Adieu at the Zoo_A Jefferson Zoo Mystery Read online

  She shouldn’t have given him an in.

  “Exactly my thinking,” Billy said, “and it appears you two know your way around the zoo.”

  Jodie’s hands moved to her hips. “Oh, good lord. So, the two of us are going around killing people and dumping their bodies on zoo grounds, then pretending to find them so we can throw you off our trail?”

  I decided to step in before one or the other landed a punch.

  “It’s simply a coincidence,” I told Billy. “And you know it.”

  “I don’t believe in coincidences. It’s one of the first lessons we learn in deputy school.”

  “Lord help us,” Jodie repeated.

  I could see we weren’t dealing with a Nobel laureate here, but I opted for logic, anyway. “If there were no such thing as coincidences we wouldn’t have a word for them, would we? I mean, think about it,” which seemed to stop Billy in his tracks. “Now, why don’t you concentrate on taking our statements instead of making unfounded accusations so we can all go home.”

  Jodie opened her mouth to say more, but my evil eye stopped her.

  Billy took out his smart phone and dutifully recorded the audio of our statements. By the time he’d finished, the ambulance was ready to leave. The second deputy motioned Billy to the car and thanked us politely before turning to leave.

  Jodie and I climbed into my truck and followed the departing cars. Driving Jodie home, I tried to distract her by raising the question of whether Andy had been in an accident or, I planted my tongue firmly in my cheek here, really was the victim of a serial killer. It wasn’t hard to guess which theory Jodie espoused.

  “Andy’s a good driver,” she argued, “and you’re the perfect example. If you can handle driving down that hill without wrecking your car, so could Andy. That was no accident.”

  “Andy drives a lot faster than I do,” I said.

  “He’s also a better driver than you are.”

  “Point taken, though I’m still not on board with your serial killer theory, particularly the part that includes Nelson Farthington.”

  “Ah, so, your date that wasn’t a date turned out pretty great, huh?”

  “Not exactly. Let’s stay on topic and attack this problem scientifically.” I knew I sounded condescending here. “From the point of view of parsimony.”

  Jodie wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a vegetable I don’t like.”

  “It’s a scientific principle that says the simplest answer is probably the correct one. In this case, the simplest answer points to family. Our two victims are related, ergo, the investigation should begin with their family.” I paused to think about what I was saying since I hadn’t really put my brain in gear. “I guess it doesn’t have to be family. Somebody could have it in for the two cousins. Also, we don’t know whether Andy’s accident was intentional or not—”

  “I’d rule out anyone inside the family,” Jodie snapped. “They’re a tight-knit group. It’s the French Canadian connection. However, somebody could be out to get the cousins and I know who would know.”

  “Who?”

  “Tony Pope. Another cousin. His first name is Antoine, but he never lets anyone know it.”

  “Nelson Farthington mentioned him when I asked if he knew about the death of Jack Dubois. He said Jack and Tony were friends who used to visit the Farthington house together as kids. Apparently, members of their families worked for the Farthingtons?”

  “As has half the town.”

  “And Tony Pope is also a friend of yours?”

  “Classmate. In high school, we referred to Tony, Jack and Andy as The Three Musketeers. They did everything together, including triple dating.” Jodie wrinkled her nose. “Not as much fun as it sounds. When I get home, I’ll give Tony a call, see what he has to say about all this.”

  “Maybe you should think twice about contacting Tony.” I sensed an opportunity here. “He might be your serial killer.”

  Chapter 18

  As things turned out, finding Andy LaRue was the highlight of my weekend. I cancelled my dinner plans with Ginger because I needed some down time and she said she understood. That’s the advantage of good friends. They don’t hold it against you for canceling a dinner engagement.

  Ginger and I have been close friends from the first day I arrived for work at the Jefferson Zoo when she took me under her wing and filled me in on local politics. No institution is without internal tensions and zoos have their share, mostly due to the mix of professions—from scientists to conservationists to entertainers—as well as the varied nature of the institution’s goals, which sometimes conflict.

