Meerkats and Murder Read online

  That was my cue to leave.

  As I drove back home, I wondered if she really did it. A middle-aged woman scorned by a guy she thought was the one… That had rage kill written all over it. Maybe I was wrong about this whole mess.

  Thinking it through as I walked in the door of our house, I let Leonard outside and stood there, deep in thought. Leonard could've run off, set fire to the garage, or anything. I wasn't paying attention.

  Joel Janson—custodian at Obladi Zoo, boyfriend of Dr. Wulf, who made fun of Robby—was dead. All this time I'd been thinking it was tied to spy stuff. After all, he'd broken into my house twice, looking for a secret file. I was looking at Joe Hanson (Oleg Tartikov) and Lana. Those were my main suspects.

  But Rex was on another track. His main suspects were Robby and Dr. Wulf. That was Detecting 101. Nine times out of ten, the killer was someone he knew. And more times than not, it was the significant other.

  Also, Janson was killed at the zoo. Robby and Dr. Wulf worked at the zoo. He was murdered at night, and the zoo closed at five. Those two had opportunity and motive. Cases have been built on less than that.

  Did Dr. Wulf, in a fit of rage, kill him? She didn't tell me what his reason was for breaking up with her. And she seemed to hate the idea of being alone. The director could have arranged to meet up with him to try to change his mind. He didn't, and she killed him.

  Or, she planned to kill him, knowing he'd be in that building at that time. As zoo director, she had access to his schedule. She probably hoped she could pin it on an intruder. Did her guilt drive her to insist that Robby was innocent? She had a conscience.

  And what about Robby? He wouldn't be the first awkward teenage geek to snap when teased and kill someone. Sadly it happened more and more these days. A bully pushes a kid too far, and they see red.

  Robby also had opportunity and motive. He and Stewie could've planned the murder. He'd also have access to the schedule. Something told me that if Robby did it, it was more likely to be a crime of passion. Joel pushed too far, and Robby snapped.

  Dickie! The scarlet macaw said he knew the murderer—said that he'd seen the crime take place! How could I forget that? And Dickie knew both Dr. Wulf and Robby Doyle! He wouldn't know Lana or Oleg.

  Did I get this all wrong? Was I hoping it was tied to the CIA so I could run around, playing spy? It was possible for me to be a total nitwit. I had a proven track record of that.

  Rex was on the right track. While I was running around willy-nilly and knocking back shots of lighter fluid, he was following the natural progression of investigation. He was looking at motive, opportunity, and the tried and tested theory that said this was most likely done by someone the victim was close to.

  My husband had the experience and education that trumped my ridiculous ideas. This was getting out of hand. I was getting out of hand. Of course he thought Dr. Wulf and Robby were prime suspects.

  Another thought popped into my head. Did Robby or Dr. Wulf know that Dickie was blabbing that he'd seen the murder? A chill went through me. Was Dickie in danger? And what about Mr. Fancy Pants? Was the reason he was off his food because every time he saw either Robby or Dr. Wulf, he was reminded of what they'd done?

  Were the birds safe?

  My cell buzzed, sending me jumping into the air. It was Kelly.

  "Yeah?" I asked. "What's up?"

  Kelly didn't waste any time. In the background I heard an announcement for some doctor or other, which meant she was at work.

  "Don't forget the meeting today," she said. "Susan is coming."

  I nodded. "I know. I reminded Betty."

  "Good. You've been a little scattered lately. Just wanted to make sure." And with that, she hung up.

  Normally I'd feel insulted, but my best friend was right. I was scattered. Now, however, things were shaping up. I was starting to wonder about Robby and Dr. Wulf. And worry about Dickie and Mr. Fancy Pants.

  But first, I needed to see if I was crazy. It was eleven. I had time. I called Oleo's and ordered food, and then I headed out.

  * * *

  "Merry?" Riley asked as I walked in with three bags of food.

  I handed one off to his receptionist, Claire, who held it as if the bag contained poisonous snakes. I dropped one bag in front of Riley and sat down and opened mine. The aroma of grilled beef was overwhelming, and I devoured my burger and fries. After a few seconds, Riley opened his bag, which had a chicken wrap with veggies, and began to eat.

