Tiger Town (12 page)

“I don’t think you should show it to him,” Nick said, trailing after me through the field.

“I don’t have any choice.” I had the newspaper folded under my arm.

“Sure, you do. You didn’t show him yesterday’s paper,” Nick argued.

“That was because he was part of what was in yesterday’s paper. Today’s paper is all my doing.”

“That’s even more reason not to show him,” Nick reasoned.

“You think he’s not going to hear about it? You read what that guy wrote. There’s going to be trouble, and Mr. McCurdy needs to know about it.” I’d spent all last night worrying that the article was going to be bad. I was wrong. It wasn’t bad. It was terrible.

“Fine. I still don’t think you should tell him, but if you’re going to be stubborn, could you at least do two things for me?” Nick asked.

“What two things?” I asked apprehensively. Knowing Nick the way I did, I knew never to agree to anything before hearing what he had in mind.

“First, could you show him the paper when I’m not around?”

“I guess. And the second thing?”

“Could you make it really, really clear that absolutely none of this is my fault — that it’s all your fault?”

“Thanks for the support, Nick.”

“Can you blame me? I’m always in trouble for the things I actually do without being blamed for things I haven’t done.”

That did sort of make sense. “I’ll make sure they know you’re not to blame.”

“Do you know what would make this better?” Nick asked.

“No, what?”

“It would be better if you could give some good news along with the bad news.”

“That would be wonderful — if I had some good news. What did you have in mind?”

“You could explain to Mr. McCurdy where he’s going to get the food to feed all the animals,” Nick suggested.

“You know how he’s going to get the food?” I asked in amazement.

Nick shook his head. “No, but that’s the sort of good news he needs.”

“But the way you were talking I thought you knew where to get the food!”

“Me?” Nick questioned, shrugging. “I was just giving you an example of the sort of good news he needs. The newspaper is no big deal. If Mr. McCurdy can’t figure out how to get enough food for the animals, then there will be problems … real problems.”

Nick was right, of course. There were only enough chickens for a week and hay for even less than that. Where would the money come from to buy food?

“Are you going to show them the paper right away?” Nick asked.

“There’s no point in putting it off.”

“In that case, this is as far as I go,” Nick said. “I’m going to the barn. You can get me when it’s over.”

I watched as he walked to the barn and disappeared inside. Now it was my time to go.

I strolled up the lane toward the house and opened the door quietly. Maybe they were still asleep and I wouldn’t have to tell them right away. I heard voices. There wasn’t going to be any reprieve. Vladimir, Mr. McCurdy and Calvin were sitting at the table, eating breakfast.

“Good morning, big girl Sarah!” Vladimir beamed. Calvin blew me a kiss.

“How are you doing this morning?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“Okay.”

“Just okay? Maybe you should have one of these muffins,” he said, offering the plate holding the last one. It was nice to know they’d enjoyed them.

“I don’t think that’ll help. You need to see this,” I said, extending the paper.

Mr. McCurdy took the paper from me, unfolding and straightening it out, then pulled his glasses down off his head. He certainly wouldn’t need them to find the article. It was the whole top of the front page of the paper — a picture of Malcolm and his mother underneath the bold headline that read YOUNG BOY NARROWLY ESCAPES DEATH.

“That’s not a good start,” Mr. McCurdy said.

“What does it say?” Vladimir asked, looking over Mr. McCurdy’s shoulder.

“Why don’t you read it yourself?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“I only read a little English. Read it out loud, Angus.”

Mr. McCurdy read the headline first and then started into the article. “‘There was a near tragedy on the McCurdy farm when Malcolm Sommers, age six, was viciously attacked by a tiger.’” Mr. McCurdy peered up at me. “I thought it was one of the jaguars?”

“It was,” I said. “I even told her it was a jaguar.”

“Trust the press to always get things wrong.” He turned back to the article. “‘Malcolm, accompanied by his mother and five of his playmates, was at the property of local resident Angus McCurdy. One of Mr. McCurdy’s exotic pets struck out at Malcolm in an unprovoked attack. The young lad, celebrating his sixth birthday, had his shirt ripped from his body and escaped certain death by no more than a hair’s breadth. Malcolm’s mother, who was nearly hysterical, needed to be consoled by this reporter as she feared that her son’s sixth birthday was almost his last. Mrs. Sommers claimed that this animal was one of many, including an elephant, held in inadequate, unsanitary conditions in the dilapidated, rundown barn.’”

