Monkey See, Monkey Die

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Whatever,” he replied, waving the ham hock at the end of his arm in the air. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk price.”

  “I certainly will.”

  As I stood up to leave, a little voice nagged at me. True, I’d already found out that from the looks of things, Drayton’s business did indeed extend far beyond what it appeared to be. But even though I’d just witnessed his willingness to supply me with any kind of pet I wanted, I still wanted to know more.

  Mainly, whether he was just showing off or if he meant business.

  “By the way, is there a rest room I could use?” I asked.

  “Downstairs, behind the doghouses,” he replied.

  “Uh, this is kind of an emergency.”

  He looked startled, but didn’t hesitate before saying, “Down the hall. Second door on the right.”

  “Thanks.” Funny, that ploy never seemed to fail. Especially when I put on a look of desperation—and the person I was asking was male.

  “Close the door on your way out,” Drayton instructed, picking up the phone.

  Rats, I thought. And here I’d hoped to do a little eavesdropping while I was inside the belly of the beast.

  But I quickly realized that a closed door meant that I would be able to poke around without him seeing me. And that for someone as creative as I was, a closed door wasn’t enough to keep me from doing some of that eavesdropping.

  First I dashed into the rest room, wanting to make it look as if I really was facing some bodily crisis. I washed my hands, then leaned against each of the small room’s four walls, anxious to see if I could hear anything interesting. Nada.

  When I stepped out into the hallway again, I tried to look relieved, just in case anyone was watching. But no one else appeared to be around. I also noticed that none of the television screens in front of me featured the hallway I was standing in. Which gave me the perfect opportunity to do a little of that spying I wanted to do.

  I moved toward Donald Drayton’s closed door, walking on cat feet. The fact that I could hear his voice but no one else’s told me he was still on the phone.

  “. . . a delivery. A very special delivery,” I heard him say. “How does tomorrow sound?”

  I crept closer, my heart pounding so loudly that I was having trouble hearing Drayton over the noise.

  “I knew you’d be pleased, Mr. Santoro,” I heard Drayton say. Even though his voice was muffled, I could tell that he was pretty pleased himself. “I told you we’d be able to come through for you.”

  So a customer named Mr. Santoro was about to get a delivery, I thought. A very special delivery.

  Which made me curious about who Mr. Santoro was—and whether the delivery he was so pleased about was a particularly large amount of dog food or something much more interesting.

  I crept away from the door, heading back to the security area I’d passed through before. I’d noticed on the way in that while Drayton had installed state-of-the-art security equipment, his love of technology didn’t extend to office supplies. I thought I’d spotted an old-fashioned Rolodex sitting on top of the desk, and sure enough, there it was.

  After stealing a quick glance behind me, I rifled through the cards, past the M’s and the P’s, and on to the S’s. Bingo! There was a Santoro listed. Louis Santoro. An address too. Two twenty-five Hillsboro Drive in the village of Lloyd Cove. I committed it to memory.

  I’d barely put back the Rolodex when I heard the floor creak, which I took as a sign that Drayton was about to emerge. The last thing I wanted was for him to find me here, playing Nancy Drew. So I scuttled down the stairs, doing my best not to make any noise.

  When I spotted Justin a few aisles ahead, my heart sank. I had assumed I’d have to stop to give him an update. But surprisingly, he actually appeared to be helping another customer. Either that or enlisting her aid in the revolution.

  I eased my way toward the front entrance, relieved that I’d managed to slip right past him without being noticed. At the moment, my head was too full for me to make small talk.

  Things were clicking into place with amazing speed. It appeared that Donald Drayton, Erin’s husband’s business partner, dealt in exotic animals, including illegal ones. That reinforced Walter’s interpretation of the initials Erin had written down: that they were all the names of organizations that were dedicated to fighting that very practice. It seemed increasingly clear that once Erin had found out what Ben and his partner were up to, she began making plans to do something about it.

  That still didn’t tell me who had killed her. But I was certainly developing a better understanding of the unsavory world she’d stumbled into—and how high the stakes were for those who were part of it.

