Poached (23 page)

“Well, if it isn't the Fitzroys!” he crowed. “Three of my favorite members of the FunJungle family!” He came out from behind the desk to greet us, shaking Dad's hand and mine and giving Mom a peck on the cheek (which he had to stand on tiptoe to do). “I really appreciate y'all coming down here this morning. I know you've got things to do and places to be.”

“Like school,” Mom said pointedly, nodding toward me.

J.J.'s smile faltered, but only for a second. He wasn't used to people talking to him the way Mom did, but he always seemed to appreciate her cutting to the chase. “You're right,” he admitted, then spoke directly to me. “It was probably bad form, demanding to meet you right now, when you're supposed to be studying. But the fact is, I wanted to talk to you face-to-face, ASAP. This was the first opportunity I had. I just flew in from Berlin this morning.” He gave me a grin.
“Don't you worry, though, Teddy. If that school gives you any trouble about truancy, just tell Principal Dillnut to call my office. I'll set him straight.”

I grinned back. J.J. McCracken was the most revered person in all of Central Texas. It was kind of like having the president of the United States offer to write me a note excusing me from class. “You really mean that?”

“I never say anything I don't mean,” J.J. told me. “How is old Lyndon B. Johnson Middle School anyhow?”

“Honestly?” I asked. “Lousy.”

J.J. chuckled. “I hear you. It wasn't too much fun for me, either. I had this one teacher, Mrs. Orton, who made my life downright miserable.”

“I have Mrs. Orton now,” I said.

J.J. took a step back in surprise. “She's still alive? Jumping jackalopes! She was ancient when she taught
me
—and I'm no spring chicken. The old bat must be two hundred years old by now! She giving you any trouble?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Mrs. Orton doesn't always seem that fair when it comes to grading Teddy's papers,” Dad offered.

“I wouldn't put too much stock in what Mrs. Orton thinks,” J.J. said. “She always told me I wouldn't amount to much.” He waved to his office. “I think we can agree she missed the mark on that one.”

J.J. might have happily rambled on about his old teachers all day, but Mom cut him off. “I'm sure you didn't call us in just to talk about old times, J.J.?”

“Right as usual, Charlene.” J.J. waved us to a couch, then sat in a large, overstuffed armchair. “I wanted to talk to you about something far more terrible than middle school—which is saying something. Teddy, I know you've been nosing around in this whole Kazoo business.”

I looked toward my shoes. Either Summer had spilled the beans about me, or she'd been right and J.J. had seen through her story. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. . . .”

J.J. laughed. “Hold on there, kiddo. I'm not planning to tan your hide for this. In fact, I want to thank you.”

I lifted my head, surprised. On either side of me, Mom and Dad seemed equally caught off guard.

“You do?” Mom asked, before I could.

“Sure,” J.J. said. “Now, I know there's been some trouble, but I doubt that Teddy's entirely to blame for that. Your son shows gumption, Charlene, and I respect that. In fact, sometimes I wish my security staff here behaved a bit more like him.”

I glanced at my parents, unsure what to make of this. I'd heard J.J. was upset with my snooping—but now he seemed pleased with it. “So . . . you don't think I stole Kazoo?” I asked the billionaire.

J.J. hesitated for a little too long before answering, like
he was choosing his words very carefully. “I'll admit, there was a moment or two when I had my suspicions. Not that I thought you were up to anything criminal, Teddy . . . but you do have a reputation for pranks around here, and I thought perhaps this might have been one that had gone a little too far.”

“Now hold on there . . . ,” Dad began, but J.J. held up his hands to signal he wasn't finished.

“All I'm saying is that I considered the possibility,” he explained. “And you have to admit, the evidence was stacked pretty high against your son.”

Dad backed down. “I suppose.”

“Well, that's probably all moot now anyhow,” J.J. said. “In light of what Teddy turned up with his snooping last night.”

Mom and Dad looked to me curiously, then back to J.J. “Is this about Astros Cap?” Mom asked.

“In part,” J.J. replied. “Though the big piece of evidence Teddy got was that license plate number. Once Summer sent it to me, I passed it on to my security division.”

“You mean Marge?” I asked.

