?” Linda asked.

“Gut feel.” More like wishful thinking.

“Doesn't help. Still ugly, still somebody roaming loose.” Linda looked around the table. “Sorry to pop the bubbles.”

“Hey, we are here now to stop thinking about just that thing,” Hap said. “Moving on.”

“Can't until we know who did it,” I said. “Let's see if more nachos cheer us up.” The burger was history.

“C'mon,” Kayla said to Hap with a tough-girl grin. “I need to make some money.” She led him to the foosball table and grabbed the poles. “Quarters? Seven goals.”

She and Hap fished for pocket change and started in. It didn't take long. “Next?” Kayla sang out.

She beat Hap again and persuaded Arnie and then Linda to take a run at it. They saw the writing on the wall and were good-natured about losing. I claimed my belly wouldn't let me close enough to the table and stayed put. Ian did, too, and Denny was busy scarfing nachos. I said to Ian, “Seems like Hap and Kayla are in living color and the rest of us are in black and white.” He looked at me in alarm and got out of the booth. He stood in the background and watched the others commence a pool game.

That left Denny and me alone. “Here's what I got on alibis,” he said. I'd forgotten his self-imposed assignment. He slid closer to me and spoke fast and quiet. “Arnie and Kayla and Jackie were home alone, no alibi. Hap's wife is all he's got. I'm trying to be friends with Ian and then ask him, but he's so remote, a tough vibe to engage. I haven't figured out how to ask Mr. Crandall yet. Dr. Reynolds sort of got mad at me for asking her.”

Imagine that. “Denny, how deep are you going with this? The fry cooks? City council? Mr. Crandall's already annoyed with you.”

He considered the possibility. “Didn't think about them. Good point.”

“Denny, I'm kidding.”

He forgot the muttering and spoke at normal volume. “I'm working the construction crew next. Oh, I called Brent and asked what gym he and Sam used, said I wanted to join one. He confirmed that he was with Sam when you called to get help shifting Damrey. I timed the drive from the zoo to the gym. Sam could have clipped Wallace and made it to the gym in time to take your call. Assuming he really was at the gym. I talked to one of the trainers, but she couldn't tell me whether he'd been there that morning. They don't save the sign-in sheets.”

“So nobody's eliminated.”

“Well, we know more than we did.”

“We do? Now everyone at the zoo knows you're asking about alibis. That is not going to help.” I considered mentioning the fragments I'd overheard from Dr. Reynolds and came to my senses. Denny would run amok.

He leaned back in the booth, looking disgusted. “So what have
you
come up with? You were supposed to find motives.”

“I'm working on it. I'm trying to find out who was hanging around the barn in the early morning.” I evaded revealing how little I'd accomplished in that direction by getting out to watch the pool game. Three people were up for it, so the game was Cutthroat. Hap moved like a semi-pro, Arnie was casual but competent. Kayla pushed up the bangles on her arms and shot hard and fast. Hap took the first game, Kayla the second. She winked at Arnie and nudged him with an elbow before she demolished him. He seemed to like it.

Hap said to Kayla, “I tagged you as drinking mango martinis with the cool dudes, but you're just another a brew-swilling pool shark.”

Kayla tossed her hair back and wiggled her shoulders, all sexy lady. “Ah kin ride a horse, catch a steelhead, and dress out mah own deer.” She straightened up and bobbed her head. “Really I can. Daddy was a hunting guide for awhile. But…” She squinted at Hap, “I can also cut you up good with my Nordstrom's card, so don' you ever cross me.”

Hap cracked up.

“Darts for dollars?” she suggested, but a new pitcher had arrived, and we regrouped at the booth.

Kayla had lightened the mood, and while we couldn't stay that frisky, we could talk about the new Asian Experience complex instead of grimmer topics. All agreed it was coming along nicely, with something for everyone—big orangutan quarters, a tall clouded leopard exhibit, spaces for birds and reptiles, all drawn from the diversity that falls under the label “Asian”. Some of the exhibits were turning out smaller than we expected and the drains might be inadequate, but it was all better than anything existing at Finley. Seeing the clouded leopards in a big exhibit where they could leap around in a high tree canopy…worth the price right there.

Linda turned to Ian, who was immune to both hijinks and amiable work chat. “What about elephants? Any word on starting construction?”

