The Koala of Death (7 page)
Once at the
Merilee
, I fed Bonz and Miss Priss and refreshed the kitty litter. When Bonz finished eating, I grabbed his leash.
“Ready for walkies?”
Yes, yes
! he yipped.
As we strolled down the dock toward Gunn Park, I heard Linda Cushing, owner of the
Tea 4 Two
, arguing with Hector “Heck” Liddell, owner of the ill-named
My Fancy
, the rusty trawler he’d turned into an ill-kept houseboat. Curses flew fast and furious, most of them coming from Linda. In only three years at the harbor, Heck had managed to rile just about everyone, but the animosity between the two was particularly intense. This time, Heck claimed that Linda’s dog, Hans, had peed against
My Fancy
’s stern. Linda counter-claimed that the other night, Heck himself had done the same thing to
Tea 4 Two
.
“That garbage scow of yours ain’t worth pissin’ on!” Heck snapped.
“Don’t insult my boat, you old fart, or I’ll…”
I closed my ears to the rest and concentrated on getting Bonz to the park before he added more urine to the argument. Fortunately, we made it. As Bonz happily relieved himself against a trash can, I saw the über-rich Ford Bronson taking his regular evening jog along the harbor’s southern promenade. I waved, he waved. But he kept on moving, probably in a hurry to finish his run and get back to making billions.
By the time Bonz and I returned to the
Merilee
, Linda and Heck had retired to their respective boats, and peace reigned once again. Having already showered at the zoo—I’d long ago transformed the
Merilee
’s tiny shower into a closet—I dressed in my latest wardrobe addition from Sissie’s Second-Hand Stash, an ankle-length cheongsam. Although the dress’ bright crimson clashed badly with my orange-red hair, I knew Joe would appreciate the slit up the side. All gussied up, I went on deck and relaxed with a glass of Riesling and awaited his arrival.
Unfortunately, Mother arrived first. I knew why she was here. Yesterday morning, before I’d left for the zoo, I’d called and told her what happened, stressing that Kate’s drowning was an accident. After recovering from her shock at a death taking place so close to the
Merilee
, she asked if I’d hurt myself dragging the body out of the dirty harbor water. I assured her I was fine, but given our past history, I knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.
As always, Mother looked beautiful and was dressed far, far better than I. Rocking a beige Proenza Schouler crêpe de Chine pants suit accessorized by a gold and ivory Galliano necklace and a green-striped Balenciaga tote with matching espadrilles, she was the very picture of Central Coast chic. The only thing strange thing about her ensemble was Mr. Trifle, her new Chihuahua, who was poking his trembling head out of the Balenciaga. His beige jacket and beret perfectly matched her own.
“Hi, Mother. Want some Riesling?”
“Theodora, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Caro? ‘Mother’ is so aging. And no, I don’t want any Riesling, since you never serve anything other than the cheap stuff.” Sermon delivered, she perched her size two butt on a deck chair, but only after dusting it off with a monogrammed hanky.
“That so-called ‘cheap stuff’ is all I can afford.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way. I keep a marvelous cellar.”
Here we go again. Since I’d taken up residence on the
Merilee
last year, Caro had started nagging me to move back into the family home in the Old Town section of Gunn Landing. She not only considered my job beneath the dignity of a Bentley, but feared that the work was too dangerous for her precious only child. Every time an animal so much as sneezed on me, she renewed her pleas.
“I don’t need a marvelous cellar, Caro.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t. This Riesling is delicious.” I found it peculiar that she had nothing to say about my appearance on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
, because she never missed the program. Maybe she thought that a Bentley getting pooped on in full view of several hundred thousand viewers was beneath mention.
“Your taste buds have atrophied, Theodora.”
“No, they’re…Say, Joe’s on his way over,” I said, to break up the monotony.
“That awful sheriff of yours? I don’t want to talk about him. I’m just here to remind you that you promised to attend my soirée Friday night. Considering the state of your wardrobe…” She flicked a disapproving eye at my crimson cheongsam, “…I bought you something nice to wear. When I was in Monterey yesterday, I saw this adorable Basso & Brooke that had
you
written all over it, so I snapped it up. Multiprint gauze over black silk, with a sweetheart neckline. Devastating. You must come up to the house and see it.” She glanced around my boat and sniffed. “Since you don’t have room for it here.”
