Endangered

by Ann Littlewood

  When he was hired, Mr. Crandall informed us that his background included the military, an MBA, corporate management, and running a small zoo in Brazil.

  I’d seen evidence of all that. Neal kept up on zoo management and he’d studied management in general. He liked animal art, no surprise. He was scary neat. No pets. Well, he had a zoo—maybe he didn’t need a dog or cat or lizard.

  I could think of no explanation for an old wooden hand plane on another shelf, the kind used for woodworking.

  I looked around the bedroom again, the dogs tight at my heels, anxious that I might abandon them in a strange place. A chunk of twisted metal sat on the dark wood dresser with a framed photograph behind it, a picture of six men in uniform. They kneeled, grinning for the camera, in front of a mud hut with a Coca Cola sign. I didn’t know enough about the military to tell which branch of service. One of them looked like a young version of Neal. Was the metal fragment from an IED? A plane that crashed? An event they’d all survived or one that had killed some of them? It was from his military past and Neal looked at it every day. Not something I would be comfortable asking about.

  No sign of a woman in the bedroom or bathroom. Maybe he was still recovering from the divorce. That made me think of not-quite-divorced Ken. I should ask about that next time I saw him. As for Craig, he seemed totally unattached. Wouldn’t hurt to ask him anyway, come to think of it.

  Neal was in my house, free to look around. What would he deduce about me?

  I started up the movie. Neal returned before it was over, and I paused it.

  “Everything was locked up. The birds look all right.” He sat in an uncomfortable-looking leather director’s chair. “I’ll see if I can get a release from the feds right away and find some other place to hold them. Feeding them puts people at risk.”

  “A sanctuary would be peachy. Hap could give you a list.” At last. “They’re unbelievably noisy,” I added to remind him that “managing the gap” was a pain in the rear. I shared Denny’s medical update. “You get that Denny risked his life to stop the break-in?”

  “I do. I was off-base to speculate in front of you at the hospital. I apologize to you and to him.”

  Good. “How can they discharge him?” I fretted. “He needs someone to look after him.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew how it was going to go.

  Neal said, “If you need to take time off for that, let me know.”

  I just nodded.

  He said, “The Amazon parrots are mostly sorted out. They’ll go to a sanctuary in Mexico, but not for weeks. Doc Reynolds wants her quarantine rooms back, but she’s out of luck for awhile.”

  I pulled away from thinking about Denny. “I wonder how many of them died before we got them.”

  “I’m surprised the Tiptons bothered. Most Mexican parrots aren’t that valuable, and they aren’t common in the illegal trade anymore. Mexico cracked down on it pretty good.”

  “Maybe the birds were a bonus for buying the tortoises. Maybe Jerome wanted them. He liked parrots.”

  Neal nodded. “The tortoises will be around for awhile, too. We’ll ship five back to Madagascar. I’m negotiating to keep a few of the others, but reptile curators from two other zoos are hot for them and so is a breeding facility.”

  “So none of them are going back to the wild.” I couldn’t help feeling bitter.

  “After they’ve been exposed to each other’s diseases? You know we can’t do that. People released pet desert tortoises in Arizona and infected the wild ones.”

  None of these animals would return to the life they were adapted for. “Is that the best we can do? People screwed them up, and now we can’t fix it. Damn it, there ought to be a better way.”

  Neal stuck his legs out and crossed his ankles. A twitching foot contradicted the relaxed pose. “It’s the optimal outcome given the limitations of the situation. Tell me who you think broke into your house yesterday.”

  I sighed and went along with changing the subject. “Three candidates: Tom, Jeff, or Mr. X. My money is on Mr. X.” I explained the evidence for a third person associating with the Tiptons. “Somehow he knows I talked to Wanda and Pluvia and figured out he exists. I’m guessing it’s a message to back off.”

  “You’re not the threat. The cops are the threat. You don’t know who he is or where he is.”

  “I have some guesses. He’s probably wherever the Tiptons are, hiding out with them.”

  “Except he tracks who you talk to and watches your house?”

  Maybe my assumptions were all dubious. Maybe I should lay all of them on the table. “I think he’s young, maybe twenty, and probably a meth addict.”

  Neal recrossed his ankles. His fingers tapped on the leather straps that served as chair arms. “Addict or not, he set up a pretty sophisticated lab. He’s eluded the police for weeks. He may be what kept those Tipton knuckleheads from getting caught. He sounds experienced.”

  I turned this idea over and around in my mind. Maybe Jerome hadn’t picked up a young punk. Maybe somebody had picked Jerome. I slid off the sofa to the floor where Winnie lay and stroked her head, feeling the ridges on her skull and the soft fur around her ears. “This guy seems to be taking Jerome’s place with the sons. He’s bossing them around.” I quoted Jeff’s comment about catching hell. “Liana was a threat and he killed her the first chance he got.”

  “That girl? Could just as well be Jeff or Tom. Weren’t they released before she died?”

