Endangered: A Zoo Mystery Part 7

"Don't like it?" Pete asked.

"No, it's fine." She opened a second beer, which wasn't common. "We got the blood test results on Nakri. Not pregnant."

I looked up from collecting the eggplant Robby was rejecting. "Oh, that's too bad. It all went so well."

Six months ago, Cheyenne had predicted Finley Zoo would have its first elephant birth. The younger of our two Asian elephant cows, Nakri, had been the recipient of s.e.m.e.n a veterinarian had brought from a bull at another zoo. The artificial insemination had gone "perfectly" according to Cheyenne, meaning Nakri had stood still for the expert, something the elephant keepers had spent months training her to do. The procedure had gone according to plan. Except that egg and sperm had stood each other up.

Artificial insemination was the only way Nakri would ever know motherhood since Finley Zoo lacked the facilities to house a bull elephant. No one wanted to ship her away from Damrey, her blind companion, to mate with a bull the usual way. I picked peas off Robby's shirt. "Will they try again?" Nakri would probably vote "yes"-she would earn a steady stream of treats for the insemination and the regular blood draws to track her hormones.

"I guess. If we can afford it. Neal's going to look at the budget. Pete, I found Irish music at this coffee house on Division. Let's eat and go."

Pete said he was too tired. Cheyenne took the stairs to their room in a huff.

Hap showed up, alone, right as I was starting the bedtime routine. He ignored me and my parrot concerns. Instead, he said "hi" to Pete, who was on his way upstairs, and then crawled around on the floor trotting and bucking with Robby on his back. He rolled Robby, already choking with laugher, onto the rug and tickled his belly. The dogs circled and barked, trying to figure out how to join the fun.

I kept myself from telling Hap to dial it back. Robby was loving it, and Hap wasn't going to break him. My boy didn't have a father, and he spent most of his time with me, my mother, and his day care provider-women who tried hard to be calm and gentle with him. My dad was more physical, although Pete wasn't. Hap was taking it to a new level. Guy time. Gender appropriate. A Good Thing.

When I couldn't take it any longer, I said, "Hap, he needs to calm down or I'll never get him to bed."

Robby voted against calming down, but Hap backed off and settled on the sofa with him and the farm animals. Robby slowly lost momentum as he showed Hap the correct way to arrange chickens and pigs so the triceratops could eat them. I left Hap to evaluate the macaws in the bas.e.m.e.nt while I carted him up to bed.

Hap was watching "Dancing with the Stars" when I made it back to the living room. He clicked the TV off, reluctantly, and we talked about the birds-toys and other entertainment, diet, a bigger cage. He said he'd bring over a spare cage he had and connect it to the existing one. He'd figured out a structure that would occupy most of my bas.e.m.e.nt and allow them to fly a little.

"We can do better than what you've got right now," he said, "but it's still p.i.s.s poor. The sanctuary I'm thinking of has this huge flight cage. Get Neal to send them there, with a donation to pay for expenses. It ain't free, housing dozens of rejected parrots."

"Sure, Hap. All I have to do is ask. Neal always does whatever I want."

He ignored this and leaned back on the sofa, his elbows resting on its back. "So, Iris. You seeing anybody yet? With your looks, it shouldn't be that hard."

"What? No, not right now." Where was this coming from? Thankfully, he didn't sound like he was offering himself as a candidate. "Better not let Benita hear you talk like that."

Hap grinned. "She was the one who pointed out what a babe you are. Me, I never notice that sort of thing. So...What's holding up the parade?"

"Excuse me? You're taking charge of my love life?"

"Nope. Just asking why you aren't out there."

"Mind your own business" was on the tip of my tongue, but Hap was a friend and parenting had taught me not to give irritation its head. And he was helping with the macaws. "I'll get around to it. I'm busy, in case you hadn't noticed."

"No pressure. Benita wants me to ask if you'd like to meet a guy she knows. He's good."

"Hap, I'll tell you when I need you to pimp...to find blind dates for me."

"Sure you will. Well, I had to ask. Don't keep your mad on for too long."

"Not mad. Just busy."

I puttered around after he left, closing down the house. Romping with my kid and helping me with Birds didn't earn Hap a license to remodel my life. My mother had exclusive rights to that. Ah-playing with Robby triggered this. He thought Robby should have a daddy.

Hap wasn't the first to raise the issue of my social life. A few months ago, Linda suggested ditching the wedding ring. "You'll never get paired up again if you keep that on." I'd mulled it over-loyalty to Rick, people thinking I was an unwed mother, no time or energy for dating-and decided to try living without it.

Mr. Right, whoever he was, hadn't noticed. Now the universe was nudging again.

The more I thought about the guys I'd met at Hap and Benita's parties, the funnier it got. Their circle of friends did not run to people with steady jobs and parenting potential. I pictured myself test-driving part-time roofers and shade-tree mechanics, men who who spent their weekends drinking beer at motorcycle rallies.

Pete was coming out of the bathroom when I climbed upstairs. I was still laughing and wouldn't tell him why.

Chapter Nine.

