Monkey Business

by Lois Schmitt

  “But I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”

  “We don’t want that either.” He shuddered. “Saul Mandel can be a bit intimidating.”

  A bit intimidating? His reputation was worse than that. According to my brother, Mandel’s fierce temper had earned him the nickname Taz—a reference to the bad-tempered Tasmanian devil.

  “I’ll let you know as soon as Ms. Hart returns. Why don’t you have a seat?” Lyle gestured toward a sitting area at the far corner of the suite.

  “Thanks.” Since I still had time, I decided to give Ginger Hart a few more minutes. I made my way across the room, gazing at Aborigine paintings, African carvings, and Native American pottery. Whoever had decorated had spared no expense. Quite different than my brother’s small office with its ugly green paint and tile floors.

  As I sank into a black leather couch, I wondered about Ginger Hart. Her boss, who also happened to be her lover, was murdered yesterday. Her personal and professional life should be in turmoil. Why would she want to see me?

  “Here’s Ms. Hart now,” Lyle called out from the front desk, jolting me out of my thoughts.

  The scent of jasmine perfume filled the air as the public relations coordinator strutted into the room.

  “You must be the reporter from Animal Advocate. Kristy, is it? Call me Ginger.” The woman smiled and extended her arm.

  At yesterday’s crime scene, I’d guessed her age in the mid-twenties, but now after a closer look, I raised that estimate about ten years. With her short skirt, strappy high heel sandals, and stylishly layered auburn hair, she oozed sex appeal. But there was an intelligence and hardness radiating from her jade-colored eyes, warning me she was not someone to take lightly.

  “Let’s go into my office.” She motioned toward a nearby room.

  “Here are your messages,” Lyle said as Ginger neared his desk. There was a quake in his voice that hadn’t been there before. “I’ll have the material you requested ready by lunch time, Ms. Hart.”

  “Of course, you will. That’s why we pay you.” She snatched the pink message slips from his hand. “And bring me a cup of tea.”

  Lyle blushed. I stared at my feet.

  “Would you like a cup, too, Ms. Farrell?” he asked.

  “She doesn’t have time.” Ginger swung open the door to her office and went inside.

  “I’m a coffee drinker, anyway,” I said with a wink at Lyle.

  I entered, quickly surveying the room—a corner office with a view. The panoramic window looked out on the African Plains exhibit, where a trio of hippos wallowed in a muddy brown watering hole. In front of the exhibit, more than a dozen visitors lined up by a red and white soda wagon for cold drinks, reminding me today promised to be a scorcher with temperatures again reaching ninety. You couldn’t tell that in here where the air conditioning made me feel like I was in the midst of a polar ice cap.

  Ginger handed me a business card, then slid into her leather swivel chair, and motioned me to a seat in front of her desk.

  “I’m sorry to hear about the zoo director’s death,” I said, curious to see her reaction.

  “Thank you. It’s a great tragedy for the Rocky Cove Zoo.”

  If Ginger ever played poker, today was the day. Her face and movements showed no emotion. She leaned forward and tapped a crimson fingernail on her desk.

  “Saul Mandel told me about your meeting today,” she said without missing a beat. “I know our curator of herpetology is your brother Tim, and he set up your interview directly with Saul. And I understand Tim also scheduled a tour for you at the reptile nursery. In the future, call my office. It’s my staff’s job to coordinate all press contacts.”

  I sank back in my chair thinking how typical of Tim. He hadn’t cleared the interview.

  “Gee, I violated your protocol on my first assignment,” I joked, attempting to lighten the situation, but Ginger did not appear amused.

  I had little patience for bureaucracies, and the zoo appeared to be a big one. But if I landed the permanent feature writer position at Animal Advocate magazine, I’d be covering lots of stories here, so it wouldn’t be smart to make an enemy of the public relations coordinator. I changed my tone.

  “Seriously, I apologize for the misunderstanding. I still need to interview—”

  “Just call my office and set it up with Lyle.” The corners of Ginger’s mouth curved into a slight smile. “You can leave now for your interview with Mandel. But your tour of the reptile nursery has been cancelled for today.”