  I was sure about this one. “They made bail within the estimated time of death, but they liked her. They were upset she was dead. Here’s how I think it went. She told Mr. X that she’d turn him in if anything happened to the Tiptons, and she had his blood and fingerprints in that baggie. She would be pissed off about the bust and hot to turn him in. He had to stop her and find the baggie before anyone else did.” Winnie laid her head across my lap and I thought of the little Doberman. “I’m sure he found her and shot her, probably in the woods around the farm.”

  That led to a bad thought. If I’d gotten that wretched bag to a cop right away, Denny might not be in the hospital.

  Neal shrugged. “For sure, at least one of these guys plays hardball.”

  “It’s this third one. Remember how her body was staged? That wasn’t to fool the cops, which only an idiot would try. It was to fool Jeff and Tom. Mr. X needed an explanation for why she was dead. He’d tell them that the cops shot her and were lying about it to protect themselves. That ties in with what their father taught them. And it does double-duty because it keeps the sons in hiding. No way will they turn themselves in after that. He doesn’t want them talking to the law.”

  Neal didn’t look convinced, but he wasn’t giving me that “what is up with this crazy woman?” look. “That brings us back to why he broke into your house and threw a tantrum.”

  Behind Neal, the bridge was a bright line crossing darkness. Winnie rolled onto her back to help me scratch her belly. “Maybe he wanted to use me to take another run at the tortoises.”

  Neither one of us found that convincing. Too risky.

  I said, “Maybe he’s crazy and vengeful, and it was just a fit of rage.”

  He shook his head. “Maybe scaring you was strategic. What would he expect you to do?”

  “Hide. Leave town. What good does that do him?”

  We didn’t know.

  I got up and walked around. Winnie rose and followed me. I stood at the big window and watched the moving lights, red and white, the bridge and the water. Regrouping. “He’s a criminal with a record. His prints or DNA or both are on file. He must be running from a warrant somewhere. He has enough clout to keep Tom and Jeff in line, although he might not have known they planned to visit me and ask about their father. He’s experienced in the drug trade, maybe a beginner in the wildlife trade—he’s not very good a
t it.”

  Neal said from his chair, “Everything he’s tried has gone south. He’s got another murder hanging on him with no drug profits and no animal profits. Why is he still here?”

  “No buried treasure. That’s why.”

  “If he thought you knew where the gold was, he wouldn’t have left a mess at your house and scared you away. He’d want to try again later. He’d hope that you’d come back alone.”

  We sat in silence. The apartment was quiet, no sense of other people nearby. My excitement at a different, clearer picture of this guy faded as I realized that it didn’t lead to anything I could do, only to more reason to be afraid. I said, “I think he shot Denny. He would be the one with a handgun.”

  Neal could have argued, but he didn’t. He said, “Bottom line, your best move is to stay under cover and wait for him to stick his head out.”

  That sounded like Ken’s advice. So far, it hadn’t gotten me anywhere.

  We watched the rest of the movie. When it finished, he got up and rubbed his nose. “I’ve got only one bathroom.”

  I said, “I don’t plan to tell anyone I’m here. Ever. I think that would be best for both of us.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. Having one of my staff sleep over…I think we can agree on discretion.” He wasn’t making eye contact.

  My instincts had kicked in, late but on target. Offering me the tequila was a slip-up. This situation could cost him his job or at least a raft of awkwardness forevermore. “I actually like sleeping on sofas and I’ve already test-driven it. So no need to deprive you of your room.”

  He shook his head. “I’m guarding the perimeter.” Was that a joke or not? “You get the bed.” That was definitely an order.

  I used about twenty percent of it and was disturbed only by two restless dogs.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  In the morning, after breakfast and walking the dogs on frosty paths, Neal and I discussed whether I was under house arrest or not. “I’ll stay in the apartment,” I promised, “unless something really urgent comes up.” It was a delicate conversation that satisfied me more than him.

  “Do not, repeat, do not, show your face at work.” He gave me the door codes and departed.

  I test-drove his soaking tub—many nozzles—and tried to be good. Television had nothing. None of his movies looked compelling. I called Linda, who was off work, to chat, but she didn’t answer. Probably throwing pots at the ceramic studio she rented. Or else hanging with her new girlfriend. I missed Robby. I missed a lot of things.

  Winnie and Range moved from rug to floor to kitchen tiles, unsettled. Winnie tried to scratch a soft spot on Neal’s rug, which she knew was always forbidden. People walked down the hall talking, which set off hysterical barking despite my commands and hand waving. When they shut up enough to hear me, I scolded them at length, and they slunk away to flop down in yet another new place. That didn’t stop them from barking again at trifles, including imaginary ones.

  My poor unsettled dogs. “You have food and water and me,” I told them. “You have to deal. It’s all I’ve got.”

  Television news warned of an ice storm likely tonight. More likely just rain. Newscasters like to dramatize weather. I picked a movie at random and watched it until lunch time.

  After leftover kung pao chicken and rice, I considered all the people I could call. If any of them had important information, they would call me. So I didn’t. Neal subscribed to Natural History magazine. I read three issues.