  "Thanks for lunch," he said. "And thanks for not getting me the heart attack special." He pointed to my lunch.

  "You're welcome. But you're missing out. You know Oleo's has the best burgers in Iowa." I licked some ketchup off my thumb.

  We ate for a few moments, and I noticed that Claire had started on the grilled chicken salad. She gave me a little nod with a smile. I was winning her over…whatever she was.

  "How did you know Claire liked salads?" Riley asked.

  "You know how. Years in the biz taught us to size up our opponents. Claire looks like she hasn't eaten a carb in years."

  We finished eating, and Claire took the garbage out to the dumpster so the one-room office wouldn't reek of grease. Then she excused herself for an appointment and left.

  "How's the ginger working out?" I asked.

  "The ginger's name is Claire," Riley answered. "You know that."

  "Where did you find her? I've never seen her around town before." I stared at her empty desk.

  "She's the daughter of a colleague from the Agency," he said. "Her dad wanted her safe, out of harm's way, to buy time to talk her out of working for the CIA."

  "Whose daughter?" I asked.

  Riley shook his head. "You don't know him. He's an accountant."

  I laughed. "No hanky-panky with the help for you, then. You don't want to be audited over sexual harassment."

  For a split second I thought I detected regret on Riley's face. It passed quickly. Riley was a total player. He could melt the undies off of Angela Merkel. To hear he was denied a conquest kind of made my day.

  "What's going on?" His right eyebrow went up.

  "I want to know more about Joe Hanson." If I was going to rule him and Lana out, I needed more intel.

  Riley held his hands out. "I told you all I know."

  "Do you think Oleg killed the guy at the zoo?"

  My former handler thought about this. "Maybe. If someone was after him, he would. Tartikov wasn't an innocent. He was a cold stone killer in Russia."

  "Do you know where he is now?"

  He shook his head. "No. I told you that I don't. And neither does anyone at the Agency. I asked."

  I sat up straighter. "Who did you ask?"

  Riley didn't answer that question. "It doesn't matter. Besides, the Cold War is over. No one thinks he's a threat anymore."

  "And that's why they haven't found him?"

  He looked frustrated. "Yes. Why are you asking?"

  "Because I found him," I said casually. "But if the CIA doesn't care, I suppose it doesn't matter."

  Riley's eyes narrowed. "How did you find him?"

  I shrugged. "Just a little digging. It's kind of obvious, really. But you have no interest in him anymore." I picked up a pencil and wiggled it until it looked like rubber. I loved that. It made me smile every time.

  "Merry," Riley said slowly, "if you know where he is…"

  I slammed my hand on the table. It felt good. Now I knew why the Russians did it.

  "I'm willing to exchange intel for intel. I'll give you his location"—which technically, I didn't have—"in exchange for information on him."

  Riley was in a quandary. On the one hand, if he told me anything, I'd know he'd held info back from me, which would make me angry. On the other hand, if I knew something about a missing Russian spy, say…where he was, that would be valuable information he could use for…whatever.

  "Why did Oleg run away?" I asked, leaning back in the chair and placing my feet on his desk.

 
; With a huge sigh, Riley gave it up. "There was a contract on his head. Someone high up in Russian politics put the word out that whoever killed him would get one million dollars."

  I knew it! I knew he'd been holding out on me!

  "That's all? Seems a little low to me." Those Russian oligarchs had money. Lots of it. Contracts usually started in the multimillions. "Was it for the plans? Were they trying to get Operation Wet Dog back?"

  I wanted to ask him what his role in this was and why he'd thought it necessary to keep it from me. But that was an argument that would take all day. I needed information so I could cross Oleg off my list.

  "It was about the plans" was all Riley said.

  "Then why didn't he take them with him?"

  And then I had my answer. "He was drawing them away," I mumbled. "Hoping they'd think he still had them." Man, I really regretted not finding them years ago.

  Riley nodded. "That's what I thought too."

  "What was your role in this whole thing?"

