Did Not Survive

by Ann Littlewood

She did not seem reassured.

  I said, “The vacuum cleaner is in the closet in your room.”

  Cheyenne said, “It’s not dirty. The upholstery is spotless. It’s a really classy ride.”

  Pete blinked twice and said, “Uh-huh, you betcha,” and pulled out the vac. My mother found the extension cord, and he scoured out the land boat until not a seed or a leaf or a dusting of powder could possibly remain.

  My mother left to feed my father, and Linda showed up. We ate with Winnie and Range sitting on alert nearby, ready to assist with any spills the instant they occurred. Congenial, tired, hungry people eating a great dinner. In my house. Despite everything, it felt good.

  After dinner, Pete and Cheyenne caught up on American television in the living room. I took Linda upstairs and sat on my bed with the door closed, leaning against the headboard with pillows behind me. She lay sideways across the foot of the bed. Her hair was still bi-color, red roots and blond tips. She wore a black sweater, jeans, and heavy boots that she stuck out to keep them off the bed. Her ears looked barricaded, loops like chainmail marching up the rims. She said, “Your forehead is all wrinkly with big thoughts. What’s up?”

  “Linda, I think all the disasters are connected, and the link is money. Not flash anger or jealousy or careers or embarrassing secrets. Wallace, Raj, the cub, the turtles—it’s all the same thing.” I was still in my trusty green sweats and slippers. My arm hurt, and I rearranged pillows.

  Linda said, “Try me.”

  “The common thread is traditional Asian medicine. It’s a huge market. Millions and millions of dollars. That’s what’s behind this. An opportunity to make some bucks.”

  Linda tucked her lips in and bit them. “Rajah. The van.”

  “You got it. Cut and wrapped tiger parts. Bones, fat, meat…It’s all used.”

  She sat up. “The cub?”

  “That too.”

  “Was the cub’s death deliberate?” Her voice had that deadly edge.

  I considered. “No, stupidity, like we thought—and then someone took advantage. It wasn’t that hard to sneak in and out of the quarantine room until recently. It’s all about taking advantage of opportunities.”

  “Somebody inside the zoo.”

  “The turtle in my car pretty much proved that. Whoever took the turtle knew where I was and decided to implicate me in the theft. Insurance in case the crash wasn’t enough to stop me.”

  “Cold. But it fits.” Her eyes narrowed, fists bracing her on the bed. “Asian wildlife exterminated, bears tortured for their bile in tiny cages, all for quack cures, and if you’re right, it lands in our laps in Washington. Why do people still take that junk?”

  I’d had more time to think about this than she had. “You know plenty of people distrust Western medicine, and plenty can’t afford it. People have been using wildlife products and herbs for thousands of years. And most of us still are.”

  “Not me!”

  “Think again. Denny’s forever pushing herbal teas at me and those goji berries. Calvin eats raisins soaked in gin for his arthritis. The stores are full of remedies that didn’t come out of any pharmaceutical lab or white-coat research institute.”

  “I don’t eat dead tigers. The plant stuff is different.”

  “Not to the botanists who watch whole species get wiped out. Like ginseng. It’s been hammered in the East. The United States East. Yeah, the whole business is unsustainable and often criminal, but it’s big money, especially the wildlife.”

  “If we have our very own scum sucker, taking dead animals is bad enough, but it’s escalating. Those turtles were alive, and the one they still have won’t be for long.”

  “Linda, it’s not a crook we’re after. It’s a murderer.”

  Her voice was doubtful. “You are losing me. I am not seeing this connecting to Wallace. Trying to steal an elephant? Last I saw, we still had two, and they were both healthy.”

  “Wallace confronted someone in the barn and that’s how he got killed.”

  “Murder to cover up theft? Rajah hadn’t been stolen then.”

  I explained how the elephants were alive but part of the scam. “This person probably panicked when Wallace caught him in the act.” I told her about the brownie and about the zoo van turning up with green paint in its dents. “So there’s a real mix here of planning and impulse, scheming and grabbing opportunities on the fly.”

  “You know who it is, don’t you?”