  “What?” I felt the heat creep up my neck and onto my face as I realized the reason for this meeting. It was to teach me a lesson. A power play.

  Ginger must have read the expression on my face. She held up her hands. “I had nothing to do with this. I was told Tim isn’t coming in this morning. Since he can be a little absentminded, even though he’s your brother, I didn’t know if he had called you to cancel, so I’m informing you as a courtesy.”

  She was right. Tim hadn’t contacted me, and I wasn’t surprised he’d forgotten our appointment. This from a man who remembered the scientific name of every reptile that crawled the earth.

  “Tim never takes time off,” I said as Lyle entered with Ginger’s tea. “Did he say why he’d be late today?”

  “He had an unexpected visitor at his home.” Ginger grabbed the teacup, then sat back, crossing her legs. “Detective Steve Wolfe.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Saul Mandel loomed behind a metal desk, facing me. The man must have weighed more than three hundred pounds. With his heavy jowls, big lips, and bushy eyebrows, he looked like a fairy tale ogre. Stifling a nervous giggle, I resisted the urge to mumble, “Fee, fie, fo, fum.”

  Mandel gestured toward a folding chair across from him. “Just put that pile on the floor.”

  Slightly flustered, I removed a stack of papers from the chair. I sat down, wondering why he hadn’t moved into the director’s office now that he was temporarily in charge.

  Mandel glanced at his watch. “I only have thirty minutes so we better get started.”

  I hoped that was enough time. A bad interview could end my career before it began. Although filled with thoughts of Detective Wolfe interrogating my brother, I willed myself to concentrate on the task at hand.

  “I’m writing an article on breeding endangered species—”

  “I know why you’re here. What information do you need?” He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the perspiration off his forehead, even though the air conditioning emanating from a wall unit behind him blew full blast.

  “Why don’t you tell me the reason for the breeding program?” I said.

  “You came to this interview without knowing the reasons?” His ice blue eyes met my brown ones.

  Not about to let him intimidate me, I smiled. “Of course, I know. But I want to hear it in your words so I can quote you in the story.”

  Silence. It was my turn to sweat as I wondered if he intended to answer. Saul Mandel’s reputation seemed right on the mark. He was as gruff as my brother Tim was meek.

  Finally, he spoke. “This program may be the only chance certain species have for survival.” As he talked, the fleshy waddle of skin beneath his chin quivered. “Habitat loss from the development of land is a major threat to their existence.”

  The intercom rang.

  “And, of course, the hunting and poaching of animals for their body parts. Take the gorilla.”

  The intercom buzzed again.

  Ignoring the ring, his voice grew louder. “Gorillas are highly prized. Their meat goes to restaurants that specialize in exotic game, the heads are sold as trophies, and the hands are made into ashtrays for people who consider them conversation pieces. The animals don’t breed quickly enough—”

  The intercom sounded a third time.

  Mandel frowned, furrowing his forehead. His eyebrows melded together, now looking like one giant caterpillar. “Let me get rid of this call.” He grabbed the phone, buried unde
r the clutter on his desk. Papers cascaded to the floor. “Can I get back to you?” he said into the receiver. “I have someone—” He stopped abruptly to listen to the person on the other end.

  “What? When did this happen? Wildlife nutrition isn’t incidental. Don’t worry, Linda. That was last week. You’re dealing with me now, not McKenzie.” Mandel, whose face was now the color of a holiday ham, slammed down the receiver, then stared at the water-stained ceiling tile, his hands trembling.

  “Problems?” I asked, but wished I hadn’t when he turned his cold eyes on me.

  I was here to learn about the zoo’s breeding program, nothing else. But once again, thinking of Detective Wolfe’s visit to my brother’s house, I concluded there was no question that Tim was a person of interest in McKenzie’s death. It wouldn’t hurt to collect information about other zoo employees who had reasons to despise, and perhaps kill, the zoo director. I jotted down Linda and wildlife nutrition for future reference.

