The Penguin Who Knew Too Much (25 page)

“What do you need to study, apart from the animals, most of which are out at our place, and the physical facility, which you’ve already inspected today?”

“There's the financial situation.”

“The bank's already seized the property,” I said. I was having trouble keeping my voice light—all his reasons sounded like so many lame excuses. “I bet they’d be ecstatic if you made an offer on it.”

“We do need to find out what Patrick's heirs want.”

“Whoever they are, I bet they can’t wait to get rid of the zoo and all its inhabitants as soon as possible. Why not just tell us if you plan to save the zoo?”

I could think of more, but I stopped myself and took one of those deep breaths Rose Noire was always recommending. It helped about as little as it usually did.

Blake chuckled.

“Not very subtle, are you?” he said. “Sorry,” I said, trying to look apologetic.

“Don’t be,” he said with a guffaw. “I wouldn’t even recognize subtlety if it came up and bit me on the rear. And for your information, I already have my staff at the foundation working on a plan for bailing out the zoo. Assuming I get the chance.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Dad asked.

“I’m older than dirt,” Blake said with a snort. “I could go anytime. And do I look as if I could defend myself if the killer went after me?”

“Oh, I’m sure that's not going to happen!” Dad exclaimed.

“You never know,” I said. “Is there some reason the killer would want to?”

“Meg, of course, is trying to figure out if I’m spry enough to have done the deed myself,” Blake said. “What's the verdict on that, eh?”

“Jury's still out,” I said, smiling as if it were a joke. “You do seem remarkably active for your age.”

“I hope I’m half as active when I’m ninety!” Dad exclaimed.

“So I’m a suspect,” Blake said. “Excellent!”

He actually did seem quite pleased at the notion that I suspected him. Under other circumstances, I might have found that oddly endearing. He was brusque and a bit arrogant, but I could see coming to like him. Assuming someone else turned out to be the murderer—

Just then, Rob yawned loudly.

“It's getting late,” Dad said. “We should go.”

“Mind if I use your bathroom before I hit the road?” I asked.

“Be my guest,” Blake said. “Though most of the incriminating evidence is probably on my computer. You want me to stay out here and have a cigar while you search it?”

“Takes all the fun out of it,” I said, shaking my head. I sipped the last bit of my wine, then stood up and set the glass on a side table. “Right now, I just want to see if the bathrooms in this place are really as outrageous as I’ve heard.”

I left Blake still chuckling as I strolled inside. The bedroom was, as I suspected, neat and largely free of personal touches. The bathroom was almost as large—twice the size of my first apartment. And yes, it did have both a whirlpool tub and a small sauna. The toilet was in its own little closet at the other end of the room—practically in the next county. The vanity counter had two sinks and at least an acre of spotless mirror. Strangely,

Blake's well-worn leather shaving kit looked right at home in these luxurious surroundings. I confess, I snooped. Except for baby aspirin and vitamins, he didn’t seem to take any medications. Nor had he hidden a signed confession at the bottom of the shaving kit beneath the deodorant and shampoo.

So he was neat, well organized, and in remarkable good health for a ninety-year-old. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a murderer.

“Sufficiently sybaritic for your needs?” Blake asked when I reappeared.

“Yeah, except it looks as if they expect guests to supply their own bath salts and masseur.” I headed for the door, where Rob was already waiting. I saw Dad outside, hurrying off.

“Very slipshod,” Blake said. “I’ll be sure to mention that on the evaluation form.”

He reached out to shake first Rob's hand, then mine.

Just then I caught a glimpse of something over his shoulder— a picture on the laptop's screen saver. Blake in an odd pose. Was he—but then the screen saver flipped to the next photo, and Blake was holding the door open for us to leave. Before I could come up with an excuse to delay our departure, I was outside, looking at the closed cottage door. Rob was already strolling toward the main hotel. I scrambled to catch up with him.

“Well, that was weird,” Rob said. “Do you really suspect him?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you tell him?” “I didn’t tell him—he guessed.”

“Weird,” Rob said. He was reaching for the front door to the main hotel building.

