The Anteater of Death

by Betty Webb

  “See, I told you those were gunshots.”

  “Somebody almost killed her the other night, didn’t they?”

  “What’s this harbor coming to?”

  Over my protests, Joe hustled me into the salon and sat me at the galley table. “Who was it?”

  I kept my eyes averted from the aft cabin, hoping my father wouldn’t sneeze or do anything else to give away his location. “I never saw the ... the shooter, but like I told your deputies, it sounded like the shots came from the parking lot. It was probably the same guy who hit me on the head the other night.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Who called 9-1-1 first? The dispatcher said the first call came from your cell phone, but that the caller was a man. I need to talk to him.”

  When you can’t tell the truth, feign ignorance. “Huh?”

  I didn’t like the look he gave me. “Who was here with you?”

  Don’t look toward the aft cabin. Don’t look toward the aft cabin. “I ... I’m feeling faint. Can we go back topside so I can get some fresh air? Please?” Trying my best to act like a swoony Victorian maiden, I clutched at my breast and began to sway.

  He didn’t buy my act. “Oh, come off it. A woman who jumps into bear pits to save a child doesn’t faint. So I’ll ask again. We know there was a man with you when the bullets started flying. Who was it?”

  Since it hadn’t worked, I stopped my clutching and swaying. “Look, there was a guy with a gun out there, shooting. Not once but several times. I was terrified, so when I called 9-1-1 I was probably hoarse.” Remembering that the best defense was offense, I added, “What difference does it make what I sounded like, anyway? The important thing is that somebody shot at me. Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”

  He rose from the table and walked into the forward cabin, where Bonz and Priss were still hiding under the cushions with only their tails protruding. He opened a few cabinets, poked around, and after finding nothing, walked to the aft cabin and repeated the process. Disappointed, he returned to the table. “He must have left.”

  “Who left?”

  “Your father.”

  At that, I almost did faint. “Who?”

  “You must think I’m stupid.”

  “I don’t feel good. Please let me get some fresh air!” This time I wasn’t faking.

  With a sigh, he led me back outside and over to a deck chair. “Sit down. Take deep breaths.” Then he leaned over me, put his lips to my ear, and whispered, “Have Daddy Dearest get the hell out of town, okay? I can’t keep pretending not to recognize him.”

  ***

  As soon as the police left, I released my father from the hideyhole, a dust bunny clinging to his hair. I brushed it away, then remade the bunk. “Sheriff Rejas says you’d better leave town.”

  “Great minds think alike.” Now that it was safe, he sneezed. “By the way, I heard that entire conversation. What I can’t figure out is why, with your mother and me as parents, you’re such a bad liar.”

  I let the insult pass. “You have a gun, don’t you?” I wondered if it was the same caliber as the one that had killed Barry Fields.

  “Certainly I have a gun. I don’t exactly fill teeth for a living.” He frowned and brushed some dust off his windbreaker. “This’ll have to go to the cleaners.”

  His easy dismissal of the danger we’d been in alarmed me further. “Please don’t go back to Caro’s. What if...?” Not being able to bear the thought of losing both of them, I couldn’t finish the sentence.

  Finally acknowledging my distress, he put his arms around me. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to her. Or you. Apparently my idea that Chuckles wouldn’t think to look for me so close to home was wrong. After I leave here I’m going straight to Al’s sloop in Santa Cruz and I’ll stay there until I can leave the country again. But you know what I was thinking while I was hiding? We’re both taking it for granted that the shooter was one of Chuckles’ henchmen, but we may be off base there. Those guys are better shots. By the way, have you considered that some of the nonsense you told the sheriff might actually be true, that you were the target and not me?”

  I sat down hard on the bunk. He was right. I’d been so concerned about what Chuckles might do to my father that I’d forgotten my own danger. But when I thought more about it, it seemed that both shots had been aimed straight at him. “Dad, sit down. It’s time for a serious talk.”

  “If it’s about me, I’m not sure I’m up for anything more serious than a stiff drink.” Still, he sat down.

  “Have you considered giving youself up? Now that both the Feds and Chuckles Fitzgerald are after you, it might be the smartest thing to do. You could go into the Witness Protection Program.”

  He shook his head. “I have no information to trade, ergo, no Witness Protection Program. The Feds would just slap me in a federal pen, where Chuckles has many, many friends. Before you could say ‘jailhouse rubout,’ I’d wind up in the laundry room with a shank in my back. I’ve got a better idea.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s obvious I’m going to have to blow town in the next couple of days, but you could come with me. That way we’d both be safe and we could have fun!”

  I gulped. “Me in Cameroon?”

  “The world’s a big place. As long as we keep moving, we wouldn’t have to stick to non-treaty countries. If Cameroon doesn’t turn you on, how about Prague? It’s beautiful in the spring.”

  “Prague.” I gulped again.

