The Koala of Death (23 page)

The whole high-toned office/handsome-available-billionaire setup was so impressive I feared that at any moment Caro might fall on her knees and plead for Bronson to
please, please, please
take her recalcitrant daughter off her hands.

However, the woman proved herself a trouper. As soon as we sat down, she launched into a rehearsed spiel about her television show, making a strong case that San Sebastian’s very own Speaks-to-Souls should be the subject of the premiere episode. Her passion for the project was so intense that I began to wonder if using me as marriage bait was nothing more than an add-on to her visit. The idea made me relax enough to have some fun. On the drive over, she’d ordered me to flirt, a skill I’d never mastered. But thinking that I might later try some of the more successful moves on Joe, I decided to get in some practice.

When Caro began describing Mr. Trifle/Feroz Guerrero’s temperament turnaround, I cocked my head and simpered.

Bronson smiled, whether at me or at Caro’s recital, I couldn’t tell.

When Caro, who had done her homework, quoted the large audience share of
Meerkat Manor
, the popular Animal Planet series, I batted my mascaraed eyelashes.

Another smile from Bronson.

Caro finished her pitch with “And I’m certain you’ll agree that programs about the Other Side do every bit as well as animal programs, so why not combine the two?” I tried to toss my red locks, but unfortunately, Mr. Guy had sprayed them so heavily they couldn’t move.

With yet another smile on his lips, Bronson dropped his intense study of my simpers to focus on my mother. “Well, you’ve certainly presented a very attractive package, Mrs. Petersen, and I’ll definitely give it some thought.”

Mrs. Petersen? Who was Mrs…? Oh, right. Caro’s last husband’s name was Petersen.

After expressing her gratitude, Caro stood to leave.

That’s when I made my Bowling for Rhinos pitch. After all, I didn’t want the visit to be wasted.

Ten minutes later we were climbing back into Caro’s cavernous Mercedes. Judging from her tone, she was not happy. “For God’s sake, Theodora, that was crass!”

“Crass, perhaps, but I kept my promise to be charming.” I tucked the check for ten thousand dollars into the Versace handbag she’d loaned me.

“A person can’t be crass and charming at the same time!”

“A person can when an endangered species is involved.”

She fumed all the way to Old Town, but as we pulled into her driveway, she relented. “I guess your appalling manners made no difference because he was definitely smitten. Why, he could hardly take his eyes off you! I’m so glad I had the foresight to plan that little do tomorrow night. You’ll wear the lavender satin. That color looks particularly ravishing on redheads. And I’ll loan you my diamonds, of course. They leave no doubt as to the kind of people we are.”

Right. Cattle thieves. Tax evaders. Embezzlers. Serial-marriers. “What little
do
are you talking about, Caro?”

“Um, perhaps I forget to mention it. I’ve invited Ford and a few close friends over for cocktails. I expect you to be as charming as you were today, but without the crassness. Understood?”

Since I had yet to turn hers and Bronson’s checks over to the Bowling for Rhinos treasurer, I agreed. But I would rather have spent the evening with Joe.

***

After returning to the
Merilee
and changing into my uniform, I scooped Roger and Ebert, Zorah’s two tabbies, into an animal carrier and took off for the zoo. Imagine my surprise when I clocked in and found TV host AnnaLee Harris talking to Zorah.

“We’re announcing the winner of the Name the Baby Anteater Contest today during KTSS-TV’s noon broadcast,” Zorah explained, as she took the cats into her office. “The station sent over a remote van and the cameras are already set up in front of Lucy’s enclosure. Since you’re her main keeper, I want you there. I’d planned to do it, but you’re much better at this sort of thing.”

Exhausted from my flirting practice session, I merely said, “Want me to say anything special?”

“AnnaLee will ask you a few questions. This is a public relations event for the Gunn Zoo, but if you can, get in a pitch for the San Sebastian No-Kill Animal Shelter Marathon, too. About half our staff have volunteered to man the phones.”

“I have, too.”

To my surprise, she shook her head. “No. You’re taking Wanchu. You two will be in that lineup of movie stars and whatnot Ford Bronson has arranged to put in an appearance.”

I blanched. “Me? With movie stars?”

“Yeah, you. And make sure you behave yourself. Drew Barrymore is emceeing, and if you pull anything cute with her, she’s liable to hit you upside your head.”

“But…”

“Don’t ‘but’ me, Teddy. Just do your job.”