  Entertainment brings in the most money, with science and conservation often lagging far behind, which gives rise to any number of squabbles over priorities. Add in large egos and strong personalities, and the politics can rival the complexity of a ruminant’s digestive system.

  I’ve been eternally grateful to Ginger, the sanest person at the zoo, for guiding me through my first couple of years, especially once I discovered our General Curator was out to have me replaced. Ginger and I also work well together even if we sometimes disagree. Each of us knows the other’s heart is in the right place and we share the goal of developing exhibits that are state-of-the-art for the plants and animals, interesting for the visitors, and in the best interests of our precious Jefferson County Zoo, even if we sometimes have different ideas about how to achieve those ends.

  Our biggest clashes occur over my plant choices since I’m constrained by a number of factors the Design staff likes to ignore—money and practicality. They invariably opt for plant selections found in the animals’ native environment, especially if they match the size and shape of the drawings in Ginger’s design sketches.

  I’m a bit more pragmatic, and the orangutan exhibit is a prime example. Orangs love fruit, leaves, and tree bark, among about 400 other foods, which is fine for creatures living in a vast forest, but places enormous stress on a small habitat, even ones as large and ecologically diverse as ours.

  Beyond preventing the orangs from eating themselves out of home and habitat, there’s the matter of keeping them happy enough so they stop plotting their escape. Our feisty male orang is a good example. In his previous home, an unregulated west coast animal farm, he was known not only for escaping, but also for finding his way back by feeding time.

  We solved the problem with a moat that’s bordered on the outside by an inward curving sheer wall, which hasn’t stopped Breakaway from rising to the challenge. Shortly after his arrival, a thunderstorm downed a number of tree branches in his exhibit. He took the wood and built a bridge or maybe it was a raft, we were never quite sure. In any case, his valiant escape attempt failed, and given he’s without a hammer and nails we’re fairly certain he’ll stay put, which brought my thoughts back to our missing security officer.

  With the search for Andy called off, I foolishly thought Dan might be available, and I even debated about calling him, but in the end, decided against it. To my surprise, he called me on Sunday morning, but only to deliver bad news in the form of canceling our Sunday dinner date with some lame excuse about work that I promptly forgot if I even heard it. I was surprised at how disappointed I felt.

  Following Jodie’s advice, I suggested we re-schedule next Friday or Saturday. He said that sounded fine, but failed to commit to either night before ringing off by saying he’d get back to me. I spent the whole of Sunday cleaning my house, eating, and feeling sorry for myself. I thought again about calling Dan on the pretext of asking about Andy’s condition, but Jodie phoned me regularly with news of Andy’s progress, thereby taking away the only legitimate excuse my not so inventive mind could contrive to contact Dan and still preserve my pride.

  “Hey, Sam. I’m calling from the hospital. Andy’s unconscious,” Jodie reported in her first call. “The doctors say he has a really serious head injury and they’re debating about whether to operate in order to release the fluid surrounding his brain. The problem is, he isn’t stable en
ough to handle any invasive procedures at this point.”

  “A real catch twenty-two,” I replied, knowing nothing about brain surgery.

  Her second call came when I was re-charging my phone.

  “Hi, Sam. I’m here with Andy’s family. The waiting is a strain on everyone. Andy’s mom is such a sweet person and I feel so sorry for her. I’m really bummed out by this.”

  “How long are you staying at the hospital?”

  “Andy’s mother said she’s happy to have me here, so I’ll hang out a while longer. I’ll give you a call if there’s any change in Andy.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “keep your chin up. I’ll check in with you later.”

  I realized I never told her about Dan canceling his dinner date with me, but she had more important matters on her mind. My problems faded into insignificance compared to what Andy and his family were going through.