J.J. laughed again. “No, I mean the security division for my entire corporation. I often have to deal with issues quite a bit more serious than what normally takes place here: things like embezzlement, fraud, and corporate espionage. That
division is staffed mostly by former FBI agents and the like who still have plenty of connections in law enforcement, so it wasn't too hard to trace the plate. Seems the car was rented by an employee of the Heisenbok Company.”

“I've never heard of that,” Mom said.

“No,” J.J. told her. “You wouldn't have. Because the company's just a front. It doesn't make a thing. Its only purpose is to hide the identity of its owner, but once again, my people know how to get through to the bottom of corporate shenanigans like this. The point being, Heisenbok is actually owned by the Nautilus Corporation, which is owned by none other than Walter Ogilvy.”

Mom and Dad both reacted with surprise. Obviously, they knew who Walter Ogilvy was. I'd never heard the name, though. “Who's that?” I asked.

“Another billionaire capitalist,” Dad said. “Sort of like J.J. here.”

“Walter Ogilvy is nothing like me!” J.J. spoke so sharply he even seemed to take himself by surprise. He hopped to his feet and paced around his office. “The man is an unethical, greedy bottom-feeder whose only talent is leeching off other companies. He's no better than a common thief. In fact, he's worse. When a thief gets caught stealing, he goes to jail. When Ogilvy gets caught, he just bribes his way out of trouble and gets away with a wrist slap.”

Mom leaned over and whispered in my ear. “As you can see, there's some bad blood between J.J. and Walter.”

“That weasel has stolen dozens of ideas from me over the years,” J.J. was saying. “And then he had the unmitigated gall to accuse
me
of stealing the idea for FunJungle from him! That man's less trustworthy than a raccoon in a henhouse—”

Dad interrupted. “J.J., I think Teddy needs a little more background to understand what's going on here.”

J.J. paused in mid-rant and swung back toward us, as though he'd forgotten we were there. “Good point,” he said, and then focused on me. “Even though it is extremely well documented that the idea for this park was generated by none other than my own daughter several years ago, Walter Ogilvy has repeatedly claimed that it was actually
his
idea. In reality, he was just jealous of the concept and tried to steal it for himself. He made multiple attempts to block the construction of FunJungle while racing to build his own animal-based theme park in New Mexico. ZooTopia, he called it. He filed injunctions, dragged me to court, and cost me an arm and a leg in legal fees—and when that didn't work, he played dirty, making several attempts at sabotage—”

“I heard that was never proven,” Mom said.

“Of course it wasn't,” J.J. groused. “Ogilvy's more slippery than a moray eel. The man's never had an original thought in his life, but he knows how to cover his tracks. I
assure you, though, there was definite sabotage of this park during construction—and I know Ogilvy was behind it.”

“Like what?” I asked.

“World of Reptiles mysteriously caught fire,” J.J. told me. “There was an explosion at Hippo River. Someone ripped out all the wiring of two dozen bulldozers. Penny-ante stuff, really. But it all cost time and energy—and it put the lives of innocent workers in jeopardy. And the worst thing is, there wasn't a point to any of it. Ogilvy knew I was going to finish FunJungle no matter what. He knew his own park wouldn't ever be finished before mine. He was just being a sore loser, like the kid who sticks tacks in your bike tires because you're dating the girl he has a crush on.”

“Is ZooTopia still being built?” I asked.

For the first time since the subject of Ogilvy had come up, J.J. smiled. “No, Teddy. It's not. Ogilvy bought a lot of land and started clearing it, but once FunJungle opened and grabbed all the press, Ogilvy's backers realized they'd never be able to rival us. So the project got canned, leaving the Nautilus Corporation on the hook for all the cash they'd laid out. The whole incident left Ogilvy looking like a fool, and yet he still hasn't backed down. He's continued to file suits against me, looking for a cut of FunJungle's profits. And I've suspected all along that he's not done with his dirty tricks. Teddy, do you recall that in the midst of the whole Henry
the Hippo investigation, I'd suggested there might be some corporate interests behind Henry's death?”

“Yes,” I said. I remembered the conversation quite well. It was the first time I'd ever met J.J. McCracken.