  As I was coming out of the store, breathing freely for the first time since I’d gone in, I noticed a gleaming white Mercedes speeding into the parking lot. It was hard not to, since it zoomed by me so quickly I instinctively jumped back. After it shot behind the building and out of sight, I braced myself for the sound of metal crunching against metal.

  By the time I rounded the corner, however, I saw that the car had safely made it into a parking spot. Two spots, actually, since the driver seemed to have made a point of straddling the yellow line that divided two separate spaces.

  As I was about to cross the asphalt so I could get to my VW, I noticed that the person climbing out of the passenger side was Nicole Drayton. Then another familiar face popped out the other side. Just like the last time I’d seen the two Drayton women together, I couldn’t tell whether Nicole or her stepmother was wearing more eye makeup.

  I surmised that Darla had picked up her stepdaughter from school, since Nicole was dressed in the same gray blazer and plaid skirt I’d seen her wearing on Monday. I couldn’t imagine her allowing herself to be seen in public in the same outfit twice in one week unless she had no choice.

  As for the missus, she was wearing denim shorts and a lime green tank top, its fabric stretched so tight and its neckline plunging so deeply that she made my flashy pal Suzanne look like a member of a religious order. She was also wearing heels. Granted, they had probably come from the sandals department, since they were made of some coarse brownish material that looked like rope. But the platform heels added at least another three inches to her height, which in my book put them in the Barbie shoe category.

  But the fact that I looked like a Glamour “Don’t” beside the two of them wasn’t the reason I didn’t want either of them to see me. The last thing I wanted was to have to explain why I was lurking outside one of the stores that had helped make the Drayton fortune.

  I glanced around frantically, trying to find a place to hide. But short of ducking between a couple of SUVs and pretending I’d dropped my car keys, there was no way out.

  I’d just resigned myself to confronting Darla and Nicole face-to-face when I heard Nicole cry, “Hey, look! It’s Dr. Popper! Hi, Dr. Popper!”

  I did my best to look surprised as I made a show of glancing in their direction. Nicole was wearing a big smile and waving as if the two of us were best friends.

  “Nicole!” I exclaimed. “Wow! I never expected to run into you here. Oh, wait—your dad owns this store, doesn’t he?”

  “That’s why we’re here!” she replied. “I only have a half day of school today, so we’re going to meet him for lun—”

  Before she managed to get the word out, Darla grabbed her arm and pulled her forward with a jerking motion. Half-dragging her stepdaughter across the parking lot, she stomped over in my direction.

  “He-e-ey!” Nicole complained. “That hurts! Darla, what do you think you’re—”

  “Quiet,” Darla shot back. “Zip it, Nicole, or I’ll tell your father about that little plastic bag full of God knows what that I found hidden in your box of Tampax.”

  I did my best not to look shocked. Poor Nicole, I thought. There’s obviously nothing that’s off-limits where her stepmother’s concerned.

  “Hello, Mrs. Drayton,” I said politely,
forcing myself to smile.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

  “I have quite a collection of pets,” I replied cheerfully. “Two dogs, two cats, a blue-and-gold macaw, and a Jackson’s chameleon. So I always seem to be running into a store to pick up something or other.”

  “Besides, she’s a veterinarian,” Nicole added, glaring at her stepmother. “Isn’t that a good reason to shop at a pet store?”

  “Speaking of animals,” I said, focusing on the more congenial half of this pair, “have you had a chance to call that animal behaviorist, Nicole? I really think she could help you with Maggie.”

  Before she had a chance to answer, Darla stepped between us. Leaning forward so that her nose was about an inch from mine, she hissed, “Keep away from us. And that especially goes for Nicole.”

  Her antagonism caught me completely off guard. “But I was just trying to be helpful!” I protested. “I could see that you have problems with Maggie, and I thought—”

  “I don’t know what you want from us,” she interrupted. “But I don’t like you. If you come near me or any member of my family again, I’m going to call the police.”

  And have me arrested for recommending an animal behaviorist without a license? I thought crossly. Come to think of it, I do have a license.

