Adieu at the Zoo_A Jefferson Zoo Mystery Read online

  Rebecca Perry, according to her name tag, opened a large appointment book and moved her fingers down the page. I could see a big empty space next to the afternoon hours, so I knew her boss was free.

  If she allowed me a few minutes with him, I felt I could convince him to look elsewhere for his upscale housing development. After all, the one thing Chestnut City had in abundant supply was land—farmland, and plenty of it. Why not buy a farm and put his development there like every other developer in the area?

  Rebecca stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, please, ma’am,” she drawled, “I’ll see if Mr. Mooney is free to see you.”

  “Thank you.” I watched Rebecca disappear behind the black glass wall like a magician’s assistant. Would she return as a rabbit? Or would I be the next one to disappear? The things that run through your mind when you’re nervous.

  Chapter 23

  Rebecca Perry returned and pointed me to the bank of four chairs next to the foyer door. “Ma’am, would you please to have a seat and Mr. Mooney will be with you shortly?”

  I surveyed the lineup of chairs in Mooney’s waiting room and chose the one nearest the door. Glancing around, I noticed the racecar artwork decorating Mooney’s walls suggesting he was a big race car fan. I reached for a magazine among the stack on top of the smoked glass coffee table. Titles like Building News, Custom Home, and Builder and Developer leapt out. I might have been interested in an issue of Green Homebuilder, but there was nary a copy in sight.

  Instead, I picked up a copy of U. S. News and World Report and read an article about the recent discovery of rare earth elements (REEs for short) in the mud at the bottom of the ocean. Rare earths, like Lithium, aren’t really rare, just difficult to mine, but they are critical to modern technology from computers to hybrid cars. What caught my attention was the mention of North Carolina’s coast and inland plain as potentially valuable REE mining sites.

  I’d nearly finished when the hall door opened and Mooney’s construction foreman, Ray Glover, entered and walked up to Rebecca’s desk as if he owned the place, which made me wonder if he might be related to his boss, a brother-in-law or nephew, perhaps. Clearly, Rebecca wasn’t a fan.

  “Need to see the boss for five,” he said, which sent Rebecca into the rabbit hole again. A few seconds later, she held the door open and motioned him inside.

  Fifteen minutes later, he walked out, sending a nod and a smile in my direction. I realized he was older than he appeared, his athletic build and youthful style disguising the years. I’d met him before, once at the barn construction site and a few other times at construction meetings. He rode herd on the crews, but once construction on the new barns began, he had little to do with zoo staff.

  Ray’s nodded greeting synchronized with a buzzing noise emanating from below Rebecca’s desk. I hoped the summons might be for me this time.

  “Yes, sir?” was followed by, “I’ll bring her in, sir.” She sent a slight wave of her well-manicured hand my way. “Ma’am? Mr. Mooney can see you now. Please follow me.”

  I dutifully followed Rebecca Perry through the black glass door. Mr. Mooney rose from his chair southern gentleman-style and met me with his hand outstretched. I estimated his height at about six-two. His short-cropped graying hair gave him an air of sophistication despite his barrel chest and stomach pouch, which he counterbalanced by arching his back.

  As the company’s CEO, I’d expected to see him in an expensive suit and tie, but instead he wore a light green golf shirt and neatly pressed khakis, the ones with pleats, not the most flattering style for his build.

  “Miss Clark. I know who you are and I am very pleased to finally meet you.” The perfect southern gentleman.

  We shook hands and I wondered if he’d looked me up on the web after Rebecca gave him my name, which explained the long wait.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Mooney. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”

  “It’s my pleasure, darlin’. Won’t you have a seat?” He pulled out one of the two chairs in front of his desk and stood behind it, holding onto the back while I plopped myself down.

  Ginger was right about God’s gift to women—not that I thought so, but obviously he did.

  “Now why don’t you tell me what-all you wanted to see me about?”

  I parsed his question and decided to answer the part I knew he intended to ask, coming straight to the point, as northerners are wont to do. “It’s about your offer to buy part of the zoo’s conservation tract.”