“The animals are in clean cages!” Vladimir thundered. “I cleaned cages myself just yesterday!”

“She didn’t even see the cages!” I snapped. “Neither did he. I made sure of that.”

“Yep, you did,” Mr. McCurdy agreed. “Which would explain the next part.” He pointed at the paper. “‘This reporter was unable to enter the barn to investigate these allegations, as he was ordered from the property by the person in charge, Sarah Fraser, age fourteen. Further, this reporter was physically threatened. Apparently Mr. McCurdy has hired a security agent, Vladimir, to deal with people who wish to investigate this situation.’”

“Why does he know my name?” Vladimir questioned. “And what does this security agent mean?”

“I sort of mentioned it … I didn’t mean to … it just sort of slipped out,” I apologized.

“Security agent means you’re like a guard,” Mr. McCurdy added.

“Not good,” Vladimir said, shaking his head vigorously. “Not good that Vladimir has name in paper … Not good … not good.”

He got up from the table and seemed upset. No, not upset — scared. How could having his name in a newspaper be scary?

“It gets worse,” Mr. McCurdy said. “Listen. ‘This is the third incident involving Mr. McCurdy and his dangerous exotic pets — the second in two days. This newspaper is calling for a full public inquiry into the situation and the danger it poses to the general public.’” He looked up from the paper. “Not good.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, fighting back tears.

“Why are you sorry?” Mr. McCurdy asked. “You didn’t write the article.”

“But if I’d handled things the right way, nobody would have written the article!” I blabbered and then burst into tears.

Mr. McCurdy got up from the table and put his arms around me. I tried to stop myself from crying. I felt like such a baby — but I couldn’t. He kept patting me on the back and saying, “There, there” as I sobbed and snorted and buried my face in his shoulder.

“Sarah, let’s just pretend that you did do something wrong,” he said.

“I did!” I cried. “I shouldn’t have let those people go into the barn. I should have watched that boy so he couldn’t go to the stable. I should have fixed things, and I shouldn’t have talked to that newspaper guy!”

“That’s a lot of should haves, but none of those were mistakes. Even if they had been, it’s still going to be okay. So what if he writes some stupid things in the paper? None of that matters now, does it?”

“Well …”

“Nobody’s going to take away the animals. Your mother made sure of that, remember?”

I nodded.

“So stop worrying. Okay?”

I sniffled a little and nodded again. “I’ll try.”

“Good, ’cause none of this stuff amounts to nothing more than nothing. You’ll see. They’re just trying to sell some papers, that’s all, trying to make things as spectacular as they can. It’s like the circus — make things entertaining for the paying public.”

Just then there was a knock on the door.

“I wonder who that could be,” Mr. McCurdy said. “Vladimir, can you go and see who —”

“I have to go to the barn and check the animals,” Vladimir said. He ran to the back door.

Mr. McCurdy and I looked at each other. “I wonder what that’s all about,” Mr. McCurdy said as the pounding on the door continued.

“I’ll get it,” I volunteered. As I walked down the hall, I wiped my face against my sleeve, trying to rub away the tear stains.

I opened the door and froze. It was Martin. Behind him, standing beside a truck, were two men.

“Hello, Sarah. How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine. What are you doing here?”

“Nothing serious. Just taking care of a little bit of business.”

“What kind of business?” I asked apprehensively.

“I think you know,” he said quietly. And, of course, I did. “There’s been a complaint filed concerning the care of the animals and the standards of the cages that are holding them.”

“You know the animals are fine!” I said. “You’ve seen them.”

“Of course they are, but when a complaint is filed it has to be investigated.”

“What do you mean investigated?” I asked.

“These two gentlemen,” Martin said, gesturing behind him, “are from the city. One is with the Animal Control Unit and the other is with Bylaw Enforcement.”

“What are they going to do?”

“One will check on the care of the animals and —”

“You know the animals are well cared for!”