  The remainder of my day was quiet. I spent an hour fixing myself a passable supper, and finished reading a book before heading off to bed where I tossed and turned for half-an-hour or more before reaching for the TV clicker. Unfortunately, I selected a romantic comedy, which did nothing to get my mind off Dan Saunders’s dramatic change in behavior.

  At some point, perhaps motivated by the movie, I thought about Dan’s truck driving by my house. If he jumped to the wrong conclusion I really couldn’t blame him. I should take Jodie’s advice and drive down to Security for a face-to-face chat. Having an advice columnist on staff is handy, especially for someone as out of touch with the dating scene as I was. Widowhood sent me into a shell for years and I was only now emerging, which I owed to Jodie, or maybe Dan Saunders.

  Anyway, I was hoping not to find a reason to crawl back inside my shell, because it’s a cold and lonely place.

  Chapter 19

  On Monday morning, our Department Heads meeting began with terrible news, which resulted in a collective state of shock as we all read a disturbing news story. Bob’s secretary had placed copies of the article at each place around the table.

  A few staff members, me included, hadn’t seen the report on television or read the morning paper. Consequently, a small group of us arrived at the meeting unaware of the issue every zoo in the country would be discussing that day, all of which inspired me to do a better job of keeping up with the outside world.

  As I scanned the piece, I could feel a pall settling over the room. I read the article twice, feeling even worse the second time through. How could this have happened?

  “Thank God, this wasn’t our zoo,” Ginger said, expressing the thought uppermost in everyone’s mind.

  The headline glared up at me: “Toddler Dies at Zoo.” In a truly horrific accident, a two-year old boy had fallen into an African wild dogs exhibit and been mauled to death before keepers or police could reach him. My immediate reaction was a feeling of nausea in the pit of my stomach, followed by anger at whomever I felt could be held responsible.

  “What’s wrong with people?” I blurted, in defense of the zoo world in general. “This is a great zoo. Nothing like this has ever happened there before,” I added, “and they’ve been around for more than a hundred years.”

  Bob responded in a voice meant to calm. “That’s not the issue from our perspective. What this accident shows is that no zoo is one hundred percent safe. We all need to do a better job of anticipating human error. Our responsibility is to protect the animals under our care, and that includes zoo visitors.”

  “Protecting them from themselves?” Nate asked, employing his usual cynicism.

  I noticed Bob bristle. “If necessary.”

  We spent the next hour of our weekly meeting discussing safety issues exhibit by exhibit, which put Nate’s policies under a microscope. I could see him squirming, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. I wish I could say I felt sorry for him.

  Once we’d exhausted the topic of safety, Bob focused on the mystery surrounding Jack Dubois’s death and Andy LaRue’s accident. Nate, on the other hand, saw an opportunity to remove the focus from his policies by turning to me and asking his first accusatory question of the day.

  “Why were you and Jodie out on the logging road on a Sunday afternoon, anyway?”

  “Doing our job,” I replied, maintaining the most equitable tone I could muster. “I had an idea for the girl’s Zoo Camp next month, and Jodie and I were exploring camp sites.”

  I hoped I hadn’t sounded defensive since interactions with Nate always put me on guard. He barely nodded—one of the ways he expressed his doubts about my explanation. He had some kind of hang-up when it came to the conservation land, but then he had so many hang-ups about so many things I could barely keep track. That issue aside, he also seemed to enjoy any excuse to pounce on me.

  I glanced over at Bob with a ‘help me out here’ look.

  Without acknowledging my unspoken plea, Bob took my side. “Whatever Sam’s reasons for being there, she and Jodie may have saved the life of one of our own. Good work, Sam,” he added, after which he moved immediately to the next agenda item, depriving Nate of any opportunity to further harass me.

  Probably out of frustration, Nate turned his venom on the vet, starting an argument over the treatment of a sick giraffe. The vet wanted to euthanize the animal, insisting she was too sick to recover and we were wasting precious resources on expensive medications and treatment. In this case, Bob gave in to Nate’s demands and instructed the Vet to continue treatment for a few more days.

