by Lois Schmitt
“He hated McKenzie. That’s for sure.” Linda snorted. “But he’s not the only one, right Tim?”
Tim didn’t reply. But as Linda exited, he began scratching his neck with a vengeance.
CHAPTER THREE
My editor, Olivia Johnson, was one tough lady who’d worked her way up from the streets of the South Bronx.
Exiting the zoo, I’d phoned her about the murder of Arlen McKenzie.
“I heard,” she’d said, cutting me off. “It’s on the news.”
“I discovered the body.”
Did I expect sympathy? Even a cliché like “how terrible for you.” Not from Olivia. She responded with, “What about your interviews?”
“They’ve been postponed.”
“Not for long, I hope. We’ve got deadlines. Did you reschedule?”
“Everyone is really shaken up. I thought I’d wait—”
“Don’t wait. Make new appointments.” She paused. “Journalism isn’t for the sensitive. You’ve got to be aggressive, especially if you want your temporary promotion to become permanent.”
I winced. But that was Olivia. Right to the point. Taking a deep breath, I said, “When I get back to the office—”
“About the office,” Olivia interrupted. “Our air conditioning is malfunctioning.”
Malfunctioning? The temperature had hit ninety.
“Work from home the rest of the day,” she suggested.
Since I was at the stage of life where I was always hot to begin with, I jumped at my editor’s offer.
“Don’t forget to reschedule those interviews.” Before I could get a word in, she hung up.
I sighed. Ever since watching Superman as a kid, I wanted to be Lois Lane. Instead, I wound up teaching high school English. Two years ago, when I heard about an opening for a feature writer at Animal Advocate magazine, I decided to go for it. Someone else got the position, but I was offered an editorial assistant spot with a future promotion held as the dangling carrot.
Now that I had the carrot, I intended to keep it—even if that meant dealing with Olivia.
When I arrived at my home, Brandy, an eight-year-old collie, and Archie, a mixed breed who looks like a small black bear, greeted me at the door, tails wagging. To my surprise, I found the third animal member of the family curled up on the living room sofa.
“Owl, how nice to see you.” My veterinarian husband had found the badly matted cat, all skin and bones, in a box dumped behind his animal hospital. The calico, who had been part of the household for nearly a month and had fattened up considerably, usually stayed far away from the dogs.
Archie, noting the cat’s presence in the room, bounded toward the sofa, tail still wagging. Owl hissed, then jumped to the floor and raced out of the room. Archie cocked his head.
“When will you learn, Archie?” I leaned over and stroked the dog’s spongy black fur. “Owl is afraid.”
After brewing a pot of coffee, I rescheduled today’s cancelled activities. Despite the director’s death, Tim managed to arrange an interview for me tomorrow with Saul Mandel, the mammal curator who now served as acting director. After my interview, I’d tour the reptile nursery with Tim.
With my laptop set on the kitchen table, I spent the next two hours researching endangered species, but I couldn’t concentrate. My mind kept wandering to the murder and Linda Sancho’s comment. Who hated McKenzie and why? I tried recalling if Tim had ever mentioned the new director, but my memory came up blank.
Curious and determined to find out, I began searching the Internet for information on Arlen McKenzie and the Rocky Cove Zoo. Totally immersed in what I soon discovered, I was jolted out of my thoughts when I heard a car pull up.
“Hi, Mom. Thought I’d join you on my dinner break.” My twenty-six-year-old daughter Abby paraded through the doorway. With her dark hair, olive skin, almond-colored eyes, and aquiline nose, she looked like a younger and much thinner version of me.
A recent veterinary school graduate, she had joined her father’s practice on Long Island. She rented a beach house with two friends but frequently stopped here for meals.
“Hey, did you hear about the murder at Uncle Tim’s zoo?” she asked, kneeling down to greet Archie and Brandy who had bounded into the room and now provided her with a face washing.
“Your Uncle Tim and I discovered the body.”
As Abby stood with her mouth wide open I gave a detailed narration of what happened.
“Well, your new job’s not boring,” Abby said when I finished my story.