He shrank back a little and shook his head. “No news.”

Linda cocked an eyebrow at him. “I'm surprised. Those sign-wavers out front should be keeping it on the table.”

“Too bad Sam's not here,” Arnie said. “He'd know what was going on.”

If Ian took offense, it didn't show.

Hap said, “I'm thinking it's not going to happen. The construction foreman told me they're over budget. They had bad luck with the late rains, slowed everything down, and the soil analysis wasn't right. They had to go deeper for the foundations than they estimated.”

“Have you heard anything about replacing the aviary?” I asked.

No one had.

“Still,” I mused, “the place is improving. We're not going to get everything we want, but at least it's not static like it has been for the whole time I've been here. If visitors like Asian Experience, maybe we'll get another bond measure passed before we all retire.”

“That's what we want to hear,” Hap said. “Sunshine, it's been a long time…Hey!” he called toward the bartender, “How's about another pitcher?”

The conversation veered into music and movies. Hap was right, it was good to get together and talk about something other than murder, death, and disruption. Denny lectured Arnie about cross-species genetic engineering. Hap went back to telling stories, and Kayla kept flirting with him. Actually, that was worrisome. I'd have to tell her about his wife soon, the one with the pet rattlesnake. Benita would open Kayla up like a sardine can and throw away the key. Other than a little worry about that, hanging out was fun.

A glance at my watch made me nudge Linda. “Pumpkin time. Need to get out and hit the road.”

She scooted over and I started to slide out when a man pulled a chair up to our booth and sat himself down, glass in one hand, pitcher in the other. A well-fed, bushy-haired guy in overalls, a backpack slumped at his feet. “Hi, Ian,” he said, and went around the table greeting us each by name. “I'm Thor to my friends, Bill Thorson to the press, William G. Thorson to the law. Never been here before. Regular hangout for you guys?”

“Howdy,” Arnie said with a big smile.

“Where's your picket sign?” I asked. “Are you wired? Is your sidekick in a van outside recording the conversation?”

Kayla's smile faded, and Linda's eyes narrowed.

“It's a private party,” Hap said. “Table's full.”

Thor filled his glass and passed Linda the pitcher he'd brought. “Relax. I'm sharing.”

“Not the issue,” Hap said, and started to climb out of the booth.

“Well, Ian, are you going to own up that I'm a friend, or are you going to let this gorilla toss me into the street?” Thor looked at Ian over the rim of his glass, draining half of it.

Hap stood up and the bartender drifted our way. I'd never seen Hap in action. He was muscle where Thor was only broad, and he was a lot taller as well. This would be interesting.

“Say, honey,” the bartender cooed, “maybe this isn't the right spot for you. Let me set you up somewhere warmer.”

Thor smiled up at her. “No problem, m'am, but thanks for your concern.”

Hap stepped up to Thor and put out a big hand to bunch up his shirt at the collar.

“We worked together,” Ian said, barely audible, and Hap paused.

“See?” Thor said and rested his wrists on the table, relaxed and cheerful. “I thought it might be nice to chat. Have Ian introduce me to his new playmates, that sort of thing.” Hap stood at the ready.

“Why?” I asked. “You know we think you're a jerk and a blister on the heel of progress.” What did he hope to gain? Surely not friendship.

“Colorful! No, I figured you guys haven't ever seen an elephant sanctuary, except for Ian of course, and I could tell you about the one I know, in Kentucky. Where Ian and I used to work.”

The bartender drifted away from our table and leaned against a support post, keeping an eye on us. Hap eased back a step. All eyes were on Thor. I admired the stagecraft. So he'd come to pitch us. Annoying, but gutsy. “You want us to ship a blind elephant to a new facility. Somehow that doesn't sound all that humane. Or, of course, we could ship off her companion of almost twenty years and leave her alone. That would be so much nicer.”

Thor sipped his beer. “They could go together. Damrey could adapt. Ian knows how to do a careful introduction to a new space, right?”

Ian didn't say anything, but the flush started up from his throat.

Thor turned his chair sideways and crossed his legs. “Let me tell you about this place. A hundred acres, trees and rolling hills, two ponds. They've got five elephants now, three of them Africans, and they have room for four more. They're all loose on the grounds, with a barn in case one of them gets sick.”