Endangered: A Zoo Mystery Part 16

"Are you and Denny together now?" she asked through sobs. "You could always have any guy you wanted."

I pushed aside the hurt that she believed I would betray her and her out-sized notion of my attractiveness. "No way. In fact, I'm seeing someone else, a guy from Animal Control."

"Denny's always had feelings for you. I always knew that a part of him wasn't available for me."

"Marcie, it's just his loyalty to Rick. He's trying to be there for Robby, the only way he can honor their friendship. It's not about me. He and I are done with each other. You've seen that-we bicker non-stop. He drives me crazy."

How could she be so calm and sensible for other people's problems and fly off the rails so thoroughly with her own? My turn to be the adult was long overdue, but all I could do was witness the bleeding. I did that for an hour and a half. Somehow Denny had been the splint on her sterile childhood and her timid personality, someone who let her live with courage, even with joy. With him gone, she seemed more wounded than ever.

"You can't keep suffering like this. You remember that therapist you saw in college? Call her. Promise me you'll call her."

After she agreed and I confirmed that she still had the phone number, I hugged her and promised to be back in a day or two.

Was this what Marcie felt like after my melt-downs over Rick's drinking, his death, my fears about being a single parent? I wanted to turn the car around, go back, and apologize.

I needed someone to talk to about my fears for Robby, about the dead people in my dreams, about Calvin retiring. It wasn't going to be Marcie.

Chapter Nineteen.

The parents were watching TV when I came in. "Robby went to bed okay?"

"He was fine," my mother said. "How's Marcie?"

I dropped to my hands and knees and rooted around in the liquor cabinet below the television screen until I found a bottle at the back. I took it into the kitchen and returned with a couple fingers of scotch in a water gla.s.s. Settled next to my mother on the sofa, I gulped down a good portion of it and emerged gasping.

She muted a commercial. "That bad?"

"That bad. Denny broke up with her a couple of weeks ago, and she's devastated. It's not getting any better."

In the silence that followed, out of the corner of my eye I could see emotions, advice, and observations warring on her face. She said, "I'm sorry. I like Marcie."

I was appreciating that mild comment when my father's voice startled both of us. "Good thing, if you ask me. That kid's a dingbat. She can do better."

So much for mild.

"Dad, you've hardly met him. He's full of verbal bulls.h.i.t, but he's a good person. Just not the right person for her. He's done his best to help me and Robby." I surprised myself. Why was I defending him, after all the damage he'd done?

I sipped the scotch. Loyalty. Honesty. That was why.

My mother's self-control evaporated. "Dear, do you really want to drink all that? Tomorrow's a work day, isn't it?"

I finished the scotch and reached into her lap to push the mute b.u.t.ton and reactivate the show. "I'm going upstairs to read. See you in the morning. Sleep well."

"Let me get you some aspirin..."

Upstairs, I brushed my teeth while the alcohol burn doubled back from my alimentary ca.n.a.l and circled up into my brain. I yielded to it, willing mind and muscles to relax. I'd never get to sleep otherwise. Marcie, Liana, Jeff and Tom-sleep wasn't going well these days. Why did scotch and toothpaste have to be such a nasty combination?

I settled into the narrow bed, careful not to wake Robby crashed out on his mattress on the floor, turned on the reading light, and opened The Last Tortoise by Craig Stanford. The book was good, but alcohol didn't help my focus. Was pair bonding a loser's game? Marcie had given it her best shot and flamed out. The scotch helped me convince myself that tonight Marcie might have hit bottom and tomorrow she would start rebuilding. I could hope. In the meantime, I missed my friend. I was just plain lonely.

Ken hadn't called and that was probably good. Not meant to be, et cetera. So why did I feel like a spineless loser when I thought of him?

It was only nine o'clock. I activated my laptop for a little research, then stepped out to the bathroom where I wouldn't disturb Robby. I opened up my phone and dialed. "Hey, you awake? It's Iris."

"I'm awake. What's up?"

"I found out about a reptile show that starts Friday. You said you kept box turtles as a kid. Maybe you'd like to go."

Ken said, "Never been to a reptile show. Where is it?"

"A hotel south of Portland off I-5. Starts at ten in the morning. I want to ask the vendors about customers for illegal tortoises." I gave him the hotel name and the freeway exit.