“It beats teaching teenagers the difference between an infinitive and a gerund.” I grinned.
Abby glanced at her watch. I knew she had to get back to work.
“If you want dinner, you’ll need to cook something,” I said, pouring more coffee against my better judgment. After a day like today, the last thing I needed was more caffeine. “With your father away at the veterinary conference, I’m eating at the Woodland Inn with your Uncle Tim and Aunt Barbara, although I really don’t feel like food right now, which is surprising since I usually eat more when I’m upset.”
“I’m surprised Uncle Tim didn’t cancel, considering what happened.”
I shrugged. “You know your aunt. Barbara planned on eating out, and Barbara doesn’t like changing plans.”
Abby chuckled. She swung open the refrigerator door and stuck her head inside. So did Archie and Brandy. “I’m starved. Good, there’s feta cheese. Think I’ll make an omelet.”
Yawning, Abby pulled out butter, eggs, and cheese, then stretched up her five-foot body, reaching for a mixing bowl from the top cabinet. She also inherited her height genes from me.
“Didn’t you work a late shift last night too?” I asked.
“With Dad away, we’re all pulling double duty. These late nights are getting to me. I don’t know how Dad does it. He’s not as young as he once was.”
I wouldn’t call fifty-one old age but maybe that’s because I was only two years away.
As Abby lined up the ingredients on the counter, the dogs remained glued to her side. They adored my daughter. Besides, if they were lucky, a little food might drop to the floor. Dogs are so hopeful.
“So, do the police have any suspects?” Abby asked while grabbing a cheese chunk that was dangerously close to Archie’s nose.
“Don’t know. But lots of people have reason to hate him.” I spun my laptop screen toward her. “Look at this news article. It was published the weekend your father and I visited your grandma in Florida. That’s why I never saw it.”
Abby sat down at the table, facing the computer. “Uh, oh. The dreaded budget cuts.” She skimmed the article. “Reorganization of staff. Twenty-five jobs slashed.” She paused. “It’s a reason to hold a grudge, but is it enough to kill someone?”
“This may just be the tip of the iceberg. A week after your father and I returned from Florida, we went to dinner with Tim and Barbara. I remember Tim alluding to problems at work. He never mentioned McKenzie or this article, just that working at the zoo wasn’t like it once was. But I didn’t realize until today the problems were that severe.”
Thoughts of my brother flashed through my mind. Shy and bookish, I think he liked reptiles because they were so quiet. And he’d always been secretive. Even as a child, he rarely confided in me. Yet, I could usually tell he was troubled when he avoided my eyes or scratched his body.
Had I been so absorbed in my new job that I’d missed the signs?
Tiffany-style lamps illuminated the eight booths and seven tables that made up the Woodland Inn’s dining room, creating a cozy atmosphere. I spotted my brother and sister-in-law immediately, seated in the back by the knotty pine wall. Tim stirred a scotch and soda while Barbara sipped white wine.
Unlike me, with our Greek father’s complexion, my brother inherited our Irish mother’s fair skin, looking as if he never came in contact with sunlight. By comparison, Barbara sported a deep summer tan, providing a striking contrast to her short bl
ond hair. I often wondered when Barbara found time to sunbathe or visit a tanning salon. A pharmaceutical executive, she always complained about the long hours she worked.
Wearing a mint green sundress, Barbara looked perfectly groomed as usual. The woman, always color coordinated, never had bags under her eyes or dog hair on her clothes.
Barbara’s mouth formed a mulish pout and Tim was frowning. As I approached, Tim’s frown disappeared, but Barbara’s expression remained the same. Surely, Tim had the murder on his mind.
“Good. We can order now.” Barbara glanced at her watch, her way of letting me know I was ten minutes late.
After thanking Tim for arranging tomorrow’s interview with Saul Mandel, I parked myself down. A red-headed, freckle-faced waitress in a black mini-skirted uniform approached. I ordered a pomegranate martini. Pomegranate was loaded with antioxidants, so if I was imbibing, I might as well get nutrients out of it. That was my theory even if no one else agreed.
