by Lois Schmitt
MONKEY BUSINESS
A KRISTY FARRELL MYSTERY
MONKEY BUSINESS
LOIS SCHMITT
FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2017 by Lois Schmitt
Poem within the text was written by Lois Schmitt.
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc.
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Schmitt, Lois, author.
Title: Monkey business / Lois Schmitt.
Description: First edition. | Waterville : Five Star Publishing, [2017] | Series: A Kristy Farrell mystery
Identifiers: LCCN 2016041610 (print) | LCCN 2016050591 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832582 (hardcover) | ISBN 1432832581 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781432834838 (ebook) | ISBN 1432834835 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432832490 (ebook) | ISBN 1432832492 (ebook)
eISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3249-0 eISBN-10: 1-43283249-2
Subjects: LCSH: Women journalists—Fiction. | Murder—Investigation—Fiction. | Zoos—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Mystery & Detective / General. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Women Sleuths. | GSAFD: Mystery fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3619.C44643 M66 2017 (print) | LCC PS3619.C44643 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016041610
First Edition. First Printing: March 2017
This title is available as an e-book.
ISBN-13: 978-1-4328-3249-0 ISBN-10: 1-43283249-2
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Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21 20 19 18 17
Dedicated to Peter, always my muse
CHAPTER ONE
Nearly two hours before Long Island’s Rocky Cove Zoo opened to the public, the place was empty save for a handful of employees. I passed a gardener replacing dying border plants with red impatiens, and an ice cream vendor fiddling with his frozen yogurt machine.
As I journeyed down a shady gravel path, dark clouds rolling in from the Long Island Sound warned of a summer storm. Wind whistled through trees, whirling leaves and carrying combined scents of elephants and evergreens. In a nearby exhibit, a troop of baboons scurried through tall grasses, hooting loudly.
I quickened my pace, hoping to avoid the storm. Most importantly, I didn’t want to be late meeting my brother Tim in the rain forest exhibit. Tim was the zoo’s curator of herpetology or, in layman’s terms, “the guy in charge of reptiles.” He was a source for an article I was writing for Animal Advocate magazine on breeding endangered species in captivity. After more than two decades teaching high school English, I’d finally landed my dream job in journalism. This was my first assignment.
As drops of water fell from the sky, I spotted the rain forest up ahead. Thankful I wasn’t wearing heels, I dashed toward the building. The door was ajar. I went inside, my eyes adjusting to the darkness.
“Tim, are you here?”
No answer.
He must be here, I reasoned. Otherwise the building would be locked. “Tim?”
Still no reply, only silence broken by the sudden cawing of a bird.
Maybe he’d run out for a few minutes. I decided to explore the exhibit before my brother arrived. The Rocky Cove Zoo had done a good job of replicating the four distinct layers in a tropical rain forest—emergent trees, upper canopy, understory, and forest floor. Since the zoo had constructed viewing platforms at all levels, I started climbing toward the top.
“This would be easier if I were ten years younger and ten pounds lighter,” I mumbled, huffing and puffing up the stairs.
Rather than go into cardiac arrest, I stopped at the third tier where I stared out at the lush green garden in the air, watching parrots swoop and monkeys swing. By this time my layered hair had morphed into a mop of curls from the heat and humidity.
Hoping for a bird’s-eye view of what was below, I glanced down at the forest floor.
And saw the body.
I felt woozy at the sight of what appeared to be small rat-like creatures gnawing at its face. As I grasped the railing for support, bile rose in my throat.
One thought flooded my mind. My brother.
Tim.
I wanted to vomit, but didn’t. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. Someone was in the building.
“Kristy, are you here? Sorry I’m late, but I had to drop off dry cleaning.”
My legs quivered as I let out a deep breath. Tim!
“There’s a body,” I called, choking on the last word. “In the rain forest.”
While scrambling down the stairs, I spotted my brother scurrying toward the exhibit.
“Oh, my God, Kristy,” he called out. “It’s Arlen McKenzie.”
“The zoo director?”
CHAPTER TWO
The rain forest was no longer a scene of peace and tranquility.
Within minutes of calling 911, two police officers arrived. After that came crime scene investigators and the medical examiner.
A uniformed officer, who looked young enough for a milk and cookie break, took our statements, then instructed us to wait until a detective could question us. For the next twenty minutes, Tim and I hugged the corner of the lower platform, watching and waiting. I was holding up pretty well, but my brother looked like he was about to pass out, his normally pallid complexion now the color of a gecko.
“Did the zoo director have a history of heart problems?” I asked Tim.
“I don’t know.” He pushed his thick-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Could he have fallen and hit—”
“Listen, Kristy. I don’t want to speculate. The autopsy will give cause of death.”
My brother, a scientist to the end. I hoped when he calmed down, he might venture an educated guess.
