Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  No sign she’d heard me.

  “I hope you feel better soon,” I said on my way out.

  The nurse’s assistant was standing outside the door with a cart full of empty food trays. “I warned you,” she said.

  Now what? I’d done my best and learned nothing about where Jeff and Tom might be. Wanda agreed that Liana liked the birds, more reason to think that she had hidden that plastic bag. That was it.

  I was floundering.

  I floundered to downtown Portland to have the lunch I’d finally gotten Marcie to commit to. I had to get our friendship back on track. The breakup with Denny had plunged her into an emotional morass, and so far I’d only made it worse. She’d pulled me out of similar emotional disasters. I owed her. And I missed her. She was as close to a sister as I would ever have, and I wanted to reestablish the easy give and take, the reliable warmth and common sense.

  West Café is a quiet place with semi-fancy food, one of her favorites. I’d warned her I might be late, and I was. She had her tea in place, Earl Grey, no sugar, no milk. She wore a long-sleeved pale blue blouse with cuffs and a soft bow. I glimpsed black pants. A black jacket hung over the chair back. Her earrings were a small cluster of black sparkly bits. I still wore jeans and a white cotton sweater, no earrings. She stood for a quick hug, so perhaps I was forgiven.

  While she studied the menu, I studied her. A little strained, a little thinner. This break-up was still taking a toll. The waiter swung by. Always dieting, Marcie ordered the spinach salad. Always hungry, I asked for the club sandwich.

  “You changed your hair. Looks cute.”

  She patted the neat blond side of her head gently. “I’m trying it shorter. Something different.”

  We worked through the standard list: how was Robby, her job, my job, her cats. The waiter delivered our food. Marcie’s hands were busy with silverware and exclamations. I couldn’t shake the notion that her smiles and animation were reenactments from a lost past. After her three cats and their medical problems were concluded, she said, “Good news. The manager agreed to paint my whole apartment, freshen it up. I’m working out the colors—a pale coral or apricot with bright white trim for the living room. How about you? Any house projects going?”

  “I don’t even have a house.” I told her about the Tiptons breaking in and driving me out. “I feel like a prairie dog when the black-footed ferrets are in town.”

  She was predictably horrified, blue eyes wide. “It’s so hard being a woman who lives alone. You just never feel quite safe.”

  My own eyes went a little wide. “Marcie, I live with Pete and Cheyenne and two big dogs, and I had to leave anyway. Your apartment has better security than my house, with that alarm system.”

  She nodded, but she had looped off to someplace else. “I’m sure they’ll be rounded up soon. I’m thinking about transferring to corporate headquarters in Chicago. Start over somewhere else.”

  “Chicago. That’s huge. You’re still recovering. Give it some time.” I didn’t try to hide how appalled I was.

  “Oh, I’m fine now. I’ve moved on. I’m not as fragile as you think.” Her eyes flashed a little fire, which I hoped was a good sign. She laughed. “I need to find the right place for my life as a crazy cat lady. Don’t worry, we’ll Skype every day and visit when we can.”

  “Marcie, Marcie, Marcie. You will find someone else. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re wonderful. Give yourself a break. This is still grief talking.”

  “No, no, and no. It’s reality talking. I have to face the facts. I’m not going to pair up. I don’t want another relationship. I’d just spend all my energy wondering when he was going to end it. I’m not putting myself through that again.” Her smile was firm, her hands quiet on the table.

  But I was pretty sure she was exactly as fragile as I thought.

  “And what about you?” she said. “Are you going to look for someone?”

  She was deflecting the conversation away from herself. “I’m working on it.” I debated telling her about Ken—see? I’m a failure at love, too—and decided against it since I had no idea how she’d react. I used to know how she would react.

  Using her to brainstorm my questions about the Tiptons was unthinkable. Instead, I told her about Violet mandrill and her baby, keeping it cute and light.

  The waiter came by with the dessert list. We both passed. She asked for the check and we paid.

