“Roger? Hello. Could you cool it with the PBS stuff? I’m probably going to lose an eye.”
He held up the tooth marks on his hand. “There are a lot more germs in the human mouth than in his. He’s not poisonous and he’s not going to hurt you. It was just instinct. He’s probably starving, poor thing. Who knows how long he’s been in there. His tongue extends about fourteen inches. As long as you stay that far away, your other eyelash is safe.”
God, Roger had seen me without matching eyelashes. He’s never going to want to sleep with me again. Just my luck that I wound up with a reptile Gene Simmons.
As the scaly creature started to wobble across the clothes on his tiny mitten hands, his tail curled tight as a fiddle head, I had to admit he was kind of cute in a National Geographic kind of way. The lizard changed color as Roger placed him onto one of Barb’s Polo shirts. He crawled onto a Chico’s Caribbean Explosion blouse and disappeared altogether.
“They’ve probably given it some kind of drug. Bastards. Oh, God.”
“What? What does that mean, ‘Oh, God?’” I said crawling onto the toilet seat.
“Parrot sausages. This is old school.”
Parrot sausages? The stabbed bird in Uncle Ray’s office flashed before my eyes. I stared as he pulled out a pomegranate red parrot, its beak clamped shut, its feathers pressed down like a closed umbrella, all squished in a stocking leg. Then he kept pulling. There were four parrots in each leg of a pair of panty hose, a knot tied between each one.
“Are they alive?” I asked.
“Barely.” Roger shook his head, He found socks filled with baby tortoises, their tiny legs pumping, and under Barb’s capri pants, there were two egg cartons and a clear takeout container duct-taped closed and filled with bright blue frogs no bigger than thimbles.
“Who would put animals in the Andersons’ luggage?”
“Maybe Lieutenant Panza was right. Maybe they are smugglers. It’s the perfect cover, you have to admit, harmless-looking senior citizens. I mean they did have the ivory.”
“They were at my christening. There is no way. Obviously they’ve been set up, but why?”
“Seriously? Money, Cyd. I’m guessing there’s a half million dollars’ worth of endangered animals in this luggage.”
“Well there’s your proof. The Andersons are on a fixed income, how could they afford that? And besides, Mrs. Barsky charged like three dollars for turtles like that.”
“Not for these turtles, believe me.”
“What makes you such an expert?”
“I’m a member of the World Wildlife Fund,” Roger said as I raised an eyebrow. “We have newsletters. We watch documentaries. Do you have anything sharp?”
I reached into my bra for plastic mini scissors. You never knew when a cuticle would go. I looked at Roger and hesitated.
“I’m not going to stab them, Cyd, for God’s sake, I’m trying to keep them alive. I’m just loosening some of this so they have more air.”
“Are we taking them to the police?” I said. He just looked at me. Right, I thought. “How about letting them go?”
“They’ll die. They need to be returned to their natural environment. I’m pretty sure I can get a number for someone at the Tanzanian Wildlife Service. I’ll call them while you take these guys upstairs.”
“What about ‘the room isn’t safe’? What about the soldiers?”
“They don’t know who I am.”
“Well, they know who I am.”
“Oh, right. Okay. We should probably get new rooms under a different name.”
Unlike Cyd Redondo, my alter ego Felicity Wallcot required extra pillows and a wake-up call. Luckily, there was a different clerk working at the desk. I got an additional room at a shocking price and came back to find Roger leaning too casually by the ladies room. He tried to hand me the suitcase. I hesitated.
“So now you don’t want it?” He grinned, then told me he’d meet me later and not to leave the room.
“What should I do with, you know, the merchandise? Do they need food? Water?”
“They’ll be okay until I get there. Don’t open the frog container and be careful with the snake eggs, they’re close to hatching.” Snake eggs. Perfect.
Once I got upstairs, I put the suitcase on the bed. You’re never supposed to do that, because of bedbugs, but let’s face it, this luggage wasn’t going home with anyone. It seemed better for the reptiles to be horizontal, somehow. I unlocked the clasp a sliver, just so they could get some air, and I went into the bathroom to check my face.
