by Stuart Gibbs
By the time everything was settled enough for me to talk to Summer about why she was upset with me, Violet, Ethan, and Dash showed up. Summer sprang for lunch and they hung out with us on our stakeout for an hour until the heat got to them. The heat was getting to Summer and me too, and things were still weird between us, so Summer suggested we work shifts for the rest of the afternoon. She went off to the Polar Pavilion with the others for an hour, then came back and let me go join them, and we switched on and off like that for the rest of the day, avoiding spending any time with each other on our own.
The hours alone on the stakeout were boring, but the breaks with our friends made the day go much faster. And sadly, given how annoyed at me Summer seemed to still be, it was better to not be forced to sit next to her all afternoon. I spent my time on duty trying to be as vigilant as possible, though I also compulsively checked my texts and email every minute, hoping for word from Lily or Tommy or Hoenekker about either of our investigations.
It wasn’t until nearly six o’clock that I finally got a text from Lily: Sorry I didnt get back to u. Crazy day. Can we meet up 2morrow?
I have school tomorrow, I wrote back. Can you update me now?
Cant, she wrote. Ill meet u after school?
I was sure my parents wouldn’t want me to agree to this, but I was desperate to know what Lily and Tommy had learned. So I texted back: Ok.
Great, Lily wrote. And then I didn’t hear from her again.
When FunJungle closed at eight p.m., I was exhausted. Except for the excitement with Marge, the day had been a bust. I had witnessed plenty of people doing dumb things to the giraffes, like trying to pet them or get them to lick their ice-cream cones, but the giraffes had shrewdly kept their distance and thus, none of the behavior seemed like it could have resulted in poisoning. A startling number of people had dropped things into the paddock by accident. By my tally, there were four phones, twelve pairs of sunglasses, eight baseball caps, and too many park maps to count. Two morons almost dropped their own children while posing them on the railing. However, the Giraffe Staff was apparently used to all this; they convinced the idiots to take their kids off the railing and fished all the dropped items out quickly before the giraffes could get to them.
Summer came along as I was packing up my father’s camera. Since I had the last shift, I was surprised to see her. I thought she might have left the park. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“My father paid us to stay here all day,” she said coldly. “So I stayed all day.”
I considered pointing out that her father had paid us to watch the giraffes for the whole time the park was open, not to switch off every hour, but I figured she was irritated enough with me already. I simply zipped up the camera bag and slung the strap over my shoulder.
“We ought to download about what we both saw here today,” Summer said, then started down Adventure Road. “Besides that well-dressed couple, did you notice anyone doing anything suspicious?”
I dropped in beside her. “No, but I guess someone might have poisoned the giraffes by mistake. Like, by accidentally dropping something into the paddock.”
“We’re not looking for accidents.” There was a slightly icy tone to Summer’s voice, indicating she was still upset with me. “We’re looking for a pattern. The giraffes couldn’t be getting poisoned every Sunday by people making mistakes.”
“Maybe it’s the same person. Someone who visits the park every Sunday and accidentally drops something dangerous into the exhibit each time.”
Summer gave me a disapproving stare. “That’s ridiculous.”
Her tone was now starting to get to me. “Do you have any better ideas?”
“Yes! It was obviously the well-dressed couple!”
“We can’t just assume it was them. We don’t have any proof that they poisoned the giraffes. . . .”
“We would have, but you let them get away.”
“I did not!” I exclaimed.
“You certainly didn’t help try to catch them.”
“We weren’t supposed to help catch them! That was Marge’s job!”
“Well, Marge was busy screwing up. And then you turned chicken.”
“Hey!” I exploded, getting really upset now. “The last time I went after a criminal here, I got thrown into the polar bear exhibit! I almost got eaten!”
“And I nearly fell into the crocodile pit,” Summer shot back. “But I didn’t wimp out just now.”
