Monkey Business

by Lois Schmitt

  “What will you do if Olivia hires him, Kristy? Stay on as editorial assistant?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far.”

  “Can you get your teaching job back?”

  “I don’t want it even if I could.”

  “At one time, you liked teaching.”

  “But I love writing. I’ve dreamed of doing this.” I stared at my husband. As a former teacher, I had long since learned to read people’s faces.

  “Matt, what’s wrong?”

  “There’s something I haven’t told you.” Matt put down his cup. “A health and wellness center for animals is opening a few blocks from my veterinary hospital.”

  “I know. Abby told me.”

  “In addition to traditional and alternative veterinary medicine, it offers spa treatments and will be open twenty-four hours, seven days a week.”

  “You’ve always had someone on call for emergencies.”

  “It’s not the same. I’ve spoken to other veterinarians where these facilities have sprung up. It impacts on existing businesses. More than a dozen veterinarians have sold out to the new company.”

  “But your clients love you. You can’t think they’ll leave?”

  “Dogs are loyal. Humans are fickle.”

  “So, I need to stay employed,” I said. “My job and salary take on a new importance.”

  He sighed. “I need to modernize. If I don’t get a loan, I’ll have to sink most of what I make back into the business to buy new equipment. If I can’t do that, I may need to close the veterinary hospital.”

  I firmly believe that no matter how bad your problems, there’s someone whose situation is worse.

  The phone rang and my brother said, “I just finished talking to my lawyer.”

  “What did he say, Tim?”

  “He told me Steve Wolfe has an appointment next week with the district attorney.”

  “Why?” I held my breath.

  “Wolfe wants the district attorney to convene a grand jury to indict me for murder.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I’d never expected a curator’s office to look like it came straight from the pages of a decorating magazine, with white walls, white rug, and black furniture. All room accessories adhered to the color scheme too, down to the white mints in Amanda Devereux’s black candy dish.

  Providing a striking contrast to the black and white room, Amanda held court in a sea foam–colored silk dress with a Hermes scarf. Unlike Tim, a hands-on administrator, I imagined Amanda let staff handle day-to-day operations while she avoided any direct involvement with the birds.

  She gestured toward a black leather armchair. I slipped into the seat, inhaling deeply and thinking that she had to know I was Tim’s sister. Did she believe Tim killed her husband?

  “Before we start, I want to offer my condolences.”

  “Thank you. Arlen was a wonderful man. But the best thing to do is keep busy and not dwell on his death.”

  I thought briefly about what my brother had said concerning Arlen McKenzie’s recent memorial service. It was a private service with no one from the zoo invited. I found that strange. Then I remembered Saul Mandel’s comment.

  “Mourn?” he had said. “She was probably celebrating.”

  Amanda Devereux appeared to be a woman who masked her feelings.

  She folded her perfectly manicured hands in front of her. “How can I help you?”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me what species of birds are bred at the zoo?”

  “We’re known for our parrots and macaws. We have several species at Rocky Cove, including the Puerto Rican parrot and the blue-throated macaw, which are near extinction in the wild. We have state-of-the-art equipment, including new incubators in our nursery.”

  There was a loud thud. I jumped.

  “Crap! There’s no place to put the boxes,” yelled a voice in the next room.

  Amanda smiled. “That was a carton hitting the floor. The custodians are rearranging the supplies next door. With these thin walls, you hear everything.” She rose from her chair. “I have an idea. I wanted to show you the ornithology nursery anyway. Why don’t we continue the interview there? It’s hard to believe, but the birds aren’t as noisy as our custodial staff.”

  After a short walk to the far end of the building, I began hearing peeps and chirps.

  “This is it.” Amanda swung open the door and stepped inside the nursery.

  “Ah, the smell of birds in a closed environment,” I joked. “Where are my stuffed sinuses when I need them?”

  Amanda didn’t smile or comment. Some people never see humor in their work.

  “Those are the incubators along the back wall,” Amanda said. “The aviaries lined against the side walls are home to our newborn birds.”