“Look, come back with me a minute,” I said. “I thought I saw something, but I didn’t get a chance to check it out. I want to peek in his front window.”

“You don’t need my help for that.”

“I want you to help me create a diversion if he spots me. Pretend to have lost a contact or something.”

Rob shrugged and followed me back to the door of the Washington Cottage.

I shoved my way through several large camellia bushes that partially screened the window, until I reached a place where I could see in. Yes, the laptop screen was visible from here.

“Look for your contact, just in case,” I said.

Rob bent over and began peering at the brick walk, shuffling along slowly, and occasionally bending down as if trying to pick up something. I watched the photos flicker across the laptop screen. Yes, there it was again.

A picture of Blake standing over the carcass of a lion. Blake's foot was on its neck, and he was holding some kind of firearm.

Chapter 39

What was Blake doing shooting animals? I thought he specialized in rescuing them.

Just then Blake himself came into view. I pulled back into the shelter of the bush. Blake didn’t look up at the window. He passed by, and then a few seconds later, he came back again.

He was holding a wineglass, with a small stain of red wine still visible in the bottom. Not holding it normally, but using a paper napkin to grip the stem lightly. He held it up to the light for a few seconds, then put it in a brown paper bag. He pulled out a Sharpie and wrote something on the bag. Then he disappeared from view.

“Weird,” I whispered.

“What's weird?” Rob asked.

“Hush up and follow me,” I said.

We crept quietly along the side of the cottage until we were crouching in the shrubbery at the edge of the terrace. At least I crept quietly. Rob made more noise than the entire herd of bison combined, but Blake didn’t seem to notice, so maybe he was slightly deaf.

The wineglass Rob had been drinking from was still sitting on the glass-topped table, half hidden by the delta of shrimp tails overflowing the plate beside it. As we watched, Blake took another paper napkin, picked up Rob's wineglass, and put it in a
second brown paper bag. More scribbling with the Sharpie. Then Blake snagged another napkin and came closer to us. Heading for the side table.

“Isn’t that where you were sitting?” Rob whispered.

Yes, and he was bagging my wineglass. Any doubt I might have had vanished when he pulled out the Sharpie again to label the third bag, and printed “Meg Langslow” in large, precise letters.

He picked up the other brown paper bag and carried both inside. I leaned out a little farther so I could see through the French doors to the inside of the cottage. Blake had set the bags down beside the first one on a small marble-topped table just inside the front door. He turned off the living-room light and went into the bedroom. A few minutes later, we heard the shower.

Figuring the show was over, I motioned for Rob to follow me and headed across the golf course.

“What's he up to?” Rob said as we sneaked past the putting green.

“I’m not sure yet.”

Rob thought about that for a moment.

“Does that mean that you think you know but you’re not sure, or that you have absolutely no idea?”

“I have several ideas,” I said. “None of them pleasant.” “You think he suspects us and is going to check us out?” “Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe he's planning to frame us.” “Frame us? Why?”

“Why do people usually frame people?” “Um...because they don’t like them?”

“Possibly, though I think a more plausible motive is that they’re guilty and desperately need to blame someone else.”

“I hope not,” Rob said. “I kind of like the old guy.”

Apparently, when it came to suspecting the motives of Dr. Blake, I was in the minority. Of course, the minority included
Mother, Dad, and Miss Ellie, so I was in good company. Still, it was a little frustrating that most people took him at face value.

We emerged from the golf course near the parking lot. Dad had already gone. Rob waved and drove off. I was about to follow suit when my cell phone rang.

“So,” Michael said when I answered it. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“You pick,” I said.

“The good news is that Mom has safely landed.” “Say hi,” I said. “What's the bad news?”

“Aunt Daphne's plane hasn’t even taken off yet. Bad thunderstorms in the Midwest and heading this way. No word yet whether they’re going to cancel all flights or just wait a few hours till it clears.”

“Damn,” I said. “Are you going to hang around to see?”

“For a little while, at least. Mom and I are going to have a bite to eat and hope they make a decision by the time we finish.”

Just then, I spotted someone coming out of the hotel's front door. Blake.

“Keep me posted,” I said, craning my neck to see what Blake was up to.