  Mandel continued, “Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes. We need to . . .”

  We talked for another half hour about the procedures and problems of breeding endangered gorillas in zoos. Upon completion of the interview, Mandel said, “I’ll walk out with you.” He pushed his bulky frame out of his chair. “I’m on my way to the elephants.”

  Despite his weight, Mandel marched briskly down the hall. As we exited the building and crunched down a wide path lined with tall oaks, the aroma of fresh popcorn from a nearby vendor reminded me I had skipped breakfast.

  During the interview, I hadn’t been able to make out the design on Saul Mandel’s green suspenders, but now that he stood next to me, I saw it was a pattern of purple monkeys. I couldn’t quite reconcile this with his stern image.

  “Have you known my brother long?” I asked, curious as to how the friendship between this bear-like man and my mild-mannered brother had developed.

  “Tim and I both started here twenty years ago.”

  He wiped his brow. I’d never seen anyone perspire like this man. Raising his voice to be heard above the noise of a passing brood of children, all wearing red T-shirts emblazoned in white lettering with the name of a local summer camp, Mandel added, “We need more people like Tim. There’s no substance to this new breed McKenzie wanted to hire.”

  Before I could ask what he meant, Mandel greeted a couple walking up the path. “Good morning, Amanda, Frank.”

  I couldn’t help but stare at this unusual pair. The woman, several inches taller than her companion, with raven hair styled in a French twist, wore white summer slacks, a peach silk blouse, and pearl earrings. I instinctively stood straighter and pulled in my stomach.

  The man was someone you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Dressed in a brown zoo uniform, rings pierced his ears, nose and eyebrows. Tattoos of angry-looking black widow spiders covered his muscular arms, and a snake with enlarged fangs marked his lower right cheek.

  “Good morning,” the woman said, glancing at Saul Mandel. She immediately turned back to her companion.

  The man scowled and did not return Mandel’s greeting. As he passed by, I caught the odor of stale cigarettes. He and the woman continued on their way, each one apparently absorbed in what the other was saying.

  “That’s Amanda Devereux, curator of ornithology, and Frank Taggart, bird keeper in charge of the incubators,” Mandel said. “They must be in a rush to get to the bird nursery.”

  Had I heard correctly?

  “Amanda Devereux? McKenzie’s widow? Her husband died yesterday and she’s here today?”

  Mandel nodded. “Yes. The memorial service isn’t until next week. Meanwhile, she might as well immerse herself in her work.”

  “I guess everyone mourns in their own way.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  The sharp sound of a trumpeting elephant filled the air. Before turning toward the pachyderm’s call, Mandel grinned for the first time since I had met him. “Mourns? Knowing Amanda, she’s celebrating.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The next morning I left two voice messages for my brother, asking him about yesterday’s police visit. Backing out of the garage, I clipped the mirror off Matt’s car. Then my laptop crashed, my washing machine broke, one of the dogs threw up on the bedroom comforter, and the cat discovered the fun of fringe with my favorite Pashmina scarf.

  And then Detective Steve Wolfe called.

  “The day McKenzie’s body was discovered, you planned to meet your brother in the rain forest at eight, right?”

  “Right.”

  “But you claim he didn’t get there until later.”

  I didn’t like his emphasis on “claim.”

  “Yes. I told you that before,” I said. “He was about ten minutes late.”

  “That’s unusual, eh?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You claimed you entered the building because you thought your brother was there. When you realized you were alone, you thought he’d been there and left.”

  “I admitted I was mistaken. When Tim finally came, he apologized for being late because he had dropped off his dry cleaning.”

  “You believe that, eh?”

  “What’s not to believe? You never dropped off dry cleaning?”

  “Just wanted to make sure my notes are clear. That’s all. We’ll be talking again soon.”

  I slammed down the phone, muttering words that would make my priest blush. I would have loved a pomegranate martini, but since I couldn’t justify vodka before noon, I settled for coffee. I had taken my first sip when I heard someone approaching the kitchen door.

  “Oh, good, it’s you,” I said.

