Adieu at the Zoo_A Jefferson Zoo Mystery Read online

  My brain was starting to function. “Interesting that he wanted to know what Andy had to say.”

  “Exactly what I thought. If you ask me, Tony’s involved in all this. It wouldn’t surprise me if he and Jack got in a fight and he killed Jack, then Andy found about it and confronted him, then he tried to kill Andy. Tony’s always had a temper.”

  I thought about what she had to say. “I think you’ve got an interesting hippo…hippothesis,” I told her. “Certainly worth considering.”

  “Hypothesis. Are you okay, Sam?”

  “Yes,” I said, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I can think okay, I just can’t get the sents, uh…sentences out.” I waved my hand around, the motion nearly as incoherent as my words.

  Jodie shook her head. “I’ve never seen you like this before, but then, I’ve never seen you down three margaritas in a row.”

  “Me, neither.”

  “Drink some water and dilute the alcohol,” she ordered.

  Chapter 32

  I followed Jodie’s instructions about drinking water to dilute the alcohol in my system, and after awhile the fog in my brain seemed to lift, though I can’t report feeling anywhere close to normal.

  Jodie continued with her Tony Pope story. “Anyway, as I was leaving the construction site, I snuck around back and checked out Tony’s van. Guess what I found when I opened the back door?” She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Some of that beehive rope you saw on the body.”

  “Bee Line.”

  “Yeah, that’s it.”

  “Interesting, Watson. Anything else?”

  “A box of garbage bags.”

  “Oka-a-y.”

  “This is serious, Sam.”

  “I know. I’m just a little too tipsy to appreciate it.” I worked at gathering my thoughts together. “You should let Dan know what you found.”

  “Do you want to do that or should I?”

  “The way I feel about Dan? I’ll leave talking to him up to you.”

  “Know what I plan to do next?”

  I knew exactly what I wanted her to do next, and in my inebriated state, said so. “Tell him off, I hope?”

  She gave me another disparaging look. I avoided eye contact by picking up the menu and turning to the dessert section.

  “I’ll leave telling off Dan to you,” she said. “I want to catch up with him to ask if he’ll talk to the sheriff about getting a search warrant for Jack’s shoes. I think Tony Pope is behind Jack’s death, as well as Andy’s accident, and I’ll bet a dollar to a donut that he took Jack’s shoes after he murdered him.”

  “Your theory sounds…plausible.” I had a bit of trouble spitting out the last word.

  “Yeah,” she said, “I was thinking about that parsimony principle you explained to me. Tony’s always been the weak link in the Three Musketeers’ friendship, but he is a connecting link. The three have been tight for years. So, I figure either Tony’s next on the killer’s hit list or he’s the one doing the bumping off.”

  I carefully prepared the delivery of my next sentence, struggling to make my thoughts and words match. “It certainly fits the pars-i-mo-ny principle,” I said, executing the words with a precision I failed to feel. “Except, what’s the motive?”

  “With those three? It could be anything, even a girl.”

  “Not you, I hope.”

  “No, not me. I wouldn’t give Tony Pope the time of day and he knows it. By the way, you called it a hypothesis earlier, not a theory.”

  “Right,” I said, my mind elsewhere. I had an idea that might explain even more, but I needed to run a small investigation of my own. Jodie’s notion about Tony Pope murdering Jack and then going after Andy sounded plausible to me now that I began to think clearly again.

  And Jodie was dead-on correct about Andy. He could be confrontational, and if he thought Tony had anything to do with Jack’s death, he would take his accusations straight to the source. As for Tony’s motive in killing Jack, I jettisoned my earlier notion about Mooney and company prospecting for rare earth elements, and now guessed a connection to the black market ring poaching plants at the zoo.

  Working for Mooney Construction gave his employees access to zoo property, and with Tony and Jack’s family ties to the Farthingtons and the Farthington plant collection, I had a good idea who might be running the ring or at least heavily involved: my Friday night date.

  Nelson Farthington must have hoped I’d be so flattered by a dinner invite to his estate that I would show my gratitude by joining their operation, or at least make a contribution now and then. How he arrived at that conclusion I didn’t know, but it gave me an opening for gathering the information I needed to clear my good name.

  Tony’s motive for killing Jack remained a puzzle, but the murder could have gone down any number of ways. Maybe one tried to blackmail the other after learning about the plant thefts, or perhaps they were working together and one wanted to strike out on his own. Either scenario could lead to a fight resulting in the death of Jack.

  The idea of a premeditated killing seemed doubtful since they were friends as well as cousins. More likely, a disagreement arose that escalated, as Jodie suggested. And if Andy caught wind of it, he might have tracked Tony down, maybe tried to catch him in the act of stealing plants, after which he chased him down the logging road, driving so fast he lost control of his car.

  Finding the answers meant another meeting with Nelson Farthington. But how to arrange it? If I’d had any confidence in my culinary skills I could invite him to dinner, but I ruled out that option right away. I also ruled out another trip to the Farthington mansion, a particularly bad idea given Jodie’s serial killer accusations.