You don't get to sleep in on your day off if you live with a toddler. We were all up at the usual six o'clock. Pete and Cheyenne went off to work. Faced with a day at home with his mother, Robby tugged at my sleeve and said, "Pay wit' Hap." I couldn't compete with a bronco ride from Hap, but I did my best.

At the off-leash area in Laurelhurst Park, I tossed a foam ball to Robby and tennis b.a.l.l.s to Winnie and Range. When the dogs were panting hard enough, we moved across the road to the playground. The dogs flopped down and panted away while Robby and two bigger girls clambered about on the elaborate bright blue climbing structure. It was a reasonably dry and satisfying morning, ending with a flushed and cheerful Robby and two contented dogs.

After lunch, I suggested that he exercise his creative side. "Let's draw with the new markers. This one smells like grape." My celebration of normal life was over and unfinished business from the Tipton farm had swept back into my awareness. I had an agenda.

While Robby unleashed the right side of his brain, I found the sc.r.a.p of paper Ken from Animal Control had handed me when I'd asked for his card. I made a phone call to ease my mind. It seemed to be his personal number, and he wasn't in. I hesitated about the voice message-leaving my own number might be misconstrued as-what? A come-on? I left my name and the number anyway and asked whether he'd gotten the Doberman pup out of the rain. I hung up and stood with my hand on the phone wondering whether I did have a subconscious motive. No, I'd meant to call him before Hap had messed with my mind.

I intended to make a second call, but good sense intervened. Neal would not appreciate me contacting US Fish and Wildlife directly about their intentions and strategies in regard to certain illegal wildlife now held at the zoo. I'd try asking Neal again. I paced around for a few minutes trying to think how I could strike a blow for conservation and came up empty. I had nothing to help track the animals back to the wholesaler. Wildlife crimes had happened under my nose, and there wasn't a thing I could do about it, any more than I could nail whoever had murdered Liana.

Robby and I burned the rest of the day with grocery shopping and housekeeping, which included adding branches to the macaw cage for them to destroy. Everyone needs a hobby and my vine maple needed tr.i.m.m.i.n.g.

I'd invited Marcie for dinner because Cheyenne told me she and Pete were going out to try a new restaurant. I put a chicken in the oven to pot-roast and laid out sweet potatoes as a reminder to stick them in the oven later. A salad, carrots to microwave for Robby, a bag of organic cookies, and dinner was checked off.

Robby roared around the living room on the red train engine my parents had gotten him for Christmas until I drafted him to help set the table. He trotted back and forth from where I stood at the silverware drawer to the dining room table, toting one fork or spoon or knife at a time. After I released him back to his train engine, I arranged the flatware in the conventional pattern. The dogs announced Marcie's arrival.

"Mar, come pay wit me!" Robby scooted past at an alarming velocity.

"Coming, honey." To me, "You swore you were going to deep-six that thing."

"But he loves it. I took the batteries out so now it's mute, and I don't have to hate it. Ask him about his drawings."

Marcie toiled in a clean, warm corporate cubicle writing technical things. She liked her job and it paid well, but she never risked a talon in the eye or a hoof in the mouth, and she seemed to feel she was missing out. We'd been best buds since my unsuccessful attempt at college, discontinued after my second year. She'd gone on to graduate, but we'd stayed close. A few months ago, she'd urged me to work toward a promotion. "You need the income and someday you'll get bored with routine and being second-fiddle."

She was sane and calm when I wasn't and had seen me through a lot of rough weather. I wanted to do the same for her, even if my skill set didn't skew that way.

She looked better than she had the week before, not as grim and weary. She had come straight from work dressed in white pants and pink blouse with a little silvery jacket. Robby abandoned the train to show her his art work. I was slow, and he clipped her knee with a felt-tip pen, a peppermint-scented green slash. "It's washable," I a.s.sured her, hoping that was true.

During dinner, the macaws started vocalizing, which I used to introduce my misadventures at the Tipton farm. Drama was one of my important contributions to our friendship. I soft-pedaled the scarier parts as well as Denny's role to avoid stirring up negative emotions.

Marcie was horrified anyway. "Finding that poor girl sounds awful. Who would shoot her? Her brothers wouldn't, and they were in prison anyway."

"They could have done it. They were out of prison the day before I found her."

"They wouldn't kill their sister."

Who knew what the Tipton family dynamics were all about? Marcie and I were both only children. We had zip experience with sibling rivalry. "The cops are focused on the death and the drugs. They'll find them and figure out which one killed her and why. I want them to trace the smuggling pipeline, too, but I don't see any way to make sure that happens. It bugs me. After days of having those animals in my face, it's back to routine."

I helped Robby out of his highchair. I started to sit down, but he climbed up the back of the sofa, the better to help a plastic sheep fly. I hauled him off and explained once again that the back of the sofa was forbidden territory-too tippy. He crawled under a chair to track down his sheep. Winnie joined him and almost knocked over the floor lamp. I caught it in time and scolded her. The macaws screamed.

Marcie said, "Routine, huh?"