“How are you holding up?” I asked my brother.
“He’s fine,” Barbara said. “It’s not as if he liked McKenzie. He hated the man.”
“From what I hear, so did everyone else.” I grabbed a roll from the bread basket and slathered it with butter. My appetite had returned. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
“Not everyone hated him.” Barbara smirked.
“What do you mean?” I kept slathering.
“Ginger Hart. The public relations coordinator. She liked McKenzie—a lot.”
“Ah, yes.” I bit into my buttered roll, recalling the scene outside the rain forest. “Tim told me she was Arlen McKenzie’s lover.”
Tim blushed as he downed more of his drink.
A Cheshire cat grin appeared on Barbara’s face. “Did he also tell you McKenzie was married to Amanda Devereux, the curator of ornithology? She’s his widow. Nice little love triangle— McKenzie, Amanda, and Ginger. Must have made for tense staff meetings, don’t you think?”
“It didn’t matter to McKenzie.” Tim swallowed what remained of his scotch in two big gulps, then motioned for the waitress to bring another. I’d never seen my brother down more than one drink before dinner.
“He probably stashed a woman in the next room on his wedding night,” Tim continued. “He never cared who he hurt.”
Barbara shot Tim a look, but he avoided his wife’s eyes.
I caught the look. “What’s going on?”
Tim chewed on his lower lip.
“Tim?” I stared my brother down.
He crumbled his napkin into a ball and squeezed it with his fist. “McKenzie wasn’t renewing my employment contract. He was hiring the son of a wealthy donor as the new curator of herpetology.”
I dropped what remained of my buttered roll. I never expected this. “You’ve been there more than twenty years. Could he do that?”
“Unfortunately, yes. The director has sole power to hire and fire. My last contract was for five years, and it’s up in two months. It had always been renewed but not this time.”
“Tim saw his replacement’s resumé,” Barbara said. “The Sunday comics are more impressive. This kid wouldn’t be considered for the job if it weren’t for his father’s money.”
I stared at Tim, gauging his reaction to Barbara’s statement. His eyes had hardened and every muscle was tense, but he was working hard not to show it.
“What about the zoo’s board of trustees?” I asked. “Wouldn’t they question this?”
“The trustees aren’t involved in day-to-day operations.” Barbara pushed back a strand of hair that dared to fall out of place. “I told Tim to spend less time with his snakes and crocodiles and more attending social functions. But he wouldn’t listen. Maybe if he had cultivated the board members, they would have gone to bat for him.”
Nothing like being supportive. I bit my tongue. Barbara had the warmth of a hyena circling a carcass.
“Now what?” I asked. “With McKenzie gone, what happens to your contract?”
Tim scratched his neck. “With Saul Mandel as acting director, I’m sure it will be renewed.”
My eyes met Tim’s. I realized how much he benefitted from the murder of Arlen McKenzie.
But was it a motive for murder?
Driving home from the restaurant, I reflected on my brother’s career. Tim was a scholar, renowned in the field of herpetology. But he wasn’t media savvy. He didn’t have the ability to charm wealthy donors. Still, shouldn’t two decades count for something?
The phone rang as I stepped into my house. Glancing at the caller ID, I recognized my husband’s cell number.
“Sorry, honey. I just got your message,” he said. “I’ve been tied up at the conference and had the phone off. You sounded worried. Is everything okay at home?”
“Not really.” I hesitated while deciding the best way to give him the news. I wanted a way that wouldn’t upset him. Realizing there was none, I simply said, “I discovered a dead body this morning.”
“My God, Kristy! Who? What happened?”
I visualized the worry in Matt’s large doe-like eyes and his nervous habit of running his hand through his thinning sandy hair. As I slid into a chair, the two dogs at my feet, I told him about Arlen McKenzie, ending with, “It gets worse. Tim has a motive.”
After recapping Arlen McKenzie’s plan to replace Tim as curator of herpetology, I added, “It’s not even the money. I’m sure they could live comfortably on Barbara’s salary. But Tim loves the zoo. It’s his life.”
