Free The Anteater of Death by Betty Webb Page B

schedule, not one had missed a meal or a cleanup. I myself had helped feed Maharaja and Ranee, the young Bengal tigers we’d bought from the St. Louis Zoo. The feeding process had been a complicated one, involving two other keepers and various maneuvers through an intricate series of gates.
    I related the details. “Ranee was crawling around the enclosure on her belly with her tail in the air, yowling and howling.”
    Zorah managed a smile. “She’s in heat. Did Maharaja look interested?”
    “Just confused.”
    “Typical young male.” Her face fell. “I’m in bad trouble, aren’t I?”
    I kept my tone light, which considering the circumstances, was difficult. Especially when the white woman started raving again. “Only if you killed Grayson, which I’m certain you didn’t.”
    “I never touched him.”
    “Then why does the sheriff think you did?”
    After a quick look around, she answered in a voice so low I had trouble hearing her over the other woman’s curses. “For starters, he must have found out that I disappeared for about an hour during the fund-raiser. Right around the time someone offed the guy.”
    “Where were you?”
    Her ears turned red. “I’d been sneaking drinks and wound up getting sick behind the monkey’s night quarters. And before you ask why I didn’t use the restroom, I didn’t want any of our well-heeled guests to see the head keeper barfing up her insides. Fat lot of good it did me, though. I ripped my stupid anteater costume while I was thrashing around in the underbrush.”
    Light dawned. “You had a hangover when I discovered the body, didn’t you? That’s why you weren’t there to see about the anteater.” Knowing she had strong reasons for being unhappy, I couldn’t judge her.
    A shame-faced nod. “I never could hold my liquor.”
    “But there has to be another reason. The sheriff wouldn’t arrest you just because you disappeared during the fund-raiser.”
    Her eyes darted away from mine and her voice dropped to a whisper. “I, um, wrote some letters.”
    “What kind of letters?”
    She hunched her big shoulders forward and stared at the floor again. “To Grayson. I hoped that if I told him how badly he’d screwed up when he’d hired Barry Fields, he’d rethink his decision.”
    Animal smart, people dumb; that was Zorah all over.
    I waited for more, but she just continued staring at the floor. I looked down, expecting from her intense concentration to see a cockroach crawling along its gray-painted surface, and saw nothing other than scuff marks.
    When she looked up, the glint in her eyes made me glad I wasn’t in the cell with her. “Grayson told me I had the job. Next thing I knew, he turned around and gave it to Barry. Where’s the sense in that?”
    It amazed me that Grayson, a man I’d always thought was honest, had not only made such a bad decision but had lied to her about it. Knowing how timid he could be at times, though, perhaps he couldn’t face telling her the truth. After thinking over the job requirements, he might have decided that familiarity with fund-raising was more important than familiarity with animals. The zoo was a private facility, and without considerable grants and generous donations from wealthy widows, it couldn’t survive. Even though the Gunns paid most of the bills, at least thirty percent of the zoo’s operating costs had to come from other sources.
    I tried my best to explain. “Fields is good at getting money out of people. I’ve seen him in action.”
    She sneered. “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it?”
    “It usually does.”
    Now, instead of shouting vague curses, the white woman started muttering something about her neighbor’s cat. I didn’t want to hear the details.
    “The hiring committee should have voided the appointment as soon as they found out,” Zorah said.
    “They wouldn’t dare. Since Aster Edwina stopped being active at the zoo a few years ago, Jeanette and Grayson represent the