“Fine,” I said angrily. “You want to play this game? Here’s what has happened to me on investigations here: In addition to nearly being eaten by the polar bear, I’ve almost been trampled by Cape buffalo, elephants, and every antelope in SafariLand. I’ve been chased by a rhino. I nearly drowned in the shark tank. I got held at gunpoint by a man in a panda costume. Someone freed the black mamba when I was by its exhibit. And I was nearly squashed by a plummeting dead hippo. So I think that maybe I’ve earned the right to be a little cautious where bad guys are concerned!”
Summer stared at me a bit. She seemed to be aware I had a good point, but not ready to admit it. Finally, she said, “I wasn’t asking you to do anything dangerous. I just wanted to follow those people before they got away. And guess what? They got away.”
“Nobody has ever thought they were asking me to do anything dangerous,” I reminded her. “But I’ve ended up in plenty of danger anyhow.”
Summer didn’t have a response to that. She just kept on walking.
It occurred to me that we were heading in the opposite direction of the front gates—or the administration building, where J.J.’s office was. “Shouldn’t we be going the other way?” I asked. “Isn’t your dad waiting for you?”
“Probably,” Summer replied. “But there’s someone I want to talk to first.”
“Who?” I asked.
“Her.” Summer pointed down Adventure Road, toward Carnivore Canyon. A woman in the standard FunJungle keeper’s uniform—khaki shirt, shorts, and boots—was leaving the exhibit. Even in the fading light, I could see she had freckles and red hair like her sons, Grayson and Jason. “That’s Natasha Mason, right?”
“Right. How’d you know . . . ?”
“. . . what she looks like? There’s a database of all the keepers online. I looked her up last night.”
“Is she expecting to talk to you?”
“Nope. This is an ambush.” Summer waved and yelled, “Mrs. Mason! Do you have a few minutes?”
Natasha turned toward us, startled to hear her name, but then smiled upon recognizing me. “Hi, Teddy! I heard you ran into my boys yesterday.”
“I did,” I said, then started to introduce Summer. “This is—”
“I know exactly who you are,” Natasha told Summer. “It’s very nice to meet you. I hear you were at our neighbor’s yesterday too.” The way she said “neighbor” made it very clear she didn’t like Lincoln Stone one bit.
“That’s right,” Summer said. “We were hoping we could ask you some questions about what happened last Friday night.”
“I’m trying to get home before my boys go to bed. But if you don’t mind walking to my car with me, we could talk on the way.” Natasha didn’t give us a chance to answer. She just started down Adventure Road toward the employee parking lot.
So Summer and I walked beside her.
“Did you see or hear anything strange at Lincoln Stone’s house on Friday night?” Summer asked.
“You mean the night the cougar supposedly ate King?”
“You don’t think that’s what happened?” I asked.
“Do you?” Natasha returned.
“Our friend at the Department of Fish and Wildlife doesn’t think so,” Summer replied. “Why don’t you?”
“Because I don’t think the cougar was anywhere near our place that night,” Natasha said. “I know she’s been around, of course. I’ve seen her tracks and found scat. But I haven’t seen anything fresh in at least two weeks.”
“That doesn’t prove s
he wasn’t nearby,” I pointed out.
“True,” Natasha conceded. Then she looked around furtively to see if anyone was close by. Once she confirmed we were alone, she lowered her voice and said, “I did hear something strange Friday night. But it wasn’t a cougar.”
“What was it, then?” Summer asked. “A coyote?”
“No, it was a man. A bunch of men, really. Friends of Lincoln’s, I guess. It sounded like he was having some kind of stag party at his place.”
“A party?” I repeated, looking to Summer. “Tommy didn’t say anything about Lincoln having a party that night.”
“Well, he did,” Natasha said. “It wasn’t big, but it was still loud. I couldn’t hear anything they said specifically, because they were way over on Lincoln’s property, but I’m sure there was alcohol involved. They were all drunk and rowdy. And they were firing guns as well.”
Summer asked, “You mean, like hunting?”
“No, I think they were just out on that blasted gun range of Lincoln’s. Which he doesn’t even have a permit for, by the way. The family we’re renting from told me.”
