When the Mercedes and the Kia pulled into Caro’s driveway, she ran out the door, primed for a fight. “The very idea that my own daughter would steal from me!” she screamed, not caring if the neighbors heard her.
Since Roman had gone to school with Mother, her histrionics didn’t faze him. He just leaned against the Kia and watched the dog walkers pass by.
While transferring Tyler’s belongings from the Mercedes to the Kia, I explained, “I did not steal your car, I just borrowed it. I even filled up the fuel tank for you. Furthermore, I don’t know what you believed you’d accomplish by keeping me prisoner.”
“
Prisoner!”
Her eyes bugged.
Roman cleared his throat. “Um, Teddy, can I get that lift back to my lot any time this century?”
Caro turned her ire on him. “And you, Roman, how dare you be a party to this!”
He grinned. “Don’t involve me in your family disputes, Caroline. I knew you when you’d never been kissed. Or anything else.”
“Why, you son-of-a…”
“Bye, Mom!” I said, hustling Roman into the Kia.
***
There was another reason I needed a car.
An hour later, Linda Cushing was waiting on the deck of the
Tea 4 Two
as I hurried up the dock. She held an urn in her hand.
“I thought you’d forgotten,” she said.
“Forget Heck’s funeral? Never.”
We cast off. Followed closely by a small flotilla of liveaboarders, we motored through the channel, then set sail into the Pacific. Once we were beyond the three-mile limit, Linda dropped anchor. After motoring alongside the
Tea 4 Two
, the others followed suit.
The distant fogbank rolling toward us kept the service necessarily short. After a brief eulogy, Linda tipped Heck’s ashes into the waves, while from the deck of the
Texas Hold ’Em
, Larry DuFries, a former Merchant Marine, played a simple seaman’s version of “Amazing Grace” on a hornpipe.
When Heck’s ashes floated away with the outgoing tide, floral wreaths—including one of my own—accompanied him.
Home was the sailor, home in the sea.
Two days, two memorial services.
At noon Monday, Zorah officiated at “A Remembrance for Kate” in the zoo’s auditorium. An enlarged version of Kate’s portrait with Wanchu—the same pose I’d given her father—took center stage, surrounded by a large wreath of multi-colored blooms. Most of the zoo staff and volunteers attended. So did Wanchu. Confused by such a large gathering, she kept her arms clasped around Bill’s neck and didn’t make a fuss. Neither did Aster Edwina, who sat next to them in the front row with a face as impassive as Bill’s. Matriarchs and Aussies don’t cry.
Standing near the door, their eyes on the audience, were Joe and two deputies. Did they expect the killer to jump up in the middle of the service and shout “I did it!” like on the old
Perry Mason
reruns?
One by one, zookeepers walked to the podium to share stories about Kate and her love for the koalas. Deciding to reveal a part of Kate’s life that most of the others were unfamiliar with, I talked about the
Nomad
, how Kate had been raised on her, and how after her father became ill, she’d sailed the boat single-handed all the way down from Canaan Harbor.
“Much of Kate’s life was on land with her beloved koalas, but she was also a sailor. I’d like to think that wherever she is now, she’s at the helm of a craft tall and true.”
After the service was over and no one had confessed to the murders, the deputies left. A grim-looking Joe lagged behind to warn me once more about getting mixed up in the investigation.
“Promise me you’ll stay at your mother’s house until this thing is over.”
“I promise.”
“Promise again, Teddy, this time with your hands in front of you so I can make sure your fingers aren’t crossed.”
I did, and I meant it. There was no way I would spend the night on the
Merilee
until the killer was arrested—not that the streets of San Sebastian had proved any safer than Gunn Landing Harbor. I didn’t tell Joe about my trip in a stolen Mercedes to Oakland and Canaan Harbor. Or that this morning, after spending the night going through the two boxes I had retrieved from Kate’s storage unit, I had turned over the most troubling material to Helen, Zorah’s assistant. I wanted an expert opinion before I took my suspicions to Joe.
And I kept the photograph I’d found in the unit.
Just in case.
***
The next day started off badly and stayed that way.
Although I had promised to appear with Wanchu on the San Sebastian No-Kill Animal Shelter Marathon that evening, Zorah insisted I still show up for my segment on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
.
“Birds this time, Teddy,” she said, over my protests. “I’ve already picked them out for you.”