"Meet you there?"

"Yeah. That would be good." Not spineless. Sloshed and forlorn and foolish.

Friday morning I stood in a Holiday Inn banquet room staring at tables with rows of small creatures in clear deli containers, like so many scoops of potato salad or slices of chocolate cake. Little snakes, lizards, hairy-legged spiders. This "show" was really a sale. Each vendor had a sign or banner at a table where his or her wares were displayed. Price tags on the containers ranged from tens to hundreds of dollars. I'd never seen animals in such barren housing in my life, and it jarred all my zoo keeper sensibilities. Those sensibilities were already bruised from telling Neal I had a family emergency and had to take the day off. I was here to seek the other end of the Tipton tangle of string-their customers.

Spotting Ken and joining up felt entirely natural. He looked good, much better in a green chamois shirt than that dubious Hawaiian thing. We edged along with the crowd, circling the room. The customers were mostly families with school-aged children, probably thanks to a teacher in-service day. A bearded man and a teenage boy both shopped with snakes wound around their necks.

"Let's get some coffee and come back," he suggested after our first circuit. "I saw a restaurant off the lobby."

Excellent idea.

Ken ordered blackberry pie and, at my nod, two pieces. He ate with a focus that matched my own. When his pie was history, he looked up. "Cool event."

"It's more fun with somebody else. Thanks for coming."

"My pleasure." He shifted on the seat. "I'd like to have a bearded dragon. Someday when I have a stable place to live."

"My husband, Rick, had a pet iguana. He was the zoo's reptile keeper."

He studied his coffee cup. "That Denny guy has the job now?"

"Right."

Ken stirred a packet of sugar into his coffee. "How are all those tortoises doing? I got the impression there were a lot of them."

"Twenty-five or so. One is pretty sick. Pneumonia, I think."

"Denny's looking after them?"

"He's micro-managing by nagging. They're all in quarantine and he's not allowed in. He's making the vet tech crazy." I finished the last of my pie.

"The zoo bit off a lot."

"You've got that right. The hospital is maxed out. But not forever. One of them was chipped and the vet found the source. We'll be able to send some of them back to Madagascar, to the breeding facility they were stolen from."

He nodded in his thoughtful way. "More coffee?"

"Nope. Ready to roll when you are." He didn't argue over splitting the bill.

My phone rang and I stood in the hallway outside the restaurant with Ken waiting at a polite distance. Craig said, "I wanted to follow up with you about photographing the tortoises. You remember from lunch? We talked about it."

"Oh, sorry. Dr. Reynolds said no, not until they're all healthy, and the quarantine period is over. I was going to call you tonight."

"I appreciate that you tried. Not everything works out."

He sounded discouraged. Surely this wasn't such a big deal?

He picked up energy. "Hey, I need to talk through this article with someone who understands the issues. I have a draft, but I'm not happy with it. Could we meet over dinner?" His voice changed, softer, serious. "I'd like to see you again."

A lonely guy in a city still new to him. "I guess I could try to help. I'm booked up today. It's a bad time to talk. Call me tomorrow, okay?"

"Sure. Bye."

Ken raised an eyebrow.

So he had been listening. Well, I would have, too. "That was Craig. The photographer from the Tiptons. He's writing an article about the whole thing. He wants to go over it with me."

A nod. He put a hand on my elbow as we walked back. A friendly touch. A tiny bit possessive? I was tempted to run my fingers through my hair and thrust my chest out. It had been a long time since I'd indulged in girl power. I was a free agent checking out two appealing men. Pair bonding might fail in the long run, but it sure was fun in the early stages. I linked my arm through Ken's and walked into the crush of potential reptile buyers.

With the worst of the culture shock over, I realized that the animals looked healthy and everything was clean. Still..."I hate these little plastic containers. Totally sterile environment."

"Same as portable dog kennels. They're just for transport."

That made sense, especially since several vendors sold habitat wares-aquariums, plastic plants, and heating equipment. I bought an expensive bulb for the macaws' heat lamp.

Only a few vendors had tortoises. At one of them, two red-footed tortoises in a big wash pan tried and failed, tried and failed to climb out. A heap of Eastern box turtles scrabbled in a bin next to them. The turtles lacked the uniform size and coloring of other groups of animals for sale. Some of their sh.e.l.ls were nicked or scarred. The vendor, a skinny woman with ear lobe plugs and multiple piercings, told me she had bred them and that they were various ages. She described her breeding facility and management techniques in detail. My suspicions faded and we had a friendly conversation.