For some time Caro had been attempting to marry me off to someone she believed was more suitable for a Bentley; thus the endless soirées where she introduced me to a string of eligible bachelors. While I enjoyed our visits, I liked “that awful sheriff” just fine, thank you very much.
“The dress sounds lovely, Caro, but you didn’t have to…Hey, how long has Mr. Trifle been doing that?”
The Chihuahua had stopped trembling and was lifting his upper lip in a silent snarl. If he’d been ten times bigger, he might have scared me.
She glanced down. “Oh, that. It started last week. I’ve got an appointment next Monday afternoon with that new dog psychic in San Sebastian, and I’m sure she’ll sort him out in no time. But Mr. Trifle won’t bite Miss Theodora, will he?” Cooing, she leaned over the Balenciaga tote, almost touching his nose with her own.
The expression on the Chihuahua’s face made me suspect that Mr. Trifle wanted to chew off Miss Nose. “Pull your face away, Caro. Dog bites can turn serious.”
Still cooing, she chucked the poor creature under his chin. “Mr. Veterinarian gave Mr. Trifle all his shots.”
“Shots won’t protect you from bacteria. Ever hear of necrotizing fasciitis, the flesh-eating disease? First the derma goes, then the subcutaneous tissue starts…”
She jerked her head away. “I saw some Fendi strap pumps, so I picked up those, too. And of course I’ll loan you my diamonds. We need to make an impression, don’t we?”
No, we don’t. I was going to point that fact out to her, but then I spied a San Sebastian County sheriff’s cruiser pull into the parking lot. “Oh, how nice! Joe will be so glad to see you.”
My mother and Joe had, as the saying goes,
issues
. She had broken up our teenage romance by sending me away to a boarding school in Virginia. Years later, Joe married Sonia, and I married Michael. One divorce and one murder later, we were back together. Not that Caro accepted the situation.
She gave a quick look at her watch and stood up. “My, my. How time flies. I must be going.”
Keeping a wary eye on Mr. Trifle’s tiny fangs, I gave her a peck on each cheek. “Love you, Mother.”
“Caro,” she corrected, as she strutted away.
Seconds later, Joe stepped on deck. He had changed into civvies, but I could see the outline of his handgun under his blue windbreaker. As always, it made him look even sexier. After a deep kiss that took my breath away, he said, “I ran into your mother in the parking lot and she actually said hello. Quite an improvement for her, wouldn’t you say?”
“Don’t kid yourself. Caro can’t bear the idea of her daughter dating the grandson of a migrant worker; she’s just getting more subtle. She’s holding another Let’s-Find-Teddy-A-Suitable-Husband party Friday night. Want to be my date?”
He sat down on the same deck chair Caro had vacated. “As much fun as that would be, I have to work.”
I scooted my chair closer to his and was rewarded with another breath-stealing kiss. Once I’d recovered, I said, “That’s right. Friday’s a big night for law enforcement. All those drunken brawls and domestic spats, so predictable. It’s too bad you don’t have any good cases to challenge that fine mind of yours, isn’t it?”
When he didn’t answer, I shot him a look. I knew him well enough to know something was up, and it made me uneasy.
“What?” His face assumed an expression of feigned innocence.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Wasn’t it purely rhetorical? Hey, what’s for dinner? I’m starved.”
I didn’t want to say it, but I had to. “There’s a problem with Kate’s death, isn’t there?”
“If you don’t want to cook, let’s walk over to Fred’s Fish Market. I’ll treat you to the works. Chowder, lobster…”
“That makes two questions you didn’t answer.”
“What questions?”
I swallowed. “Stop dancing around, Joe. Kate didn’t drown, did she?”
His innocent expression slid away, revealing a blankness I found unsettling. “You know I can’t discuss an ongoing case with you, Teddy. Now let’s go get something to eat.”
There. He’d said it.
Case.
What I’d begun to suspect was true.
Kate had been murdered.
Although Outback Bill was now the interim head keeper of Down Under and my services there were no longer required, I made a beeline for Wallaby Walkabout as soon as I arrived at the zoo the next morning.
