Mary Anne and the Zoo Mystery

by Ann M. Martin

  “What’s that?” I asked, pleased that things were going more smoothly.

  “Instead of fins, why don’t we call it flippers?” Alan suggested. “That way we can study the seals. They’re a lot of fun to watch.”

  “Fine with me.” I took my spiral notebook out of my backpack and wrote the words Fur, Feathers, and Flippers at the top of the page. It was now official.

  Howie didn’t look very pleased about the new turn of events, but all he said was, “I get to pick the fur animal.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Which one do you want? Tigers?”

  Howie shook his head. “Bears.”

  Alan and I thought bears would be fine. That left me the feathers category. I turned slowly in a circle, looking at the cages for inspiration. The animals from Australia were near the primate enclosure. “I choose the emu,” I said.

  “Fine,” Alan said.

  “Whatever that is,” Howie grumbled in reply.

  Then we split up, each one of us going off to observe the animal we’d selected.

  I strolled over to the Australian animal pen, which was basically a small pasture with some trees and a few covered barns. A big gate near the primates ran across a cement drive used by zoo maintenance and veterinary trucks to drive in and out of the penned area.

  I found an empty bench and started observing the emu. For your information, an emu basically looks a lot like an ostrich but has big gray feathers. I wrote down everything I could see, then used my zoo key in the information box to find out more:

  The emu, at six feet tall, is second in height only to the ostrich. A friendly and curious bird, the emu wanders the arid plains of Australia. (I found this next part interesting.) The female lays the eggs but it is the sole responsibility of the male to incubate and raise the young. They eat a diet consisting primarily of grasses, fruits, seeds, and berries and can live to be over forty years old.

  Once I’d written down the information about the emu, I watched. And watched. And watched. I hate to admit it but a half an hour of emu-watching was about all I could stand. All the emu did was sit underneath a scraggly shade tree, looking like a great big chicken. One time it did cross the enclosure to get a drink of water from a large wooden trough, but it returned immediately to its spot under that tree. I decided to wander around the zoo and come back later.

  Before I left, I watched some kangaroos, which were really cute. A group of SMS students had gathered to watch a mother kangaroo, whose baby was hanging out of her pouch. “Look, there’s the baby joey,” said one.

  “I think I’ll call them Kanga and Roo,” Erica Blumberg replied, making a note in her book. “After the mother and baby in the Winnie-the-Pooh books.”

  I started to say, “We’re supposed to observe the animals, not name them,” but I stopped myself. If it makes observing them for hours on end easier, I thought to myself, then let her name the animals anything she wants.

  I continued on my walk, wondering what name I should give my emu. Emily? Elizabeth? Edith?

  “Edith the emu,” I said out loud.

  “Talking to yourself already?” a familiar voice said behind me.

  I spun around, giggling. “Dawn, you caught me. I’ve just spent thirty minutes watching an emu sit and blink its eyes. That can make you a little loony.”

  “We’ve been observing Mojo and James,” Dawn said. “It’s really eerie. Like being a peeping tom at someone’s window.”

  Suddenly, loud shouts came from near the entrance to the zoo.

  “Stop the cruelty! Free our animals!”

  Dawn and I watched as the protesters, who must have paid the entry fee to get onto the grounds, marched toward the primate area.

  “Please, help stop the cruelty.” A young woman with long brown hair, wearing a floral print skirt and pink T-shirt, pressed a brochure into Dawn’s hand. “Mojo and James should be allowed to roam free.”

  Dawn studied the brochure. “It does seem cruel to keep animals in these cages. I mean, Mojo and James’s cage is certainly bigger than a little wire cage, but it says here that gorillas like Mojo and James are used to roaming two or three miles in a day. This must be like torture to them.”

  I love animals, and I always worry when I visit a zoo that the animals aren’t being treated well, but Mrs. Wofsey seemed to be a kind, caring person. And the Bedford Zoo had a really nice feel to it.

  “I don’t know. These animals seem happy,” I said to Dawn. “The cages are clean and they’re fed regularly. And I think Bedford Zoo has done a pretty good job re-creating the animals’ natural habitats.”

