The next morning one of my liveaboard neightbors gave me a lift to Monterey, and I picked up my Nissan. Then, taking Aster Edwina’s threat seriously, I worked my usual shift at the Gunn Zoo. In between frantic calls to Caro’s attorney on the cellphone I’d finally recharged, I fed tigers, shoveled anteater poop, and estimated how far along in her pregnancy Wanchu the koala might be. I wasn’t only covering for one zookeeper, but two. Jack Spence, the bear keeper, was in Africa with Robin Chase, the big cats keeper, and rumor had it that romance was in the air.
Romance was in the air at the zoo, too, springtime being breeding time for thousands of species. Take the Galapagos tortoises, for instance. Big Tim was busy knocking up Big Lil, and the noise they made while mating horrified some prim zoo visitors.
“Make them stop!” begged a Rotarian-type male as I trundled by with a wheelbarrow full of anteater dung. The man looked like he was about to have a heart attack. “They’re upsetting my children.”
Oh, no, they weren’t. The man’s three kids, ranging in ages from around five to ten, were loving the triple-X display.
The Devil in me was tempted to send Shy Dad over to the Argentine duck enclosure, where the sixteen-inch-long male, in accordance with his species, had been busy all morning lassoing various females with his seventeen-inch-long, retractable penis.
But the Angel in me overcame my naughty side, and I merely answered, “Sir, it would be very difficult to stop an eight-hundred-pound tortoise from doing anything it wants, but even if I could, that would mean we wouldn’t get any cute little Galapagos babies, would we?”
The wheelbarrow and I moved on.
The blue-footed boobies were at it, too, but theirs was a more restrained ritual. While emitting high whistles, the male marched around in a small circle, lifting his big blue feet up in the air as high as they would go while the female judged the angle of the lift. Unimpressed, she waddled away.
“Hang in there, big fella,” I called. “Women have been known to change their minds.”
As if he understood, the male waddled after her, still lifting his feet with the energy of a drum major on crack.
A few feet away from the boobies’ enclosure, I stopped in the shade of a looming eucalyptus tree, pulled out my finally recharged cell, and called Albert Grissom again. When the attorney picked up, he sounded testy.
“No, Teddy, the hearing hasn’t started yet, and haven’t I told you a dozen times I’ll call you as soon as it’s over? You do realize, don’t you, that I’ll have to turn my cell off the minute I get into that courtroom?” Impatience roughed his pleasant tenor.
After I apologized, his voice softened and he added, “Between you and me and the lamppost, I’m hoping your mother keeps her mouth shut during the hearing. When I met with her this morning, she didn’t come across as the most reasonable person. If you don’t mind my asking, what is a color palette?”
I groaned. “Try to keep her quiet, that’s all I’m asking. As for color palettes, it has something to do with a pink mani/pedi clashing with orange.”
“As in jail jumpsuits?”
“Exactly.”
He chortled. “She is beautifully groomed.” The roughness had disappeared from his voice.
“You wouldn’t happen to be single, would you, Mr. Grissom?”
“My divorce was final last month. Why?”
“If your annual income is in the seven-digit range or higher, I’d advise you to give my mother a wide berth after today’s court proceedings.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
We rang off and I resumed my duties.
I’ve always seen the Gunn Zoo as the one perfect place in a naughty world. The three-hundred-acre private zoo—founded by Aster Edwina’s father—is home to more than fifteen hundred species, ranging from anteaters to zebras, all exhibited in large enclosures that mimic their natural habitats. Among the zoo’s collections are endangered animals such as snow leopards, Asian rhinos, red pandas, Bengal tigers, Andean bears, wooly leumurs, and cheetahs. At the back of the zoo, but not open to the public, is the one-hundred acre elephant sanctuary, where both African and Asian elephants roam free.
Working here is a privilege. No matter how irritating Aster Edwina can be, not one of her zookeepers would work anywhere else. Not only is the zoo large, but it is one of the most beautiful in Central California. More than three miles of walking trails weave in and out of eucalyptus forests, sun-dappled hills, and lush, bird-songed valleys. Every day here is a day spent in Eden.
But even in Eden there are chores.
And trouble.