  Nicole cast me a look of despair. See what I have to put up with? her expression said.

  “There’s no need to get upset,” I told Darla, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Of course I’ll respect your privacy. Nicole’s too.”

  As they disappeared around the corner of the building, I realized I was shaking.

  But the intense interaction I’d just had with the Wicked Witch of Walt Whitman Hills made me realize something: Nicole wasn’t the only one who had to put up with Darla’s bizarre behavior. So did Nicole’s father.

  Still, that realization didn’t do much to make me feel sorry for him. Not when meeting the man and seeing his operation left me convinced that he was selling a lot more than birdseed—and that he could even have been responsible for getting Erin killed.

  Chapter 13

  “People go to the zoo and they like the lion because it’s scary. And the bear because it’s intense, but the monkey makes people laugh.”

  —Lorne Michaels

  Friday morning, I once again found myself in the green room at Sunshine Multimedia’s headquarters, waiting for Marlene to summon me to the Pet People set. A few prebroadcast butterflies wriggled around in my stomach. But it wasn’t because I was imagining all the ways some cute animal appearing with me on the show might misbehave.

  Instead, I was imagining all the ways the not-so-cute human on the schedule was likely to misbehave.

  Stop worrying! I told myself. Marcus is a grown man. Surely he’ll manage to conduct himself with dignity on your television show.

  And then he sashayed in.

  “Marcus?” I croaked.

  I did a double take, hoping I wasn’t really seeing what I thought I was seeing. I told myself I was probably just hallucinating, perhaps from having consumed too much caffeine. That had to be the explanation, since the figure standing in front of me couldn’t possibly be real.

  “Hey, Popper,” the mirage replied breezily. “All set to make me a star?”

  It was Marcus, all right. In the flesh. Unfortunately, said flesh happened to be covered with a jacket made from a fabric that was printed all over with animals. Large, colorful animals. So large and so colorful, in fact, that it looked as if he’d stolen the bedspread out of some poor toddler’s room.

  But that wasn’t even the worst of it. The tie dangling from his neck was studded with lights. Tiny blinking lights that were probably powered by a battery hidden away somewhere in his Fruit of the Looms.

  When I peered at it more closely, I saw that the tiny lights were actually the eyes of little doggies and pussycats that were printed on the necktie’s fabric. They might have been cute if those glowing orbs in the middle of their faces didn’t make them look like something Stephen King had dreamed up.

  I suddenly had a few ideas about what I’d prefer to see around Marcus’s neck.

  “Uh, Marcus?” I said, trying not to let on that intense feelings of panic were threatening to overtake me. “You’re not planning on wearing that jacket on the air, are you? And, uh, what’s with the electrified tie?”

  “What, this?” He glanced down at his chest. “Are you kidding? This tie is great! And the lights will probably show up really well on camera.”

  No doubt, I thought grimly. “It’s just that I try to maintain a certain level of . . . shall we say, professionalism on the show.”

  Grinning, Marcus slung his arm around me and patted my shoulder. “Anybody ever tell you that you worry too much, Popper?”

  I gritted my teeth, reminding myself that before I knew it, today’s show would be over. I just had to get through it. In fact, it was kind of like enduring a root canal. Without any Novocaine.

  Besides, I reminded myself, Marcus, his tie, and his Amazing Technicolor Dreamjacket still have to get past Patti. Surely the producer of an informational television program will have the clout required to prevent medical experts from coming on her show in costume.

  A minute later, when she popped her head into the green room to let us know it was nearing showtime, I waited breathlessly for her to set some serious limits with Marcus.

  “You’re on in five,” she told us. “You’re Marcus Scruggs, right? Today’s guest? Hey, cool tie!”

  Dead man walking, I thought as I shuffled down the hall toward Studio A. I’m about to appear on television with a man who looks like a recent graduate of clown school.

  Once we were in the studio, Marcus and I took our seats in front of the backdrop of stuffed animals. The sound guy barely had time to wire us up with microphones before Patti launched into her usual count-down. I took deep cleansing breaths, wondering why I’d never taken the time to learn yoga.