  In front of the incubators, a man wearing a zoo uniform slouched in a chair behind a metal desk. I couldn’t help but stare at the large black widow spider tattooed on his muscular upper arm.

  Frank Taggart, the bird keeper in charge of the incubators and nursery.

  “You startled me.” He jumped up from his chair. “I’m not used to visitors.”

  “Frank, this is Kristy Farrell, a writer from Animal Advocate magazine. Why don’t you show her our nestlings?”

  “You’re the boss.” His clenched jaw indicated he didn’t agree with this decision.

  “Come on,” he called, glaring at me. “I don’t have a lot of time.” As I approached, even the strong smell of the birds couldn’t mask the odor of stale tobacco on his clothing.

  The nursery currently housed more than a dozen baby birds. Frank grudgingly identified each species. The last aviary he showed contained only one nestling.

  “What bird is that?” I asked. “Its talons are huge.”

  “A bald eagle.”

  “There’s just one?”

  “Do you see more?”

  “An only child.” I ignored his sarcasm. “Is that unusual?”

  Before he could respond, Amanda answered, “Not at all. A bald eagle lays one to two eggs, on rare occasion three. In this case, there was only one eaglet.”

  “I have paperwork in the main office,” Frank said. Without a good-bye, he strutted out of the room.

  “I don’t think your bird keeper thought much of my visit,” I said.

  Amanda smiled. “He can be a little gruff.”

  A little gruff? Something about Frank Taggart sent a shiver down my spine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  As I emerged from the ornithology building, I blinked in the strong sunlight. Two figures caught my eye.

  Ginger Hart trotted down the path accompanied by a pear-shaped man with owl-like eyes and a receding hairline. When they reached me, Ginger introduced her companion, Norm Dembrowski, Chairman of the Board of Trustees.

  “Animal Advocate is a small magazine, but it targets a readership interested in wildlife,” Ginger said to the chairman. She turned to me. “How was your interview with Amanda?”

  “Fine. She provided plenty of information.”

  “I never asked you about your interview with Saul Mandel the other week. I hope that went okay too. I know how abrupt he can be. He’s had trouble in the past with reporters.”

  Mandel wasn’t the easiest person to interview, but I didn’t like Ginger’s comment in front of the board chairman. It reminded me of kids who snitched on each other. “The interview was great. Saul Mandel is dedicated and knowledgeable.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” For an instant, Ginger’s mouth formed into a mulish pout. “We’ll be going now. Norm and I are meeting with a few trustees to do damage control on the zoo director’s murder, and we don’t want to be late.”

  “Nice meeting you,” the chairman said as she whisked him away.

  I realized it was almost eleven-thirty and quickened my pace until I reached the herpetology building.

  “I’m here to see Tim Vanikos,” I said to the woman sitting behind the front desk. I remembe
red this woman from my other visits since she looked like Mrs. Santa Claus. “I’m Kristy Farrell. I’m his—”

  “Sister. I saw you with him the other day.” She smiled. “I’m Mary. Tim’s expecting you, so go right in.”

  “Morning, Tim,” I said, entering his office and shutting the door behind me. “Any more news on the District Attorney’s meeting with Wolfe?”

  “I told you last night the meeting is next week,” he said, turning away from his computer to face me. “How could there be any news?”

  “You’re right.” I quickly changed subjects. “I just met your board chairman, Norm Dembrowski. He was with Ginger Hart.”

  “It didn’t take her long. With McKenzie gone, Dembrowski’s her new target.”

  “Romance?”

  “No. Power. Ginger had influence on McKenzie’s decisions, not only because of their relationship, although that helped, but also because of the important role public relations played in his agenda. Now, with Saul temporarily in charge, she doesn’t get her way. Ginger and Saul are like a snake and a mongoose.”

  “What do they fight about?”