  “Or Iceland, where we could watch the Grimsvotn volcano erupt. If you don’t like ice, how about someplace warmer, like Venezuela?” A new energy filled his voice. “You’ve never been to Caracas, have you? Gorgeous weather year round, only twenty minutes from the beach, great theater and museums. We could ride the cable car up to the top of Mt. Avila and see the...”

  “Dad, I’m not going anywhere with you. I’d miss my friends too much.”

  “Friends like Roarke Gunn? Why, he’s a useless, lazy...”

  “Lucy. Carlos. Bonz. Priss.”

  “Oh. Your animals.”

  “That’s right. My animals. I have a wonderful life here and I’m not going to leave it.”

  “Then promise me one thing, Theodora.”

  “What?”

  “That you’ll stop snooping around. It might cut short your wonderful life.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  As soon as Dad left for Al Mazer’s sloop, I called Caro. “Who do you know with a private plane? Someone needs to take a trip.” Just in case the Feds were playing loosey-goosey with the wiretap laws again, I didn’t name names.

  No fool, Caro caught on immediately. “There’s Cyril, I guess, but I don’t know if our relationship has progressed far enough for me to ask that kind of favor. Why, dear? Is our friend ready to go back home?”

  I knew she’d find out soon enough what had happened on the Merilee. “Now don’t go getting upset or anything because nobody was hurt, but it looks like that funny guy from San Francisco has found him. Our friend was visiting today and, well, some gunfire was involved, but like I said, nobody was hurt.”

  A strangled noise, then a quick throat-clearing. “I ... I understand. A Lear jet, maybe, and a pilot who can keep secrets.”

  “Yes, that’s necessary, too.”

  “I’ll get back to you.” She rang off.

  I tucked the cell phone into my pocket, and sat there for a moment, thinking about Joe. Why hadn’t he told me he already knew about my father being in town and spared me so much misery? The minute I asked myself the question, I knew the answer. He couldn’t. If he admitted he knew, he would have to do something about it. By pretending not to recognize my father, he could let him walk around a free man. The heaviness that had weighed down my heart since our hospital face-off went away.

  I fished the cell back out of my pocket and began to punch in his number, but before I hit the fourth digit, I clicked off. This wasn’t a conversation for a cell phone, either. I�
��d wait for a while, then drive into San Sebastian and talk to him in person. We could have dinner someplace quiet, then—as we say at the zoo—let nature take its course.

  To cool off, I went up on deck just in time to see Roarke and Frieda Gunn approaching the Merilee.

  “Are you okay?” Roarke called. “We heard there was trouble down here.”

  “Trouble’s over.”

  After they’d stepped onboard, Frieda enveloped me in a hug, a gesture so unlike her that I was stunned. Had the maternal genes kicked in already? Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and like Roarke’s, her hair was mussed. “Teddy, with everything that’s happened, you simply can’t stay here by yourself. Why don’t you pack some clothes and come back with us to the Tequila Sunrise until things get sorted out? We have plenty of room.”

  Moving onto the Sunrise might be hopping from the frying pan into the fire, so I thanked them for their concern and politely declined. “But I’m glad you came over, because there was something I wanted to ask you. Everyone’s always been curious as to why Grayson gave Barry the zoo director position. Did he ever explain why?”

  Roarke snorted. “Grayson never discussed his zoo work with anyone other than Jeanette. Why do you care, anyway?”

  “Just wondering.”

  “Someone banged you over the head, then shot at you, and you’re ‘just wondering’ why Barry Fields got his stupid job?”

  I shrugged. “Were Barry and Grayson acquainted before the job interview?”

  “How would I know?” he snapped. “Look, I’m getting tired of all your questions. It’s time...”

  “Roarke, please.” Frieda tugged at his sleeve. “She’s been through a lot.” To me, she said, “No. That was the first time they met. I happen to know because we were at one of Aster Edwina’s excruciating Sunday dinners and Grayson—who’d just driven down from the City, where he’d spent a whole week doing interviews—was making fun of some of the applicants and Barry was one of them.”

  “He actually made fun of Barry?”

  She grimaced. “He put a napkin on his head and flapped it around like a loose toupee. He even told us he’d decided to promote the head zookeeper to the position, so I was really surprised when only two days later he gave the job to the very guy he’d been making fun of. Especially since he’d already told us the man wasn’t qualified for the position and didn’t seem to like animals in the first place.”

  I winced at the thought of the napkin-flapping. So much for Grayson being a nice man. The more I learned about him, the less nice he seemed. But if he’d felt such contempt for Barry, what made him change his mind? I closed my eyes for a brief moment, trying to put things together.

  “Teddy? Are you sure you don’t want to go back to the Tequila Sunrise with us?”

  I opened my eyes again. Frieda was so beautiful and now that I knew she was pregnant, the small bump in her stomach was obvious. It’s odd how something can be right in front of you and yet you can’t see it. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be fine. One last question. You said that Grayson spent a whole week in San Francisco interviewing applicants. Jeanette was with him, right?”

  “Probably. They did go everywhere together.”

