by Betty Webb
Behind Ariel and Aster Edwina stood a full complement of park rangers with their nets and tranquilizer guns held at the ready. Gary, one of the rangers, assured me they were unloaded and no one would shoot me.
“We’ll just pretend to shoot,” he said, keeping his voice low enough so it wouldn’t be picked up by the mike. “They add to the reality of the event, don’t they?”
They sure did. So did the portable lion cage standing nearby. When Zorah led me in, I prowled around, snarling, threatening the camera’s red light with a flurry of paws.
“Run fast, but not too fast,” Zorah whispered, as she partially closed the cage door. “You have to make the escape last for a half hour, the time slot allocated for the TV coverage. That includes your ten-minute rest stop near Down Under. In that outfit you can’t check your watch, so I’ll radio you when it’s time to start again. When you come running past Monkey Mania, the cameras will pick you up and follow you all the way to the night house. Act feisty. We don’t want our runaway lion coming in looking half dead. It needs to be full of piss and vinegar so it can put up a big fight when it’s netted.”
“You want the media to pass me while I’m taking my break?”
“No, silly. By the time you reach the bottom of Africa Hill, they’ll be traipsing across the middle trail on a shortcut to Down Under. The media will get some nice shots of the wallabies, the koalas, and that crazy bowerbird. He’s started two new piles—one turquoise, the other orange. His display will look great on camera. After that, everyone will head for the animal cafeteria to see the bugs.”
Zorah continued giving me tips until Ariel’s interview with Aster Edwina ended, then left to join the rangers.
“As I was saying in my introduction earlier,” Ariel said, smiling at a camera, “this year the role of escaped lion is being played by our old friend Theodora Bentley, the zookeeper who weekly brings us the delightful segment, Anteaters to Zebras. While animals seldom escape their enclosures, staged escapes such as the one we’re about to witness help train emergency personnel in case such a problem ever occurs. Ms. Bentley, do you have anything to say to our viewers before the chase begins?”
She stuck the mike through the cage bars into my lion face.
I was so startled at the glowing introduction that at first I didn’t respond. Wasn’t my television program supposed to be on hiatus until my innocence was proven? Or had some figure more powerful than the station itself—Aster Edwina in all probability—intervened in my behalf?
“Roar, for cryin’ out loud!” Ariel hissed, breaking my train of thought. She shoved the mike so close it bopped me on the nose.
“ROOOARRR!!!” I replied.
I tried to bite her, too, but my lion head didn’t have teeth.
“You see how dangerous these big cats can be,” the anchorwoman said, after making a big show of jumping out of biting range. “If that had been a real lion, I’d have lost my hand.”
“ROAR!!!” I swiped at her again.
With a satisfied smile, she continued, “And now a word from our sponsor, the Gunn Landing Renaissance Faire. Have a good time and help the San Sebastian County No Kill Animal Shelter grow, because all of the proceeds from the Faire go to benefit homeless animals until they can either be fostered out or adopted into forever homes. For a few dollars, you can have a great time and save an animal’s life. Huzzah!”
Aster Edwina rushed over and grabbed the mike. “Faire-goers who arrive in costume get in free, but donations will be gratefully accepted,” she said. “Huzzah!”
Close on the heels of Aster Edwina’s huzzah, I heard the faint sound of a lute, its strings plucking a revved-up version of that Renaissance favorite, “Greensleeves.”
Huh?
“Since we are covering the entirety of the Great Escape,” Ariel said, grabbing the mike back, “and the event will last a full half hour, we’ve asked several featured entertainers from the Faire to showcase their talents until the lion gets netted. Here they come!”
A blast of trumpets and then, to my horror, a full contingent of Renaissance Faire actors came trooping up the hill. Leading the throng was Willis Pierce, in full King Henry the Eighth regalia, followed by his entire Royal Court. A jester danced behind them, every now and then and then bumping into the twig-bedecked Green Man, who underneath all his greenery looked much different than the actor I’d first seen portraying him at the Faire. A substitute? Also in the crowd were Deborah Holt and her reptile keeper husband, Caro’s friend Jane Olson and her Gold King, comedians Ded Bob and the Silly Slatterns, crossbow vendors Melissa and Cary Keegan, the battling Sazacs, Speaks-To-Souls with three leashed greyhounds, Yancy Haas in his Black Knight armor, and a gaggle of monks and peasants. Even Howie Fife, no longer limping, had put his court minstrel costume back on.