“I know that, and I know he’ll find that out. The other man has to inspect the cages to make sure they’re strong and safe so the animals don’t escape and pose a danger to the public.”

I wasn’t so sure about that last part myself. The pens were such a weird combination of bed frames, fencing, metal strips and parts of old cars that they looked pretty strange. As well, if they were really safe, that little brat wouldn’t have gotten his shirt ripped open.

“Don’t worry, Sarah, everything will be okay. It’s not that serious.”

“If it isn’t serious, why are you here? Why did they send the acting chief of police?”

“They asked for an officer to accompany them. I volunteered to go along so I could make sure everything went okay.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t want Mr. McCurdy to do anything that might cause this situation to escalate. It’s not a problem if he allows them to inspect and then leave.”

“What if he just tosses them off his property?” I asked.

“Then the mayor will get more involved,” he said.

“The mayor is involved?” That wasn’t good news.

“He has a long memory. He still takes it very personally that Mr. McCurdy made him look bad before that last election.”

“But he can’t make Mr. McCurdy give up his animals because of the court order, right?”

“Court rulings get challenged and overturned all the time. What I do know is that if Mr. McCurdy won’t let the inspectors do their jobs, the mayor will think there’s something to hide. Between him and the newspapers, it could get really big and really ugly. I figured my being here would be in everybody’s best interests.”

“I guess you’re right,” I said, nodding. “Do you want to speak to Mr. McCurdy, or should I?”

“Might be better if it’s both of us,” he said. “Come on, let’s go in.” He hesitated at the door. “Is Vladimir around?”

“Sure, he’s just gone down to the barn.”

“Great. I’ve really been wanting to meet him.”

Maybe he wouldn’t feel that way if he knew Vladimir had a crush on my mother and didn’t like him seeing her … at least that’s what I figured.

We entered the house, walked down the hall and went into the kitchen. Mr. McCurdy was still sitting at the table with Calvin.

“Good morning, Mr. McCurdy.”

Mr. McCurdy furrowed his brow. “Morning. What brings you out here?” he asked suspiciously.

“It’s nothing serious,” I said, jumping in. Martin nodded in agreement.

“I see. So you just came to ask me out for lunch, did you?”

“Perhaps another time. Although I did have a great meal with Ellen and her kids the other night,” he said. “Did you have a good time, Sarah?”

“Yeah, it was fun,” I admitted. He was a nice guy, and we’d had a good time, especially my mother. It was so nice to see her laugh. The only part I hadn’t liked was that he’d asked a lot of questions about our stay at the exotic animal camp, the animals and Vladimir. Maybe I was just being anxious when I didn’t need to be, because those were pretty interesting stories.

“So if it wasn’t to invite me to lunch, what brings you here this morning?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“It’s nothing to worry —”

“Sarah,” Mr. McCurdy said, “let the man answer for himself.”

“Have you seen today’s paper?” Martin asked.

“Got it right here,” Mr. McCurdy said, lifting it from the table.

“There were some issues raised that need to be addressed.”

“Only a fool believes half of what he reads in the paper!” Mr. McCurdy thundered, slamming his fist on the table and causing the dishes to rattle.

Martin — he had insisted we called him that now — took a deep breath. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Suit yourself.”

He pulled out a chair — the one where Vladimir had been — and sat. “I don’t believe any of it,” he began. “I have no doubt your animals would never be treated in any way that wasn’t top-drawer.”

“You got that right!” Mr. McCurdy snapped.

“So you let these two inspectors go out and —”

“Inspectors? You brought inspectors?”

“Two of them,” he said. “One from Animal Control and one from Bylaw Enforcement.”

“If they’re wandering around my property and bothering my animals, I’m going to —”

“They’re out by the car waiting,” Martin said, cutting him off. “Nobody will do anything without your permission. You have my word.”

Mr. McCurdy didn’t answer right away. I held my breath.

“And if I tell you all to get off my property?”

“We’ll leave.”

“And then what?” Mr. McCurdy asked.

“Then the mayor and the papers figure you’re hiding something. From there things could get more complicated.”

“And if I let them look at my animals?”

“Everybody will see you’re taking good care of them, and there will be nothing left for them to complain about. Well? Can we all go and have a look?”