“The good news is that the thunderstorms are supposed to blow over by morning,” he said. “Should be no problem with flights leaving tomorrow. Love you.”

With that, he hung up.

I probably should have said something in reply, but Blake's actions were distracting me. He had walked over to a car—the vintage BMW. Now he seemed to be starting it up.

Hadn’t he said that he didn’t have a license?

Of course, why would that stop him if he wanted to go someplace in a hurry? Or unseen? For that matter, how did we know he was telling the truth about having his license taken away?

Maybe he was just scamming Rob so he’d have a volunteer chauffeur for his stay.

The BMW's headlights came on. It backed rather abruptly out of its parking space and took off, spraying bits of spotless white gravel in its wake. I waited until it passed me, and then turned the key of my own car, intending to trail after Blake.

True to my prediction, the Toyota balked. It wouldn’t start until the fourth try, stalled out twice before I got out of the parking lot, and only grudgingly settled down to its usual sluggish but steady pace on the Inn's seemingly endless driveway. Was it an inferiority complex, or the inferior Clay County gas? Either way, by the time I reached the main road, the BMW had disappeared.

So much for shadowing Blake. And probably so much for my contribution to the murder investigation or the zoo rescue. In less than twenty-four hours, Michael and I would be winging our way toward whatever destination he’d chosen for our surprise honeymoon.

The most useful thing I could do now was get some sleep. Probably a major faux pas to fall asleep during your wedding. I turned the car toward home.

I found myself thinking as I drove that maybe it would be easier to let go of what was happening here in Caerphilly if I could start visualizing myself someplace else. Lolling on a sunny Hawaiian beach. Strolling down an elegant Parisian street. Tasting chardonnays in California—or Shirazes in Australia. Even cleaning fish in a cabin in West Virginia. Right now my vision of the immediate future ended at the Clay County courthouse. No wonder I was keeping myself distracted with the zoo and the murder investigation. It made me feel as if I were in control of something.

If for any reason tomorrow's events didn’t come off as
planned, I was going to insist on taking charge of the rescheduled honeymoon.

I pulled into the driveway, turned the motor off, and sat for a few moments, savoring the peace and quiet. Then my cell phone beeped at me. I pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. Mother. Probably not a call I wanted to ignore.

“Hello, dear,” Mother said. “Your father said your meeting with Dr. Blake was over—aren’t you coming over to help with the party?”

“Michael's not back from picking up his mother,” I said. “And his aunt. I don’t want to get the visit off to a bad start by not even being here when they arrive. I thought I’d come over with them.”

Of course, odds were that going to a party would be the last thing Michael's mother and aunt would want to do when they finally got to Caerphilly sometime in the wee small hours, but I wasn’t about to tell Mother that.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mother said. “In-laws, even prospective ones, can be such a trial.”

“Yes,” I said. “Wasn’t it thoughtful of Dad not to inflict any on you?”

“Give my best to Mrs. Waterston.” “I will,” I said. “Bye now.”

I shoved the phone back in my purse and went inside. I resisted the temptation to dump my purse just inside the door. After all, right now the house was about as private as a hotel. Any number of family members could be coming and going at any time tonight as well as all day tomorrow, and who knew how many strangers would tag along? Or show up uninvited, like the Sprockets and the protesters.

I trudged upstairs, put the purse safely away in a drawer
where only the most brazen family snoops and kleptomaniacs would look, and stumbled into the bathroom.

While I was brushing my teeth, I saw something outside. A light.

Chapter 40

I put away my toothbrush and stuck my head out the window to see better. It looked like someone holding a flashlight and walking through Seth Early's sheep pasture across the road. Not just walking—looking for something. The flashlight swung back and forth in tight arcs, and every so often, it would pause for a few seconds before moving on.

Was this something suspicious that I should report? Or could it be Mr. Early, performing some normal farming task that I just hadn’t seen before?

My tiredness disappeared as I strode downstairs. I grabbed my own flashlight from the hall table. Not so much for illumination—a first quarter moon gave enough light for me to see. But the flashlight was one of those heavy industrial-sized models, and its weight felt reassuring in my hand.