  Roarke cut in. “Not this time. Jeanette told me they both drove up on the weekend but by Monday afternoon, with all the applicants traipsing in and out, she felt a migraine coming on so Grayson hired a limo and sent her home. He interviewed all week, then returned for that miserable Sunday dinner at the castle. I remember because Aster Edwina complained that he hadn’t dressed for dinner, just bummed in wearing khakis and a golf shirt. Not that Jeanette cared. She was all over him. You’d think they’d been separated for a year. Between you and me, I don’t know how he could stand it, but some men are like that, I guess. Terminally dependent.”

  So Grayson had spent almost a week by himself in San Francisco. Although this seemed to conflict with something else I’d heard—where?—it clarified other things. But it also raised another question. “Did they have a regular hotel they stayed at? I mean, what with the Trust and all, they had a lot of business in the City, so...”

  Frieda raised her eyebrows. “I thought you knew. Aster Edwina keeps a townhouse in Pacific Heights for the convenience of any family members who needed to take regular trips up there. When we’re not sailing, Roarke drives up there and meets with his broker every Monday. He spends the night and comes back the next morning. That’s where Grayson conducted the zoo director interviews, too, not some anonymous hotel. Roarke and I always stay there when we go to the opera.” She paused. “Come to think of it, that week was when we saw Salome. You know, the production with the nude scene.”

  With a wolfish grin, Roarke said, “For once, the soprano didn’t look like a truck. Look, does Teddy have to know all this?”

  Ignoring him, Frieda continued. “We were going to spend the night at the townhouse, but when we saw they’d already grabbed the master suite, we went over to the Sheraton.”

  Before they left for lunch, they gave me the townhouse’s address, and for the second Sunday in a row, I jumped into my pickup and drove to San Francisco.

  ***scene.

  The Gunn townhouse, a nondescript, two-story brownstone with a For Sale sign in front, sat on a tree-lined residential street in Pacific Heights not too far from Henry and Pilar’s Victorian. Backed up on Lafayette Park, the house felt secluded, at the same time, having good access to the restaurants and shops down the street. After circling the neighborhood several times, I found a parking space only three blocks away. No one answered when I rang the bell, so I walked down the street to Le Bon Appetit, a French bistro I’d passed earlier. While I was too late for lunch—the special was Lobster Newburg, Grayson’s favorite, as Jeanette had told me—the waiter did manage to scrounge up a bowl of thick onion soup topped with bread and cheese. He left me alone to enjoy it at an outdoor table.

  The weather being balmy, the sidewalk was filled with couples meandering along arm-in-arm, looking as if they were going nowhere in particular. Preteens on skateboards headed for the park at breakneck speed, while a few oldsters clanked along on their walkers, eyeing them with irritation. Michael and I had enjoyed such lazy Sundays, and in my youthful naiveté, I’d thought they would continue forever. How could I have been so blind?

  The answer wasn’t difficult. The old cliché was true; love is as blind as an Antrozous pallidus, more commonly known as a bat.

  I was staring blankly at the storefronts across the street—a collection of galleries, crafts shops, a puppet theater, and a Starbuck’s when two blondes as alike as identical twins exited the coffee shop. Only as they crossed the street and passed in front of me did I realize how different they were: one was a teen, the other at least ten years older. One had blue eyes, the other brown. One was pretty, the other plain.

  The waiter, who saw me watching, said, “From a distance, all blondes look alike.”

  I’d almost made up my mind to return to Gunn Landing when I saw a long limo slide by the restaurant and double-park in front of the townhouse. Ignoring the flurry of honks behind him, a uniformed chauffeur stepped out and opened the passenger door. Aster Edwina swanned out, regal as a queen. The limo departed.

  I threw down a ten. After noticing the waiter’s offended look, added another five, and ran after her.

  “If it isn’t little Theodora Bentley,” She already had the key to her townhouse in her hand. “What brings you to the Gunn pied à terre?”

  The question I needed to ask was unforgivably rude, but since she was such a rude woman herself, what did it matter? “Why are you selling your townhouse?”

  Her glacial face iced over even further. “Go home, you nosy child.” She turned her back on me and unlocked the door. Before I could explain myself, she slipped inside and slammed the door in my face.

  But not before I understood that her refusal to answer was an answer in itself. She might be prone to physical violence where grape-stealing kids were concerned, but she
never, ever lied.

  So I took her advice and went home.

  ***

  Several people, some yacht club habitués and even aw zoo staffers had gathered for sundown cocktails on the deck of the Tequila Sunrise. When I stepped onto the boat, Frieda, surrounded by a group of women admiring her tummy bump, motioned me over. I shook my head, pointing a finger at Roarke, who hunkered alone under the boom. When he saw me approach, he gave an easy smile.

  “Gorgeous, humm?” He gestured westward with his wineglass, where the descending sun cut a red and gold swath across the Pacific.

  “Can I ask you some more questions?”

  His expression hardened. “You’re getting tiresome, Teddy. Aster Edwina called and warned that you might drop by. You offended her deeply.”