I wondered how much longer we would have to wait when two men with badges hanging from their belts strutted toward us. The first, a slender African-American who appeared to be in his early thirties, was impeccably dressed in gray slacks, light blue shirt, striped silk tie, and navy blazer. The other, probably in his late forties, wore a brown suit with pants hanging below his stomach and sweat pouring down his forehead. My guess: homicide detectives.
“Oh, no,” Tim said.
As the men approached and I saw them more clearly, I realized the reason for my brother’s reaction. The man in the brown suit was Steve Wolfe, a bully who had gone to school with Tim, constantly picking on my younger brother. Granted, Tim was the classic nerd who might as well have worn the sign “KICK ME” on his back.
Since I’d last seen Steve, his muscles had turned to fat. He now sported a receding hairline, pot belly, and blond mustache. But his glacier blue eyes were as cold as when he was a kid, and he wore the same annoying grin that made me want to slap his face.
I could tell by the way he glared at Tim that he recognized my brother, but he introduced himself anyway. “Detective Wolfe. Homicide.” He pointed a thumb at his partner. “This is Detective Fox.”
Wolfe? Fox? At the zoo? Really?
He whisked me aside. Tim remained with Fox.
I recalled Wolfe came from a cop family with relatives high up in administration, so it didn’t surprise me to see him as a homicide detective. I guessed he had a lot of department brass pushing him up the ladder.
Wolfe towered over me, but so did most people. “Kristy Vanikos. Yeah, I remember you.”
“It’s Kristy Farrell now,” I said.
“Yeah, whatever. You always fought your brother’s battles. Still doing it?”
“No need. His current acquaintances are mature, intelligent, and civilized.”
Wolfe’s smirk vanished. His face reddened.
I glanced back at my brother who was with Detective Fox in the far corner of the platform. Tim was scratching his cheek.
“How did the zoo director die?” I asked, turning back, now facing Wolfe.
“I’m a homicide detective. You think they sent me here to get your lunch order? How do you think he died?”
“Well, it could be an accident or heart attack or—”
“Yeah, sure.” He flipped open his notepad. “I’m asking the questions. Why were you here before the zoo opened?”
“I’m a feature writer for Animal Advocate magazine. I’m writing a story on—”
“Wait a minute. Aren’t you a teacher? Yeah, sure. You’re a teacher. You taught my nephew Jared. He does real good at school.”
Obviously, Jared didn’t take after his uncle. I refrained from voicing my thoughts.
“I left my teaching position two years ago for a job at Animal Advocate.” I didn’t tell him that for most of that time, I’d been employed as an editorial assistant. When one of the magazine’s writers quit last week, I was given his current assignment, but my editor made it clear the promotion was temporary. I’d be competing for the permanent job along with dozens of other applicants. If I didn’t come out on top, I’d be checking other people’s work for misplaced commas again.
“I’m writing a story on breeding endangered species in captivity,” I continued. “My brother is in charge of reptiles so he arranged to show me the reptile nursery today. Since he was coming in early to conduct research in the rain forest, he suggested we meet here. He left an early admittance pass for me with the guard at the front gate.”
“Okay. Walk me through, step by step, from the moment you got here.”
I told him exactly what happened.
“So, your brother was in the building earlier, eh?”
“I didn’t say that. The door was unlocked. Someone had been here, but it could have been anyone.”
“Yeah, sure. But he has a key.”
My stomach knotted. I didn’t like where this was going.
Wolfe shut his notepad. “You can go. If we need more, we’ll call.”
I bee-lined toward my brother. He was alone. Detective Fox was now talking to a uniformed officer near the entrance.
“Let’s get out of here, Kristy.”
“Sure. I could use some coffee.”
“There’s always a pot in my office. Let’s go.”
We headed outside where more than two dozen people milled behind the yellow crime scene tape cordoning off the building. Since the zoo normally wouldn’t open to the public for another twenty minutes, I assumed they were employees.
“Can we postpone our tour of the reptile nursery?” Tim asked. “I don’t feel up to it.”
“Of course. We can do it some other time.” Then thoughts of deadlines loomed. “But not too long a wait.”
I glanced at my watch. Tim had also arranged for me to interview Saul Mandel, the curator of mammals, later today on breeding endangered gorillas. But before I could ask if this appointment would be postponed, I froze at the sound of a scream.
A woman in a champagne-colored dress that clung to her body broke through the crime scene tape and raced toward the building. I couldn’t imagine how she ran so fast in her stiletto heels.
A police officer blocked her from reaching the exhibit entrance.
“That’s Ginger Hart, the zoo’s public relations coordinator,” Tim whispered. “She’s upset.”
Upset? That’s my brother. Master of understatement.
“Public relations?” I repeated. “She seems concerned with more than damage control.”
“Well, she’s . . .” Tim blushed. “She’s . . . you know.”