After spending the next hour feeding, sweeping, and changing bedding in various enclosures, my mother’s attorney still hadn’t called back. To calm my nerves, I wandered over to Friendly Farm. Alejandro was on exhibit in the barnyard, surrounded by chickens, pygmy goats, and children. He looked happy. Not wanting to disturb him by my adult presence, I began to back away, but he caught sight of me.
“Maaa-yah!” he called, his head going up, ears pricked. Careful not to step on tiny toes, he moved forward until he was within spitting distance.
“Alejandro, please don’t…”
He didn’t. Instead, he nuzzled my neck. “Maaa, maaa.”
“I love you too, Alejandro,” I whispered. “We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”
“Maaa.”
“I’m worried about Caro, you know.”
“Maaa?”
“She’s wily, but not always smart.”
“Maaa.” He nuzzled my neck again, offering comfort in that special way llamas can.
By this time, the children in the Friendly Farm enclosure had realized a species-to-species conversation was going on, so they came over to take part, trailed by two pygmy goats and a chicken.
“Does she know what you’re saying?” asked a little boy of around four.
“He’s a he, and his name’s Alejandro. He probably doesn’t understand my exact words, but llamas are very good at sensing our feelings. That’s why people like them so much.”
“Does he bite?”
“Never. Especially not children.”
“Alejandro looks worried,” said a slightly older girl who looked enough like the boy to be his sister.
“See what I mean about llamas sensing our feelings? I was worried about something, and he picked up on that.”
She frowned. “What are you worried about?”
Rule Number One for zookeepers: never bother the visitors with your personal problems, even if you’re bleeding profusely or your mother’s been jailed. “I’m worried it might rain.”
The children looked up at a cloudless sky. “I think you can stop worrying,” the little girl said.
I looked up. “Oh. I think you’re right. Smart girl!”
As the child congratulated herself on her superior intelligence, my cell phone chirped. Alejandro cocked his head. “Eep?”
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen and llama, but I must take this call.” With that I hurried to a more isolated place in the exhibit.
It was Albert Grissom with bad news. Bail had been denied. Not because of the murder charge—Judge Feinstein, knowing Deputy Elvin Dade personally, scoffed at the arrest—but because Caro’s subsequent behavior in the courtroom gave him no choice.
“Teddy,” Grissom moaned, “The minute Judge Feinstein ruled your mother be released, she jumped up and began a tirade about conditions at the jail. When he tried to shush her, she accused him of being the unwitting pawn of an evil empire set up to guarantee the comfort of the upper classes at the detriment of the lower. She then turned around to the other prisoners who were awaiting the deposition of their cases and urged them to free themselves from their chains and unite to overthrow the class system.”
My mouth dropped so low it was a miracle my lower lip didn’t scoop up goat droppings. “That…that doesn’t sound like Caro.”
“You should have seen the fire in her eyes!” Grissom said, admiringly. “Unfortunately, Judge Feinstein was unimpressed, especially when the gangbangers behind your mother began rattling their shackles and shouting ‘Fight the power!’” His voice took on a mournful quality. “The judge actually sentenced that magnificent woman to thirty days for incitement to riot.”
What an ass, and I don’t mean the judge. Grissom had obviously fallen under Caro’s spell, becoming more fan boy than lawyer.
“Mr. Grissom, do you have any female attorneys in your office?”
“Call me Al, Teddy. Yes, why do you ask?”
“I want a woman handling my mother’s case from now on.”
“Surely you don’t mean that.”
After thinking carefully about my answer, I said, “Look, Mr. Gri…uh, Al, you’re such a well-known attorney and all, as well as high-priced—justly, I hasten to add, considering your many achievements in California jurisprudence—but I think we need someone less expensive.” And everybody knows women work cheaper than men; I had the paycheck to prove it.
“No problem, Teddy. I’ll work pro bono.”
Poor sap. I might as well start calling him “Dad” right now, because Caro knew a sucker when she saw one. Accepting the inevitable, I said, “Well, Al, do what you can for her. Caro has a tendency to be her own worst enemy.”
“I understand. People with strong beliefs in social justice often behave that way, thus they become true martyrs.”
Somehow I refrained from laughing. The only time Caro had ever felt martyred was the time she wore a pair of five inch Fendi pumps to meet the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge at the Pebble Beach National Pro-Am.