Entering Down Under was like taking a microtrip to Australia. Taking up approximately five acres, the area was surrounded by tall eucalyptus trees, and every time visitors opened the Aboriginal art-decorated gate the music of a didgeridoo wafted from speakers hidden among their branches. The Aussie animals lived in large, separate enclosures that mimicked their individual native habitats. Besides the stars of yesterday’s television program, the zoo boasted four dingoes; several tiger cats; a mating pair of Tasmanian devils, both thankfully untouched by the horrific cancer that was decimating their Australian relatives; and various rodents. Wallaby Walkabout was set up much the same as Monkey Mania, with the animals roaming free and sometimes even hopping across the visitors’ path.
I wandered through Down Under until I arrived at Wallaby Walkabout, where I found Abim hopping in tight circles around Bill’s feet. The nervy look in Abim’s eyes showed that he hadn’t yet recovered from yesterday’s experience.
Poor Abim wasn’t doing much roaming today. Instead, he clung to Bill’s shadow. Wherever Bill went, so did he.
“Don’t come bargin’ round here trying to get on my good side,” Bill groused, as he tossed chopped fruit on top of a tub of compressed nutrient pellets. “Like I said yesterday, yer not takin’ any more of me animals back down to the telly station. You came a gutser once and yer not doin’ it again.”
Came a gutser
, meaning that I’d screwed up.
“And a bright good morning to you, too. Have most of them settled down yet?” Not bothering to go around to the service entrance, I stepped through the visitors’ gate.
“All ’cept for Abim, as any drongo can plainly see. I’ve told Zorah that I don’t want ’em out on display for ’nother week.”
I raised my eyebrows. “She agreed to that?”
The string of curses that issued from his mouth hinted that she didn’t.
“I understand you’re upset, Bill, but Zorah knows that after yesterday people will be flocking down here to see them. Especially Abim.”
The wallaby now stood frozen in the shadow of Bill’s left leg. Good thing the dingoes were two exhibits over. In their homeland, wallabies were a favorite food source.
“That’s another thing carks me off, Teddy, a bunch of strange galah’s always gawking around.”
“Well, it
is
a zoo. Say, are you going to be speaking to Sheriff Rejas again?”
“Why would I do that? He might look a sex god to you daft sheilas, but to me he’s just a big pain in the arse.”
Sheilas?
As in
plural?
A stab of jealousy crept up my spine before I realized that Bill intended his words to discomfit me. A bit of a sex god himself, albeit less sleek than either Joe or Lex, he had seemed disappointed when I hadn’t swooned over him, as did every other single woman at the zoo.
Forcing down my annoyance at the Aussie’s outsized ego, I said, “The thing is, I have a feeling Joe thinks there’s something suspicious about Kate’s death.”
“No problem o’ mine.” He sounded unconcerned, but his eyes suddenly looked like Abim’s.
Trying to talk to him further was unsuccessful, so I gave up. As I climbed back into my cart, I asked myself what I really knew about Bill. Only that, as his nickname implied, he’d been born and raised in the Australian outback, and had been an animal keeper at the Sydney Zoo, where he had met Kate, who’d been part of the San Diego Zoo’s exchange program. When she returned to San Diego, Bill had been right behind her, somehow managing to snag a job as assistant marsupial keeper. From what else I’d heard on the ever-alert zoo grapevine, their relationship continued for a while, but then Kate abruptly left the San Diego Zoo for the much less lucrative Gunn. When Bill followed her this time, he discovered that the Gunn had no more openings. Thus began his financial problems.
Had the employment inequity caused their breakup? Bill’s pride, always outsized, must have suffered a blow to find that his girlfriend could find work when he couldn’t. But with Kate’s death, his luck had changed, hadn’t it? He no longer had to work three jobs to stay afloat.
Growing increasingly uncomfortable about Bill’s turn of luck, I steered my cart up the hill toward Monkey Mania, only to have two slowly traveling San Sebastian Sheriff’s squad cars pass me, headed in the opposite direction. In the lead car sat Joe and a deputy, both looking grim; two more deputies followed in the other. This was no casual visit.
Even though I knew Joe would be furious, I turned my cart around.
Battery-operated zoo carts don’t move very fast, so by the time I arrived back at Wallaby Walkabout, Joe, flanked by his deputies, had already exited the squad car. When I saw Joe’s hand resting on his holster, I knew the worst was about to happen.