“I don’t know. What is she?”
“She was Arlen McKenzie’s lover.”
Although I was curious, my taciturn brother said no more, and the zoo director’s love life wasn’t my concern. The rain had stopped, leaving behind air filled with the fragrance of wet grass and pine needles, and I used the silent walk back to his office to clear my mind.
Making our way down the wide gravel path, I was wondering how the director’s death would affect this place when the sudden odor of animal dung interrupted my thoughts. Glancing right, I spied the source, a zoo employee in the camel exhibit toting a shovel full of manure. To my left, a man in a zoo uniform with a basket of fruit paraded into a gated area adjacent to the gorillas. Two gorillas inside the preserve lumbered toward him on all fours over a mound of rocks, making their way with surprising speed.
Business as usual.
Minutes later, we arrived at the herpetology building where we stepped into the main room, which boasted three metal desks, only one currently occupied. A woman with curly white hair sat behind this desk, surrounded by two men wearing brown zookeeper uniforms. Their backs faced Tim and me.
“I don’t know if there are suspects yet,” the woman was saying to the zookeepers. “But Tim found the body, so I’m afraid he will be—”
“Good morning,” Tim interrupted.
The three spun around. One of the zookeepers mumbled something like, “we better get back to work,” and the two men scurried down the hall.
“Are you okay, Tim?” asked the white-haired woman, who bore a remarkable resemblance to Mrs. Santa Claus.
“I’m fine.” Tim didn’t introduce me. He poured coffee from a nearby machine, handed me a mug, and ushered me into his office. “Good thing you’re not a tea drinker. We only have coffee.”
Inside the windowless room with its hideous green walls, Tim shut the door. I sank into a worn-out armchair while he sat behind his desk, facing me. My hand was shaking slightly as I lifted the mug to my mouth. “The police think this was murder.”
Tim shrugged. “Probably is.”
“Well, couldn’t it be natural causes, like a heart attack?” Since it was only the two of us, I hoped he would venture an opinion.
Tim shook his head. “We won’t know for sure until the autopsy. But since his body was in the rain forest, I doubt it’s natural causes.”
“Why?”
Tim sat back, appearing more relaxed than he had been. But then he scratched behind his ear. As a kid, whenever Tim was upset, his body itched.
“In zoos, predator and prey are never together,” he explained. “The rain forest is barricaded into sections with walls hidden from the public by tropical foliage. In the area where McKenzie’s body was discovered, there are no animals that could threaten his life, but there are creatures that do some nasty biting. McKenzie knew enough to never go in there without protective clothing. The only logical conclusion is he was murdered and his body dragged inside.”
“How do you think he was killed?” I held up my hand. “I know. We have to wait for the autopsy. But you saw the body. What do you really think?”
Tim hesitated. “My guess is poison. McKenzie wore a short-sleeve shirt so it was visible.”
“What was visible?”
“There’s a puncture wound on McKenzie’s left arm with swelling around it. That means a toxic substance was probably injected.”
>
“Poisoning? Isn’t poisoning an unusual method to use on Arlen McKenzie? Injecting poison is more in keeping with frail old ladies. Someone without the strength to fight back.”
“Not in this case. McKenzie’s left arm was paralyzed from an injury he received while serving in Iraq during the Gulf War. If you stood behind him and plunged a needle into his arm, he wouldn’t feel a thing.”
I shivered. “I wonder—”
Someone rapped on the door. I jumped, my nerves still on edge.
“Come in,” Tim called, then lowered his voice. “We’ll talk about this later, Kristy.”
A woman dressed in jeans and a lab coat stepped into the room. She was neither attractive nor homely, just plain, wearing no jewelry or makeup. I judged her age to be early thirties.
Tim introduced her as Linda Sancho, the zoo’s wildlife nutritionist.
Linda gave a perfunctory nod in my direction before placing a folder on the desk. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick. “This is the data you wanted on the iguana’s diet, Tim. By the way, there’s a staff meeting at eleven-thirty. Saul sent out e-mails. He wants everyone on time.”
“Saul Mandel? The curator of mammals?” I swallowed the last of my coffee.
Linda nodded.
“Well, I guess my interview with him is postponed since it’s the same time as your meeting.”
“Good luck rescheduling.” The wildlife nutritionist shook her head. “Saul has lots of other matters on his plate now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked Linda.
“He’s not only curator of mammals. Saul is Rocky Cove’s assistant director. With McKenzie gone, he’s in charge for the time being.”
“When our former director died a few years ago, most of us expected Saul to be appointed,” Tim added. “We were shocked when the trustees brought in Arlen McKenzie.”
Linda bit her cuticle. “Hopefully, the trustees will now appoint Saul permanently.”
“That certainly gives him motive for wanting McKenzie dead,” I said, thinking aloud then wishing I hadn’t.