That was a mistake. My mascara had shifted to the bruised skin under my eyes and one of my eyelids was naked except for a few snowflakes of glue. I took one look at myself and burst into tears. I guess I was due. In the last forty-eight hours, I had betrayed and abandoned my family, taken a twenty-hour plane trip, lost my luggage, bribed foreign government officials, had rifles pointed at me, and lost an eyelash to a fricking endangered lizard. I deserved a good cry.
I splashed my face with bottled water and started over. I always have extra lashes, but I still needed other things from my carry-on in our old room. I figured Roger would think that was a bad idea, so it was just as well he was still downstairs. I put on sunglasses and my collapsible sun hat and headed up to room 411. I yelled “Housekeeping,” waited, then slipped in my key card and opened the door.
Whoever had broken in had not been subtle. My “Africa” Chantelle boy shorts were hanging from a lamp. My emergency black sequined mini dress was balled up on the carpet, my plastic can of Mace under the dust ruffle, and my Tupperwares completely un-nested. It took awhile to do an inventory. Nothing was missing but the tiny airplane liquor bottles. Damn, I could have used a shot of Jack Daniels at that moment. It clearly wasn’t a robbery, as Roger’s wallet was still in the drawer. They must have been looking for the suitcase. Maybe Roger was right, the animals were worth something.
I reorganized my carry-on and picked up Roger’s wallet. I probably shouldn’t have looked, but honestly, who wouldn’t have? There was a black American Express card, a driver’s license with an address in San Francisco, fifty American dollars, and a picture of Roger, smiling wildly, with his arm around a tall, thin, blonde with what could only be called “yoga arms.” They were standing in front of a house with a macramé light fixture and a stained-glass door. Maybe it was his sister? But he’d said he was an only child. Cousin? Even the optimist in me thought it didn’t look good. Couldn’t anyone just let me have a vacation with a plus one for two whole days? I knew I should ignore it. I headed downstairs anyway.
Roger was at the end of the phone bank in the lobby. He was tapping his fingers against the top of the phone. I moved into the booth on the other side and listened in. I wanted to hear what he said to the Wildlife Service. The acoustics were in my favor.
“We’ll discuss it when I get back,” he said, sighing. “Alicia, stop overreacting.”
Alicia. I remembered that name. My heart dropped about three floors. I took the photo out of his wallet, stomped to the other side of the phone booths, put my hand on my hips and held it up. He went gray as wet cement.
“I’ll, I’ll call you soon. Thanks. Sir.” He put the phone down.
“Who is this? Is it that Alicia person? Is that who you were talking to?” He tried to move me out of the middle of the lobby. I shook off his hand. “Who is she?”
“She’s an old friend.”
“How old?” I said, hoping I was wrong. His face told me I wasn’t. “You’re going to tell me exactly what’s going on, or I’m going to have a full-on Bay Ridge roller derby scene in this lobby right now. And don’t you dare tell me I’m overreacting.”
“Okay. Let’s go up to the room.”
“No. I want witnesses.”
The lovely, stoic Tanzanians were already staring. I had read they considered any kind of pub
lic confrontation or public display of affection extremely rude. I let him lead me to two sleek, uncomfortable chairs that overlooked the taxi rank. He ordered two Jack Daniels.
“Okay,” he said. “You know that everything happened really fast with us. Which was great. Is great. But we didn’t really have much time to talk about ourselves. About our pasts or anything.”
“Are you implying I have some kind of past?”
“I didn’t mean…I’m not talking about jail time or anything. It’s just that we’re both adults and nobody comes to a relationship at our age without some baggage.”
“You told me you just had a carry-on,” I said. “Let me guess. She’s some vegetarian Pilates queen who wouldn’t know a basement sale from a standing rib roast. Am I right, Mr. World Wildlife Fund?”
“Actually, she’s a vegan. Alicia. She’s a vegan.”
Sitting I was too short. I stood up.
He looked around at everyone watching him, including Akida, who waved. “We lived together for fifteen years.”
My knees stopped working. There was a collective gasp from the spectators as I fell back into the chair. “Fifteen years? And you never got married?”