  I thought about what to say. “Maybe. Whoever it is, it’s going to be hard.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I could be wrong. I have a plan to find out for sure.”

  I described what I wanted her to do. She argued. We kept at it until she agreed, and we were both exhausted. I started it up by calling Denny’s house. No answer. He was probably at Marcie’s, which complicated things. We decided it couldn’t be helped. Marcie answered and we chatted about my recuperation, then I asked for Denny.

  He had dropped the guardian angel role and didn’t waste time with inquiries about my aches and pains. “Look. I think that turtle was a message. It means you’re supposed to do something, and then we’ll get the fourth one back. Have you gotten anything in the mail? Over the phone?”

  “Denny, the message was that I stole the turtles.”

  A pause. “Did you steal them?”

  “No, you idiot. It was a plant. Now listen. I want you to do something.”

  “I didn’t think you did. Never hurts to ask, avoid assumptions. Start with verifiable facts, that’s what Marcie says.”

  “Shhhhh. Stop talking…Listen.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  Eyeing Linda in case she wanted to fine-tune the instructions, I said, “Starting tomorrow, brag to everyone about that red palm nut oil you’re using. Recommend it for everything. And, this is the important part, be sure to say how great it’s working for the elephants.” I emphasized the crucial parts.

  “Is it true?”

  “You’re the one that said Ian was trying it on them, and yes, it’s true.”

  “Why am I doing this? What has palm oil got to do with the fourth turtle? Does it leave a signature under ultraviolet light or something?”

  “Whoa! Come back! Just do what I say and keep in mind this works only if you act normal. Your normal.”

  Linda rolled her eyes.

  “What exactly is the plan here?” he asked, “’cause I hate finding out what you’re up to when it’s too late to duck.”

  “If it all works, this will get the fourth turtle back.” This was unlikely, but it seemed the best way to keep Denny on the rails. “Call me tomorrow and let me know how it went.” I almost hung up. “Oh, and tell everyone Janet killed Wallace, and I’m stupid and crazy not to think so.”

  I hung up and Linda said, “What’s that bit about Janet? Why does that matter?”

  “So no one will try for him again.”

  Linda looked at me funny. “You know, you two have the weirdest relationship ever. I don’t know how Marcie stands it.”

  “Let’s finish this up. Practice Part Two on me.”

  “Starting Friday afternoon, I tell people that I overheard Neal talking on his cell phone. He’s going to ship Damrey and Nakri out on Monday. A truck is on its way to take them somewhere else, I don’t know where. He doesn’t want anyone at the zoo to know so that Thor and his gang can’t interfere.” She stopped. “But Thor and his gang want them shipped somewhere else. Did you forget that?”

  “No, it works. If Neal doesn’t want them to know, it must mean he’s shipping to another zoo and not a sanctuary. They’d want to block anything else. I mean, that’s the rumor. Wait until late Friday so Neal won’t have a chance to deny it until Monday. We’re gambling he won’t come in over the weekend and that no one will call him about it.”

  “People are going to be stirred up.” She got off the bed, frowning.

  “That’s okay, as long as they don�
�t do anything. Discourage any action.”

  Linda nodded and wandered around the room. She looked tense and still doubtful.

  I plowed on. “Don’t tell Thor. Leave him out of this. He really will react, and I don’t think he’s who we’re after.”

  “Ian might tell him.” She studied a picture of Rick on my dresser.

  “We can take that chance. I don’t think he will.”

  “What about Pete and Cheyenne?”

  “Skip them, too. They aren’t relevant.”

  “I’m going to look like a nut case if this doesn’t work.”

  “It might not work. But I will come up with another plan in that case. This is like fly fishing. We’ve found the pond. This is our first cast. Maybe the trout will take this fly, maybe we’ll need to try another one. But we will catch this fish. Worst case, I’ll find a way to dynamite the pond.” Linda stood at the window looking into the dark, her face unreadable. “You’ll do this?”

  “Yeah. It’s worth looking like a nut case.”

  “The technical stuff,” I said. “We need it in place Friday night, but no sooner. Can you handle it?”

  “Yeah, I just need an electrical engineer. Got one?”

