Endangered: A Zoo Mystery Part 18

The plan rose up out of failure and frustration. It germinated as I lay in bed realizing that being a prey species is just too inconvenient. It flourished over breakfast as I looked for a different angle to attack my troubles. On the way to work, it still looked, if not good, at least possible. Law enforcement was a crucial piece. Could I sell it to them? I waited until lunch break and called Gettler, but had to leave a message. He called back when I was cleaning the Penguinarium kitchen. Points to the man: he returned calls.

"I know how to catch Jeff and Tom Tipton."

Gettler's voice was flat. "I'm listening."

"They're broke. They think their father hid more gold. They're looking for it and they can't find it. That's why they busted into my house-to ask me if Jerome said anything about it before he died."

"Okay."

"Here's the plan. I tell them I think their father's last words weren't about his pet birds. He was really telling where he hid the gold, but I need them to help me figure it out. I'll say we'll split whatever we find. They show up to talk to me, and you nab them. Or Portland Police. Whoever."

A pause. "Before I get too judgmental here, tell me how you think you can communicate with them."

"A note on the door of the farm. A note to Pluvia, the neighbor. The newspaper. Radio. That reporter, Craig Da.r.s.ee, who's looking for them. All of them."

"Then we're supposed to follow you around twenty-four/seven until they decide to show up. And if we miss them, they throw you in their van, and you disappear. You do know one of them might have shot that girl, right?"

Somehow I could sense he wasn't enthusiastic. "You don't think you could nail them? What would make it work better? I could wear a tracking device or a silent alarm b.u.t.ton or-"

"What would work better is you being patient. Let us do our job. We're the ones trained to handle guys like them. I understand that you're frustrated, and I wish we'd already apprehended them, but this idea of yours is a boatload of risk without much chance of success."

"You got a better idea or am I supposed to wait until they die of old age?"

"Please tell me you won't try this. No one can guarantee your safety if you do. You have a child, as I recall."

Rats. He'd played the parent card. "Okay. Fine. I'll sit on my rear." Growing wool, one of Hap's sheep.

"Good. Is that all?"

"No, wait. Could Pluvia, the neighbor woman, have helped bail the Tiptons out?"

"That was you yesterday in the black Crown Vic, right?"

I remembered the patrol car we'd seen. "I went with a friend for safety. Pluvia didn't tell me much and then she got mad and chased me away."

"She doesn't have a car or a phone. We're reasonably sure she didn't pick the Tiptons up at the jail, and we know they aren't hanging out at her place, so you might as well leave her alone."

No wonder my scenario surprised and upset her.

"So who did deliver the money and pick them up?"

Gettler was patient. "We don't know."

"A friend of Jeff or Tom's?"

"Like I said, we don't know. They were picked up after dark several blocks away from the jail."

If not Pluvia, who? The only person who might know was Pluvia herself.

Dead end.

Chapter Twenty-two.

The next morning, Sat.u.r.day, found me lying on my belly on the edge of the penguin pool wielding a long pole with a net at the end. A chunk of herring skin clogged the screen over a filter down near the bottom, and I didn't want to drain the pool. The penguins were alarmed by the net, but fascinated by me flopping around trying to sc.r.a.pe the gunk off. They had a lot to say about it. I didn't fall in, but all I accomplished was to get wet and smelly. I tried again with a length of coat hanger taped to the non-net end of the pole and fished out the obstruction at last. While moving my phone to a dry pair of pants, I noticed a message from Craig. I called back and we set up dinner to talk about his article.

I scrubbed fish scales out of the sinks wondering if his goal was more than advice on his project. My female instincts said this was not really a work meeting, but they were rusty. Anyway, he would be hanging out at some up-scale bar, not wining and dining a stressed-out animal keeper. With his looks and killer smile, he shouldn't lack for company, even if the b.u.m leg put some women off. But it was me he called and somehow I'd said yes to an early dinner.

What if Craig did have romance in mind? What about Ken? We'd shared two dates, one kiss. I was still a free agent. But now that I was "out there," as Hap put it, the reasons I hadn't pursued love emerged like elk at dusk and confronted me. Adjusting to widowhood, learning to parent, and warping myself into a thoughtful adult took all I had. A potential partner-was that more than I could handle? But loneliness and l.u.s.t weren't going to stay back in the hills forever. I wiped down the stainless steel counters wishing I could stop thinking and just roll with it. But no. That's the thing about simple physical tasks-too much time to think.