  While reviewing my options, I glanced out the window at a straight-on view of El Provencal when another bad idea hit me. Maybe I could invite Nelson Farthington out to dinner. Even in my addled state, I rejected that plan as unworkable given my luck with men. My best bet was to come up with a zoo-related excuse for meeting, one that didn’t place my life in jeopardy. I decided to sleep on it.

  In fact, I needed to sleep on a lot of things, I thought, as I continued to gaze at El Provencal and think about Dan Saunders. I wondered if he might be over there right now, enjoying another dinner with his blonde lady friend.

  If so, I was the last person to care.

  Chapter 33

  “Ready to leave?” Jodie asked, bringing me back to the present as she dabbed her lips with her napkin in a way that amused me.

  “Vamanos,” I said, wishing I’d insisted on driving my Prius instead of riding in her clunker of a truck, except then I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy those three margaritas.

  Jodie inherited her pickup from her father after her brother spent two years driving it into the ground. Whenever I ride with her I cross my fingers, worried about where we’ll break down next. In the first episode, we ran out of gas, which I blamed on Jodie not the truck, but our second incident occurred just after I’d filled her tank on my credit card.

  In that event, we’d coasted to the side of the road where we both got out, lifted the hood and stared at the engine as if either of us knew what we were looking for. Eventually, I convinced her to call for a tow, which she did. Turned out her truck had dirt in the gas tank, which clogged some kind of filter.

  “If you’d pay me a decent salary,” she told me when I’d questioned her choice of accepting her father’s gift of an abused truck, “maybe I could afford to buy a decent car.”

  “Your salary is as high I can get it,” I explained, which was the truth, “without paying you out of my pocket. And my salary’s not enough to do that.”

  I picked up the tab for our taco dinner and we left the restaurant well after dark. I was happy we hadn’t gone out of town to eat. If Jodie’s truck gave out on us, I thought, at least we could walk the two or three miles home.

  We’d barely driven a mile when Jodie said, “I think we’re being followed.”

  She’d chosen the back route t
o my house, which was shorter in terms of miles, but slower in minutes since the route wound through a couple of housing developments.

  “The car in back of us left the restaurant right after we did,” she said, “and has been on my tail ever since.”

  “This is a small town,” I told her. “No big coincidence if two cars leave a restaurant and travel in the same direction.”

  “This is different. They’re right on my tail.”

  I decided to humor her. “Take a couple of turns that lead in a circle. That should cure your paranoia.”

  “If you’d spent any time with Tony Pope at that construction site today,” she countered, making a quick right turn, “you’d be paranoid, too.”

  I looked back and saw a black pickup truck that continued straight ahead when we turned.

  “I think you’ve lost him,” I told her, trying not to smile at what I considered her groundless fears.

  “It never hurts to be careful,” she sniffed. “I read once about guys who follow women home from grocery store parking lots to see where they live, then break into their houses at night and assault them.”

  “In all my years living in Chestnut City, I’ve never heard or read about a rapist in this town. Or a serial killer, for that matter.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” she snapped, “and he’s back. Same quirky headlights behind us.”

  I turned around to see she was right. Weird headlights—one light shining straight ahead, the other off to the side, and they were bearing down on us. I decided the time had come to worry.

  Once we left the housing developments, Jodie’s shortcut would put us onto Creek Road, a mile-long stretch of deserted two-lane twisting macadam that followed the contortions of a fast-running stream.

  “If he’s still behind us when we reach my street,” I said, “drive past my house and go straight to the police station. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “Will do. In fact, if he stays behind us along Creek Road, I’ll drive straight to the police station without driving past your house. There’s a turn off before we get to your street. If I had to bet, I’d wager it’s Tony Pope and he’s trying to scare me off.”

  “You might be right about that,” I said, worrying he might not stop at scaring her. “Does he drive a black pickup?”

  “No, he has a beat-up white van, but he could have borrowed a truck from one of his redneck friends.”

  We were coming up to Creek Road where we had two options: continue straight ahead or turn around in someone’s driveway, which would allow the pickup to block our path and who knows what would happen then? If the driver had a gun, he could shoot us.

  Even so, I was about to suggest the turn-around option when Jodie made an executive decision and pulled onto Creek Road with the truck in hot pursuit. I hoped he wasn’t planning a game of bump and run even though I had supreme confidence in Jodie’s driving ability. In high school, she’d won the safe-driving competition two years in a row, beating out a field of boys. To make matters worse for the boys in her class, she was also a crack-shot and star of the rifle team.

  “He’s right on my bumper,” she cried.

  “I’m calling 911.” I put through the call, explaining the situation and our location when Jodie’s truck jolted forward. “He just bumped us from behind,” I told the operator.

  “The police are on their way,” the woman replied. “Keep to a safe speed in case he tries to run you off the road. I’ll stay on the line with you. Keep talking to me.”

  This was followed by another jolt and a string of curses from Jodie as she clutched the wheel, deftly managing to keep the car on the road.

  “He’s hit us again, harder this time,” I explained to the operator. “I think he’s trying to send us into the ditch.”

