The Penguin Who Knew Too Much (28 page)

“I can’t imagine,” I muttered.

“And Hamlin keeps detailed financial records on all his businesses, even the illegal ones,” Dad went on.

“He even had a legal contract with old man Bromley for the hunting rights to his land,” Randall Shiffley said. “He just never told Bromley what kind of hunts he was running out there.”

The Shiffleys all smiled, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d bet anything that they’d already made a deal with Mr. Bromley for the hunting rights Ray Hamlin would no longer be at liberty to exercise—which meant they’d probably stop trying to get the hunting rights to Mother and Dad's farm.

“So between Clarence's records and Hamlin's own,” Dad was saying, “Chief Burke should have ample evidence to convict him of violating any number of animal-welfare and game laws.”

“And murder, I hope,” I said. “Murder and attempted murder and kidnapping and—”

“I’ve got a long list of crimes for Mr. Ray Hamlin to answer to,” the chief said, walking through the door with Dr. Blake at his side.

“What about the Sprockets?” I asked.

“Threw a whole bunch of charges at them, too,” the chief said. “Gets my goat, having people complicate my life when I’m trying to solve a murder.”

I winced, hoping the chief didn’t consider my confrontation with Ray Hamlin one of those complications.

“Like Shea Bailey with his trick of letting all the animals loose?” I said aloud.

“Irresponsible,” the chief said, shaking his head, as he pulled over a chair for Dr. Blake. “We caught up with him, too. Looks like he won’t be leading the SOBs anymore. Seems his dedication to the cause of animal welfare was just an excuse for milking the organization for as much cash as possible. The SOBs are poorer but wiser today.”

“Actually, I think they’ve all voted to disband and join Rose Noire's animal-welfare group,” Dad said.

“Splendid,” I said. Perhaps Rose would have more than enough people for her animal-massage class and wouldn’t need to recruit me.

“And as their first project, they’re all going to come out and help take care of the zoo animals until we can get their future sorted out.”

“And how long will that be?” I asked.

“Tuesday,” Blake said. “Maybe sooner. I’ve got a couple of my staff down at Virginia Beach, hunting down that fellow from the bank to see if we can wrap it up tonight. But by Tuesday, at the latest, we’ll have that zoo back open or I’ll know the reason why.”

“And I gather you’ll be staying around for a while, overseeing the transition.”

“Possibly,” Blake said. “Why?”

I hesitated. After all, Blake wasn’t the killer. Did the suspicious things he’d done still matter?

Yes. After all, he was going to be hanging around, helping take care of our animals.

Now I was doing it too. Not our animals. The zoo's animals. Who would probably all be back in the zoo by the time Michael and I returned from wherever. But either way, it mattered. If he wasn’t completely on the up-and-up, we didn’t want him anywhere near anyone's animals.

“If you’re going to be hanging around, I want a straight answer on something,” I said. “In fact, several somethings.”

“Now, Meg,” Dad said. “We have the killer, remember?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain the photo I saw of Dr. Blake holding a rifle with one foot on a dead lion. Can you explain it, Dr. Blake?”

“Probably a fake someone Photoshopped to discredit me,” Blake said. “Where did you see it?”

“You have it as part of the screen saver on your laptop.”

Blake frowned slightly, and then his face cleared and he chuckled.

“I know the one you’re talking about. The lion wasn’t dead— that's a tranquilizer gun I’m holding, not a rifle. Keen eyes though. I can see why you suspected me.”

“Not to mention the fact that last night I saw you bagging up the wineglasses Rob and Dad and I were using, as if they were evidence. I figured you were the killer, and planning to frame one of us if you got the chance.”

“You did?” Blake exclaimed. “That's rich!” He threw back his head and laughed vigorously.

“But now I figure you were snooping around, too,” I went on. “You were trying to solve the murder and collecting DNA from your suspects. Is that it?”

“Not exactly,” Blake said. “I wasn’t worried about the murder investigation. I figured it was in good hands.”

“Thank you,” Chief Burke said. Blake glanced at him with mild surprise, as if he’d forgotten the chief was there.

“But you’re right,” Blake went on. “I did want your DNA. I want to compare it with mine.”

We all stared at him in astonishment. I was the first to get my tongue back.