  “But things could get too crowded,” Dawn said. “I mean, look how many of the animals have had babies. That practically doubles the number that have to share those spaces.”

  I didn’t want to argue with Dawn. I’d had my share of arguing for the day. So I was relieved when Claudia caught up with us and said her aunt was here and it was time to go.

  Claud, Dawn, and I had planned to cut short our Friday zoo visit. We planned to return on Saturday. Mrs. Wofsey had given us a sneak preview of the weekend’s events, and they sounded like a lot of fun.

  Our Friday BSC meeting was a zoo itself. The biology project made scheduling a nightmare. Dawn, Claudia, and I had several afternoons reserved for animal watching at the zoo.

  Luckily, Dawn came up with the brilliant idea of mixing work with work. When the Arnolds called looking for a sitter for Marilyn and Carolyn on Saturday afternoon, Dawn asked if it would be all right to take the girls to the zoo. The Arnolds were delighted.

  * * *

  The next day Claudia’s mom dropped me, Logan, and Claudia off at the zoo. Alan and Howie were waiting for me by the front gate.

  “Don’t start anything, please,” I murmured to Logan, who shot me a “Who, me?” wounded look.

  Howie and Alan said hi to Claudia and me, and completely ignored Logan. I was relieved. Silence was better than all that bickering.

  “I’m going to run on ahead,” Logan said. I could tell he was a little hurt by my remark. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

  He wove his way through the small group of protesters outside the entrance. By now they seemed as much a part of the zoo as the ticket takers. They were marching up and down the walk, chanting, “No more cages! No more cages!”

  For a second I thought about the letters Mrs. Wofsey had talked about. Would these people really follow through with their threats? I hoped not.

  As we passed through the turnstiles, I could see Dawn and the Arnold twins heading our way.

  “Hi, Mary Anne! Hi, Claudia!” Marilyn and Carolyn ran toward us. They were eager to tell us their news. Marilyn had lost a tooth, and a new one was starting to grow in Carolyn’s mouth. Marilyn was gearing up for another piano recital.

  “We’re just in time for the elephant art exhibition,” Claudia announced.

  Although Alan and Howie were keeping their distance, they were close enough to hear what Claudia said. “What’s that?” Alan asked with a scowl.

  “Oh, I read about that,” I said. “The elephants are given big housepainting brushes and a huge easel and they paint with their trunks. It should be really fun to watch.”

  Howie nudged Alan with his elbow. “Not my idea of fun.”

  “Not mine either,” said Marilyn.

  Dawn draped her arm over Marilyn’s shoulder and explained to us, “We just went to see the tigers. They were all inside and it upset Marilyn to see them in such small cages.”

  “They just paced back and forth, back and forth,” Marilyn said, rocking right and left as she spoke. “It’s so sad.”

  “Well, the art exhibit won’t be sad,” I said. “You’ll get to see the elephants having fun.”

  Alan tapped me on the shoulder. “I don’t feel like watching a bunch of elephants paint. I think I’ll go do some more seal watching. Two o’clock is their feeding time.”

  “Yeah, I don’t feel like watching Jumbo paint, either,” Howie chimed in. “I thin
k I’ll check up on the bears. See how they’re doing. Yesterday, they just slept. Maybe they’ll be awake today.”

  “Okay.” I checked my watch. “We better hurry, the exhibition starts in two minutes.”

  A small crowd had already assembled in the amphitheater outside the elephant house. The amphitheater consisted of several rows of wooden benches set in half circles up the side of a small hill, looking down on the elephants’ play yard. The yard was empty except for a row of large easels set with blank sheets of cardboard, a table with several paintbrushes on it, and a large garbage can. Mrs. Wofsey was just finishing some announcements to the audience when we arrived.

  “Please take your seats, everyone,” she said. “The elephants will be out in just a few minutes.”

  “I want to sit in front,” Carolyn said.

  “I want to sit with you,” Marilyn said, taking Dawn’s hand.

  The benches were filling up fast, especially the ones in front so Dawn said quickly, “All right, Carolyn, you sit in the front row, but when it’s over, wait for me to come find you. I’ll be in back.”