Ear still sore, I felt hesitant about bringing birds of any kind onto the set. But Manny Salinas, head of the zoo’s avian collections, assured me everything would be fine.
“That’s why Zorah sent me with you, Teddy,” he said, as he helped me lift the birds’ carriers into the van. “To make sure no ‘accidents’ happen. She said this was AnnaLee’s last day at the station and she doesn’t want her to go out with a splatter.”
Zorah’s plan worked.
For a while.
When the segment began, Mei-Ying, the Eurasian scops-owl, behaved herself, as did Godwin, the peregrine falcon. Seemingly on cue, both birds peered wide-eyed at the cameras, stretched their wings, and sounded their genus-appropriate calls. Neither tried to peck anyone. But Jason, the macaw, refused to sing “Mary Had a Little Lamb,” as promised. Instead, he launched into an imitation of Miss Piggy serenading Kermit the Frog with “I Want To Be Loved By You.”
The only embarrassing moment came when Evita, the Humboldt penguin, ate the sardine Manny allowed AnnaLee to feed her, then regurgitated the fish on the anchor’s shoes.
“That’s actually a compliment, AnnaLee,” Manny said, pained. “She was just feeding you like she feeds her chick.”
AnnaLee smiled as if much worse had happened to her, which it had. “And now for a word from Big Daddy’s Bait Shop. Big Daddy’s got the bait the big fish love.”
***
“You were right, Teddy, that woman’s a vomit magnet,” Manny said, while we were toting the birds to the zoo’s Animal Care Center for their après-TV checkup.
I was about to reply when I saw a familiar figure heading toward the auditorium: Aster Edwina. I hadn’t seen her since Bowling for Rhinos, so why…? Then I remembered. Today was the day Buster was to be officially presented with his African safari tickets. Also, the volunteer roster for keepers working tonight’s marathon would be announced. I checked my watch. If the vet declared the birds ready to be returned to their enclosure quickly enough, we might be able to make the presentation.
It worked out. After giving the birds a cursory glance, the vet declared them healthy. An hour later, Manny and I hurried to the auditorium, where we took our seats next to Robin. Zorah had just begun reading the list of zookeepers detailed to answer phones during the No-Kill Animal Shelter Marathon, and the keepers unfortunate enough to present an animal.
“Teddy Bentley will present Wanchu, Manny Salinas a mynah…”
Most keepers appeared terrified at the thought of appearing on live television, but Zorah was merciless. In the end, I counted four other keepers doomed to share the spotlight with their charges. The mood lightened when Zorah finally stepped away from the mike, and Aster Edwina came forward to hand over the safari tickets. Buster, big puppy that he was, fairly wiggled with joy as he accepted the thick envelope.
“I have an announcement myself,” he said, a sly look on his face. “There are two tickets in here, right, Miss Gunn?”
Aster Edwina nodded. “Certainly, Mister, ah, Buster.”
“And I can take whoever I want with me, right?”
She nodded again. “Of course.”
“You wanna take your mommy with you, is that it?” called someone from the audience.
“Miami’s more her style,” Buster shot back. Then his face became as tender as it was when he cared for his darling rhinos. “But I do know someone who’s been dying to see Africa, a lady I’ve admired for a long time but never got up enough nerve to admit it to, a beautiful young lady who deserves all the wonderful things life can give her—especially Africa.”
Oh, hell. Buster was going to give that other ticket to Myra. I looked around and saw her sitting right behind me. The insufferable keeper’s expression was so smug I wanted to smack her. But, of course, I didn’t.
Zorah must have thought the same thing, because a little of the joy went out of her face. She looked over at Myra, and if glares could kill, Myra was a dead woman.
Aster Edwina didn’t look all that happy, either, but she just said, “Don’t keep us in suspense, young man. Who have you chosen to be your guest?”
The smile on Buster’s face extended all the way to his ears when he said, “I would like Robin Chase to do me the very great honor of accompanying me to Africa.”
Robin gasped.
Myra muttered, “Shit.”
The crowd erupted in whistles, cheers, and palm-blistering applause.
Once the noise died down, Buster said, “Robin? Will you?”
“Hell, yeah!” she answered, and with that, charged up on the stage, threw her arms around him, and planted a big sloppy kiss on his lumpy face. “I’ve always been crazy about you, you idiot!”