  “I wish I had my gun,” Jodie said. “I’d shoot his balls off.”

  “Just keep us on the road,” I encouraged. “You’re doing a great job.”

  She glanced in her rearview mirror. “He’s backing off. Maybe he’s picked up the police call on his radio or heard sirens in the distance.”

  I cracked my window to nothing but silence, followed by Jodie’s scream as she floored the truck. “He’s coming at us really fast. I’ve got to speed up or we’re dead meat.”

  I relayed the message to the 911 operator, who kept asking me, “What’s happening now?”

  The black pickup hit our rear end on the driver’s side, sending our truck off to the right. I could see Jodie’s knuckles turning white as she clung to the steering wheel while we bumped along the berm. She was doing a masterful job of driving and we would have made it to safety had our attacker not bumped us one more time, this time sending Jodie’s truck careening into a ditch before she could pull it back onto the road.

  Fortunately, or rather somewhat fortunately for me, the truck rolled over front end first instead of hitting broadside on the passenger door. Both airbags deployed pummeling our chests, but I thanked my lucky stars Jodie’s father had the foresight to add a passenger-side airbag to her truck.

  After what seemed forever in that timeless world of approaching death, the pin-wheeling truck came to a stop nearly upside down. A moment of eerie silence preceded a cacophony of sirens.

  I was still conscious and hoped Jodie was, too. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m awake,” she said, “but I can’t tell yet what hurts. Too much adrenaline flowing.”

  “You’re probably in shock,” I told her, struggling to unhook my seat belt and free myself from the confines of the demolished vehicle. All I could think about was whether or not the police would manage to intercept the psycho before he came back and shot us.

  Chapter 34

  I woke up on Wednesday morning in a hospital bed in a semi-private room, Jodie asleep in the bed next to mine. Neither of us was badly injured. No broken bones, mostly bruises, but the doctors insisted we stay overnight for observation. It was the best night’s sleep I’d had in a dog’s age. I began to understand how people got addicted to sleeping pills.

  Once the doctors had finished examining us the previous night, the sheriff took over. To my surprise, he had the courtesy to ask our permission. Given the look of my bandaged head and bruised face, he probably felt sorry for us. We told him our story and Jodie chipped in with her theory about Tony Pope.

  “We’ll pick him up for questionin’ soon’s we leave here,” the sheriff promised.

  “Don’t forget to look for Jack’s shoes,” Jodie told him. “I bet you’ll find them in Tony’s closet.”

  The sheriff nodded and glanced over at me. “I may have to hire this little lady away from you and add her to my staff. She’s got the makin’s of a real good detective.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Jodie had more to say.

  “And another thing.” She paused to brush back a strand of hair. “Billy could use a few lessons in conflict management.”

  The sheriff never flinched. “I take it you and Billy know each other?”

  “We go to the same church, which would make you think he’d have been a little more polite to Sam and me the day we found Andy, instead of treating us like we were some kind of criminals.”

  “I’ll have a talk with that boy.”

  I listened in amazement. I had no idea how Jodie got away with what she did. The southern woman thing, I thought.

  Sheriff Joyner left shortly thereafter, promising he’d find the SOB who ran us off the road, and string him up. I took the latter statement as hyperbole, though I also felt like stringing up Tony Pope. I wished Jodie hadn’t taken matters into her own hands and confronted him. That was about the dumbest thing she’d ever done in my opinion.

  Our hospital morning began with the rattling of metal carts in the hall outside our room signaling the arrival of breakfast. I reached for my watch in the nightstand drawer. Ten minutes to seven, my normal wake-up time. A cheery woman in a pinstriped uniform pushed a tray cart into our room.

  “Good morning,�
�� she sang, “how are you two this morning?”

  “Pretty good, considering,” I replied, even though I ached all over.

  Jodie raised her head a couple of inches and mumbled, “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven,” I told her, “how are you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, considering.”

  The pinstriped woman chirped a second good morning in Jodie’s direction. “Breakfast time, rise and shine.” She set the brake on my tray and scurried out of the room for Jodie’s.

  “No one should be that cheerful this early in the morning,” Jodie muttered, “especially not in a hospital.”

  I eased my injured legs over the side of the bed and examined my battered shins. The contusions would look even worse in a day or two, I thought. My right hip and right shoulder hurt like crazy, but according to the previous night’s X-rays all my bones were intact. My rib cage felt like an elephant had perched on it while I slept thanks to the air bag punch, but bruised ribs beat broken bones any day.

  I plodded into the bathroom and gazed at my face in the mirror. It wasn’t a pretty sight. A large bandage covered the right side of my forehead, which helped me gauge the size of the gouge underneath. I gingerly touched the bandage only to be rewarded with a stab of pain.

  Someone, probably Jodie’s mother, had provided two toothbrushes and two identical tubes of toothpaste. I splashed cold water on the bottom left half of my face since the right side was too swollen and sore to touch, brushed my teeth to the best of my ability and tended to other morning duties before returning to dine in with Jodie.

  “My turn,” she said, slipping out of bed and moving to the bathroom at a near normal pace.