The Koala of Death (26 page)
“Then all’s well that end’s well.”
“For now. But if you try any of those tricks on her replacement, she’ll rip your head off and spit down the stump. Ariel Gonzales, who starts next Wednesday, happens to be an old friend of mine. She just got back from Iraq.”
I was impressed. “A war correspondent?”
“A Marine. Ex-Marine, as of last month. During her two tours in Iraq, she received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. Like I said, watch your ass.”
“But how does a Marine…?”
“Girlfriend received her degree in broadcast journalism from USC and did remotes for KTSS-TV for two years before she enlisted. Now, about that schedule of yours.”
What my new schedule boiled down to was this: From now on, I’d work Monday through noon Saturday, skipping Sundays. When I said that I preferred Monday as my day of rest, Zorah turned me down flat.
“Sunday is our busiest day, and I want you home resting. Your Mondays will be devoted to all the PR stuff. Tuesdays, you’ll continue the segments on
Good Morning, San Sebastian
, and once you’re back from the station, you’ll revert to your old schedule for the rest of the week. Except for the koalas. Now that Bill’s out of the pokey, your services down there are no longer required.”
As happy as I felt for Bill, I was sad, too, because cuddling Wanchu had turned out to be one of the bright spots of my day. But you can’t have everything, can you? With a sigh, I left Zorah’s office and headed down the hill to congratulate Outback Bill on his release
For a just-freed man, he was in a grumpy mood.
“Wanchu looks ragged,” he grunted, holding her to his broad chest. “What you been doing to my girl, ya silly sheila? Dragging ’er around to the telly, I hear.”
The moan of a didgeridoo floated through the surrounding eucalyptus trees. In the next enclosure, I could hear the wallabies sounding off. Were they mimicking their keeper?
“Nice to see you, too, Bill.”
He grunted again—yes, he sounded just like the wallabies—but when Wanchu nuzzled him, it chased away his frown. “And what’s this about another murder down at the ’arbor?”
My explanation brought his frown back. “Crikey. Gunn Landing’s gettin’ too rough for this old Aussie. Soon’s everything’s cleared up and I get me passport back, I’m scarpering off to Sydney. You Yanks got no sense, killin’ folks all the time when you could be settlin’ yer differences with a good bar fight.”
If Bill left, Robin would be heartbroken. Did he know how deeply she felt about him? Resisting the urge to play Cupid—Caro had shown me how irritating that game could be—I simply invited him to Caro’s party as a way of celebrating his release from jail.
At first, he didn’t sound interested. “I’m not one for them fancy American cocktails.”
“There’ll be all the free beer and hard liquor you can drink. You can bring a date, too.” Being with Bill again might soothe Robin’s temper.
He reconsidered. “Then mebbe I’ll stop by. Like you said, to celebrate.”
Just the thought of Outback Bill hefting a few brews under Caro’s prim roof made me smile, so I gave him directions to Caro’s house, then I started on my afternoon rounds. Although Zorah had told me Robin was already taking care of Lucy, I headed for the giant anteater enclosure anyway. No day was complete without a visit to my sweet girl and Baby Boy Anteater, now known as Little Ricky.
As luck would have it, Robin was sweeping up the enclosure while Lucy and Little Ricky watched through the holding pen gate. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but I would have sworn that Lucy looked happy to see me. Robin wasn’t.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” she sniped. “Miss Goody Two Shoes finished with her road trip?”
“Bill’s back,” I said, hoping that the mere mention of his name would get her mind off me.
It didn’t. “No thanks to you.”
“Have you talked to him lately?” He might not have had a chance to call her about the party.
“None of your business.” But her red eyes gave her away. Bill had talked to her, all right, and she hadn’t liked what she’d heard. So much for my attempt at calming troubled waters. I couldn’t blame her rudeness. As a woman who sometimes has love troubles of her own, I experienced a surge of sympathy.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. Anyway, Zorah rearranged my schedule, so starting tomorrow, I’ll resume full care of Lucy. In the meantime, I hope to see you at my party tonight. Lots of people from the zoo will show. Buster, Lex…”
“Hmph.”
“Bill will be there, too.”
“Tell me why I should care.” With that, she resumed sweeping up giant anteater feces.