“You think we’re related?”

“I think you’re my granddaughter. And my son,” he said, turning to Dad.

Dad took a step back.

“I’m a foundling,” he said. “No one knows who my parents were.”

“Found in the fiction section of the Charlottesville library,” Blake said. “That's what the local paper said, am I right?” “That's right,” Dad said. “Just where my poor Cordelia left you.” “Your poor Cordelia?” I echoed.

“I was...um, engaged to one of the librarians there.”

“ ‘Um, engaged’?” I echoed again. “Had you asked her to marry you, or is that just a euphemism for something else?”

“A beautiful young woman,” Blake said. “I was planning to ask her to marry me as soon as I was able. But I was a poor graduate student. And I got a chance to go on my first zoological expedition. A six-month trip to the Galapagos. I explained how important it was to my career. I thought she understood.”

“And you came back and she’d vanished.”

He nodded.

“I assumed she’d grown tired of waiting—the trip went on a little longer than planned.” “How much longer?” “It was only a year and a half,” he said.

“Smart woman,” I said. “I’d have sent the Dear Montgomery letter after seven months.”

“Very smart,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out an old photo in a plastic protector. He looked at it, then handed it to me.

It was like seeing myself in costume from the Roaring Twenties. Like me, Cordelia was a little too busty to carry off the flapper look, but she had a certain panache. I might have liked her if I’d known her, growing up. I wasn’t sure I approved of her taste in men, though.

“How old was she, anyway?” I said. She looked about sixteen.

“It's the only picture I have,” he said. “Her high school graduation photo. She was a few years older when I met her.”

I handed the photo to Dad.

“I came to town to see Lanahan,” Blake was saying. “Just a courtesy. Wasn’t going to bother with his little zoo, but then I happened to see your picture in the
Caerphilly Clarion
. Did some research on you. Learned that your father was abandoned as an infant in the same library where Cordelia and I used to meet on my trips to Charlottesville.”

He and Dad gazed at each other. Blake looked triumphant and happy. Dad looked as if he was beginning, too late, to appreciate the joys of being an orphan.

“Yippee,” I said. “So instead of coming up and telling us this, you hung around spying on us.”

“I had to figure out if you were people I even wanted to know, much less claim as family.”

So if he didn’t approve of us, he was just going to sneak off again? I wasn’t sure I trusted a paternal—or grandpaternal— feeling that kicked in only after Blake had made sure we met his standards.

“And you decided to claim us after the events of the last few days?” I said aloud. “I’m surprised you didn’t run away screaming.”

“You lead entertaining lives,” Blake said. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and smiled, as if awaiting the next installment of entertainment.

I stared at him, baffled. I had no idea how I felt about this. I needed time to think it through. I had a sudden frustrating vision of Michael and me, strolling along that romantic beach, Parisian street, vineyard trail, or whatever, talking about Montgomery Blake instead of us.

Not if I could help it.

“Of course, the DNA test's not in yet,” I said. “With any luck, the resemblance will turn out to be nothing but a coincidence, and you can go back to saving animals in more exotic climes.”

And until the DNA test was in, I resolved, I would shove the whole thing out of my mind.

“We’ll see,” Blake said. He heaved himself up from the chair. “Got to be going—I want to make sure those crazy in-laws of ours aren’t upsetting the animals.”

Where did he think he was going? He couldn’t just drop a bombshell like that and leave.

So much for my resolution.

“We should stop tiring you out,” Randall Shiffley said. “But we just wanted to say thanks again.”

“I’ve got a whole passel of criminals down in the jail,” the chief said. “I should be getting back.”

Was it something I said? Not that I minded the idea of some peace and quiet, but I’d been trying to get it all day without success.

“Meg, dear.” Mother stood in the doorway, smiling at me and pointedly ignoring everyone else. Clearly they were all in her bad graces today.

Everyone murmured greetings and good-byes except for Dad and Michael. Not surprising—I hadn’t been awake for it, but I heard that when Mother showed up at the house last night, a few minutes after Chief Burke, she had given him and everyone else in the immediate vicinity an uncharacteristically frank piece of her mind about abandoning me to the mercies of a killer. If even tough-minded people like Dr. Blake, Randall Shiffley, and the chief were still giving her a wide berth, I was probably never going to forgive myself for passing out and missing the whole thing.