  “If the giraffe shows no improvement,” Bob added, “we’ll visit the issue again. Right now, we have other important matters to discuss, one of which is the reason I’ve invited Matt Howard and Mary Ellis to today’s meeting.”

  I’d wondered about the presence of Alliance personnel, but assumed it had something to do with the zoo incident and safety. I glanced across the table at Mary Ellis’s boss Matt Howard, the buttoned-up, buttoned down Executive Director of Zoo Alliance.

  He’d arrived wearing an expensive gray suit that might have rolled straight out of Nelson Farthington’s closet. The impeccably knotted tie matched his Carolina-blue eyes, which, knowing Matt, wasn’t by accident. I couldn’t see his shoes, but he only wore the same style loafer, the ones with the dangly little tassels that make me gag. I couldn’t think of another male associated with the zoo who would consider wearing those shoes, not even Nelson Farthington.

  By contrast, Mary Ellen’s outfit nice as it was, came straight off the sale rack at a local discount store, which is more than I can afford so I don’t offer this observation as a criticism. She always looks great, and she’d have to or risk being fired. Matt cares a lot about appearances, but my biggest gripe with him is that he uses his Alliance position to pressure the zoo into doing his bidding, and since he controls a pile of money, he frequently gets his way, whether or not his decisions are in the best interests of the zoo.

  I wondered what he had up his sleeve today, and suspected whatever it was it probably did not bode well for the zoo, especially since he brought Mary Ellen along for support.

  Chapter 20

  As most of you know,” Bob began, glancing over at Nate, “we’ve been up against bad times lately. With the downturn in the economy, attendance is off and so are our revenues. The good news is we’ve received a generous offer to purchase part of the conservation tract. It’s not an ideal solution to our money problems, I know, but I’m asking you to consider arguments in favor of the proposal so I can make a recommendation to the Board.”

  I reacted first, risking Bob’s good will. “I’m opposed. I don’t care how good the offer is. We’re a conservation organization first, and there are solutions to our money woes other than selling off a tract of land that hosts more than a dozen rare and endangered plants—”

  Nate interrupted me. “I’m with Sam on this. In addition to endangered plants, we have a known population of bog turtles on that land as well as Carolina flying squirrels and Red Crossbills.” He paused for a second or two and added, “A
lso, the Pygmy Salamander and the Regal Fritillary Butterfly.”

  I appreciated reinforcement from this unlikely front, especially since Nate and I seldom saw eye-to-eye on important issues. And much as I enjoyed the support, hearing fritillary butterfly roll off Nate’s tongue left me struggling to hide a smile.

  Matt Howard glanced back and forth between us. “I’d like you to hear me out before you dig in your heels.”

  My dug-in heels weren’t budging. I cared nothing for what Matt had to say and I hoped Nate would continue to hang in there with me on this, even though I remained wary, knowing he’d still come after me given the least provocation. Nothing would make him happier than my landing a job at another zoo, preferably on the opposite side of the world. To be fair, I felt the same about him.

  “Go ahead,” Bob told Matt, shrugging aside our hostilities to the whole idea. “We’re listening.”

  “Winston Mooney has offered to purchase a small portion of the conservation tract for an upscale housing development—”

  I leaned forward preparing to object again, but Bob stopped me. “Let him finish.”

  “Mooney’s offering us triple the market value of the land and promising to set aside green areas. He’ll even give us veto power over his plans and allow us to have input into which lands will be designated green areas.”

  I thought about the motivation behind Winston Mooney’s lowball bid to build our new animal barns, which is how he managed to get an in with Matt and the Alliance. That deal smelled fishy to me from the beginning, and Mooney’s new ‘offer’ only confirmed my initial fears.

  “I say no deal,” I blurted out again, “no matter his offer. The zoo purchased that tract in a good faith agreement that the land would remain forever wild. We need to stick to that agreement even if it isn’t spelled out in writing.”