  “I don’t believe so. You can do this. The important thing is that nobody notices.”

  “The important thing is that I don’t get caught.”

  “Same thing,” I said.

  “Not quite.” She put her hands in her pockets. “If this works, we’ll need the police.”

  “If this works, we’ll have them.”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  On Friday, I had an hour after breakfast of fretting about The Plan. I worked through all the ways it could go wrong, which were many, and the changes that should be made so it wouldn’t go wrong, which were none that I could think of. The rest of the day was devoted to health care, with my father serving as chauffeur. My mother had set up a medical marathon and our tour began with the dentist. Pregnancy can be hard on the gums, and my mother wouldn’t hear of me cancelling. Dr. Chen lectured me yet again on the supreme importance of flossing.

  Over lunch at my father’s favorite taqueria, feeling a trifle bad about crudding up my immaculate teeth with a tamale, I told him I needed a replacement car pronto. He said he’d been busy and hadn’t had a chance to work on it. Maybe in a couple of weeks.

  “Oh, I get it,” I said. “You want me stuck at home.”

  He chuckled. “Pregnant, barefoot, and in the kitchen. That’s what they used to say about a woman’s place.”

  “How amusing. I want a car. If you don’t want to do it, I’ll buy one on my own.”

  He casually sopped up fajita sauce with a scrap of tortilla. “Have you got the insurance money yet?”

  I did not. What I had was a ripple of panic. Being without wheels would complicate my life further, and my once-reliable father was not going to help.

  Next on our medical tour was a follow-up appointment on my accident injuries. I was getting tired, and The Plan was a knot in my stomach quarreling with the tamales. I asked the doctor when I would be released for work, which led to a stand-off between him and my father. They compromised on no decision, something that could wait a couple of weeks. I felt like a horse at the vet’s, the participant without a vote. Back in the truck, Dad said, “Your arm won’t heal for six to eight weeks. And then you’ll be, what, eight months pregnant. So forget about going back to work.”

  “I can do light work with one arm, and I need the hours. I’m using up sick leave I want to use after the baby’s born.”

  “Charge those free-loaders room and board and take unpaid leave.”

  I bristled and explained that, once they had some money, Pete and Cheyenne had bought a mountain of groceries and given me cash for gas and utilities.

  “Then what’s the problem? Relax and enjoy the summer. You’ll be busy enough real soon.”

  Better to drop the subject.

  After the clinic, Ob/Gyn took a crack at me. I contributed blood and pee and signed up for birth classes. Dr. Regan let Dad watch the sonogram of a sleepy but healthy ghost creature. “You need to slow down the weight gain,” she said. “No ice cream or cakes. Eat all the vegetables you want.”

  Sweets? I craved food in whatever form was closest. Cake or kale, it was all the same when my body screamed, “Feed me!” I tried to explain this and received a helpful brochure.

  My dad dropped me off at home, a rare and brief period alone, and I napped. After Pete and Cheyenne finished cleaning up from dinner, I called Linda from the kitchen phone. “I don’t have wheels. Sorry to put you to the trouble, but I need you to come get me this morning. Four o’clock should do it. I’ll be out front.”

  “Iris.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Denny and I talked about it. We don’t need you here. You might as well stay home and rest. It’s not like you’re in tip-top shape.”

  “Excuse me? You talked it over with Denny? We were going to keep it to the two of us, were we not?”

  “You were. I decided this was better.”

  “And you are writing me out of the script?” I was getting hot.

  “You wrote the script. You figured it out. Maybe. Anyway, you don’t need to be here. I mean, look at you. Sling, neck brace, bruises—you look like a crash test dummy gone wrong. We can cover this.”

  “Linda. Do not screw with me. I will be there. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Pick me up at four in the morning.”

  “Sleep well. I’ll call you as soon as anything happens.” She hung up.

  I was speechless. Except for the swearing.

  Cheyenne came out of the living room to ask if everything was all right. She and Pete had been watching Monsoon Wedding. I swiveled my body the better to see her. My neck was still off-duty. “I need to borrow your car later tonight. I’ll have it back in time for you to get to work.” This was almost certainly untrue, but what choice did I have?