Was I attracted to Ken because he was the first option in a long, long time or for better reasons? Maybe seeing Craig would clarify that, not that I felt any rush to settle on one of them. This was the most romantic excitement I'd had in years and, despite all the fretting, the truth was-I was liking it. Liking it a lot. This was the bright spot in my tattered, disrupted life. Surely I could be a responsible adult and still date two men. Besides, I didn't have to be totally prudent in every single aspect of my life. I flipped the sponge into the sink with a flourish. "h.e.l.l, no, dammit."

Oops. I couldn't keep expecting my parents to pick up child care. I called Amanda and talked to her daughter, Courtney, who helped with day care when high school was out. Courtney was happy to walk the few blocks to my parents and spend the evening in our bedroom playing with Robby. I'd need to Google directions to the restaurant and wash my hair to get the fish smell out. This dating business took a lot of preparation.

The advantage of the restaurant Craig picked was the curved booths. He met me with a smile that would have thawed a harder heart than mine and sat close enough for body heat to register. He wore a gray dress shirt, the top b.u.t.ton undone, no tie. Black pants, a sports jacket. I wasn't used to men who dressed with style. He'd gone with the shaved-two-days-ago look. He looked quick and smart and worldly.

And I couldn't find Liberia on a map.

I ordered a gla.s.s of wine, but he overrode me.

"Bring a bottle," he told the waiter. "It's a special night."

He vanquished the initial awkwardness by leaning over the napkins and silverware to show me prints of photos for his article. "I'd like your opinion about these, which ones will have the most impact." He'd captured the bleakness and the busyness at the Tipton farm, wet people in uniforms walking here and there. Denny leaned on the zoo van, looking loose-jointed and sullen. I toted an animal carrier full of parrots out of the barn. The Boxer mix snarled at a state trooper.

I admired his photography talent as we ate and managed not to dribble sauce on the prints. Our lunch at the zoo taught me that he wasn't going to ask any hard questions until I'd eaten. Smart man. His hand brushed mine as he held my gla.s.s and refilled it without asking first. Well, I didn't have to drink two gla.s.ses. But it was good wine and I did.

For dessert, he suggested a gla.s.s of port. "Why not?" I said. Port sounded sophisticated. That wasn't my strong suit, but I could learn. Dinner had ballasted the wine-I felt full and relaxed, but not buzzed. He asked about the tortoises, and I told him about the chip that the vet found. "My boss is making the arrangements to ship them back to Madagascar. That should make a cool ending to your story."

"Good point. That's a satisfying wrap-up to the conservation theme. You've added a lot of depth, but I can't finish this thing until Jeff and Tom are in custody. I'm still looking for a connection to the groups Jerome was funding, and only the sons can tell me."

"'In custody' sounds like the perfect place for an interview."

"I'll be pleased to have them locked up and you safe." He eased an arm over my shoulders. "I've never met a woman like you. I've known women who really cared about their work, but that's usually about money or power. It's different with you, more about nurture."

I straightened up. "That sounds totally mush-brained. It's about respecting each creature for what it is. It's about..." I'd never put into words what mattered most to me about my job.

Craig said, "Never mush-brained. Tell me how that little monkey is doing."

I sipped my port, settled into his arm, and told him about the positive developments with the mandrill family. The port was delicious. This date was most excellent.

He said, "I took a few more shots of you that I like. Some from the Tipton place and one from the zoo. You photograph well. Not all attractive women do."

I checked my bulls.h.i.t alarm. It seemed to be out of order. Body heat and those highwayman eyes were undoing my better judgment b.u.t.ton by b.u.t.ton.

The second advantage of this restaurant was that it resided in a hotel. I wasn't terribly surprised to learn that the other photos and the draft article Craig wanted to show me were in his room. How could he afford to stay in a hotel? Maybe it was just for tonight.

A gla.s.s of wine. Or two. A guy I wouldn't have to face at work the next day. A two year drought. My regression into f.e.c.kless adolescence? I got into the elevator with him.

We stood apart as I consulted my adult self. She wouldn't be in that elevator-she would have told him to bring the pictures and article down. Apparently she was off duty. Inside his room, the closed door behind me, I couldn't stop the grin sliding across my face.

He stopped short. "You wanted to see the pictures, right?"

I reached around his neck and my mouth covered his. He broke away eventually and kissed my collarbone alongside my throat. He smelled so good. He felt good. Ah, men. What a great idea they are. I fought us both into a semblance of self control until the concept of "condom" was in place. Then we went for the b.u.t.tons and belts.

He wanted to hold back like a gentleman, but I wasn't having it. After the first urgent, fumbling explosion, we tried it again his way, a slower pace. That worked just as well.