“I was never sure.”
“You weren’t sure for fifteen years? Wow. So, when did you break up?”
“We met in college. She’s a biologist. She’s…she’s nice. She recycles, she likes to hike. She’s never really given me any reason to just, you know, end it.”
“Roger? Roger, when did you break up?” The spectators leaned in.
“I was waiting for a sign.”
“Roger?”
“I was waiting for you.” He tried to take my hand, but I jerked it away. “It didn’t seem fair to do it over the phone. After all this time, I thought I owed it to her to tell her face-to-face. I just haven’t had the chance yet.”
“You’re on a ten-day, nine-night with me and you’re living with someone?” I said. The whole lobby moaned. “What kind of plus one does that?”
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cyd.”
“Well, I am too. Really sorry.” I rose with as much dignity as I could, glad I had at least eyelashed up. I handed him his wallet and travel documents.
“Here is everything you’ll need for the rest of your trip. Akida will take you to the plane in the morning. You can take the animals and keep room 411. As you said, they don’t know who you are.”
Chapter Nineteen
Akida waited until Roger was in the elevator, then hurried over. “What can I do, Cyd Redondo?”
“Find me another safari. Serengeti, Selous—anything. Maybe someone cancelled.”
“I will give it all my best effort,” he said. “I know you are sad, but a man who steals luggage is not the man for a travel agent such as you.”
The lobby crowd parted respectfully as I headed for the elevator. Of course Roger was living with someone. I should have known. Still, there was something about him. It wasn’t just the sex. He’d stuck up for me in front of Peggy Newsome, he’d been nice to my nephews, he’d let Doc Kevekian give him eleven shots and still offered to carry my bag. By the time I got upstairs, all I wanted was to throw my arms around him. When he finally showed, two hours later, I was back to wanting him dead.
“Yes?” I said as I let him in.
“Cyd, the last thing I wanted to do was ruin your vacation. You should take the safari, I’ll go home.”
“Absolutely not.” I closed the suitcase full of sleepy birds and reptiles with a click and lugged it to the door. “Redondo Travel honors its reservations.” I held out the bag. “Mr. Claymore, as we go our separate ways, I hope that Redondo Travel has done everything possible to make your trip a pleasant, easy, and memorable one.”
“Well, it’s certainly been memorable,” he said, leaning toward me. Two housekeepers appeared. He backed away. I slammed the door.
After eating some wrinkled airplane olives, I made sure the Andersons had gotten on their flight. I would explain the luggage, and Roger, later. I also checked on my other Tanzania clients, in case any of them were incarcerated. They were okay for now: the Giannis were sunburned but safe in Arusha, the Abercrombies were touring a clove plantation on Zanzibar, and my favorite anniversary couple, the Minettis, had survived the QE2 and their flights and were mid-safari and had seen a baby hippo on their anniversary. They said they were having the best time ever. I told them I was in Tanzania if they needed me.
It was time to face my messages. I decided I needed a drink first and headed down to the lobby bar. The bartender, who’d witnessed the incident with Roger, bought my first shot. Once I’d downed that and ordered another, I called my voicemail. In addition to my family, there were four messages from my brousin Frank and four more from the 68th Precinct Homicide Division. Great. For a few hours, the Andersons, the animals, and the break-up had made me forget I was a wanted fugitive.
It was late in Dar es Salaam, but it was ten a.m. in New York. I downed my shot, pressed my speed dial and asked for Lieutenant Frank Redondo.
“Cyd. Where are you? We sent a squad car by the house about fifteen times.”
“I’m in Africa.”
“Africa? So you fled the country?”
“I didn’t flee, I won my trip. I’m on vacation. Kind of.”
“Look, Cyd, it’s nothing personal, but the detectives need to talk to you.”
“Who? Dick Di Salvo? He’s known me since I was three. There’s no way he thinks I did this.”
“Think about it, Miss Law and Order. You had keys to the store, check. You were the one who found the body, check. Poisoning is usually a woman’s crime, check. And the victim left you her apartment. Motive, means, opportunity, check. So for the record, they have to at least talk to you.”