  “I’m going to be late to work, darn it! So good to see you.” She pulled on her jacket, gave me a ritual hug with three little pats on the back, and trotted out the door and away in her low black heels, hurrying back to work.

  I stood at the covered entrance way of the restaurant and watched her navigate the flow of pedestrians, crossing at the corner, almost running.

  ***

  At day care, I gathered up Robby’s jacket and penguin backpack, but he didn’t want to leave. “No home now.”

  Okay. He and Amanda were both delighted to have me hand out orange slices, mop up spilled juice, and refill the bubble mower. After ten more minutes, I said, “Time to go. You can play at Grandma’s.”

  “See TV,” he said. “Then my home. See Pete and ‘anne.”

  I wished.

  When my mother came home from her part-time job with the school district, I handed her a glass of cabernet and a few crackers with cheese.

  “Oh, Iris. You can live here forever.” She sank down on the sofa and relaxed, looking tired.

  It wasn’t right to inflict myself and a child on her full time. I’d do what I could to make it work. “I’ll fix spaghetti for dinner.”

  “Perfect. I’ll sit here and read a magazine.”

  That was good for about a minute and a half. Then she was in the kitchen with her wine keeping an eye on me. “I’ll just sit here and we can chat. I froze some meatballs. They’re in the freezer in one of those plastic containers.”

  Right.

  “That pan is too small for the pasta. It’ll boil over.”

  “Mom, I’m putting the sauce in it.”

  “Oh. I suppose that would work. I never use that one. But you do it however you like.”

  Once I had the sauce bubbling and the salad made and the correct pot of water heating, I joined her with my own wine and gave her the high points of my futile day.

  “I think you should let the police find them. What if you succeeded? What then?”

  “I’d call the cops. That’s all.”

  “Good plan.”

  Robby played happily in a low drawer full of safe kitchen utensils she’d set up for him.

  She said, “You have so much on your mind right now. It’s a wonder you have any energy left.”

  I had no problem parsing this. How best to survive her passionate interest, hopes, and fears about my love life? Maybe she wouldn’t latch onto it like a mussel on a rock. “My date with Ken went fine. Not overwhelming, but pleasant.”

  “Really? How nice.”

  How cautious. Good. I summarized our dinner conversation about past relationships, jobs, and the Tiptons. “He seems so slow-paced and quiet, then he comes up with something surprising. But I don’t think he was that impressed with me. He hasn’t called, and I don’t expect him to.”

  She murmured, “Pity. He sounds like a good man. You were always drawn to the wild ones. I’ve wondered if that would change.”

  “What? I did change. Rick wasn’t a bad boy. He had a steady job, regular hair, and no tattoos.”

  She snorted. “Rick would have brought out the bad girl in Mother Theresa. I’ve almost forgiven you for running off to Reno to get married. We both thought he was perfect for you.” Her mouth turned down. She’d liked him, she loved me, and she would rewind the clock if she could. “But you can’t say he didn’t have a wild side.”

 
; “Maybe so, but now I’m even older and wiser, and what’s this got to do with Ken, anyway?”

  “Probably not a thing. I’m sure you gave him a fair chance. It doesn’t seem like you to wait for him to call, but that’s your business. Robby, come here, darling. Let’s wash your hands for dinner.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day was my second day off. Parking Robby in day care again meant shirking my quality time with him. Besides, I was out of ideas for tracking down Tiptons. I defaulted to routine—the park.

  Watching Robby play hard always filled my heart and eased my troubles. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks were flushed from monkey bars and climbing structures. What a wonderful world to hold such a beautiful creature.

  “Go home now,” he announced. “My house. See Pete.”

  What a treacherous world to threaten his safety.

  Back at my parents’ house, I fixed lunch. Robby had never been a reliable napper and the whole concept was pretty much a lost cause. I stood him on a chair to wash plastic dishes at the sink, exploiting a major obsession with water and suds. With one eye on him, I called Pete and confirmed that no one had broken into my house lately, the macaws were fine, and Cheyenne still declined to move out. “Just one thing,” Pete added. “Not sure it’s anything real.”

