The Otter of Death

by Betty Webb

  “I thought you’d be in New York by now, Harper.”

  “Plans change. I’m starting a fashion magazine.”

  “Where?

  “Here. Daddy’s fronting it, but I’ll be editor-in-chief. Maybe I’ll ask your mother to write an article or two. She knows a lot about fashion.”

  The thought of Caro actually working at something made me giggle.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Don’t give Mother the check until you get the article.”

  “But isn’t that the way it’s done, pay the writer first?”

  “You might want to bring a professional editor on board to take care of the day-to-day stuff, Harper.”

  She sniffed. “I’m more of a hands-on person.”

  That pesky giggle threatened to erupt again. After I’d successfully squelched it, we chatted about fashion magazines while Frasier remained as quietly obedient as a well-trained dog. Finally, in an attempt to draw him into the conversation, I asked, “So how are you doing, Frasier? Busy as a bee at Prime Pacific?”

  “Things are going well. Looks like we might get the go-ahead on that new drilling platform.” I could almost see his tail wag.

  The news made me less happy. Another oil platform to despoil the Coast.

  “Well, although it’s been nice seeing you folks, I need to continue my walk, regain my strength.”

  I gave what I hoped was a polite wave and made a beeline for the drinking fountain. When I looked back, Harper, her face a mask of fury, was giving Frasier a piece of her mind.

  Probably for speaking without permission.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  The two weeks off helped. My shoulder stopped hurting around the same time Bonz stopped limping. Miss Priss had moved in to keep him company, and for once the dog and cat appeared to have reached a détente.

  Or at least my cat had stopped trying to kill my dog.

  When I returned to work on a Friday—the zoo was expecting several busloads of summer campers—the other zookeepers greeted me with enthusiasm. Hopefully, it wasn’t just because I arrived with a box of cranberry-apricot scones.

  While nibbling on a scone and sipping at my dark roast Kopi Luwak—I’d also brought in better coffee—I thumbed through the San Sebastian Journal. The Booth/Amberlyn murders, still unsolved, had moved to page two, due to a more recent crime. Yesterday afternoon, three men wearing blue jumpsuits and Abraham Lincoln masks had held up the San Sebastian Bank, escaping after a fierce shoot-out with the bank guard. Following surgery for a bullet in the lung, the guard was now recovering in the ICU. Meanwhile, a statewide manhunt was ongoing for the robbers, who had fled in a black Cadillac Escalade.

  But I hadn’t needed to read the article to know that.

  Yesterday Joe had been working on the granny cottage with Bonz and me as his faithful audience, when he’d received a call from Deputy Gutierrez. After listening for a few seconds, he’d dropped his tools and raced out of the backyard without bothering to change. As far as I knew, he was still out there somewhere in his dirty civvies, chasing down the bank robbers. In the meantime, the police scanner on the kitchen island kept Colleen and me apprised of the manhunt. This morning we’d breathed a sigh of relief to learn that no officers or innocent bystanders—other than the unlucky bank guard—had been hurt.

  Yet.

  In the zoo’s staff lounge, the newspaper article occasioned yet another argument on California’s lax gun laws. Gun-owning Myra Sebrowski and no-guns-for-anyone-except-the-cops Buster Daltry were all but spitting at each other. Not wanting to hear any more about bank robbers on the loose with guns, I headed out on my rounds.

  While raking the wallabies’ enclosure I noticed how strong my right arm had grown during my layoff. I had been babying my left side, and as a result, the right arm actually gained muscle. Good news, since zookeeping, with all its heavy lifting, wasn’t for wimps. Even better, my left arm was gaining back some muscle tone.

  Humming a happy tune I moved on to the koalas, where I found Dr. Preston Morrell, my almost-stepfather waiting for me. His expression was that of an old sea captain ordered to shore, and none too happy about it.

  “Morning, Teddy. I was under the impression you started your day with the koalas.”

  “The koalas are usually asleep when I arrive, as you can see, so it doesn’t hurt to mix it up a bit. But, hey, this is a rare honor. What’s going on?”