“Fine, but you know I didn’t do it. First, I didn’t have the keys, they weren’t in the drawer, so Jimmy must have had them. And if the apartment is their stupid motive, I won’t take it. Joni can have it. Or Bobby. Have you found Bobby?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, somebody needs to find him. He doesn’t even know his own mother is dead. And if she was poisoned, check her cupboard. Even Tang’s got to have a shelf life.”
“It wasn’t Tang.” I heard him rustle papers, “Look, I know you didn’t do it, but we have to follow procedure. Plus, you know I’m up for promotion and I’m not getting it if I can’t even arrange an interview with my own cousin. When are you coming home?”
“Nine days and eight nights from now,” I said. “I’m innocent and I’m not coming home early. For now, I need to know what kind of poison. And check out the CIA. They hire women too.”
“I can’t give you information on the case. You’re a suspect. I could lose my job.“
“And if Karin finds out about the little “fishing” trip I booked you to the Cape, you could lose your wife.” Silence.
“Fine. But I’m giving the detectives your number.”
“Fine, I’ll ignore them while I’m doing their job and finding Bobby. Good-bye, Frank.”
After we hung up, I sat for awhile, trying to figure out who could have actually wanted to kill Mrs. Barsky. Even if she had something on someone, she’d have forgotten it. She had a rotten short-term memory. None of it made sense. My phone rang. It was Akida.
“My deepest apologies, Cyd Redondo. There have been no cancellations. I feel that I have failed you.”
“Of course you haven’t failed me. We both knew it was a long shot.”
“What would you like me to do?”
Roger or no Roger, I wasn’t going to miss my free safari. We’d just have to sit on opposite sides of the Range Rover. But I did need to try to find poor Bobby Barsky before I got on the charter flight.
“Call Phoenix Tours and see if there’s any way to get separate rooms at the eco-resort. And will you book me a
later charter and let them know I may be late? Do you mind taking Roger to the airstrip?”
“It will be my pleasure, despite my hatred of him.”
“Good. Keep me posted. Thank you, Akida. You’ve been very kind.”
“It’s my career and my pleasure,” he said. “Perhaps tomorrow will bring another outlook.”
I headed upstairs. Looking in the elevator mirror at my sagging eye makeup and limp hair, I thought about how much I had wanted to be a world traveler, to be cosmopolitan and non-plussed and flexible and glamorous at the same time. It was harder than it looked.
When I got to my floor, the hall lights were out, which I took as a bad omen. I swiped the key card, holding my mini travel flashlight in front of me, so I could blind anyone waiting in the room. After I’d made as much noise as possible, I turned on the lights and found everything pretty much the way I’d left it, except for a slight rustling sound. It was more bug-like than human, probably roaches.
I knew from living in Brooklyn that the roaches didn’t actually want anything from me—they would only cross over me on the way to something else. I crawled into bed. Then, I turned and saw a shadow the shape of a Three Musketeers’ hat move behind the bureau lamp. I grabbed a spike heel and inched over, only to find the chameleon from the Andersons’ luggage casting a bizarre hand puppet on the wall. He had turned the dull yellow of the lampshade. He must have crawled out when I unlatched the suitcase.
As the lizard started to lope along the edge of the lampshade, grabbing the edge with his little Kermit hands, his red tongue snatched a cockroach the size of a Mars bar. Well, at least it was eating bugs. I wasn’t too keen on picking him up, so I unplugged the lamp and eased it into the bathroom and closed the door. I would get him back to Roger in the morning. Finally, at about four o’clock, I fell asleep.
The next thing I knew, it was ten in the morning. I downed two bottles of water while I called Roger’s room. The desk clerk said he had already departed for his safari. Damn. What was I going to do with the creature? I needed coffee before I did any thinking. I stole some garnish lettuce off the breakfast buffet downstairs and put it in the bathroom sink, where the chameleon had taken up residence. I had to admit, he was growing on me. Maybe it was because he was all alone in an alien environment, like me. Maybe it was because he reminded me of someone. I realized, suddenly, it was Barry Manzoni. They had the same bug eyes and ambling walk.
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