  "I was supposed to find the plans."

  I jumped to my feet. "All those times you came here, one year after I'd moved, it wasn't for me, was it? It was for the plans!"

  He shook his head. "No, I wanted to help you and all the messes you'd gotten yourself into. And I wanted to find the plans."

  For the past four years, Riley had lied to me. All along I thought he was the ex-boyfriend stalking me. Now I found out it was something else. I didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.

  "What's in those plans?" I asked.

  Riley shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know. No one does. We just knew it was important."

  "Why wouldn't he tell you? He was a double agent, working for us. He quit his job in Russia and settled here permanently. Why not hand it over and be done with it?"

  "No idea," Riley said. "I'm telling the truth. No one at the CIA ever figured it out."

  I snapped my fingers. "Leverage! He was keeping it for leverage."

  We both considered this for a moment.

  "You said that Lana knew about the plans," I mumbled.

  He nodded. "She did. She's the one who told us about them."

  "And you sent her to my house four years ago. Only it turned out she wasn't there to get away from Russia. She was looking for the plans."

  I got up and started pacing. "I've been so stupid! How did I not see this? Even in retirement, I was used by the CIA. And you were involved in that."

  Riley said nothing. In fact, he looked a little green around the gills. And that's when it hit me.

  "Riley." I licked my lips and proceeded slowly. "Do you still work for the CIA?"

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  "What? No!" He turned bright red. "You know I left them. How could you think that?"

  I picked up my bag and walked to the door.

  "Merry!" he shouted after me. "Where's Oleg?"

  I let the door close on those words.

  You should never, ever drive angry. It's like doing anything else angry…eating, shopping for shoes, or operating heavy equipment. In spite of that good advice, I drove like a crazy person before I pulled into the grocery store parking lot and parked, taking deep breaths until my pulse slowed to a more manageable rate.

  So many things were going through my mind that I felt like my head would explode. I wasn't sure I believed Riley's parting comments. But then again, I had trouble believing he was still with the CIA. It had to be a mixed thing. He'd worked for them for a year or two after I moved here, and then he quit.

  My guess was he was curious about the plans, and that was all.

  And now, so was I. I marched into the store and bought five packages of Oreos then sat in my minivan angry eating. What had I learned besides Riley's betrayal…again? Not much. I still knew very little about Oleg and next to nothing about Joel Jansen.

  I made up my mind a few hours and three empty packages later (after which I went back into the store and got some antacid). I was going to the zoo tonight to break into Dr. Wulf's office and look at Joel Jansen's employee files.

  But what to do about Oleg? I set that aside and started the van. I'd figure that out later. Right now, I had a Girl Scout meeting to attend.

  * * *

  Kelly and Susan were in the classroom when I walked in. Both of them smiled, but when they saw my face, their expressions changed, and they asked in unison, "What?"

  "I'll tell you later," I lied. "Let's get this meeting started."

  As the girls filed in, I was calmer. I probably shouldn't have had access to pointed sticks, but what could I do?

  The ten girls took up two tables, with six at one and the four Kaitlyns at the other. Everyone chatted happily, and that's when I noticed Sharon wasn't here.

  "Where's Sharon?" Kelly asked, beating me to it.

  Ava shrugged. "I don't know. She was in class today."

  I was just about to apologize to Susan for coming for nothing, when the girl walked through the door. She was wearing short shorts, Roman gladiator sandals, and a tank top that could not possibly be allowed at school, as it exposed her midriff and barely there cleavage.

  "You're late." Betty glared at her. "We always start right after the school bell."

  The girl cracked her gum and rolled her eyes. "Whatever." She sat with the Kaitlyns, who seemed happy to have her. And that's when I noticed it.

  The four Kaitlyns were now mini-Sharons. Each girl wore something inappropriate and too old for her age. And there was a lot of makeup. Almost to the point of them looking like circus clowns.

  Kelly noticed it at the same time, and we looked at each other. Susan just kept her eyes on Sharon.

  "Oh my God!" one of the Kaitlyns cooed. "You look so amazing!"