  “I’ll give you some history.” Tim leaned back. “Their most recent blow-up occurred two months ago. One of the zoo’s donors had wanted to borrow a capuchin monkey for her daughter’s jungle-themed sweet sixteen party. Ginger, who will do almost anything to please a donor, agreed, but Saul refused. He went straight to Arlen McKenzie, and for once the zoo director backed him. Of course McKenzie’s reasons weren’t the same as Saul’s. McKenzie was concerned about liability if the monkey bit someone.”

  “Do you think Ginger is now using the board chairman to go around Saul?”

  “More than that. She wants Saul to look bad in the eyes of Dembrowski and the other trustees. This way, maybe they won’t appoint Saul permanently.”

  “But don’t you think the zoo director needs social skills?”

  “It has to be balanced, Kristy. I also think Saul would schmooze more if the position called for it.”

  I wasn’t sure I agreed. My brother thought highly of Saul Mandel, but I wondered if he was blinded to Saul’s faults. More importantly, was he blinded to the possibility that Saul could be the murderer?

  Tim shut down his computer and sprang from his chair while grabbing a paper off his desk. “It’s time to go. The crocodiles are waiting.”

  Despite my brother’s fondness for snakes, I regard them as the most sinister of predators.

  “That’s an Asian cobra,” Tim said as we passed the snake exhibit on the way to the crocodiles. A long, limbless body glided along the rocks in its terrarium. With its mud-brown coloring, it blended in with the large stones. As it stopped and lifted its head about twelve inches, I stared at its cream-colored underbelly. A chill ran through my spine. I remembered what I’d once read about this snake. It was responsible for the majority of deaths by snake bites in Asia.

  “Isn’t she beautiful?” Tim said.

  “If you say so.”

  Tim smiled as if reading my mind. “The Asian cobra is a killer but so are lions, bears, and hippos. People may be afraid of large mammals, but no one views them with disgust.”

  “I admit it’s irrational.” Determined to ignore my fear and loathing of anything serpentine, I pointed to a gunmetal-gray snake uncoiling in a corner tank. The snake appeared to be nearly five feet in length and as wide as a man’s upper arm.

  “I can’t read the print on the sign from here. What type of snake is that?”

  “Black mamba. Fastest snake on earth. It reaches speeds of fifteen miles per hour.”

  I shuddered. I had read about the black mamba, too. Deadly venom and a bad attitude. Some herpetologists described the snake’s temperament as warlike.

  Tim glanced at his watch. “We better go. I’ll bring you back here later and show you more. Just remember, ninety percent of all snakes are harmless.”

  “Turn that statement around and ten percent are venomous. And that venom is deadly as hell. I still prefer lions and hippos, thank you.”

  We continued down the hall.

  “Just a second.” Tim stopped in front of a door with a sign reading STORAGE ROOM. “I need to leave a form in here. Mei is coming in at seven tomorrow morning to work on inventory.”

  Tim placed an inventory form on a table in the middle of the room. Five large boxes were piled nearby on the floor.

  “Mei has to inventory everything in these cartons?” I asked.

  “No. Just the loose supplies in the closet over there.” He pointed to a door at the far end of the room.

  We headed back down the corridor until reaching another room with a sign that read STAFF ONLY. Tim unlocked the door. “This is our access to the crocodiles.”

  Inside, Mei Lau was talking to a man in a zoo uniform. He had straw-like hair and skin pale as mashed potatoes. Mei appeared agitated. She kept shaking her head and making wide, swooping gestures with her hands.

  My mind floated back to my time as Mei’s teacher. I remembered the anxiety bottled up inside the young teenager. Mei suffered from stomach aches before exams and developed migraines during the college admission process. Had she changed or were those same characteristics still part of her personality?

  Tim introduced the man talking with Mei as Gary Larsen, a reptile keeper.

  “Let’s get started,” my brother said. He led the way through the back to the glass-enclosed crocodile exhibit. As I gazed at the fierce-looking reptiles, lounging in their swampy habitat, it reminded me of Marco Polo’s description of those creatures as “great serpents with feet.”