  We hurried up the hillside and slipped onto a bench near the back. Music blared from loudspeakers set into the foliage at the front of the amphitheater, and the elephants’ barn doors were thrown open.

  “Look!” cried Marilyn, as two adult elephants and a smaller, younger one marched in a perfect line into the play yard. “They’re wearing big hats.”

  “Those are called berets,” Dawn explained. “A lot of artists wear them.”

  “The elephants are so cute,” I cried. “Especially the little one. Oooh, look at him!”

  The smaller elephant, who had been trotting behind the grown-up ones, suddenly sprinted ahead of the others to grab his paintbrush. Then he raced to the large garbage can, which was full of paint, and dipped his brush in it. He trotted around in a half circle leaving a big red stripe on every easel.

  “You little rascal,” the elephant handler scolded. “Now come on. Up to your easel. Up!”

  The two larger elephants took their artwork more seriously. They were already painting around the red stripes on their canvases. It was fascinating watching them choose among the primary colors of red, yellow, and blue. Sometimes they’d mix them and get a bright green or reddish-purple.

  Our seats were close to the side of the amphitheater, where Mrs. Wofsey was standing and watching the show. So we were the first to hear the bad news when Mr. Chester delivered it to her.

  “The emu. She escaped,” Mr. Chester said, puffing, red in the face.

  “Oh, my word.” Mrs. Wofsey reached for the walkie-talkie in a belt on her hip and started barking orders. “I’ll call zoo security. You get Mike and Curtis from the plant crew, and we’ll cordon off the area.”

  “No need,” Mr. Chester said, finally catching his breath. “I’ve already taken care of the problem. The vet was in the area. He drove the zoo cart while I herded the emu back into her pen.”

  Mrs. Wofsey put her walkie-talkie back in its holster. “Well, I’m glad you’ve handled it so efficiently. Fortunately, the emu is a fairly tame bird. I’m glad Tim was there to help you. Thank you.”

  Mr. Chester smiled. “It was nothing.”

  “I think I’d better get over there to see how the escape occurred,” Mrs. Wofsey said.

  “Don’t worry, that’s under control as well,” Mr. Chester said. “I’m having some of the groundskeepers look into it.”

  “I’m sorry, but that won’t do.” Mrs. Wofsey’s voice was stern. “As head of this zoo, it’s my job to make sure these things don’t happen. I will conduct this investigation personally.”

  Mr. Chester shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  This new information was far more intriguing than the painting demonstration. Especially since it involved my emu, Edith. It was hard to imagine her staging a break-out.

  When the elephant exhibition ended, I said a quick good-bye to Dawn and hurried to the emu’s pen to see what had happened. I figured this would be something exciting to write in my journal.

  Friday: Edith slept, took two drinks of water.

  Saturday: Edith slept, took one drink of water, then broke down the fence and escaped.

  I think my imagination went a little wild. When I reached the pen, I could see that the fence was just fine. In fact, there was no sign of any disturbance at all. As usual, Edith was under her tree, dozing.

  Mrs. Wofsey was inside, on the concrete driveway, talking to a man sitting behind the wheel of what looked like a golf cart. The words Bedford Zoo — Veterinary Services were painted on the side. I figured that the man was Tim, who had helped Mr. Chester corral Edith.

  Several other students and visitors had gathered by the gate to see what the commotion was about. Upon seeing the crowd, Mrs. Wofsey walked over to the fence to make an announcement.

  “Some of you may have heard that our emu escaped from her pen about an hour ago. This is true. But as you can see she is back, safe and sound. You have nothing to be concerned about. As you know, if you have used your gold key and listened to the info kiosk, the emu is a very docile bird. No one was in any danger of getting hurt.”

  While Mrs. Wofsey was talking, I noticed several large red stains on the concrete at her feet. Not bloodstains, but more like the stains left by smashed berries. They were just inside the gate, and also on my side (the public side) of the drive. I wondered if someone had spilled a bucket full of berries.