I gave her a look.

"The chicken was great," she said, changing the subject. "Dill and thyme."

I shrugged modestly as I stroked Winnie to console her for being scolded. I couldn't remember for the life of me which jars of leafy stuff I'd used. "An old family recipe."

"Is not. I showed you that method, only with tarragon."

Whatever. It was good to have her all to myself again, after two years of accommodating Denny. The realization incited a throb of guilt. Heartbreak therapy was my role, not taking advantage.

Marcie looked thoughtful. "So those awful men are in California. Maybe they'll try for a fresh start. Maybe that's what I should do, try another state."

My heart constricted. "I thought maybe...things were better."

She gave a dismissive hand wave. "I'm fine. Let's watch a movie. I brought three-you choose."

"I tried to talk to him when we were driving back from the Tiptons the last time. I told him he was making a big mistake."

"Iris, I appreciate the thought, but you'd better stay out of it." She held her hands up to show she meant it.

"I just want you to have someone who makes you happy. He's so goofy and unpredictable..."

"Enough!"

"Right. Sorry. Sit tight while I put Robby down."

Half an hour later, I returned to find her staring at the TV, her face blank. I chose New Moon from the Twilight saga. I'd missed it when it came out and knew Marcie wanted to see it again. I got it set up and found the remote.

Marcie said, "So...what did he say?" Her voice was casual, her hands folded tight in her lap.

"When I told Denny he was making a big mistake? Um, that you were too different from each other and were both trying too hard. Aren't there any nice guys where you work or at your gym? Normal people?"

"Iris. You are locked into an out-of-date understanding of Denny. You never got why we...I..." Her eyes filled up. "He dumped ...left ...because ...never mind. Just let it alone and watch the d.a.m.ned movie with me."

So we did. Marcie was rapt, but I couldn't get into the doomed romance between Edward, the youthful-but-ancient vampire, and high school girl Bella. I snorted when Bella half-drowned herself so that he would have to show up and save her and she could see him again. When the fuzzy werewolves galloped in, I laughed out loud. Too late, I saw Marcie flinch.

She stood up, said, "Thanks very much for the dinner. I have to go now," grabbed her coat, and walked out.

Chapter Ten.

I felt like banging my head against the wall when Marcie was gone. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She wanted to see that movie again because she loved it, and she loved it because of the doomed romance, and I had laughed and ruined it. I waited until she had time to drive home, then called. She didn't pick up. I left a message to please, please call me.

I was wrestling Robby out of his clothes for a bath when the phone rang. I grabbed it as he ran around the living room in just a diaper, giggling hysterically. It wasn't Marcie. "Oh. Ken," I said. "You're working late."

"Nope. I'm at home. You called about that little black-and-tan. She surrendered yesterday. Safe and warm at the humane society."

His voice was not sluggish-easy. That was the word. Easy.

"Oh, good. Thanks for letting me know. She's pretty-somebody will adopt her, right?" Please let something good come out of the Tipton disasters.

Robby climbed on his engine and scooted around the living room. Winnie took a notion to frisk alongside, barking. I tried to focus on the call.

"Oh, she'll find a home. Which reminds me...You live in Portland? There's a barbeque place I've been wanting to try. Podners. Texas-style smoked ribs. Care to join me Friday night?"

I was the one who paused this time. A date? Yes, he was talking about a date. "Ahhh...Um...Sure. I think so. I have a kid, did I mention that? A two-year-old."

"So. Married?"

"Widowed."

"You could bring the kid."

"No, no. I think I can find a sitter...But I need to make it an early evening, 'cause I work weekends."

"No problem. Should I pick you up or do you want to meet there?"

Meeting there sounded good. He gave me the address and hung up.

Why did I tell him about Robby as if my child were a case of herpes? Why did Ken hang in there while I sputtered? Why had I said yes? This was Hap's fault.

And maybe it was a mistake. Ken had a great voice and that chipped front tooth was cute and he seemed smart and pleasant, but...

But what? I was just nervous. Out of practice. Chicken-livered.

I snagged a squealing Robby off the engine and lugged him upstairs to the bathtub.

When he was asleep, I let go of first-date jitters, fired up my laptop, and poked around on the Internet looking for information about wildlife trafficking. This had been on my to-do list since visiting the Tipton farm. The volume of animals and the dollars the conservation sites reported made me want to weep. Tortoises were especially hard-hit. I confirmed that the United States is a huge importer of wildlife, much of it for pets. Some of the animals shipped here left their home country with permits obtained by bribes or just plain faked. I logged on to Multnomah County Library and reserved a couple of recent books on the subject.

Winnie and Range pushed outside through the doggy door and started barking as if a cougar lurked in the back yard. The outside light revealed the dogs yelling by the back fence. I stuck my head out and called them, which they ignored. The front door opened, and I jumped, but it was Pete and Cheyenne. The dogs bl.u.s.tered inside with the hair along their spines bristling. Probably a racc.o.o.n on the prowl. Still, it was strange to see them so aroused.

"How was the new restaurant?" I asked. "You stayed late."