  When Range took a notion to go out and clawed a long scratch on Neal’s door, I gave up. I pulled on a Ducks cap as a token disguise and left Neal a note saying I was moving the dogs and would pay for damages to his door. I dragged Winnie and Range into the elevator and found the Camry in the underground parking. I boosted the dogs into the back. A Camry station wagon is as anonymous as a car can get, it had been parked out of sight, and my stalker was unlikely to associate it with me or with this apartment building far from my house.

  Sleet pelted the windshield, piling up along the edge of the wipers. The newscasters might have been on to something after all.

  No one was home at Denny’s. The gravel in front of his house was dusted with white. The breeze felt well below freezing. I had to yank on the gate to break the ice seal so that I could shut the dogs in the back yard. It was fenced well enough to hold Strongbad and therefore ought to hold my own milder-tempered dogs. I hoped Strongbad was somewhere warm and dry. Not dead.

  The house key was on a little ledge above the front door where it always was. I refreshed the water bowl on the kitchen floor, set the bag of dog food on the kitchen counter, and left a note for Pete and Cheyenne. If Strongbad turned up, I emphasized, they were to call me right away. Putting him with my dogs guaranteed a fight. Range and Winnie bounded inside through Denny’s home-made dog door, excited by Strongbad smells and a novel house and pleased to see I was still there.

  Dumping dogs on people without notice is crummy, but I couldn’t very well get Neal evicted or leave them in the Camry all day, nor could I risk going to my house or my parents’ house. I supplemented the note with a text message to Pete. I didn’t want to talk to him and have to apologize and explain.

  I looked around, at the mounted deer head, the comic books, the reptile tanks. Bessie Smith, Rick’s iguana, was a lot bigger than when I’d had her. Beady eyes stared at me without moving. The place looked cleaner than I remembered it. Denny evolving or Pete tidying? Someday, Denny would be home again.

  “This is your own fault, but I’m sorry anyway,” I said to my dogs. “I’ll come get you as soon as I can, honest.” I got into the Camry feeling very much alone.

  I drove to Southwest Medical Center, ice pellets pinging against the car, to find out what was going on with this plan to release Denny. The medical center was a public place with many eyes and a security force. Easily as safe as Neal’s apartment, although the weather was a concern. I didn’t want to be stranded at the hospital. I hadn’t seen any chains in the Camry.

  I pushed through the door to his new wing and stopped short. Denny stood in the hallway outside his room, his back to me, gripping a walker. I circled in front of him, tears crowding behind my eyes. “Denny! You’re walking! This is wonderful. You had me so scared.” I air-hugged him to avoid knocking him over. He looked like he’d crash from a finger-flick.

  “Yeah. Ire. Good to see you.” He nodded a couple of times, and I dropped from his attention. He focused far down the hallway, sliding his foot forward, slow and wobbly, a male attendant steadying him. He was up and moving, but he wasn’t really back. Not yet. I had questions for him, but what little mental ability he had at the moment was consumed with putting one foot in front of the other. I’d wait until he was back in bed. I left him to it and walked into his room.

  Marcie reclined in a vinyl covered chair, looking tired and content. “Hey, did you see him walking?”

  I nodded. “Fantastic. What comes next?”

  “He’ll get released in two or three days. Isn’t that great?”

  Not as soon as I’d thought. Good. And he was better. No need to circle the herd around him, horns out, fighting off a premature discharge. “Where will he go? He seems pretty weak.”

  “Oh, my place. I’ll look after him.”

  “You still have some vacation time?”

  She shook her head. “No problem. My boss is happy to have me work from home. I’ve told everyone he’s my fiancé and people are very accommodating.”

  “Fiancé?”

  “I thought, what would Iris do? You’d say you were his fiancée. It really helped.”

  That took me a moment.

  Denny would be back to his bed soon. I needed to say what I had to say. “Before he got shot, you two had broken up and you were a mess. Are you sure this is wise? Maybe Jack can take him.”

 
For an instant, something moved in her eyes, something I’d never seen in her before. Something that looked a lot like rage. But she spoke with light certainty. “I’m way better at dealing with doctors than Jack is. We’ll be fine.”

  “Marcie, let me say this once. Then I’ll let it go. You’re my best friend, and I want what’s right for you. Okay?”

  “Sure, Iris. Say whatever’s on your mind.”

  I heard the warning in that and plowed on anyway. “I’ve tried to figure out why you were so destroyed when Denny broke up with you. I think you lost yourself in this relationship. You melded too far with him and compromised too much. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been so wrecked when it ended. You need to still be you and not just you plus Denny. I don’t know how to say it better, but I worry about how it will turn out in the long run, that if he leaves after this, you won’t ever recover.”

  Marcie shook her head and flicked her fingers, dusting away my concerns with a smile. Her eyes held that brilliance again. “You want me to abandon him? I’ll help him as long as he needs me and wants me. If it ends again, well, so be it. I won’t be any worse off than I was before.”

  “That’s not necessarily true.”

  “You don’t understand. I’m a better me with him. The more time I get to be that person, the stronger I’ll be.”

  It hadn’t worked out that way before, but I knew defeat when I saw it. “I’ll support you both anyway I can.”