  He pawed at his salt-and-pepper beard for a moment, then said, “I didn’t want to bother you while you were recuperating, but…” He sighed. “It’s just that I’m afraid someone may have given you the wrong impression about something.”

  “Someone? Something?” Such vagueness wasn’t customary for Preston; scientists specialize in specifics. “Perhaps you could clarify.”

  “Dee Dee Pascal told you she saw me going into the park the night you were shot, and I’m here to tell you it never happened. I can prove I was nowhere near that park.”

  “How’d you know what Dee Dee said, not that I’m…ah, confirming anything.”

  “Oh, please. The harbor has always been a breeding ground for gossip, and for the past few weeks it’s continued nonstop. Since that strange rumor about me being in the park started going around, people already have me tried and convicted for not only shooting you, but murdering Booth and that poor girl, too. I never thought I’d be in this situation, having to defend myself, but…but I don’t want this to spoil my relationship with you. Or your mother.”

  For a man who wanted to defend himself, he was being murky about it. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

  “He cleared his throat. “Okay. I…ah, I wasn’t anywhere near the park or the harbor that night. I was with…with…” A flush colored his face.

  “Spit it out, Preston.”

  “I was, er, I was… in bed with, ah, Harper Betancourt. There! I’ve said it.”

  It took me a moment to find my voice. “Harper? You were in bed with Harper? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The pained expression on his face told me he wasn’t.

  “How could you, Preston? You, of all people, know what her family wants to do to the shoreline. And already has!” I gestured in the direction of Prime Pacific’s offshore drilling platform, which at least couldn’t be seen from the zoo.

  “Even a marine scientist can get lonely. After your mother wouldn’t marry…”

  “Old water under old bridges.”

  His hangdog manner intensified. “Yeah. Anyway, there’s no way Dee Dee could have seen me at the park the night you were shot, because that’s when I was busy being an idiot with Harper, whose family’s beliefs and actions, yes, I’ve always found abhorrent. In my defense I swear to you it was nothing more than what the kids today call a ‘hookup.’”

  “Oh, Preston, I thought you were above that.”

  “So did I.”

  Conscience cleansed and alibi delivered, he was about to leave, but I wasn’t ready to end the conversation. “How did that ridiculous hookup happen?”

  A sheepish smile. “Blame it on Phil’s monthly Two-Fer Night. I was in the restaurant having the clam chowder and the two-for-one drinks when I spotted Harper. Just to be neighborly, I asked her how she was doing after her husband had, er, become deceased, and she told me she wasn’t taking it well, that she felt...um, bereft, was the word she used. Honestly, I was just trying to be comforting, that’s all, but we wound up ordering a bottle of wine, which turned into two, then three, and…”

  “No, Preston. I meant who approached whom first?”

  “Eh?”

  “Before the conversation started, did you go over to her table or did she come over to yours?”

  Preston didn’t answer my question right away. He couldn’t. During our conversation, the koalas had woken up. Wanchu and Nyee trundled over to the fence, looking up at us with expectant faces. Wanchu, that sly girl, reared up on her hind legs and waved her forepaws at me.

  Hugs, please.

 
Overcome by such cuteness, Preston responded, “Awww.”

  I leaned down and hefted up the koala. “Is Wanchu hungry?”

  She chirped a yes, then snuggled against me. Her joey stuck his nose out of her pouch, gave me a look, then disappeared back in. He wasn’t human-friendly yet.

  “Stay here, Preston,” I ordered.

  After carrying Wanchu over to her favorite feeding area, a wooden manger, I set her down and stocked it with the fresh eucalyptus leaves I’d brought in my cart. Nyee, who had followed close behind, tried to edge his mate away. She slapped him.

  “Be nice,” I told the two.

  They tried, but a hungry koala can be a rude koala, and the slaps continued. At least no blood was drawn.

  Once the two settled down, I returned to the hangdog marine scientist. “As I was saying, did Harper come up to you, or did you go over to her?”

  He gave the koalas a final awww, then replied, “I was sitting by the window with my chowder and the next thing I knew, Harper was standing at my table. Just to be polite—a lady alone, you understand—I asked if she would like to join me. She did, and we started talking…”

  “And drinking three or more bottles of wine. Okay, I get it.”