  “The crocodile in the exhibit to our right is resting in front of her nest,” Tim said. “After we remove those eggs, we incubate them at a specific temperature.”

  “Why?” I pulled out my pen and pad.

  “The sex of a crocodile is determined by the amount of heat the egg receives. Temperatures below eighty-eight yield a higher percentage of females. By altering temperatures, it’s possible to produce the desired sex.”

  “How do you remove the eggs?”

  “Carefully.”

  I chuckled. My brother usually didn’t have a sense of humor.

  “With this species, the female guards her eggs ferociously. She won’t hesitate to attack if her nest is threatened. Gary will distract the crocodile, then lock her up in the holding area while Mei collects the eggs.”

  Gary emerged near the side of the exhibit furthest away from the nest. Through a trap door, he extended a dead chicken on a long stick. The crocodile dashed toward the food with a fierce burst of speed.

  “Now that we have the crocodile where we want her, Gary will press a button on the wall panel and a gate will descend.”

  Tim had no sooner finished speaking when the gate slammed down in the middle of the exhibit, entrapping the crocodile away from the nest. Mei stepped into the nesting area through a back door, scooped up the eggs, and placed them in a bucket.

  Suddenly, Tim gasped.

  I screamed.

  The gate separating the crocodile from Mei jerked up. It rose nearly two feet before slamming back on the floor. It repeated this in rapid succession.

  Mei’s back faced the crocodile. But the sound of the metal hitting the ground caused her to spin around. At the sight of the gate moving up and down, she squealed like a mouse in an eagle’s claw.

  “The gate’s malfunctioning!” Tim yelled. “Get out!”

  Instead of running to the exit, Mei froze to the spot. The crocodile hovered at the gate, ready to make its move.

  Gary threw meat through the trap door. As the crocodile gobbled it up, Tim shot in through the exhibit’s back entrance, grabbed Mei’s arm, and pulled her out.

  “Are you okay?” Tim asked.

  Sweat poured down Mei’s brow. She tightly clutched the bucket of eggs. “I guess so.”

  “It must be an electrical short. I’m calling maintenance and insisting they send a mechanic immediately. No matter how careful you are, a
freak accident can always happen in a place like this.”

  I put my hand on Mei’s shoulder. “You’re safe. It’s over.”

  “I hope so.”

  I stared at the intern.

  Mei’s eyes welled with tears. “What if it was deliberate?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” Mei recovered her composure. “My nerves got the best of me. I guess it was an accident.”

  I shot my brother a look.

  “Of course it was an accident,” he said. “If you feel okay, Mei, why don’t you take these eggs to the incubator?”

  I knew my brother wanted to take Mei’s mind off what happened, but he still seemed a little callous. Meanwhile, my brain raced, wondering if someone had sabotaged the gate. I needed to talk with Mei.

  “I’d like to see the incubators. I’ll go with her, Tim.”

  My brother shook his head. “Not a good idea. Too much is happening now. You can go another day.”

  “But I need information—”

  “Not today, Kristy. Mei, you better go now.”

  Mei departed.

  I stood between my brother and Gary, annoyed I’d never asked Mei for her phone number.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  I pulled into the zoo parking lot at eight o’clock the next morning. I had wormed an early admittance pass from Tim by telling him I needed more animal photos and that they’d be easier to obtain before the zoo opened to the public. My real reason was to question Mei, who would be conducting inventory.

  Despite the early hour, the zoo buzzed with activity. Zookeepers and food vendors were all getting ready for the expected crowds. As I entered the herpetology building, I heard voices coming from the office, but I veered in the other direction, toward the storage room. Making my way down the dark corridor, a chill ran up my spine. Not a soul in sight. I was surrounded by venomous snakes, even if they were behind glass.

  The door to the storage room was ajar.

  “Mei?” I called, stepping inside.

  I heard a sound but saw no one. I spotted the five cartons from yesterday. Only now, they were piled in front of the closet, blocking the door.

  I heard a moan coming from inside the closet.