The Penguin Who Knew Too Much by Donna Andrews Page B

for that,” Dad said.
    “I’m also shirking Dr. Blake's animal-care detail,” Rob said. “He said something about worming the hyenas this morning.”
    “The hyenas?” Dad said. “Are you sure?”
    “That's what he said.” Rob shrugged.
    “I can’t imagine why he thinks that's needed,” Dad said. “You’re sure that's what he said?” “Maybe it was a joke,” I suggested.
    “Sounded serious to me,” Rob said. “Maybe I’m mixed up about what he's doing, but it was something to do with the hyenas, at any rate. That's why I’m out here. I want nothing to do with the damned hyenas.”
    “I haven’t seen any sign of worms,” Dad muttered.
    “Maybe he's done tests,” I said. “Can’t you tell from their dung?”
    “Fat chance getting any dung,” Rob said. “With that silly woman from the garden store cleaning up after the animals every five minutes.”
    “I think he's overreacting,” Dad said. “The poor things are unsettled. They’re in a new, unfamiliar environment. They’re not getting as much exercise as they need in that temporary cage.”
    “And they’re short of sleep, as anyone staying at our house last night could tell you,” I put in.
    “I know those hyenas a great deal better than he does, and I don’t think there's anything wrong with them that a return to a suitable environment wouldn’t cure,” Dad said. “Blake should be out working on that, not underfoot upsetting the animals with unnecessary medical procedures.”
    “Well, what are his qualifications, anyway?” I asked. “Is he a vet?”
    “He's a world-famous zoologist,” Dad said.
    “Are we really sure?” I asked, as a sudden thought hit me. “Do you know where he got his degree from? I mean, is he really a trained zoologist, or does he just play one on TV?”
    “Oh, dear,” Dad said. “You know, I’ve never checked on that. What if he's like those radio psychologists? You know, the ones who give advice even though they aren’t really therapists.”
    “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll look him up.”
    “Google him,” Rob said with a shrug.
    “I would have already,” I said. “But we packed our computers up a few days ago, and Kevin won’t be here to set them up again until tomorrow. But I’ll stop by the library sometime today and do it.”
    “It's easy to see who the real sleuth is,” Dad said, beaming at me. “It never occurred to me that he might not be the real thing. And this could explain the murder—what if Patrick found out that Blake was a phony!”
    “And Blake killed him to cover up—that's possible,” I said. “But let's not jump to conclusions. We don’t yet know that he's a phony.”
    “We don’t know he isn’t,” Dad said.
    “I think we’d know if he was,” I said. “Remember, he's a human gadfly, always on TV denouncing some corporation for its rotten environmental record.”
    “I happen to agree with him on most of those issues.” Dad looked stern.
    “So do I, but not everyone does,” I said. “And as famous as he is, don’t you think someone would have outed him if he was a phony? But I want to see just what his background is.”
    Including whether he’d ever been suspected of knocking off anyone for cruelty to animals.
    “Meanwhile, there's something else I need to do,” I went on. “We can’t just sit around waiting for Blake to rescue the zoo.”
    “Especially if he turns out to be a fraud,” Dad muttered. Blake must really have gotten to him.
    “So,” I said. “You’re pretty familiar with the Caerphilly Zoo, right? What kind of animals they have and all that?”
    “Oh, yes,” he said. “Very familiar. I’m over there all the time.”
    “Great,” I said, pulling out my notebook-that-tells-me-when-to-breathe. “Let's make a list.”
    “A list? Why?”
    “So we’ll know what to expect over the next few days, if we can’t get the fate of the zoo straightened out. What animals people are going to try to dump on us. And how