  “Spit it out, man.”

  “The neighbor next door, the one who saw that VW van? He said he saw a guy looking at the house yesterday. Just one guy, not two.”

  “In the VW?”

  “No, a beige sedan. He tried for the license plate, but he couldn’t get it. It was late in the afternoon. I’m keeping an eye out. It’s probably nothing.”

  “Let me know if you see him again.” The neighbor in question was a retired salesman who kept an immaculate lawn despite an excessive fondness for whiskey. I wasn’t sure how seriously to take his observations.

  I addressed Robby’s casual attitude toward water on the floor.

  Next I dialed Deputy Gettler. I left a message and, somewhat to my surprise, he called me back an hour and a floor mopping later. No, he hadn’t heard of any new Tipton sightings. I asked about activity at their farm or Pluvia’s place. No one had driven in or out of either one. He did not know where Jeff and Tom were holed up, but assured me that they would be nabbed any day now.

  Sure they would.

  I’d spent Robby’s lifetime learning to suppress frustration and impatience. Never adept, I did that as best I could and built Duplo airplanes with my son for the rest of the afternoon.

  ***

  Wednesday I clocked in and found Hap. I’d finally thought of another approach to my problems. Hap agreed to help on Friday, his day off. He didn’t lay into me again about firearms, which I appreciated.

  Next I dropped by the mandrills. Sky was sitting at the puzzle feeder working it like a gambling addict at a slot machine, total focus, his slender fingers inching monkey pellets up the feeder’s bars and out the top. Grab it, chomp it to smithereens, go back for another.

  Carmine sat close to Violet, deftly parting the fur on her troop-mate’s back to pick out dander and debris. Violet’s eyes were half-closed in pleasure at the unfamiliar courtesy. Carmine snuck a quick hand toward the baby now and then, a light touch on his back or leg. The baby suckled and dozed.

  Perfect. Sky was preoccupied, Carmine was learning about babies, Violet was reaping the benefit of producing an interesting addition to the troop. The baby was doing what babies do. Possibly it would all have happened sooner or later without the puzzle feeder, but I felt I deserved some credit anyway. Not that I’d push it with Kip.

  Too bad Craig wasn’t around to celebrate with me. He seemed to like the mandrills. Maybe he’d contact me to clarify details for his article. “Clarifying details” escalated into a pleasant fantasy that ended up in a bedroom.

  Calvin and I worked the routine at birds in an easy rapport. Dr. Reynolds had given him the results from the penguin blood samples. He’d gotten the gender of two out of three penguin chicks correct.

  Calvin ate at the Penguinarium alone or with Arnie and never joined the group at the basement break room. When I pulled on my jacket to leave for lunch, he stopped me.

  “Thought you might want to know I’m putting in for retirement.” He looked at me sidelong.

  I sat down across from him at the Penguinarium’s dented table. “You’re bluffing, right? You’ve been saying this for years.”

  His big hands with square-tipped fingers rested on the edge of the table. One of the nails was split. His steel-rimmed glasses were smudgy. “I gotta give these knees a break. Good time to stop. I’ve given thirty days notice.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I said, “You can’t do this to me!”

  He grinned. “You bet I can. You can handle it just fine. You’ll do better with Neal than I ever did. Maybe get that new aviary built.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “Just you and Neal. No need to make a fuss over it.”

  I shook my head. “I hate change. I can’t imagine Birds without you.” I got up. “Will they downgrade the position or replace you with another senior keeper?”

  “Neal said senior keeper.”

  It took me a minute to climb out of the implications for my own life. “If you go for the knee replacement, you’ll need some help. I can drop by after work every day. I’ll make you my famous meatloaf.”

  “I would appreciate a meatloaf, but my daughter will look after me fine.”