  Her eyes shifted toward the kitchen sink and her shoulders hiked up toward her ears. “Um, Hap said you might ask. He’s worried about the car getting wrecked because of your neck and so on. He said it would be complicated. He said it wouldn’t be good for you, and you might get hurt even more.”

  “Hap said not to let me borrow the car?” I was stuck between outrage and amazement. I smelled Linda in this.

  “Um, yeah. And…it’s, um, his, and we have to do what he says…”

  Linda, Denny, Hap, my parents. A conspiracy to keep me at home. I climbed the stairs to my room. After a few minutes, Cheyenne said through the closed door, “I’m really sorry. Don’t hate us. You’ve been so nice.”

  I lay on the bed on my good side and considered the bus. They ran infrequently at night. I could take a taxi. I’d never done that, but there’s a first time for everything. Irritation faded slowly. This was simply a problem to solve. I decided what to do—the Plan now had a preface. I set my alarm for four o’clock and opened a book on Asian birds. Sitting in the quiet, I followed Pete and Cheyenne’s evening. Loud intro to TV news, quickly hushed. Later, steps on the stairs. Water noises from the bathroom. Pete calling, “Are you coming or not?” Low murmurs of conversation from the bedroom next door, then a surprising giggle. Louder murmurs, abruptly cut off. Silence for several minutes, then a stifled groan, followed soon by a muffled gasp.

  I put the book down and, out of emotional exhaustion or envy or just because it was time, dropped the barriers that took so much energy to maintain. A desperate yearning for sex swept in, for bare skin on mine, for eager hands and mouths creating pleasure. I ached with frustration and defeat until desire ebbed and left simple loneliness behind.

  I probed for grief and found that the anguish of Rick’s death, renewed when Wallace died, had eroded and changed, the glass shards tumbled and blunted in the waves of recent troubles. The explosive anger that flared up when grief was awakened the wrong way—I hadn’t known it was there, and I
couldn’t tell if it had gone out. I slumped limp and aching in mind and body as a weary, tentative peace moved in. I could think of Rick, of being partnered again, of sex, without the sense of bitter loss. That was new. Damrey still tugged at her invisible chain, the chain that had scarred her leg. My chain had begun to fall away. I could imagine that someday the scar might fade.

  The alarm woke me at four, cutting off a dream of elephants stalking me through a junkyard overgrown with tangled vegetation, elephants ridden by people who meant me harm. I fumbled the clock radio off as fast as I could to keep from waking Pete and Cheyenne. No telling what they had been instructed to do to stop me. I lay back in bed and gathered myself. I could do this. I lurched to my feet before sleep could reclaim me and stood digging my nails into my palm to wake up, trying to think.

  I was dressed and had my cell phone. I could walk out of the house and call a cab from a block or two away. No, I’d made a plan and a taxi was only the fallback.

  Awake now, I stepped out of my room and patted the dogs, who slept in the hallway. They followed me downstairs. I found the flashlight in the kitchen junk drawer and crept back upstairs and into my guest room, letting the light peek through my fingers. Winnie and Range wanted to come in, too, but I shut the door in their faces.

  Pete and Cheyenne were spooned together on the mattress on the floor, bare arms relaxed on the light blanket. Pete had kicked the covers off his feet. I found his pants. No keys in the pockets. I found Cheyenne’s pants. No keys. Pete snorted and moved a little. He shrugged off the blanket part way. A narrow band of dark hair made a line from belly button to sternum and feathered over his chest. Cheyenne’s arms were pale and soft in the dim light. What if they caught me prowling? I couldn’t guess how pissed off they would be, but for sure it would mean trouble.

  I turned off the flash and thought. Where would they hide the keys? The easiest place to look, now that the pants had failed me, was their boots. The third boot did the trick. Triumphant, I backed out and eased the door shut. I whispered to the dogs to be good and locked the front door behind me.

  The Continental started better than I feared, and I backed it down the driveway. I glanced back at the house. Pete stood at the kitchen door, the lights on behind him, jeans sagging on his hips, shirtless and defeated. I drove away wondering if he would call anyone.