  “I presume you’re of the opinion I should withdraw my offah?”

  “It’s not a matter of my opinion,” I said, “but of doing what’s right.”

  “Right by whose standards, little lady?” I could tell his back was up already and I’d only gotten started. I resented the little lady tag since I’m not little and I hardly conform to the archetypical southern lady.

  “Do you have children, Mr. Mooney?”

  “If you’re gonna suggest to me that I need to preserve that land for future generations, I’ve got news for you. If I don’t develop that land, somebody else will. I know all about the zoo’s contract on that property and there’s nothin’ in there preventin’ the zoo from sellin’ off that land if the resources from the sale can go for othuh consuhvation effuhts.”

  He dragged out the last three words, no doubt because he thought I might be too dumb to understand them otherwise.

  I tried to hide my anger at his sense of entitlement, and probably should have bitten my tongue. Instead, I pushed ahead. “The reason I asked about children, is because most school children today could provide you with excellent arguments for preserving biodiversity, which is what the conservation tract is all about. There are rare and endangered plants and animal species on that property, all of which need to be protected.”

  “And the zoo needs money or it’s gonna go out of business,” he snapped, “and then what happens to all youah consuhvation effuhts?”

  Obviously, guilt trips weren’t working on Mooney. Maybe he suffered from fetal alcohol syndrome and lacked a conscience, but since I never met his mother I had no way of knowing. All I knew was that I needed to come up with a different strategy for convincing Winston Mooney to give up on the idea of buying the zoo’s conservation tract.

  Chapter 24

  After a few uncomfortable minutes of Mr. Mooney staring me down, I hit on an idea to appeal to his ego, a large one— even by southern standards.

  “I have an alternate suggestion for you,” I said.

  Mooney raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Which is?”

  “That you make a sizable donation to the zoo with the condition that the conservation tract be preserved and named in your honor.”

  Winston Mooney leaned back in his chair and roared with laughter. “I didn’t see that one coming! I’m beginnin’ to like you little lady. You got a good head on them pretty shoulders. Why don’t you think about comin’ to work for me? I can pay you a hell of a lot more than you’re makin’ tendin’ plants at that two-bit amusement park this county calls a zoo.”

  As angry as I felt inside, I struggled to maintain my cool. Not easy to do with Mr. Full-of-Himself.

  “I appreciate the offer, but why don’t you think over my suggestion? You’ll make your children and grandchildren proud and preserve your reputation for generations to come—”

  The buzzer on Mooney’s intercom interrupted my plea. He stood up and I turned toward the door. A blonde woman stood outside waiting to enter. Her name was Alice Pickett, a local realtor. I knew her, not from her realty business and the billboards around town plastered with her picture, but because she was active in the local chapter of the horticulture society.

  Since she worked with Mooney selling his houses, one might conclude I had an ally here, but Alice Pickett disliked me intensely. After a year or two in Chestnut City, I learned the reason behind her hatred. She’d been a finalist for my job eight years earlier, making me the person who put an end to her dream of worki
ng for the institution where she volunteered her time. Not my fault, and I tried my darnedest to win her over in the early years, but without success. At some point I gave up, realizing it was an exercise in futility.

  “Excuse me a minute,” Mooney said, falling over himself to reach the door. I had to smile. Blonde-haired slim Alice Pickett was a dish. In her early fifties, she looked ten years younger, though with a decided hard edge. The real estate business had been good to her, as had a couple of her ex-husbands. According to local rumor, she was worth a bundle.

  However, if Winston Mooney had designs on her, he was a bit late. From what I’d heard, Alice was the woman hot and heavy with Nate Olson, our married, esteemed General Curator.

  According to my secretary Maddy, Bob had confronted Nate over the whole business, mostly because their wives were good friends, but Nate denied everything. It was a real blow-up that caused more than a little friction between the two men. To my knowledge, everyone seemed to know about the affair except Nate’s wife Mitzi. I felt sorry for her, not only for having to put up with Nate, but because the spouse is always the last one to know.