They looked spectacular, but the killer outshone them all.
Because of my lion mask, no one noticed my alarmed state. Actors all, they played to the cameras, tossing around “thees” and “thous” and “zounds” and “forsooths” like so many beach balls.
Cameras!
My panic eased somewhat when I remembered the media was present. Television hosts, radio announcers, print reporters, bloggers, everyone. No matter how desperate, the killer would not dare try anything now. Besides, the killer had no way of knowing I had figured everything out. For the next thirty minutes, at least, I was safe.
After that, I would hurry back to Caro’s house and not emerge until someone, anyone, listened to my story. Maybe the State Police, maybe the…
“Escaped lion!” Zorah bawled, nearly deafening me. “Code Red! Code Red!”
With an adrenalin-charged roar I sprang out of the cage and charged down the path toward the steep hill alongside Africa Trail, cameramen and park rangers in full pursuit.
Encumbered as I was in my lion suit, I wasn’t as fast as usual. The rangers weren’t so hampered, and as we rocketed along it looked like they might catch up to me and bring the chase to a premature end. Just before they caught up, I picked up the pace.
The descent down the Africa Hill worked to my advantage, and by the time I made it to the huge giraffe and Watusi cattle enclosure, my pursuers were left far behind. Giraffes, gentle but curious creatures, wandered over to the fence to see what was going on. I looked like a lion but I didn’t smell like a lion, so as far as they were concerned, I didn’t count. The Watusi cattle didn’t care, either, and merely kept grazing. Far to the back of the enclosure, Big D, our cantankerous male ostrich, stuck his head up and gave me the once-over, but when he saw the fake lion wasn’t the bearer of food, he went back to doing whatever he’d been doing.
The zebras weren’t as relaxed. As soon as the male Grevy’s zebra saw me speeding along, he rounded up his harem, stood protectively in front of them, and sent me a challenging bray.
“Don’t have time to fight right now,” I huffed back. “Take a rain check.”
On and on I ran, cutting across the big central plaza and turning into California Habitat, where the coyotes were interested enough to stop yipping at each other as I crossed the lane bordering their enclosure. By the time I reached the border of Down Under I could no longer hear my pursuers. Good. After my mile-long sprint, I needed a rest.
Zorah had told me to take a ten-minute break once I reached this point, so I halted. If everything went according to plan, my pursuers had already cut across the middle of the zoo to get some fuzzy-cute photographs of the koalas and wallabies in Down Under, and were now moving on to the animal cafeteria to take video barrels of termites and worms. My watch was hidden underneath my costume, but she had promised to radio me as soon as it was time to head for Monkey Mania, where the cameras would pick me up again. I patted my rump to make sure my radio was still secured to my belt. An answering hiss told me it was.
Now all I had to do was wait.
The perimeter of the Gunn Zoo is ringed by a wide paved trail, the better for visitors to walk along pushing strollers or wheelchairs, but the zoo’s interior is forested with eucalyptus and live oaks, interspersed with colorful exotic plants. Hidden by the heavy undergrowth are the narrow keepers’ paths leading to the back of each species’ night house.
Knowing the temperature would be cooler in the shade, I moved away from the main trail and onto a keeper path. I was just about to take off my lion’s head to breathe the fresh air when someone stepped out of the undergrowth.
The killer.
This time, the killer had a gun.
Chapter Twenty-one
“Prithee, fair maid, where goest thou?” asked King Henry the Eighth, resplendent in blue velvet robes. As impressive as they were, the gun in his hand commanded more attention.
Act dumb. Pretend you didn’t figure it out. Stalling for time, I took off my heavy lion head and shook out its mane.