Before I gathered myself to ask about collectors of rare tortoises, Ken motioned from where he had drifted to the other side of the room. "Iris, over here." I edged through the throng until I stood next to him. Cute little sulcata hatchlings moved about in an open plastic container. The sign said they were African desert tortoises that grew to over eighty pounds and lived fifty years. Whoever bought these tykes would have to think about what they were getting into. Ken said, "Tell her about that woman." He indicated the other tortoise vendor with his chin.

This vendor, a small man with a frog tattoo on his neck and a blond ponytail, leaned close. "Those Eastern box turtles-the ones across the aisle? They're wild-caught. Some of them are from states where it's legal, and some of them aren't. I happen to know that an investigation is under way." He bobbed his head at me, lips compressed. "Every vendor at this sale guarantees that none of the animals are wild-caught. She won't get away with it for long."

The accusation caught me by surprise. I'd been duped by the other vendor. Or else this one was enlisting me in a feud. "I won't buy one. Thanks for the tip. Listen, what can you tell me about the customers for rare tortoises? Really valuable ones."

"Rich people who want to impress their friends. Why are you asking me?" His voice had gone cold.

I'd put my foot in it. "I'm not looking to buy anything illegal. Honest. But I am looking for people who would. If I can find the customers, I might find a person I'm looking for, someone who imports illegal tortoises."

He seemed to think this was total bulls.h.i.t. "I don't know if you're with the Feds or what, but I have nothing to do with that kinda business whatsoever. You people can quit bugging me."

"What do you mean? Did somebody else ask you? Today?"

But he turned away to another customer, determined to ignore me. Ken's hand on my elbow steered me away. "Give it a rest," he whispered. "Let me try in a few minutes."

I headed back toward the box turtle vendor, this time to convince her I was a collector of rare tortoises. She was busy with customers and wouldn't meet my eye. I deduced she'd seen me talking with her compet.i.tor and probably knew what I'd been told about the box turtles. I gave her five minutes to acknowledge my existence, but she preferred to depart in the direction of a door labeled Staff Only.

I puttered around, giving Ken time to soothe the man I'd alarmed. Ken examined every molecule of that vendor's display, chatting at length. Why did his charm work when mine failed? Finally he appeared alongside me.

"What did he say? Did someone offer him illegal animals? Was it today?"

"Whoa. Not quite. Someone asked him who handled spider tortoises. I think that's the name. Northern ones."

"Today? What did he look like? Or she?"

He steered me out of the throng toward the lobby. "Yes, today. A guy. Not much of a description. Chubby, average height, gla.s.ses. Not old, not young. Didn't seem to know much about herps. What are herps?"

"Herptiles. It lumps amphibians and reptiles. Is that all you got?"

"He wore a Blazers cap."

"Great! That narrows it down to two or three million people."

We sat down on a bench in the lobby. My excitement ebbed. "Ken, both Jeff and Tom have blue eyes. Mr. Frog Tattoo would remember that they're big and young and klutzy. It wasn't one of them. It was some random tortoise beginner."

We sat and were disappointed together. I said, "I'm still glad I checked out this show. And your boyish charm is impressive." It was having its effect on me. He was good company. I liked him. I got up to return to the event.

Ken held up a hand. "Aren't we done? You've seen everything."

"We can't just walk away from the illegal box turtles."

He seemed amused. "What do you think we should do?"

We didn't have any evidence or any way to get it. "I don't know." This was frustrating.

"Mr. Frog Tattoo said there was already an investigation under way. And didn't you already strike a blow for reptiles by rescuing those tortoises? Not to mention the parrots?"

"I'm done when the bad guys are in jail. That sick tortoise at the zoo? It would still be fine if it hadn't been captured. Maybe the box turtle woman knows the buyers the Tiptons were dealing with." What were the odds of that? Slim. What were the odds of her telling me? Zero.

"Come on, Warrior Princess. Let's get you out of here before you slay somebody." His chipped tooth showed as he smiled. He draped an arm over my shoulders.

Was he patronizing me? I must have stiffened because he took his arm away.

A step later, I ducked down to put it back.