  Harper had targeted Preston.

  The question was, why?

  Chapter Twenty-four

  When I joined Colleen in the kitchen after my first full zoo shift in almost three weeks, she informed me that Joe had briefly returned home, showered, changed clothes, scarfed down a sandwich, then left again. The bank robbers were still out there.

  “Life’s not easy for county sheriffs,” she said, wiping flour off her hands.

  “Or their wives. Or mothers.”

  An unconvincing smile. “We get used to it.”

  Two dozen cookies were already cooling on the kitchen island as she slid two dozen more into the oven. Tonight was Open Mic Night again at the San Sebastian Library, and I knew the entire batch would disappear within the first half-hour. For mouths, teenagers had open maws.

  “Did you worry about Joe’s father, too?”

  “Not as much as I should have.” Unhappy with the subject, she changed it. “Think four dozen cookies will be enough?”

  “It was, last week. And the week before that.”

  We talked baking for a while, then changed the topic to the weather. It might rain. Then again, it might not. Fog was possible, but this far inland, not probable. Our inane conversation kept being interrupted by updates from the police scanner. Although trying to keep the conversation light, Colleen kept glancing at the noisy thing.

  So did I.

  Unable to stand the scanner’s scary updates anymore, I went into the living room and watched television with the children. Since it was too late in the day for Sesame Street, they were making do with SpongeBob Square Pants.

  “Looking forward to Open Mic Night?” I asked Tonio.

  He nodded so energetically that red curls flopped over his eyes. “Delilah might be there!”

  In a previous Open Mic Night outing, nine-year-old Tonio had fallen hard for the fifteen-year-old Delilah, a budding poet. Ah, young love.

  Bridie, a simpler soul, said, “Gramma says I can have all the cookies I want!”

  For a while I thought about accompanying them to the library but in the end decided not to. It was past seven now, giving me almost two hours of alone time before Colleen and the children returned. Enough time for me to figure out if what I had begun to suspect could possibly be true. The two weeks I’d taken off from work had given me plenty of time to think, and I was almost to the point where I felt comfortable sharing my suspicions with Joe.

  But not yet. There were still a few things I needed to clear up.

  As soon as Colleen and the children left, I led Bonz into the now-darkened yard to do his business. To make certain he wouldn’t hurt himself further, I kept him away from the construction site. Although the granny cottage was coming along nicely, there were still too many loose boards lying around, and too many nails, not to mention several heaped bags of insulation material. Terriers are curious animals, and it would be just like Bonz to tear open a bag and insert his face into the intriguing pink stuff.

  “Sorry, no can do,” I said, legging him away from a half-open bag.

  He gave me a searching look. The poor thing was desperate to go into the cottage and explore all those lovely new smells, but after several attempts, he gave up and attended to his business. That included watering every plant in the vicinity.

  As he made the rounds, I smiled. Thank goodness Colleen had had the foresight to enclose the kitchen garden in a sturdy slatted fence.

  Colleen.

  I looked at my watch. Seven-thirty. Time to do what I’d been putting off.

  “Hurry up, Bonz,” I called. “I need to check something.”

  There’s no hurrying a pissing terrier. When he finally finished, I picked up his more solid contributions to the ecosystem, enclosed them in a plastic bag, and dropped it into the outdoor waste bin.

  Bonz looked gratified that his offerings were being saved, but as we returned to the house he gave a final longing look at the cottage and all the imagined treasures waiting inside for him.

  “Not until it’s finished. Then you can snoop and sniff all you want.”

  He sneezed.

  Before starting up the stairs, I noticed that an errant two-by-four with a nail protruding from the end was lying uncomfortably close to the stairs, where Joe must have dropped it when informed about the bank robbers. Rather than take it back to the cottage where it belonged, thus giving Bonz another chance to get into trouble, I turned it over and edged it flush against the side of the bottom step. Tomorrow morning, as soon as it was light, I would return it to the lumber pile near the cottage.