  “Of course, it’s me.” Dressed in khakis and a sleeveless yellow cotton top, Abby strolled into the house. “I came by to pick up some papers from Dad’s study. Who were you expecting?”

  “The way things have been going, a process server.” I told Abby about my call from Detective Wolfe.

  “He’s just trying to push your buttons, Mom.”

  Abby swung open the refrigerator door, poured iced tea into a glass, then pulled out a chair by the table and slid down. The two dogs were now chasing each other in the backyard. Owl wandered into the kitchen and rubbed against my daughter’s leg. Abby bent down and scooped Owl up, cradling the cat in her arms.

  “So,” she said, removing her sunglasses. “How are Uncle Tim and Aunt Barbara?”

  I sipped my coffee before recapping last night’s conversation, ending with, “I’d no idea Tim was so heavily in debt. And I can’t believe your father never told me. That’s not like him.”

  “Maybe Dad had other thoughts on his mind.”

  “You may be right,” I admitted to my daughter, recalling Matt’s behavior the week before the veterinary conference. “Last week, he never came to bed before midnight, and he even missed two televised Yankee games.”

  Abby said nothing. She held her iced tea with one hand and stroked Owl with the other.

  “He’s been preoccupied lately,” I said. “So much so, I plan to ask him about it when he returns from the conference this weekend.”

  Abby didn’t respond. She just stared at her iced tea.

  “There’s a problem at work, isn’t there?” I asked, guessing my daughter knew something.

  She hesitated. “A new veterinary service is opening in town this fall. I think Dad’s worried it will affect business.”

  “Surely, there’s room for another veterinarian in the community.”

  “This is more than another veterinarian, Mom. It’s a health and wellness center for companion animals. The facility will be state of the art and provide a host of services including chiropractic adjustments, acupuncture, massages, water therapy, and herbal remedies.”

  “A new-age spa for dogs and cats.” I shook my head. “I don’t know. Sounds like it belongs in Beverly Hills or Manhattan, not Long Island’s south shore. Besides, everyone loves your father. Do you really believe this new facility threatens his practice?”


  “This center is part of a national chain. It’s hard for small independent businesses to compete.” After sipping the last of her iced tea, Abby set down her glass, jostling the cat on her lap. Owl meowed in protest. “Uncle Tim isn’t the only one with financial trouble. I think Dad’s veterinary business is in for hard times.”

  I exhaled as Abby’s statement sank into my brain. Matt had built the veterinary hospital from scratch. Next to family, it was the most important thing in his life.

  “Mom, are you okay?”

  “Oh, I’m just great. My husband’s veterinary hospital is at risk, and a lunatic detective wants to pin a murder on my brother.”

  Abby fixed the glitch in my laptop, but I wasn’t so lucky with my washing machine. Deciding not to put more money into repairing the eleven-year-old appliance, I spent the afternoon shopping for a new one. I also took Matt’s car in for an estimate, amazed at how much it would cost to fix a side-view mirror. And I still hadn’t heard from my brother.

  My cell phone trilled as I pulled into my driveway. Barbara’s name popped up.

  “Good,” I mumbled. If Tim wasn’t about to return my calls, I’d find out what happened from my sister-in-law.

  “A Detective Wolfe was here yesterday,” she said. “He asked if Tim was home the night McKenzie died.”

  “Was he?” I stepped into the house, pulled out a chair, and slid down.

  “Well, yes, as far as I know. I attended a retirement dinner for a colleague in Manhattan, so I didn’t get home until midnight. Tim was here then but—”

  “But he has no alibi before that time. Do the police have a handle on time of death?”

  “No later than ten Monday night, and since McKenzie met with three trustees until eight, it had to occur between those hours,” Barbara replied.

  “Did Tim say he was home between eight and ten?”

  “Tim swears he arrived home by seven and didn’t leave the house. I believe him but I don’t know if the police do. Wolfe asked if Tim received any phone calls or had visitors. He said no. I hoped you spoke with him on our home phone and he forgot. You know how absentminded he is. Even though the phone company will have records, I wanted to check.”