  The crowd stayed for a few more minutes. Maybe they wanted to see if Edith would make another break for it. But as she settled in for what was probably going to be a long afternoon nap, they wandered off. I watched Mrs. Wofsey and Tim talk for a while. At one point she turned in a half circle, gesturing at the fence ringing the perimeter of the field. I guessed she was asking Tim to check it for any breaks.

  As he drove away, she reached in the pocket of her jacket, then spun around, looking at the ground.

  “Curtis!” she called to a man in a green shirt and green work pants. He held a broom and dust pan in his hand and was busily picking up litter and dumping it in the trash. Curtis hurried over to the gate.

  “Yes, Mrs. Wofsey?”

  “Have you seen my master key? I seem to have misplaced it.” Mrs. Wofsey sounded anxious. “You know what it looks like, don’t you? It’s brass, like those gold-painted keys the visitors use for the kiosks.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out for it,” Curtis replied.

  “Thank you.” Mrs. Wofsey checked her pockets once more, shaking her head nervously.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught some movement a few yards away, near the primate enclosure. It was Mr. Chester. I think he had overheard Mrs. Wofsey’s conversation. He was making a clucking sound of disapproval with his tongue.

  I had just decided to help Mrs. Wofsey look for her key when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Yikes!” I squealed.

  “Boy, are you jumpy,” Alan said.

  I told them about the emu’s escape, recapping Mr. Chester’s tale of herding the emu back to its pen. They were pretty impressed.

  “I wish the seals had been that exciting,” Alan said. “Two o’clock was feeding time, I thought. But by the time I got there, they were taking their afternoon nap. The attendant said they’d already eaten.”

  I jotted his observation in my notebook: “Seals nap soon after eating.” Then I turned to Howie. “How’d it go with the bears?”

  “The bears?” Howie blinked at me for a second. “Oh, right. The bears. Um, they mostly lounged around on tree branches, napping.”

  “All afternoon?” I asked.

  “Pretty much.” Howie grinned crookedly. “Nice life those bears have. Eat and then loaf around in your big fur coat.”

  “Boring,” Alan said.

  I checked the notebook entries. There was a full page on the emu, and only one measly sentence each on the seals and bears. “Wasn’t there anything else you observed about your animals?” I asked them.

  Howi
e scratched his head. “I didn’t notice anything else about the bears but I did see something strange outside the bear cage. This couple wearing matching sweatsuits and lugging a lot of camera equipment were walking around. They’d stop at a cage and talk a lot, then make notes on a pad. But here’s the weird part — they never took any pictures.”

  “I’m sure they were just visiting the zoo,” I said. “I mean, lots of people carry cameras.”

  Howie shook his head. “These guys didn’t seem like normal tourist types. I mean, they weren’t enjoying looking at the animals. I didn’t see them smile once. But they sure talked a lot about each animal.”

  * * *

  My dad picked up Claudia, Logan, and me and drove us home. On the way back, the image of Edith sitting docilely under her tree kept popping into my head. It wasn’t until we were pulling into the driveway that the thought finally hit me. Edith didn’t escape … somebody must have let her out. But who? The protestors in front of the zoo? And what about the strange couple in the matching sweatsuits? Hmm. It looked like we had a mystery on our hands. One that needed to be solved soon.

  “The emu couldn’t have escaped, because all she does is eat and sit. I would have to say that bird is the least likely candidate for a breakout at Bedford Zoo,” I said at the Monday BSC meeting. “Add the fact that there was no break in the fence and I think we have a mystery on our hands.”

  We discussed the threatening notes Mrs. Wofsey had received, the protestors who marched in front of the zoo, and the weird couple with the camera equipment.

  “I think I saw those two,” Dawn said. “I don’t remember what they looked like but I do remember their matching sweatsuits.”

  Claudia, who was on her hands and knees looking for a shoebox in her closet, called, “Watch out for matching sweatsuits. I hate it when couples dress alike. It’s so geeky.”

  “I noticed something else odd,” I said, “which may or may not have anything to do with the mystery of who freed Edith.”

  “Edith?” Kristy cut in. “Who’s Edith?”