  Once in the kitchen, Bonz lapped at his water bowl as I turned on Colleen’s laptop to do some snooping of my own. At first Microsoft greeted me with friendly chimes, then refused to show me anything else. Password protected.

  Putting aside my disappointment, I went into the bedroom, hauled my own laptop out from under the bed and made myself comfortable by using pillows as a backrest. Bonz joined me. After turning around several times, he laid his head across my left shin and fell fast asleep.

  Happiness is a warm terrier.

  Comforted by the snoring Bonz, I opened a Word file to “BAC.” Booth/Amberlyn Case. Not subtle, but when it comes to computers, I’m not as slick as my future mother-in-law.

  I scrolled down to the list of suspects. Colleen’s had been the last to be added, and the notes were sketchy.

  METHOD: Booth, Amberlyn, me, shot wi same firearm? Colleen’s?

  MOTIVE: ???

  OPPORTUNITY: How Colleen get from San Sebastian to harbor, kill Booth, go home & no one noticed??? Where were Tonio & Bridie? Same childcare prob for Amberlyn’s murder. And shooting me.

  The more I stared at my notes, the more I realized how much the child care situation impacted my suspicions about Colleen. Sure, any woman could commit murder, especially any woman who owned a gun, but there was no way a grandmother as devoted as Colleen would leave those two children unattended while she drove around murdering people. She also wouldn’t have taken wise Tonio or blabbermouth Bridie with her. Smiling at my own former paranoia, I typed...

  LIKELIHOOD TO BE KILLER: ZERO

  Satisfied, I scrolled down to the other names on my list, stopping at Dr. Preston Morrell, my almost-stepfather and head of the internationally respected Blue Seas Marine Laboratory. The last time I had worked on this list, something odd happened: I’d heard the voice of my old French teacher intoning, “Le nuit, tout les chats son gris.”

  At night, all cats are gray.

  Time to double-check that, too. I punched in Dee Dee’s number on my cell. When she answered, I asked, “What made you think you saw Preston Morrell going into the park the night I was shot?”

  “The guy looked like him.” She was hard to understand since I’d obviously
interrupted her in the midst of dinner and her mouth was full.

  “Looked like him how?”

  A gulp, then her voice cleared. “Beard.”

  “The guy had a beard? What color?”

  “Gray.” More chomping, then another swallow. “And he was wearing that sweatshirt with the marine lab logo on the back. I have one just like it, only mine’s burgundy.”

  “Okay, the gray-bearded guy you saw, what color was his sweatshirt?”

  “Gray.”

  I had a Blue Seas sweatshirt, too. It was blue. The sweatshirts carried in the lab’s gift shop were available in Blue Seas Blue, Blue Seas Burgundy, Blue Seas Green, Blue Seas White, and Blue Seas Black. They didn’t come in gray.

  But le nuit, tout les chats son gris.

  Maybe beards, too.

  After thanking Dee Dee for her help, I hung up, and with a feeling of relief typed...

  LIKELIHOOD TO BE KILLER: ZERO

  Wading through some of the other names was fairly easy, especially once I placed another call, this time to Preston himself. No wonder telemarketers pick dinnertime to call: everyone’s stationary while chowing down.

  “Sorry to bother you while you’re eating, Preston, but when you met up with Harper at the restaurant the night I was shot, did you notice who else was there?”

  “Can’t you call in, say, a half hour?” Munch, munch.

  “It’s important, Preston.”

  A gurgle. Water? Wine? “Okay, let’s see. Hmm. Well, as I said, it was their big Two-Fer night, two drinks for the price of one and two entrees for the price of one, so the place was packed with locals. I saw Kenny Norgaard, but he was just drinking, not eating, no surprise there. And, hmm, that park ranger guy whose girlfriend was killed? Lex-something? He was with that pretty little ape keeper, Myra-something. Oh, and I saw that Good Morning, San Sebastian gal who’s always interviewing you, and hmm, let’s see… ” He took another bite of whatever it was, and garbled on. “The TV gal was sitting with Frank Owens, the river otter guy—you know they’re a couple, right?—and he was telling her all about otters, you know, the differences between sea otters and...”