Summer looked to me, intrigued. “I’ll bet Lincoln didn’t even tell Fish and Wildlife about all this.”
We reached the rear employee exit, which led to the employee parking lot. Passing through it was the complete opposite direction that Summer needed to go, but she was too interested in what Natasha was saying. We followed her through the gate.
“Do you think one of Lincoln’s friends shot King?” Summer asked.
“It’s possible,” Natasha answered. “When people with guns drink, bad things happen. I can’t say what really happened to King, but I’ll tell you what didn’t happen. No mountain lion would have come anywhere near a bunch of loud, drunken men shooting off guns. Mountain lions don’t like humans, they don’t like noise, and they’re probably savvy enough to know that guns mean trouble.”
Once we exited the park, the construction site for the Wilds was to our right, the path that led to Lakeside Estates was straight ahead, and the employee parking lot was to our left. Even at that hour, the parking lot was still quite full and the heat of the day was radiating off it. I figured we’d get to Natasha’s car soon, so I hurried to get to the next question while we still had time. “Your sons indicated that Lincoln wasn’t very nice to his dog?”
“He certainly yelled at King a lot. I can’t say if he abused the poor thing or not, but I’d say he definitely wasn’t a good owner.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Lincoln left that dog outside all the time,” Natasha explained. “And that crummy barbed-wire fence wouldn’t hold him. We found King sniffing around our place a couple times, but Lincoln just kept letting him run free.”
“In the woods?” Summer asked, horrified. “King was a bichon frise! Wouldn’t the woods be dangerous for a little dog like that?”
“Definitely,” Natasha agreed. “And Lincoln knew that cougar was around. He was always complaining about it. Plus, there are coyotes in the area too. And rattlesnakes and cottonmouths and copperheads, for that matter. So if Lincoln really cared about King like he says, why didn’t he keep that dog locked up safe inside?”
We arrived at an old, banged-up minivan that looked like it hadn’t ever been washed. Natasha fished her keys out of her bag.
“One last question,” Summer said. “Have you told anyone else about any of this?”
“No.” Natasha unlocked the van and climbed into the front seat. “I thought maybe some investigator would come by, but no one did. And I simply haven’t had the time to track down the right people. Speaking of which . . .” Natasha glanced at her watch. “I really have to go.”
“Thanks for your time,” I said.
“Sure thing.” Natasha started to close the van door, then thought better of it and said, “By the way, you didn’t hear any of this from me. Lincoln Stone is already a pain in my rear as it is. The last thing I need is for him to hear I’ve been talking about him behind his back.”
“Understood,” Summer said.
Natasha shut the door, backed out of the parking space, and drove out of the lot.
Summer and I started back toward the employee gate.
“Man,” she said. “Lincoln Stone’s even worse than I thought. Not only is he a jerk to people. He was a jerk to his dog, too.” There was no longer an icy tone to her voice. It seemed that, in the excitement of learning this new information, she had forgotten all about being angry at me.
“Assuming Mrs. Mason is telling the truth,” I said.
“Why would she lie to us?”
“To protect herself.”
Summer gaped at me. “There is no way that woman framed a mountain lion for killing King. She works with carnivores! She doesn’t want anyone to hunt them! If anything, she likes that lion a million times more than Lincoln Stone.”
I thought about that a moment, then conceded, “I guess so.”
“Plus, we know she wasn’t lying about how Lincoln Stone treated that dog. Because it was definitely killed outside his house. Even if a mountain lion did eat it, it only happened because he was letting his little bichon frise run around unattended. At night. In the woods. When he knew there was a mountain lion around. He might as well have put that dog on a plate and covered it in barbecue sauce.”
“But the cat didn’t do it. . . .”
“No. Someone else did. But if they hadn’t, it was probably only a matter of time until that dog got eaten.” Summer’s phone buzzed with a text message, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check it. “It’s from my father! He has news about the giraffes.”
“What’s he say?” I asked.