I dozed on the bed, curled within his arms. My skin had come alive. My hair, my fingernails, alive.

I'd honored Rick with grief and my level-best parenting of our son. He peered from the shadows and nodded. It was okay to get on with my life.

And get on I must. Reluctantly, I uncurled and rolled out of bed. I rummaged on the floor for my clothes in the faint street light coming through the curtains.

Craig sat up. "Hey, c'mon back here."

"Responsibility calls." I stood up clutching my good jeans and a bra. "I guess I never told you. I've got a two-year-old. I have to get back."

Seeing him leaning against the headboard, rubbing his bare chest in consternation, I wanted to kiss him again. Nope. I'd never stop.

He didn't say anything, watching as I dressed. Safely covered, I sat down next to him and trailed my fingers across his chest. "That was fantastic. Totally irresponsible and awesome."

"You're really going to walk out on me."

He wasn't angry, was he? "I failed to give satisfaction?"

"Oh, yes. But not enough of it." He reached for me, and I slipped away.

At the door, I said, "I have no idea where we go from here. I hope..." I wasn't sure what I hoped for.

He didn't say anything and I left. Maybe he was mad at me for walking away. Well, I had reason to think he'd had his share of fun.

And I felt just great.

Chapter Twenty-three.

"Marcie. Stop crying. Breathe. Tell me what happened." Half asleep, I had the phone in a death grip. It was midnight and I stood in the upstairs bathroom hoping the call hadn't awakened my parents.

"Oh, Iris. I thought you should know. I wanted you to at least know. Whatever you want to do. I left all those messages."

"I was out to dinner and left the phone in the bathroom to charge. I didn't see the messages. Marcie, tell me what's happened."

"Denny's hurt. Shot. He's in surgery. I'm here with his father at the hospital outside Vancouver. Oh, Iris..."

"Shot? What do you mean?"

"Shot, with a gun. At the zoo. It's bad."

"Marcie, I'm coming. It'll be all right." It had to be all right. I shoved down panic.

"Don't worry if you can't come. I know you can't leave Robby. I thought I should tell you." She was crying again.

"I'll be there as quick as I can."

I dressed and left a note for my parents and aimed my car toward the hospital. I knew exactly where it was, thanks to my visit to Wanda Tipton.

I drove empty streets to the Interstate, then north across the bridge and past Vancouver, past the zoo. It was a long way, time for too much thinking. Shot at the zoo. It had to be the Tiptons. What was Denny doing at the zoo this late? What if he died, like Liana had died? Like Rick had died. No, don't go there.

Too much time for thinking about Denny.

Our plunge into a relationship years ago-no more thoughtful than my tryst with Craig-quickly chilled by the chaos he brought to my life. I was stuck forever with guilt about banishing him and taking up with Rick the next week.

The wipers beat against the rain, brief victories, quick-spattered defeats.

Marcie wasn't at Legacy Hospital where I'd visited Wanda. Neither was Denny. The emergency room nurse told me where the Southwest Medical Center was, where trauma patients were delivered. Back on the freeway.

Too much time for thinking about Denny.

Denny's friendship with Rick and enduring sense of responsibility toward me and Robby. His high-energy, relentless brainstorming, mining the worst-case conspiracy vein. His pa.s.sion for all things cold-blooded. I owed him for adopting Rick's iguana, Bessie Smith.

Ire. He was the only one who called me Ire-she of the quick temper. To get my goat, sure, but also because he had the right to call me a special name?

Fourth Plain Road, Mill Plain Road-one exit apart. How could anyone be expected to keep them straight? I made a U turn and got back on track.

I found the right hospital, certain that Marcie and I were overreacting. The emergency room staff sent me to an adjoining building. A sign told me Surgery was on the second floor.

She was huddled in the waiting area. A large man in a red and black plaid shirt sat next to her, sleeping with his head leaned back awkwardly against the top of the couch, hands folded across his round belly. A dazed young couple sat across from them, strangers in their own disaster. Marcie got up and hugged me, a real hug. We stood aside by the elevators to avoid disturbing the sleeping man, in an alcove with a gla.s.s wall between us and the darkness outside. Marcie was pale and her tidiness was breached-fine blond hair astray and lavender blouse rumpled.

"He's still in surgery. He was at the zoo when it happened. I don't know why."

"He's alive. No tears yet." Wasted words, she was sobbing on my shoulder.

Still in surgery. My mental shield of "really not that bad" shattered. "How did they know to call you?"

"He still had my number in his wallet. I tracked down his dad. He lives out by Molalla."