You know what they say: time flies when you’re having fun, so the rest of the day sped by. By seven-thirty, I was back at Caro’s, primped to the nines and acting as greeter at her “little” do. More than twenty Old Town aristocrats had already arrived. If there’s anything the rich love more than tax loopholes, it’s free booze. Among them were George Baffin, the former action star-turned-Old Town mayor, in attendance with his second, thirty-years-younger wife; Magda L’Entrado, the former soap star and Baffin’s wife no. 1, shooting eye-daggers at her replacement; and U.S. Senator Harrison Hedley Grainger, who—as rumor had it—was on the verge of resignation following an unseemly public bathroom incident at an airport in Atlanta. Rumor also had it that the “complicated” domestic, which had interrupted my zoo date with Joe and his kids, resulted from the senator’s confession to his wife.
All in all, it was a typical Old Town party.
Stomach growling because I hadn’t eaten yet, I stood next to the rent-a-butler, murmuring welcomes as servers rushed about refilling champagne glasses and topping off the harder stuff for those so inclined. Me, I was drinking organic orange juice from a champagne glass, hoping the pulp would help fill the pit in my stomach until I could make a dash for the food table.
One of the first to arrive was a relatively sober Mrs. Gwendolyn Wexford-Smythe. “Theodora, you look like a tart,” she said, eyeing the scarlet Valentino dress Caro had insisted I wear.
“Why thank you, ma’am. That’s what Mother was aiming for, so it’s nice to know she hit the bull’s eye.”
The corner of her mouth lifted in a sneer. “With that low cut Valentino
she’s
wearing, she doesn’t look very ladylike herself. Then again, she never does, does she?” Before I could reply, she bypassed the food table and headed straight for the open bar.
The air was redolent with the scents of Glenlivet, smoked salmon, and outrageously expensive perfume. To add to the evening’s smarmy ambience, the string quartet from San Sebastian Community College was playing Andrew Lloyd Webber show tunes intermixed with Strauss and Debussy. Given the political beliefs of the crowd, I thought a few John Phillips Souza marches might be more appropriate, but Caro had demanded a romantic play list.
Just before eight, Aster Edwina Gunn herself arrived, looking eager. She’d never found a week satisfying until she and Caro had traded barbs. “Caroline is up to her old tricks again, I see,” she sniffed at me. “That dress of yours is decidedly whorish.”
“I’ll tell her you said so.”
“Don’t bother, Theodora. I’ll tell her myself.” Off she went.
By eight-fifteen, the party took on some life, at least as far as I was concerned. Arriving en masse was the first wave of my own invites: Zorah Vega, looking managerial; Buster Daltry, smelling faintly of rhino; Jack Spence, wearing a Pooh Bear tie; Robin Chase, looking surly; and Lex Yarnell, who immediately began scanning the crowd for unchaperoned women. All were dressed in their slickest civvies. Give or take a scattering of scratches and bite marks, they looked as respectable as the Old Town residents.
Right behind them, but arriving separately, was Outback Bill, in his zoo uniform. No problem there, since it was relatively clean, but I was appalled to see him hand-in-hand with beautiful Myra Sebrowski. Did the man have no sense at all? As the couple approached the bar, Robin, hovering over the hors d’oeures table, pretended not to see them.
Hard on the zoo staff’s heels came my favorite harbor residents: Linda Cushing, doing her best to hide her grief over Heck; firefighter Walt MacAdams, serving as her escort; Larry DuFries, less blustery than usual; and Harbormaster MaryBeth O’Reilly. Bringing up the rear were Doris and Sam Grimaldi, the hosts for tomorrow’s Bowling for Rhinos.
As I waved the mob toward the bar, Caro hurried over, bristling with outrage. “Who are all those people and what are they doing at my party?” she hissed.
I hissed back, “It’s
our
party, so I used the occasion to invite a few guests of my own. Joe might show up, too. If you want me to play nice with Ford, whom I notice isn’t even here yet, you’ll play nice with my friends.”
“This will cost me a small fortune! Don’t you realize that the recession has…” The outrage on her face suddenly transformed into bliss, and I didn’t need to turn around to know who had just entered the room.
The guest of honor, Ford Bronson. Caro’s prospective son-in-law.
Since I liked the man despite her fixation on him, I bid him a warm welcome. “Look how popular you are,” I said, gesturing at the crowded living room.
“Hmmm. If they’re here to see me, why are they swarming the bar?”