  “Welcome to Pet People, the program for people who are passionate about their pets,” I began as usual, trying not to get distracted by the tiny blinking lights next to me. “I’m Dr. Popper, your host. Today, we have a very special guest. Dr. Marcus Scruggs is a veterinarian here on Long Island. We’re going to be discussing some issues that are bound to be on pet owners’ minds. Dr. Scruggs, thank you for coming on the show.”

  “Are you kidding, Popper?” he replied with a leer. “I’d follow you to the ends of the earth.”

  I let out a nervous laugh, hoping that some really popular show was being aired at the same time as mine this morning so that only a handful of loyal viewers had tuned in. Viewers who were loyal enough not to care that the show’s standards had unexpectedly plummeted to the bottom of the Grand Canyon.

  Striving to hang on to whatever shreds of my dignity still remained, I adopted the most serious expression I could manage. “Tell me, Dr. Scruggs, how do you think technology has affected the field of veterinary medicine?”

  “Interesting question,” he observed, nodding. “But I’m surprised you want to talk about something as dry as technology when there’s undoubtedly a much more pressing question you’re dying to ask.”

  “What question is that?” I said, completely baffled.

  “Where I got this fabulous necktie, of course!”

  At that point, I wasn’t sure who was the bigger idiot, Marcus or the fool who had just walked right into his trap.

  I cleared my throat. “Uh, actually, I wasn’t going to ask you about that at all—”

  “Believe me, you wouldn’t be able to find such a distinctive, high-quality product just anywhere,” Marcus continued. “But thanks to Blooming Tails, the gift shop at Innovative Pet Care, discriminating pet owners can have their animals examined and buy this tie along with hundreds of other unique pet-themed products in one convenient place!”

  Instead of conducting an informative television show for concerned pet owners, I suddenly found myself smack in the middle
of an infomercial. I glanced over in the direction of the blinking lights, intending to cast Marcus the dirtiest look I could muster. But I discovered that he wasn’t even looking at me. He was staring straight into the camera.

  “What is Innovative Pet Care, you ask?” he continued.

  “I don’t think anyone asked that,” I corrected him. “In fact, I think we should get back to the topic of technology and how—”

  “It’s a veterinary clinic, centrally located in Wood-view, that presents a brand-new concept in total pet care,” he went on. “One that’s completely innovative, just as the name promises. Working with two other dedicated veterinarians who are as talented as I am, I’ve created a clinic that has first-rate medical professionals, state-of-the-art equipment, and auxiliary services for every treatment imaginable, all under one roof. But we offer so much more!”

  I checked the monitor and saw that the cameraman had zoomed in on Marcus. I had been left out of the picture, both literally and figuratively.

  “We have hotel rooms, right on-site, that make it possible for pet owners to spend the night with their ailing loved one,” Marcus informed whatever viewers hadn’t already turned off their TVs. “We have a wine bar that serves twenty reds and fifteen whites by the glass. We also have a snack bar that whips up fruit smoothies, including Strawberry Mango, our smoothie of the month. But we certainly haven’t forgotten our four-legged friends. Innovative Pet Care has a bakery on the premises that specializes in healthy, wholesome between-meal treats for dogs, cats, birds, and even reptiles.”

  Reptiles? I thought. Since when do lizards snack?

  “Dr. Scruggs,” I cut in, figuring my voice deserved a place on the show even if my face didn’t, “this is all fascinating. But let’s get back to the ways in which advanced medical technologies like sonograms and MRIs can be used in treating—”

  “How about animal crackers in the shape of your favorite pet?” Not only did Marcus keep his eyes fixed on the camera, much to my horror he whipped out a cardboard box that looked a lot like the bright red one in which animal crackers for humans are sold. Only this one was much bigger, since it probably contained animal crackers for Great Danes. “At the Pawtisserie, we have croissants for French poodles, black-and-white cookies for Scotties and Westies, cat’s tongue cookies for felines, and Napoleons for Chihuahuas. Cash, checks, money orders, and all major credit cards are accepted. And everything we sell is made with one hundred percent natural ingredients, all of them good for your pet.”