With that, Zorah turned Roger and Ebert loose, expecting them to hide underneath her desk. Instead, they immediately ran to the window to watch the monkeys, who in turn, watched them. Cats and monkeys thus entertained, we humans walked up the hill to Lucy’s enclosure, where a small crowd had gathered. A cameraman, his camera almost as large as he, leaned precariously over the rail.

“Be careful!” I warned. “The last man who fell into Lucy’s enclosure lost his skin.”

The cameraman swiveled around until the lens pointed straight at me. “This is the same anteater that killed that guy?”

“Lucy never killed anyone. He was shot. Lucy was just trying to scrape some ants off his face.” Too late, I noticed the red light flashing. “Hey! Turn that thing off!”

“Taping for stock. I’ll let you know when we go to live feed.”

Lucy, attracted by all the fuss, had moved to the edge of her moat and was peering up at us. Baby Boy Anteater, riding on her back, looked sound asleep. I hoped he would move around when the live feed began, because his diagonal gray, black, and white shoulder stripes blended so perfectly with his mother’s that you could hardly tell where he began and Lucy left off.

“Let’s get this party started while she’s facing the camera,” AnnaLee said. “Better now than a shot of her big hairy ass as she walks away.”

For that uncalled-for remark, I wanted to pick up her own big hairy ass and toss her to Lucy, but since it was against the law, I didn’t. Unlike my parents, I have scruples.

“Little Ricky, get over here!” AnnaLee snapped to a small tow-headed boy.

Dressed like a miniature gangsta rap artist in a Raiders team shirt, enough bling to sink the
Titanic
all over again, and Levis three times too large for his tiny self, Little Ricky looked thrilled. When he smiled into the camera, it was with all the sincerity of a child actor.

“And four and three and two and we’re live,” the cameraman said.

“Good afternoon, San Sebastian!” AnnaLee bubbled. “We’re here
live
at the giant anteater’s enclosure in the famed Gunn Zoo, to announce the winner of the Name the Baby Anteater Contest! With us is Teddy Bentley, the giant anteater’s keeper, and seven-year-old Ricky Hartounian, who came up with the winning entry. First, Teddy is going to tell us all about giant anteaters, aren’t you, Teddy?”

Fulfilling my promise to behave myself, I went into my standard spiel: giant anteaters have yard-long blue tongues; give birth while standing up on their hind legs; are basically peaceful, solitary animals but using their four-inch talons, they can disembowel a jaguar if attacked, yadda, yadda, yadda.

“My, that’s fascinating!” AnnaLee said. “And now, Little Ricky is going to tell us the new name of Lucy’s baby, aren’t you, son?”

“Damned straight,” Little Ricky said.

AnnaLee blinked. “Uh, so go ahead, Little Ricky.”

Little Ricky puffed out his little chest. “Little Ricky!”

The kid was naming the anteater baby after himself?

“That’s right!” AnnaLee enthused, as if self-centeredness was the most delightful trait a child could display. “You see, loyal KTSS-TV watchers, a long, long time ago, there was a television show called
I Love Lucy
, and in it, an actress named Lucille Ball played Lucy, a New York housewife, who was married to a Cuban bandleader named Ricky Ricardo! When they had a baby, they named him Little Ricky, which also just happens to be the name of our winning contestant here! Isn’t that adorable, Teddy?”

“If you say so.”

AnnaLee smiled madly. “And now a word from our sponsor, Clive Clam’s Seafood House. If Clive’s clams were any fresher, they’d walk off the plate.” Her smile vanished when she looked down at Little Ricky—the human one. “We’re done with you, you little shit. Get out of my sight.”

Television appearance accomplished, I headed to the rhino enclosure to give Buster Daltry the checks I’d received from Caro and Ford Bronson. The big man took them with a mixture of awe and gratitude. After shoving them into his cargo pants pocket, he gave me a slap on the back that nearly knocked me down.

“You sure hang with the richie-riches, don’t you, Teddy?”

“Only when holding a
WILL MINGLE FOR DONATIONS
sign.”

The next time I ran into Zorah was in the zoo parking lot when we were entering our respective pickup trucks for our journeys home. Roger and Ebert were vocal about being separated from the monkey show at the window. Zorah told me that the monkeys weren’t happy about it, either.

“These sure are loud cats,” she said, as she placed the tabbies in the passenger’s seat.

“That’s what Heck’s neighbors always said.”