I glanced at my nonexistent watch. “Because it’s eight-thirsty. Here, let’s get you a drink, then I’ll introduce you to my friends. Every one of them would make great fodder for a television interview.”
“Are you talking about the zookeepers or the townies?”
Caro broke in, “She means our wonderful Old Town residents, of course. Don’t you, Theodora?”
“No, I don’t. At some time in the future, we’re going to run out of exotic animals to feature on
Good Morning, San Sebastian,
so what better way to fill the gap than with their keepers? For starters, Buster Daltry, the guy with the Heineken, he starts the day by sanding the rhinos’ horns. And those horns, by the way, are made from…”
“A hairlike substance,” he finished. “I do watch your segment, Teddy.”
As he smiled at me, white teeth gleaming, graying hair as sleek as a seal’s coat, Caro looked so delighted I was afraid she’d pee herself. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone now and see to my other guests,” she said, then tottered off on her five-inch Gallianos.
“Your mother is a force of nature,” Bronson said, hooking his arm around mine as we walked toward the bar.
“That’s one way of putting it.”
He smiled down at me—did I mention he was six-foot-two? “You don’t approve of her.”
“Let’s just say we tend to disagree when discussing what I should do with my life. She wants me to marry and settle down, but I’m content to work at the zoo.”
“And live on a houseboat.”
Oh, dear. He had been checking up on me. “The
Merilee
’s not a true houseboat. She’s a converted CHB trawler.”
“I have a boat, too.”
At that, I had to laugh. “You call that enormous Okell yacht down at the harbor a
boat
? What is it, a hundred feet long? It’s bigger than some people’s homes! How in the world do you steer that thing?”
“It’s less than eighty feet, actually, and I seldom ‘steer’ it, because the crew takes care of that. Didn’t your mother tell you? My, my, she must be slipping.” He grinned to take the sting out of his comment.
I was beginning to smell a rat. “How much do you know about my mother?”
He began to count off on his fingers. “Born a Piper, crowned Miss San Sebastian, married several times—the first to your rascal of a father, whom I suspect she continues to love—and despite the Feds that are always breathing down her neck, she appears to have unlimited cash reserves. Off-shore accounts, perhaps? What I find most fascinating about your mother is how determined she is to snag a rich man for her daughter, who just happens to be dating the county sheriff.” He leaned closer and leered comically, wagging his eyebrows up and down like a melodrama villain. “I love your red dress, by the way. Your mother has good taste.”
Despite my shock, I had to laugh. “Did you hire a private detective to check us out?”
“Unnecessary. Besides owning several television stations, I own newspapers, too, and it’s truly amazing some of the things they print. Beauty contest results. Marriage announcements. Crime reports. All digitized, on line, and accessible to anyone’s prying eyes.”
Had he subjected Isabel Van Stoeller to the same sort of scrutiny? Not that it mattered anymore, since Izzy had run off with her polo player. “I can’t keep any secrets from you, then, can I?”
“You don’t need to. I already find you delightful.”
The crowd at the bar parted as we approached, and after we’d been handed flutes of champagne, I led him toward the hors d’oeuvres. During all that time, he kept commenting on my various charms. My hair, my eyes, my freckles, my well-developed biceps.
“From hauling around hay at the zoo,” I explained.
“They’re still nice,” he said, helping himself to some caper-sprinkled smoked salmon.
As much as I loved Joe, it was a pleasure having such a handsome man take an interest in me. Bronson was a self-made man who had worked hard for his money, not a layabout lout like Jason Jackman McIlhenny Forbes IV. Then, as if the mere thought of Joe had made him materialize, I saw him heading straight for me, dressed in a dark suit I’d never seen before. The room fell silent. Everyone there knew the reason for the party, and the fact that the sheriff had taken such trouble with his wardrobe meant that they might—just might—be treated to a jealous outburst. Or even better, that Outback Bill might take a poke at the man who’d jailed him.
“Hi, Joe,” I said.
“Good evening, Teddy. You’re looking, ah, interesting tonight. Good evening to you, too, Mr. Bronson.”
“Call me Ford. All my friends do.” A smile.
“So, Mr. Bronson, how are you finding the party?” No smile.
“Everything’s delicious.”
Somehow I didn’t think Bronson was talking about the smoked salmon. Deciding that I didn’t want to be in the middle of a brawl, I grabbed Joe by the arm and led him into a quiet corner far away from either Bronson or Bill. “Do you have to act so bullish?”