  Mooney opened the door and greeted Alice in a way that blocked her view of me as he slipped out to the reception area. I watched him guide her over to the chair I’d recently vacated. He started to sit beside her, then apparently changed his mind and returned, sticking his head in the office door. “I’ll be a few minutes,” he told me.

  “No problem,” I replied.

  While Mooney resumed his conversation with Alice, I glanced around the office. A row of race car pictures lined the wall behind his desk. Looking closer, I realized the racecar driver in some of the pictures was none other than a young Mr. Mooney. I’d never have guessed. He certainly didn’t seem the type to court physical danger, but then I knew nothing about the man. My quizzical glance dropped from the wall photographs down to his desk, not that I’m nosy or anything. However, I am good at reading upside down and it’s a skill I like to keep honed.

  Only two pieces of paper lay on the large desk—a letter that looked like a report of some kind, alongside an accompanying brochure. The letterhead on both pieces read: Anchor Enterprises, Precious Metals Recovery, which I found very interesting, given I’d recently come across this same outfit during my online research into gold nugget assessments. I wondered what kind of precious metals Mooney planned to recover and from what location? My suspicion-meter kicked into what’s going on here? mode.

  I heard the office door click its warning and I quickly glanced away from his desk. As Mooney re-entered, I caught sight of Alice leaving through the front entrance. Mooney remained standing by the door, holding it open, which I took to mean he wanted me to leave.

  “It was nice to meet you Miss Clark, and I hope we can resume our conversation in the near future, but something has come up and I have to run. Before you go, please give Rebecca your phone number so she can re-schedule an appointment when we can discuss the matter of the conservation tract in more depth.” It sounded like an order and I stood up ready to salute.

  “Certainly,” I said. “Thanks for meeting with me.”

  “No problem, little lady, and I hope you’ll think about my offuh.” The southern gentleman again.

  “I will,” I promised. “And I hope you’ll consider mine.”

  As we shook hands, his right hand guided me through the door. He must be a ballroom dancer, I thought, with a lead like that.

  Before I left, I stopped at Rebecca’s desk and wrote down my work phone number as Mooney hurried out of the office on the heels of Alice Pickett.

  I left feeling depressed, wondering if my visit had accomplished anything at all. Next time I met with Mr. Mooney, if there were a next time, I’d come better prepared—armed with pamphlets explaining all the reasons it was our solemn duty to preserve biodiversity. Maybe I could still guilt him into withdrawing his purchase offer, since my ego-appeal strategy apparently bombed big-time.

  I took the elevator to the third floor, exited and walked down the stairs to the outside parking lot. Nearing my car, I spotted Alice and Winston Mooney climbing into a large white Cadillac with tinted windows. I noticed Mooney entering on the driver’s side. I guessed he was driving her out to look at one of his new upscale properties, hoping she could unload a house or two for him at an inflated price. From everything I’d heard, Alice was good at her job.

  Probably not all she was good at, either.

  Chapter 25

  I left the parking lot near Mooney’s building and turned onto Main Street in downtown Chestnut City. Four short blocks away at the far edge of town, I pulled into the hospital’s parking garage. I could have walked and probably should have, but I’d climbed three flights of stairs and figured that met my exercise quotient for the day. I locked the car, again out of habit, and called Jodie on my cell phone.

  “Hey, Sam, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  “Sorry for being incommunicado. I’m downstairs in the hospital lobby. Can you extricate yourself for a few minutes?”

  “I’m not sure what extricate means, but I’ll be right down.”

  I smiled into the phone and walked over to a seat near the window. I barely sat down before Jodie appeared looking exhausted. I wondered if she’d slept at all the previous night.

  “What’re you doing in town?” she asked.

  “At the moment, talking to you. How’s Andy?”

  I thought she was about to cry. “He’s not doing well at all, Sam. He’s had a bad blow to the head and there’s still a lot of fluid around his brain. The doctors say they have no idea how long it will be before he wakes up.”