Suddenly serious, she said, “I watched the news coverage this morning while I was getting ready for work. So sad. Think the sheriff will let Bill go now? From what they said on the broadcast, it’s obvious the same person killed Kate and that poor old guy.”

I nodded. “Joe said he needed to talk to the country attorney first, but that it was pretty much a done deal. Bill could be back here as early as tomorrow.”

“Really? If I were Bill, I’d fly straight back to Australia and hide myself somewhere in the Outback.”

“Not without your passport, you wouldn’t.”

Around us, other zookeepers were hurrying to their cars, eager to get home and feed their own menageries. On the other side of Zorah’s pickup, Buster Daltry climbed into his battered ’93 Dodge Shadow; after several cranks and groans, it finally started, and he waved goodby to us as it chugged away. Robin Chase, grumpy as usual, slammed the door of her rust-bucket Pinto, studiously ignoring everyone. Across from us, beautiful Myra was putting the top down on the sleek Corvette that a former boyfriend, a hockey star, had given her.

Watching the Corvette—it was silver with white racing stripes—Zorah sighed. “So pretty.”

“Myra?”

“The Corvette. Look, just so you’ll know, I received news that the Oakland police found Kate’s father, but as it turns out, he’s too sick to leave the nursing home. I called Aster Edwina and told her so she can get started on the funeral preparations.”

I thought about Kate’s father, a man too ill to see his only child buried. While nothing would change his failing condition, there might be something I could do for him. It would entail a trip to Oakland, but if it helped, even a little, what was a two-hour drive compared to the comfort it might give a grieving father?

“Zorah, do you still have that photo we took of Kate when the koala enclosure had its grand opening?”

“Of course. I had several copies made for publicity purposes, but why…” She got it. “You want to give one to Kate’s father.”

“Exactly. She looked great, smiling broadly with Wanchu in her arms. He’d be so proud.” If he even recognized his daughter, that was. Alzheimer’s wasn’t only a thief of memory, it was a thief of the heart.

Zorah breathed what sounded like a sigh of relief. “Tell you what. If you drive the photo up there tomorrow, I’ll count the trip as work time and you won’t have to report in at all.”

“I’ll come in, all right.” Being with my animal friends would give me the strength I needed to survive Caro’s next Let’s-Find-Teddy-a-Suitable-Husband party, where she would dangle me in front of Ford Bronson like a worm on a hook.

The drive to Gunn Castle took five minutes, since it was more or less right next door to the zoo. Set on the highest hill in the center of the massive Gunn estate, the castle lorded over everything: the Gunn Zoo, the Gunn Eucalyptus Forest, the Gunn Winery, even the thousand-acre Gunn Vineyard, with its undulating rows of Chardonnay, Pinot Noir, Syrah, and Grenache grapes.

It was a spectacular drive, but an uncomfortable one, because what lay at the end of it was the castle, which looked like something out of an old Dracula movie. Hauled over stone-by-stone from Scotland by railroad baron Edwin Gunn, the dynasty’s founder, the castle sported six towers, a crenelated roof, and rows of archers’ windows. I’d never enjoyed my childhood visits here to play with the Gunn children, but the dour architecture and the moldy smell of ancient walls was only partially the reason. To tell the truth, Aster Edwina scared me half to death.

As a child, I’d been a friend of the younger Gunns—Aster Edwina’s great-nieces and nephews, since she had no children of her own—and whenever there’d been a falling out, the formidable old woman had no qualms about swatting me with the same enthusiasm with which she swatted them. Even now I was careful to keep more than an arm’s length away from her.

Memories churning, I finally made it to the end of the eucalyptus-lined road and parked my pickup behind an elderly but still-gleaming Rolls. Seconds after I had pulled at the massive door’s entry bell the just-as-elderly butler let me in. He led me through the marble-tiled entryway, past the immense drawing room, and into the castle’s dark, multi-fireplaced library, where Aster Edwina sat waiting for me on a Jacobean armchair every bit as stiff and formal as herself.

Her silver hair was almost the same shade as her dress, but the library’s dim light was merciful to her wrinkle-ravaged face. “And now comes Theodora Bentley, metaphorical tin cup in hand. How’s the begging going, dear?”

Having been subjected to her rudeness for years, I didn’t bother to blush. “Not well, Aster Edwina. Thanks to the crummy economy, everyone’s broke. And that’s a tragedy, because rhinos are…”