“Well, Walter Ogilvy was one of the folks I had in mind,” J.J. told me. “In fact, he was my primary suspect—until the truth came out. Now, Ogilvy might not have murdered Henry, but it seems he's still determined to cause trouble here.”

“You think
he
swiped Kazoo?” Mom asked.

“I think it's darned likely.” J.J. circled back behind his desk. “The only way Ogilvy will ever get ZooTopia off the ground is to drive FunJungle out of business. Now, I won't kid you: We're having a tough go of things right now. We're far below where our numbers ought to be in terms of ticket sales. That Henry business didn't help this summer—and the nasty weather this winter has been a real kick in the knees. Kazoo was proving to be our salvation—not just in tickets, but in merchandising as well—and suddenly he goes missing. Look at what that accomplishes: It takes away a major revenue stream
and
it makes FunJungle look bad. Coming on the heels of Henry's death, we look like a bunch of knuckleheads over here. And it's not like we can get a replacement koala. The Australian government is pitching a fit over this and threatening to sue me for gross negligence. Ogilvy couldn't have picked a better way to hurt us.”

A frightening thought occurred to me. “Does this mean you're going to build those roller coasters through the animal exhibits after all?”

J.J. looked offended that I'd even posed the question. “I promised Summer I wouldn't. She convinced me that was a mistake. I'm not about to go back on a deal with my daughter.”

I glanced at my mother, unsure if I should believe this. She nodded, signaling she thought J.J. was telling the truth. “Okay,” I said.

J.J. unlocked a desk drawer, pulled out some eight-by-ten photographs, and slid them across the desk. “Teddy, is this the fellow you saw snooping around yesterday?”

I stood up and grabbed the photos. They were all somewhat grainy, as if they had been taken by a surveillance camera from a long distance away. Astros Cap was in each one of them. He was always wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap. “That's him,” I said.

J.J. nodded knowingly. “And can you tell me exactly where you saw him?”

“First, he was talking to Freddie Malloy in KoalaVille,” I reported. “And then he went into Shark Odyssey. Not the main entrance, but the employee area. He knew the code to get through the door.”

“Malloy must've given him the entry code,” J.J.
muttered. “That nut job's still friendly with the shark keepers. He could've convinced one of them to give him the day's code and then passed it on.”

Mom tapped one of the grainy photos of Astros Cap. “Who is he?”

“His name's Hank Duntz,” J.J. replied. “Though in certain circles he's known as Hank the Tank. He's an employee of the Nautilus Corporation. Officially, he's the vice president of internal development. In truth he's in charge of doing Ogilvy's dirty work.”

“You've had your eye on this guy for a while,” Dad said.

J.J. looked at him curiously. “Why do you say that?”

Dad fanned out the photos. “These have been taken over at least a year. Probably more. The seasons change. Duntz goes from wearing winter clothes to summer ones. His hair changes length. He even seems to have gained about thirty pounds over the course of them.”

J.J. was impressed. “I should have known a professional photographer would pick up on that. Yes, I've had people keeping tabs on Duntz for a while. We've found him in the vicinity of trouble several times—he was lurking around here just before the fire at World of Reptiles—but we've never been able to link him to anything. And now here he is again.”

“Do you know where to find him?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” J.J. replied. “Most likely he's staying in a hotel under an assumed name.”

“What about Freddie Malloy?” Mom asked. “He must know something.”

“I'm sure he does,” J.J. said. “Only, as of this morning, we don't know where Freddie is either. He called in sick today, but when I sent some of my people out to his house, he wasn't there. He flew the coop.”

“Do you think he knows you're onto him?” Dad asked.

“It's the only thing that makes sense,” J.J. replied. “I'm not sure how that happened. Maybe he and Duntz spotted Teddy here while he was snooping on them. . . .”

“Sorry,” I said. “I tried my best.”

“No need to apologize,” J.J. told me. “There's a ton of other reasons Freddie might have gotten wind we were onto him—and the fact is, we
wouldn't
have gotten wind if it wasn't for you. If anything, Freddie's disappearance now confirms that he and Duntz both had a hand in this Kazoo business. Rest assured, we'll find them, though. I've got some of my top men on the case.”