“How are things back at the house?” I asked. “Everyone's asking about you,” she said. “And there was such a nice article about the whole thing in the paper.”

“The paper? You mean the
Clarion?
It only comes out on Wednesdays.”

“They put out a special edition,” Mother said. “Isn’t that nice?”

I winced at the headline—”Clay County Businessman Arrested for Caerphilly Zookeeper's Murder.” So much for good relations between the two rival counties. And I wasn’t thrilled with the picture of me, either—waving Mrs. Fenniman's umbrella at a cowering wolf. The good thing was that they’d taken it before I acquired my black eye, but I still looked rather demented. In fact, the whole article made us look like a pack of utter loons. I couldn’t figure out why Mother was so cheerful until I spotted the photo of Sheila D. Flugleman. According to the
Clarion
, last night's foray into the sheep pasture wasn’t her first, and Seth Early was charging her with trespassing and petit larceny.

“The creator of ZooperPoop! caught trespassing in a common sheep pasture,” I said. “Considering what she was taking, I think even petit larceny is stretching it, but I bet it will really hurt ZooperPoop! sales if it gets out.”

“Yes, and imagine what would happen if Martha Stewart got a copy of that article,” Mother said.

Considering that Mother had probably been strolling around saying that for hours now, I felt sure that within a few days, at least a dozen of her friends and relatives would be sending copies of the
Clarion
to Martha Stewart. So much for Sheila D.'s chances of appearing on the show.

“Anyway, I brought some clothes for you to wear. To the party,” she said, handing me a tote bag. “Though if you don’t feel up to coming, I’ll understand completely.”

I frowned. Normally, Mother would never consider a black eye, a bloody nose, a lacerated cheek, several sets of bobcat claw marks on my body, a possible concussion, and a broken leg as
grounds for failing to meet a social obligation. Was this really my mother, or a clever impersonator? I peered into the tote bag.

“That's Rose Noire's blouse,” I said, removing a puff of turquoise silk from its depths.

“Yes, dear, but all your own nice things are still packed away somewhere, and she's perfectly happy to let you borrow it.”

“This isn’t mine either,” I said, pulling out a butter-soft honey-colored suede skirt. “And don’t tell me it's Rose Noire's. She wouldn’t wear suede. She won’t even eat fruit leather because of the name.”

“It's a present,” she said. “I thought you deserved one after all you’ve been through.”

At the bottom of the bag was a shoe—one of a well-broken-in pair I wore when I wanted to be both comfortable and presentable.

“Before you ask, the other shoe's back in your closet. You’ll be in the cast for the next few weeks, so you won’t need it today.”

“That's great,” Michael said. From the relief in his voice, I could tell that even if the wardrobe he’d packed for the honeymoon was perfect, he hadn’t anticipated the need to hunt down something presentable so I wouldn’t have to wear a hospital gown to our wedding.

“I should be getting back to your guests,” Mother said. “I’ll see you there if you feel up to it. But I’ll tell everyone that we should expect to see you when we see you. Whatever the doctor says goes!”

She kissed both of us on the cheek, beamed at us for a few moments, and then sailed out along with Dad.

“Okay, the coast is clear,” Michael said, handing me the tote. “And your mother solved the last thing that could slow us down. I’ll go let Dr. Waldron know we’re going.”

It didn’t hit me until I’d put on the clothes.

“She knows,” I muttered.

“All clear,” Michael said, bouncing back into the room. “Let's make tracks.”

“He can make tracks,” Dr. Waldron said as she pushed a wheelchair into the room. “You have to ride till you’re out of the building. Hospital policy.”

“Can I wheel her out?” Michael asked.

“No problem,” the doctor said. She turned to me. “Keep the cast dry, take the painkillers if the leg bothers you, and call me if you have any problems.”

“Roger,” I said. She strode out again.

“She knows,” I said.

“Dr. Waldron? If she does, she won’t tell anyone.” “Mother,” I said. “She knows.”

“She knows we might not make the party. I got that much.” He was bustling around the room, gathering the rest of my belongings and stuffing them into the tote bag. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out you might not be in the mood for a family party.”