  “That’s too bad, I’m really sorry to hear it. I was hoping things were starting to look up, but I’m glad you’re staying here. If Andy does start to come around he’ll work harder at waking up if he knows he’ll see you when he opens his eyes.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Keep your chin up. He’s in good hands. The doctors will do everything they can for him.”

  “When he does wake up, my biggest worry is that he’ll be a vegetable. It’s a scary thing seeing someone unconscious that long with their head all bandaged up.”

  I wished Jodie’s imagery were a little less vivid. “I’d like to stay with you,” I told her, “but I’ve got to get back to work. Just keep me posted. And if you need a shoulder to cry on, I always have one available. Come over any time.”

  “I know, and I appreciate it, Sam. Just so you know, I won’t be in tomorrow, either. The funeral for Jack—Andy’s mother calls him Jacques—is tomorrow morning at eleven. I’ll probably stop by the hospital before and after the funeral, so I won’t be able to make work if that’s okay with you.”

  “It’s fine. The biggest item on my plate this week is the budget and there’s not much you can do to help with that. I’ll see you Wednesday if not before.”

  Jodie accompanied me to the parking lot door. “By the way,” she said, “did you drive over here just to check on Andy?”

  “No. I had another errand.”

  “I thought so. Anything connected with Jack and Andy?”

  “No, another matter. I thought I’d play heroine, but the role must have gone to somebody else. I’ll tell you about it another time. If you’re not at the hospital tonight, stop by my house. I’ll order take-out.”

  “No can do, but thanks. I’m having dinner with Andy’s family.”

  I tried to hide my surprise. “Okay, I’ll see you Wednesday then.” I gave her a hug. “Take care of yourself.”

  “You, too,” she said.

  On my way back to the zoo, a million thoughts ran through my mind. I found it interesting that Nate took such a tough stand about the Mooney purchase offer at our morning staff meeting, especially when it meant siding with me. Was he play-acting so that later he could go along and not look like he’s in on the deal, if and when a deal comes about?

  I reasoned that if Alice Pickett’s realty firm was representin
g Mooney, a multi-million dollar purchase could mean big bucks for Alice, and if Nate planned to ditch his wife for Alice, then he’d be in favor of the sale.

  However, he couldn’t afford to be seen supporting it at this juncture, not with his job in jeopardy. On the other hand, if Alice’s fling with Nate was over and done, and if she’d taken up with Mooney and Nate knew about it, then he’d be intensely jealous and would fight Mooney tooth and nail over the purchase.

  I realized my convoluted reasoning contained more if/then statements than a C++ program, but life is messier than computer programs. There are seldom straightforward explanations for people’s behavior, and even fewer for their misbehavior. Think about all the politicians and even military generals brought down by sex scandals. The more power men have, it seems, the more difficulty they have keeping their pants zipped. Maybe chastity belts were designed for the wrong sex, but what did I know?

  Man problems aside, I knew I wouldn’t be the one resolving all the zoo-related mysteries popping up lately, which didn’t stop me from thinking about them. I wanted to know the real reason behind Mooney’s offer to buy the conservation tract, because I suspected it wasn’t about building houses. There were plenty of cheaper, easier to acquire parcels of land in Chestnut City.

  I also wanted to know who murdered Jack Dubois. Given that Jack worked for Mooney Construction, I wondered if his death and the land deal might be connected even if at this point, I had no idea how.

  The secret to solving any mystery, I knew, lay in ferreting out the hidden variables, a task which returned my thoughts to the Anchor Enterprises letter and brochure sitting on Winston Mooney’s desk. Could he possibly have found valuable minerals on the conservation tract? It wasn’t out of the question. If so, maybe his reason for rejecting area farmland in favor of our conservation tract had more to do with mining than with a housing development.

  I’d been following the news coverage lately about rare earth metals, which is what spurred me to read the article in Mooney’s office. China, a country that seemed more capable of forward thinking than the U.S. these days, had captured the market on the supply and processing, and now controlled 97% of production. The U. S. had only recently begun to think about playing catch up, and North Carolina was one of about a dozen states with promising supplies, particularly in our area of the State.