  I’d met Janet neé Lorenz and wouldn’t trust her to look after a duck decoy. “Calvin, I’d like to help. Keep me in the loop.”

  “Sure thing. You go off to lunch now or you’ll be late getting back.”

  Which meant he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.

  On the walk to the Administration building, two thoughts solidified. “Don’t tell anyone. Calvin wants it kept quiet,” and “This is it. Time to go for a senior keeper position.” I’d had that opportunity when I was pregnant with Robby and chose not to apply. Arnie had gotten the position—senior keeper for Felines and Bears. Everyone who worked with him had been astonished. Neal, who had just started at Finley, had spent months regaining the keepers’ respect. After Arnie came to his senses and stepped back down to regular keeper, Linda got the job.

  Here came another rare opportunity, and I’d thought I was ready. Aside from realizing how much I’d miss Calvin, I should have been celebrating, not twitching with second thoughts and self-doubt.

  Denny was quiet and preoccupied at lunch. Cheyenne and Marion were bitching about Neal’s rapid-fire changes. The first-annual Halloween pumpkin frenzy three months past was still vivid—smashed pumpkins in the elephant yard, the tiger and lion exhibits, the primate house. The animals and the visitors had loved it and the mess was unreal. He announced new developments at every keeper meeting. He had contracted out for camel rides and a walk-in parakeet display starting in spring. Every exhibit was to be evaluated for its photography opportunities and for viewing from a wheelchair. Keepers were to work with the education staff to improve their animal talks, and oh-by-the-way, he wanted visitors hand-feeding animals, under supervision.

  Cheyenne said, “He told me he’s planning sleep-overs for kids, maybe at the elephant barn, which is insane. He’s thinking about a beer tasting. He wants a blues concert. It’s idea-diarrhea. He can’t rest unless he’s got this place turned upside down a new way every week.”

  I experimented with a senior keeper persona. “He’s pulling more visitors in. That’s what pays the bills.”

  “As long as it doesn’t hurt the animals, what’s the harm?” Linda said.

  Denny just chewed away at his yogurt and greens.

  “Did your dog die?” I asked. “Income tax audit? High cholesterol?”

  “No, he’s bummed because we fo
und the owners of some of those tortoises,” Marion said. “We wanded them all for chips, and we found one. Dr. Reynolds traced the code. It turns out to be from a Madagascar breeding facility. They raise Malagasy endangered tortoises and turn them loose in protected areas. A dozen were stolen, all chipped in the hind leg.”

  “So we won’t get to keep it,” I said, thinking of the poor beast flying twice across half the world.

  Marion glanced at Denny. “We think five of them belong to this outfit. No chips, but they have scars on their back legs, so probably they were chipped and the thieves dug them out. They just missed one. Those things are the size of a grain of rice and they migrate around inside the animal. Anyway, this place says the stolen ones match the species, sex, and size of four others we’ve got.”

  “Do you just box them up and ship them back?” Linda asked.

  Denny woke up and looked alarmed.

  Marion shook her head. “If only. It’ll take months to get the paperwork done.”

  “You checked the parrots?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Nada.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “All of them still alive?”

  Marion made a face. “All of them have mites and parasites. They still haven’t calmed down. I feel like a brute every time I go in to clean, all of them crashing around. Then we had to catch them up to test and treat.”

  “Has Neal said anything about shipping them to Mexico soon?”

  “Not to me.”

  Jackie joined us, bringing the latest news on the hunt for Tipton treasure. Which was that there wasn’t any news, just people wandering around in the mud like squirrels who couldn’t find the hidden nuts.

  “How would you spend thousands of dollars in gold coins,” Linda asked, “assuming there is a Tipton stash and you found it? I go first. A studio with a really good kiln and potting wheel. All the glazes I want, and time to learn how to use them.”

  “Since you’ll be rich, you won’t need to sell them,” I said, “so you can give me a set of plates and bowls and cups. Oh, and serving dishes. Blue-green like the two cups you made me.”