“He wants me to call him. Unfortunately, the coverage out here’s garbage.”
“No kidding.”
We were almost to the employee gate, skirting along the chain-link fence of the construction site.
A loud pop echoed through the Wilds. Then there was another.
Summer turned to me, her eyes wide with worry, which was exactly what I was feeling. “Those were gunshots!” she exclaimed.
We pressed up against the fence, peering into the construction site. Sunday was the one day of the week J.J. McCracken didn’t have the construction teams working late, so for once, the site was eerily devoid of noise and activity, save for the Raging Raft Ride in the distance, where a test of the water flow was underway. Water was churning through the chutes into the big, fake lake.
Something darted past the lake. It was only a silhouette against the shimmering background, but I could tell it had four legs, it was rather large, and it was moving fast.
The mountain lion.
Another gunshot rang out. This time, I saw the muzzle flash, up at the top of the Raging Raft Ride.
Someone was hunting the lion inside the park.
The next thing I knew, Summer was scrambling over the chain-link fence. “Come on!” she yelled. “We have to stop this!”
I knew that going with her was potentially dangerous, but at the moment, the lion was the one whose life was hanging in the balance. Plus, I really didn’t want Summer to think I had chickened out twice in one day. If Rocket ended up dead, she would never forgive me.
So before I could think things through, I followed her over the fence and into the construction site.
8
THE WILDS
The construction site was difficult to run across at night because there were obstacles everywhere: piles of construction supplies, giant spools of cable, heaps of dirt and sand. Most dangerous of all were the deep trenches dug into the earth. They were for water mains and sewers and electrical wiring, and there was a staggering amount of them. In the darkness, they were almost impossible to see until we had nearly fallen into them.
I was yelling at the top of my lungs, trying to scare off both the hunter and the lion. I doubted either could hear me over the roar of the rapids, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to try. It didn’t seem to matter what I yelled,
really, so I was mostly shouting, “Hey!”
Meanwhile, Summer speed-dialed park security on her phone. “This is Summer McCracken!” she said to the dispatcher. “There is a hunter firing a gun in the Wilds right now! Tell Hoenekker and everyone else on duty to get out here now!”
She hung up, then suddenly paused beside a dormant bulldozer.
“Are you going to drive that thing?” I asked.
“I wish. But I’ll bet there’s no keys.” Summer scrambled up onto the treads, opened the door, and grabbed what she had noticed slung over the driver’s seat: two Day-Glo orange construction vests. She tossed one down to me. “Might as well put these on. So the hunter doesn’t shoot us by mistake.” She slipped hers on, then leaped back down and started running again.
I raced after her, pulling my vest on as well. Even though it was flimsy, it glimmered in the moonlight, making us stand out, which made me feel a tiny bit safer.
I realized I was far more worried about being hurt by the hunter than the lion.
I had done some research on mountain lions the night before. While there had been cases of them attacking humans, those were extremely rare—especially when you considered that millions of people lived surprisingly close to mountain lions. Several of the largest cities in America were located in mountain lion territory, including Houston, Dallas, San Antonio, and Denver. Los Angeles, the second-biggest city in the country, had at least twelve lions living in the mountains around it. A lion had even lived smack in the middle of LA in Griffith Park for years without a single attack; few people had even seen it, even though thousands of people hiked in the park every day. So I wasn’t expecting Rocket to attack us.
Plus, Rocket was already on the run, heading away from us. It didn’t seem likely to me that she would double back our way. I was hoping she had kept on running in the direction we had seen her going, jumping the fence and continuing on into the woods, moving far away from the hunter.
As for the hunter, I hadn’t seen any sign of him since the last muzzle flash from his gun. It made sense that he might have remained at the top of the Raging Raft Ride, as that offered the best view of the construction site, but then again, he might have come down to chase after the lion. Or maybe he had heard me yelling and fled the park. Still, Summer and I raced on toward the Raging Raft Ride, hoping to scare him off or at least determine where he was so we could point him out when FunJungle Security arrived.