“Oh, hi, Willis,” I said, as casually as possible. “I see they roped you into the Great Escape, too. They even gave you a fake gun!”
My ploy didn’t work.
“Why couldn’t you leave it alone, Teddy? Now I have to kill you, too, and that was never what I wanted.” The cultured veneer of the drama teacher had vanished, and now he sounded like who he really was—Anthony James Moss, a remorseless ex-con who had murdered three people, including his cousin, the real Willis Pierce.
“Kill me? What the heck are you talking about?”
“Nice try, Teddy, but that fool Elvin Dade told me all about your crazy phone call this morning while he was writing me a ticket for parking in a fire zone at City Hall.”
“Elvin told you about my phone call?”
When the man I’d known as Willis Pierce laughed, his gold-and-blue cloak rippled merrily. “How dumb can a man get, right? I was just in City Hall for a mere second, paying yet another ticket—I really am going to have to do something about my parking practices—so I didn’t think anyone would make a fuss. But the next thing you know I was surrounded by cops, led by our chatty Elvin. He couldn’t wait to tell me how stupid you are. What did you do to make the man hate you so much?”
“It’s Caro he hates, not me. When they were teenagers…” Oh, what did it matter now? I gave up all pretense. “You’re Taxi.”
“Guilty as charged, dear lady.” Returning to his former Henry the Eighth persona, he rendered an elegant bow.
Vying for time, I said, “The other Faire actors will notice you’re missing, and when I’m found dead, they’ll point to you!”
“Au contraire. Not long after the TV cameras spent a few minutes sharing our dance with all of San Sebastian County, Aster Edwina ordered our bells and motley crew to depart forthwith, and so we did. I bade farewell to the others in the parking lot. Once they’d driven off, I made haste to return to your little Eden. But so much for that. You know what galls me about this entire thing? I actually saved Victor’s life by orchestrating the little snitch’s escape from prison. How did he repay me for favors rendered? The villain blackmailed me. No honor among thieves, apparently.”
Or killers.
I wondered how long I had. In a few minutes the tour of the animal cafeteria would be over, allowing the Great Escape to resume. Zookeepers, park rangers, and the media would assemble near Monkey Mania, waiting for my reappearance. If I could just keep him talking his attention might wander and I’d be able to…Well, I didn’t know exactly what yet, but I’d come up with something.
Playing to his vanity, I feigned admiration. “I really underestimated you, didn’t I? I should have known better. After all, a man who could come out of prison and assume a Ph.D.’s identity has to be incredibly bright. And talented.”
He actually preened. “People always said my cousin and I looked enough alike to be twins. When Cousin Willis returned from Johannesburg, he accepted the job offer from San Sebastian Community College, but before picking up stakes and moving again he wanted to have a weekend ramble down the Appalachian Trail. Erroneously believing that blood was thicker than water, he asked if I’d like to come along.”
“That’s where you killed him, then. On the trail.”
His gentle smile seemed wildly out place in the circumstances. “Correct again, Teddy. With this very gun. Since he’d only flown out here one time for his interview, taking his place at the college was easy, especially since I knew as much about theater as he did. More, actually. My dear cousin was no big loss to Broadway, you understand, and he was only a run-of-the-mill scholar. As the Bard said, ‘Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it.’ Macbeth, Act I, Scene IV. By then most of our relatives were dead, so there was no one to raise the alarm when the boy dropped off the face of the earth.”
In the distance, a howler monkey began his nightly serenade, and another howled in answer—an off-key symphony that usually made me smile. I didn’t feel like smiling now, but I made the effort.
“Impressive, Willis. Or should I say Tony? All you had to do was drop a few pounds and grow a beard like his. Maybe you can tell me how you…?”
“Trying to extend your life by keeping me busy bragging about my misdeeds?”
Considering how terrified I was, the calm in my voice amazed me. “That, too, but I really am interested. I still can’t figure out why you let Victor blackmail you since he had more to lose than you did. I don’t understand why you had to kill Bambi, either.” A big lie there, since I already knew, but I had to keep him talking.