Matt hesitated. “It’s also the money. I didn’t say anything to you at the time, but do you remember the diamond necklace Tim gave Barbara for her birthday?”
“Of course. It’s gorgeous.”
“Tim wanted to borrow the money from me to buy it.”
“What! How much?”
“Seven grand.”
“That’s ridiculous.” My muscles tightened. “What did you say?”
“That I’d need to discuss it with you first.”
“And he said?”
“He said never mind. He didn’t want you to know.”
“How could I not know? Did he think I wouldn’t notice a withdrawal for that amount? Why didn’t he use a credit card?”
“I don’t know any details,” Matt said in his soft-spoken voice. “Tim only said that he was experiencing a small cash-flow problem.”
Archie’s huge bear-head now rested on my right foot. Brandy’s chin was on my lap, so I scratched behind his furry collie ears. “Then buy a cheaper gift.” All I could think of was our mortgage and Abby’s college and veterinary school tuition, which we were still paying off. Barbara and Tim’s house was twice as large as ours, and they had college expenses with their two sons. How could they afford seven thousand dollars for a necklace?
“Why didn’t you tell me this, Matt?”
“Because I didn’t give him any money. He must have gotten it somewhere else.”
“It’s not about the money.” I jumped up, nearly toppling the dogs. “It’s about my brother.”
I slumped back down. Archie, the canine tank, laid his head back on my foot. Brandy’s chin was once again on my lap.
Silence. Matt finally spoke. “You’re right. I should have told you. I’m sorry, honey.”
After hanging up, I rose and shook my foot, numb from Archie’s head cutting off my circulation. Although still annoyed at Matt, my thoughts focused on my brother and his out-of-control spending.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next morning I entered the zoo’s administration building and headed toward the information desk, which in true bureaucratic fashion was at the far end of the lobby, away from the entrance.
“I’m paying for the liquor, but her bridesmaids are chipping in for the food,” a squatty middle-aged receptionist with tortoise-shell glasses was saying into the phone. Deep and throaty, her voice sounded like a bullfrog.
I waited.
“They can’t decide between butter cream or whipped cream cake,” she cont
inued, apparently oblivious to my presence.
I inched in closer.
“Chocolate’s my favorite,” she said.
I cleared my throat.
“We’ll have fruit too. Possibly, strawberries dipped in—”
“Excuse me,” I interrupted. By now, I was practically leaning on the counter. I needed to be on time for my appointment. “I’m Kristy Farrell from Animal Advocate magazine. I have an appointment with Saul Mandel, but I received a message to stop here first.”
“Just a minute.” She punched the hold button. “You’re to see Ginger Hart before your interview.”
“Ginger Hart? The public relations coordinator?”
“Yes.” The receptionist rolled her eyes as if I had asked who was President of the United States. “Sign the visitor’s registry here, then take the elevator to the third floor. She’s the last door on the left.”
“Are you sure she wants to see me now? Before my appointment with Mandel?” I asked, scribbling my name in the visitor’s log.
The receptionist held up a yellow post-it. “This note says to see her as soon as you arrive. And before you ask, I’ve no idea why.”
The elevator doors opened on the third floor, and I stepped out onto the carpeted hallway. With cherry-wood walls, recessed lighting, and potted plants, there was no question this was the executive wing. Walking down the corridor, I noted most office doors were closed with not a soul in sight.
I entered the public relations suite where a young man who resembled a stick insect sat behind the front desk, pecking at his computer keyboard. His long, fast-moving fingers reminded me of spider legs. The name plate identified him as Lyle Llewelyn.
“Good morning. I’m Kristy Farrell from Animal Advocate magazine.” I had the feeling I’d be repeating that phrase a lot today. “I’m interviewing Saul Mandel but was told to see Ginger Hart first.”
He stopped pecking and lifted his head, glancing first at me, then the door. “Ms. Hart’s expecting you but she just stepped out of the office.”
“Do you know why she needs to see me?”
He hesitated, glancing again at the door. “She didn’t say. She’ll be back in a sec.”