Later, while we were filing out of the auditorium with the rest of the zookeepers, I said to Manny, “I love happy endings, don’t you?”
“Don’t make me cry,” he sniffled.
I was just climbing into my zoo cart to drive up to Tropics Trail when a voice halted me.
“Teddy! I need a private moment with you.”
Aster Edwina.
A request for a “private moment” with Aster Edwina usually signaled some form of warning, or worse, punishment. What had I done now? Did she blame me for the penguin barf incident? For a moment, my heart lifted. Perhaps, given all that had transpired, she’d begun to question the wisdom of the zoo’s
Good Morning, San Sebastian
segment and decided to pull me off it.
Feeling optimistic, I gave her a big smile. “I always have time for you, Aster Edwina.”
She frowned and my smile disappeared. Her next words, delivered in a tone low enough that the departing crowd of zookeepers wouldn’t hear them, shocked me. “I thought she was dead, Teddy.”
No point in asking who “she” was. The old woman meant Josie/Speaks-to-Souls. Her daughter. “Why…” I swallowed. “Why would you think that?”
“Because that’s what my father told me.”
The story that emerged was a sad one, although not uncommon in the days when a single woman giving birth was considered a life-ruining scandal. The baby’s delivery had been a secret, attended only by Edwin Gunn himself and a private doctor with more debts than ethics. After Aster Edwina had emerged from the heavy sedation, Edwin—seizing his chance to make the scandal disappear—informed her that the baby had been stillborn, its tiny body already “disposed of.”
“Why would I doubt him?” Aster Edwina said. “My father had never lied to me before.”
Appalled, I wondered why was she telling me this.
My face must have revealed my confusion because she said, “You, of all people, should know that in this day and age, dirty laundry always winds up getting aired. Josie looks just like me. Tongues are probably already wagging, so I’ve decided to take control by issuing a press release to give the story a positive spin. You’ll draft it tomorrow, but let me look it over before you release it to the press.”
I nodded. This would be one press release I’d enjoy writing.
She surprised me again.
“One more thing. Teddy, I would like to invite you to a reception in Josie’s and Alyse’s honor. It’ll take place next week at Gunn Castle. You, your mother, and several other of the most prominent local families will receive formal invitations.”
My mouth dropped. “Have you run this by Josie?”
Her voice frosted with ice, she replied, “Of course! She
is
my daughter, isn’t she? And a typical Gunn she’s turned out to be, too.” Then the ice melted, betrayed by maternal pride. “She’s already made me pledge a ridiculously high sum of money toward the No-Kill Animal Shelter. And my granddaughter—the little imp—actually weaseled another few thousand for the San Sebastian Public Library.”
Chuckling, the old woman walked away.
***
Hours later, Caro having assured me she would feed Bonz, Miss Priss, and Toby, I drove straight from the zoo to the television studio with Wanchu in the back of the last available van, a fifteen-year-old relic. I wasn’t looking forward to taking part in the marathon, but at least—unlike the other keepers who’d already quaked their way through their appearances, then fled back to the zoo—I didn’t suffer from stage fright. I also enjoyed watching the evening’s hosts, Dick Van Patten and Drew Barrymore, both of whom were well known as animal lovers. The odd couple pairing worked well, with Van Patten acting as straight man for Barrymore’s more ribald jokes.
Behind the duo, zoo staff—including Buster, Robin, Lex, and a dozen others—answered the phones and took pledges while the two stars introduced a series of Hollywood types. Dropping by with their own pound puppies and kittens were Natalie Portman, Charlize Theron, Katherine Heigl, Mickey Rourke, Meg Ryan, and Christina Applegate.
Myra Sebrowski had been delegated to mop the studio floor.
Wanchu and I were enjoying the show so much that we almost missed the introduction delivered by an enthusiastic Barrymore. “And now, the real star of the San Sebastian No-Kill Shelter Marathon, Wanchu the koala, accompanied by her friend, Gunn Zoo animal keeper Teddy Bentley!”
“Showtime, girl,” I whispered to Wanchu as we stepped onto the set.
It being early evening, Wanchu was more alert than she had been during her first television appearance on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
. As I carried her toward the mike, she leaned forward and took a swipe at Barrymore’s dangling earring.