Once again his vanity overcame his determination to kill me. “Given Victor’s murder conviction, he had more to hide than me, so you’re right there. I pointed this out when he first hit me up for the money and said I should be the blackmailer, not the victim. Know what? He had the gall to laugh! He told me the marriage business was in the toilet and that he was too old to start another scam, but he couldn’t exactly apply for Social Security, could he? Not living under an assumed name, he couldn’t. Did you know that for a tiny fraction of a minute I actually felt sorry for him?”
“If you felt so sorry for Victor, why kill him? And why with a crossbow, since you obviously own a gun?”
“Answer part A, because of the money, of course. I don’t like being blackmailed, especially now, when the balloon payment on the Caliban was due. Answer part B, because the crossbow was quieter, and would give me more time to get back to the harbor, leaving a Faire full of suspects to be questioned by that stupid Elvin Dade. My plan would have worked, too, if Alejandro hadn’t shrieked his head off. As a lifetime animal lover, I do feel bad about scaring the llama, but it couldn’t be helped.” He looked at his handgun. Stroked it.
I had to interrupt that perilous chain of thought. “Okay, Tony. I understand. You love your life in Gunn Landing. Heck, who wouldn’t? So you played along with Victor for a while and made the payments. Then the economy went to hell. I happen to know that SSCC salaries aren’t that great, and what with harbor’s slip fees going up and the Caliban’s payment due, your budget was stretched to the breaking point. And so were you. Am I right?”
“You should have been a psychologist, Teddy.”
“Then came the Renaissance Faire and its lavish display of Medieval weaponry. You seized the day.”
“No moss on this stone. When I saw that tart Melissa sucking face with Yancy Hass behind the armory stall, I snatched up the crossbow and a couple of darts and hurried away. Later, I took Victor aside and told him I’d hand over my usual payment near Llama Rides at two a.m., and…Well, you know how that turned out, don’t you? I donned the leper’s costume I’d also had the foresight to swipe, just in case I was seen, and did the dirty deed.”
He sighed. “Alas, dear Teddy, you’re such a fine conversationalist, I hate the thought of putting an end to all that wit, but your time runneth out. I need to get over to the college for the final rehearsa
l of Much Ado About Nothing before anyone notices I’m late.” Heaving a theatrical sigh, he said, “Don’t worry. I’ve always liked you, so I’ll make it quick.”
He raised the gun.
Before I could dodge out of the way, the thick brush to the left of me rustled and the Faire’s Green Man stepped out. His leafy costume perfectly matched the surrounding foliage.
“Surprise! You should have known I wouldn’t miss the Great Escape, Teddy!”
It was Dad. And he didn’t see the gun in Tony Moss’ hand.
The shocking interruption took Moss’ attention off me for a half-second, but that was all I needed.
I threw the lion’s head.
The heavy mask knocked Moss’ gun hand aside enough that the bullet plowed into a nearby tree. Unfortunately, he hung onto his weapon.
“Run!” I screamed at my father over the loud gunshot.
Dad had always been quick on the uptake and he didn’t disappoint me now. Before Moss could swing the gun around for another shot, Dad and I plunged into the heavy undergrowth. With me in the lead, we ran, not back down toward the wide visitor’s lane, but deeper into the foliage where the bushes slapped at us as we headed toward Monkey Mania. If we could make it there, we’d be close enough that our screams for help might be heard by the park rangers. But for now we had to save our breath and just run.
“You can’t get away, Teddy!” Moss yelled behind us. “You’ve been running too long and I’m fresh. Whoever that is with you, he’s no spring chicken. Stop now and I’ll make this quick, just like I promised. If you don’t, when I catch you, you’ll get it in the gut and he’ll get it in a much worse place.”
“Did that Henry the Eighth guy kill…?” Dad puffed.
“Yes. Shut up and run.”
Moss was right about one thing. Despite my adrenalin rush, my physical exhaustion became more and more evident as we plunged through the heavy undergrowth. Dad’s age—he was in his sixties—and sedentary lifestyle were handicaps, too. With growing despair I realized we might not make it all the way to Monkey Mania and help.