  The other three squealed in agreement, and Sharon looked smug. The queen bee had her drones after all. My jaw dropped as the girls kissed up to this little brat. This wasn't my troop. My girls were kids—fun, carefree kids. Who were these guys?

  One of the Kaitlyns pulled a compact from her backpack and began powdering her nose. The others scrambled to copy her with lipstick and eye shadow. It was like throwing gasoline on a grease fire.

  At the other table, Lauren, Betty, Ava, Hannah, Inez, and Caterina glared at them, arms folded over their chests. They at least looked like they always had. And they didn't look too happy about the changing Kaitlyns.

  "Um, okay…" I stumbled through my words. Taking a deep breath, I continued, "I'd like to introduce someone who's going to help us today."

  Susan noticed that I was distracted by two of the Kaitlyns' giant hoop earrings and stepped forward, introducing herself only as someone who was going to teach them how to knit. She probably wanted to keep the counselor thing on the down low so Sharon wouldn't get suspicious.

  "That sounds like fun!" Lauren cheered.

  The rest of the girls at her table agreed eagerly. This was what I was used to. The troop loved crafts, and we tried to incorporate them into as many meetings as we could.

  "That," Sharon said in a bored voice, "sounds stupid."

  The Kaitlyns looked at each other, wondering what they should do. My guess was they wanted to learn to knit. But now that their queen bee denounced it, they were stuck.

  "I don't know," one of the girls said softly. "It could be fun."

  Sharon shot her a look that would've turned her to dust if Sharon had laser eyes. Good thing she didn't.

  The Kaitlyn who spoke turned bright red and said nothing more.

  "Sharon!" Kelly snapped. "That's rude. That's not how we do things in this troop."

  Sharon rolled her eyes. "Okay. I guess I have no choice. Right, guys?"

  The Kaitlyns, not sure what happened but having been included by their queen, applauded.

  Susan handed out the materials: brightly colored wooden needles, and yarn from which the girls could pick the color they wanted. There was the usual squealing with delight, and for a moment I thought this might change things. Maybe even help get Sharon in the
groove…so I didn't kill her.

  The adults split up, with Susan and the Kaitlyns, who'd refused to be parted from Sharon, and Kelly with Inez, Hannah, Caterina, and Ava, leaving me with Lauren and Betty. As the weakest knitter, I thought that was fair.

  From the moment I taught Lauren how to cast on, she took off like she'd been doing this all of her life. Her stitches were neat, and she was working quickly.

  "Have you done this before?" I asked.

  Lauren shook her head. "Never. But it's easy once you see how it works."

  Betty hadn't cast on, instead holding the pointed sticks as if they were daggers, pretending to stab an imaginary person. I pulled them from her hands and walked her through the slip knot and casting on.

  She eyed me suspiciously. "Do spies knit?"

  I nodded. "Not me, but I've seen lots of other spies, men and women, knit during downtime."

  "Riley knits?" she asked.

  "No. You don't know who I'm talking about." I corrected her a few times, which was laughable since I had no idea what I was doing.

  I hadn't lied to Betty—there were lots of knitters in the biz. It was an easy, portable, low-tech hobby that didn't require anything but sticks and string. And it had the added benefit of making the knitter appear harmless while at the same time keeping them armed with deadly weapons.

  "Not like that," Lauren said to her friend. "Like this. Watch me."

  Lauren broke down the stitch so easily I was wondering if she was lying about her prowess or was some sort of a savant—someone who just had a talent for something new.

  At the CIA we had a few savants. There was the girl who intuitively, but with no experience, could make a bomb out of sugar and cornstarch. I'd met a man who, the first time in training that he fired a gun, hit the bullseye on the first shot and put each and every shot after it through that same hole. The observers didn't believe he could make shots like that until they rewound the footage.

  Under Lauren's patient tutelage, Betty was starting to get the hang of it. I looked around to see that the other girls were having a much tougher time of it. They surrounded Kelly and Susan like zombies, holding up their sticks and yarn and begging for help. For a moment, I thought about how lucky I was to have two other people helping me, with one being very good at it.