in money, but unlike many of my friends, I was no trust-fund baby. I hadn’t emerged from my divorce with much, either. People tended to forget that when Michael and I married, he and I were both college freshmen. His parents—who believed that their son should made his own way—had never helped us out, so for most of our ten years together, we’d struggled to make ends meet. The Bentley name notwithstanding, if it weren’t for the Merilee , I’d probably wind up sharing government-subsidy housing with the other zookeepers. Or worse, living with my mother.
“Believe me, I’d loan Zorah the money if I had it. But I don’t.” I couldn’t let them, or the Feds, know about that Grand Cayman account, the one I’d sworn never to touch.
Jack Spence, taking a break from the bears said, “You could borrow against your inheritance.”
It was all I could do to keep from slapping my knee and laughing. Thanks to my mother’s greatly improved financial status, I might come into money one day— if she didn’t fall prey to some European gigolo. At present, though, I couldn’t see myself asking her for Zorah’s bail money on the strength of any possible inheritance and told Jack so in the strongest of terms. I also reminded him that she loathed the idea of me working at the zoo and would turn me down flat.
“You could use your boat as collateral.” This from Miranda DiBartolo, who lived in a two-bedroom apartment with three other keepers. They commuted to work in an old Volkswagen van that broke down on a regular basis.
Miranda may have given me a solution to my conundrum. There was no way the creaky Merilee could serve as collateral for the kind of money I’d need to front bail but I doubted the other keepers realized that. “Oh, my gosh, you’re right! Why didn’t I think of that earlier?”
A collective sigh around the room.
I made some quick calculations. “Let’s see. Zorah’s arraignment is on Monday, and after I find out what the bail’s going to be, I’ll make a few calls and see if I can scare up a loan. Yes, you’re absolutely right. The Merilee ’s the answer.”
Before anyone could see through my lie, I hurried away.
When I arrived at Tropics Trail, I found the anteater sulking in the holding pen. For such a solitary animal, she seemed to miss her admiring crowds.
“Lucy lonely? Or is her tummy upset?”
She swung her long nose toward me, walked slowly over to the chain link fence that separated us and emitted a plaintive rumble, which I took as a yes. Giant anteaters have a six-month gestation period and since we’d inseminated her in late November, sperm courtesy of a studly anteater at the Phoenix Zoo, she was due any day. Given her bad temper, I worried that the smaller living quarters might have a negative impact on her mental health, and quite possibly, her physical health as well.
To comfort her, I peeled a banana, mashed it in my hand, and edged up to the fence. That blue tongue snaked out of her long snout and she began to lap up the mush.
“Yes, banana is goood , Lucy loooves banana. I wish Lucy could talk because then she’d tell me what happened the other night. She’d tell me why Grayson died in her enclosure. And who shot him.”
Animals know how to listen, and they’re cheaper than a psychiatrist. I’ve heard Zorah confide her worries about her nephew to a frilled lizard, and I once heard Miranda tell a koala how worried she was about an upcoming mammogram. Male keepers tended to confine their soliloquies to cars. Jack Spence was always bragging to Samson and Delilah, the black bears, about the restoration work he was doing on his ‘76 Chevy Malibu. Samson, being male, appeared the most interested.
So I didn’t feel at all foolish about discussing Grayson’s murder with an anteater. “Was there some kind of fight, Lucy? Did he fall into your enclosure after he was shot, or did he jump in, trying to keep from getting shot? Probably the former, since he was so
“Believe me, I’d loan Zorah the money if I had it. But I don’t.” I couldn’t let them, or the Feds, know about that Grand Cayman account, the one I’d sworn never to touch.
Jack Spence, taking a break from the bears said, “You could borrow against your inheritance.”
It was all I could do to keep from slapping my knee and laughing. Thanks to my mother’s greatly improved financial status, I might come into money one day— if she didn’t fall prey to some European gigolo. At present, though, I couldn’t see myself asking her for Zorah’s bail money on the strength of any possible inheritance and told Jack so in the strongest of terms. I also reminded him that she loathed the idea of me working at the zoo and would turn me down flat.
“You could use your boat as collateral.” This from Miranda DiBartolo, who lived in a two-bedroom apartment with three other keepers. They commuted to work in an old Volkswagen van that broke down on a regular basis.
Miranda may have given me a solution to my conundrum. There was no way the creaky Merilee could serve as collateral for the kind of money I’d need to front bail but I doubted the other keepers realized that. “Oh, my gosh, you’re right! Why didn’t I think of that earlier?”
A collective sigh around the room.
I made some quick calculations. “Let’s see. Zorah’s arraignment is on Monday, and after I find out what the bail’s going to be, I’ll make a few calls and see if I can scare up a loan. Yes, you’re absolutely right. The Merilee ’s the answer.”
Before anyone could see through my lie, I hurried away.
When I arrived at Tropics Trail, I found the anteater sulking in the holding pen. For such a solitary animal, she seemed to miss her admiring crowds.
“Lucy lonely? Or is her tummy upset?”
She swung her long nose toward me, walked slowly over to the chain link fence that separated us and emitted a plaintive rumble, which I took as a yes. Giant anteaters have a six-month gestation period and since we’d inseminated her in late November, sperm courtesy of a studly anteater at the Phoenix Zoo, she was due any day. Given her bad temper, I worried that the smaller living quarters might have a negative impact on her mental health, and quite possibly, her physical health as well.
To comfort her, I peeled a banana, mashed it in my hand, and edged up to the fence. That blue tongue snaked out of her long snout and she began to lap up the mush.
“Yes, banana is goood , Lucy loooves banana. I wish Lucy could talk because then she’d tell me what happened the other night. She’d tell me why Grayson died in her enclosure. And who shot him.”
Animals know how to listen, and they’re cheaper than a psychiatrist. I’ve heard Zorah confide her worries about her nephew to a frilled lizard, and I once heard Miranda tell a koala how worried she was about an upcoming mammogram. Male keepers tended to confine their soliloquies to cars. Jack Spence was always bragging to Samson and Delilah, the black bears, about the restoration work he was doing on his ‘76 Chevy Malibu. Samson, being male, appeared the most interested.
So I didn’t feel at all foolish about discussing Grayson’s murder with an anteater. “Was there some kind of fight, Lucy? Did he fall into your enclosure after he was shot, or did he jump in, trying to keep from getting shot? Probably the former, since he was so
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