“In fact,” Dad went on, “this time, I suspect whoever kidnapped Kazoo knows you all too well, Teddy.”
Mom froze in the midst of scrambling the eggs. “What do you mean?”
“It seems Teddy has been framed,” Dad explained. “And to do that, the kidnapper must have been keeping an eye on him.” He turned back to me. “What’s this evidence Marge has on you?”
“Video from the security cameras,” I said. “Summer says they have footage of me entering the koala exhibit and leaving it last night.”
“But no footage of you inside?” Mom asked.
I thought back to my phone conversation. “Summer didn’t mention anything about that.”
Mom started scrambling the eggs again. “Aren’t there cameras inside the koala exhibit?”
“I’d assume so,” Dad replied. “There are cameras everywhere else in this park.”
“Then there ought to be footage from inside the exhibit proving that Teddy didn’t take Kazoo,” Mom said.
“Maybe not.” Dad sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “If that footage existed, Marge would have seen it, wouldn’t she? And more importantly, there should be footage showing who actually did steal Kazoo. Someone else entering and leaving the exhibit besides Teddy. So where is that?”
None of us had an answer. I could only shrug.
Mom began to soak slices of bread in the eggs, then drop them on the griddle. “Do you think someone tampered with the footage?” she asked.
“Maybe,” Dad said. “Sadly, we know from experience that people in FunJungle security can corrupt the cameras when they want to.” (During Henry’s murder investigation, we’d learned his killer knew how to turn off the security systems in some exhibits.) Dad grabbed a pad of paper and a pencil and started to make notes for himself. “I know one of the guys who works with the security system. I’ll see if he can show me what they’ve got. Maybe somewhere in all that footage there’ll be video of the real thief—or something else that proves Teddy’s innocence.”
Mom nodded approval.
“So you think whoever stole Kazoo was watching me last night?” I asked.
“They must have been,” Dad said. “It’s the only way to make the crime work. They saw you go in and out and knew you’d been recorded. Then they went in and took Kazoo.”
“How?” I asked.
“That’s the million-dollar question,” Dad admitted. “Either they knew how to get in and out without being recorded—or they were recorded and knew how to erase the footage.”
“I don’t think there’s any way to get in and out of that exhibit without being filmed,” Mom said. “You can’t go anywhere in this park without being filmed.”
“Then that would mean someone in security stole Kazoo, right?” I asked. “Who else knows how to erase the recordings?”
“J.J. McCracken might,” Dad said.
“Why would J.J. steal his own koala?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know,” Dad admitted. “I’m just spitballing here.”
“J.J.’s in Germany,” I informed them. “He couldn’t have done it. But Marge could have. She was already angry at me last night. She slipped in a bunch of puke because of me. Then she followed me to KoalaVille. Maybe she actually saw me inside the exhibit. And then, after I left, she came back and took Kazoo, knowing she could frame me for the crime.”
Mom and Dad chewed on that for a while. “I suppose it makes sense,” Mom said. “Only I have a hard time believing Marge would do all that just to get you in trouble.”
“Why not?” I asked. “She’s said I ought to be shipped off to juvenile hall plenty of times. Now she’s found a way to make it happen.”
Mom and Dad shared a look. “It makes as much sense as anything else we’ve got,” Dad said. “Though it also brings up the main issue we haven’t discussed yet: Why would someone want to steal Kazoo?”
“Marge called it a kidnapping.” Mom slid plates full of French toast in front of us and uncapped a bottle of syrup.
“If it’s a kidnapping, where’s the ransom note?” Dad asked.
“Maybe it hasn’t been delivered yet,” Mom replied. “It’s still awfully early in the morning.”
“I thought kidnappers always left the note at the crime scene,” Dad said.
“Since when are you an expert on kidnapping?” Mom teased.
“I’m not,” Dad told her. “But I know as much about koala-napping as anyone else, seeing as this is probably the first case there’s ever been.”
“There’s also the possibility that there won’t be a ransom note at all,” Mom suggested. “Someone might simply want a koala.”
“You mean, as a pet?” I asked.
“Yes,” Mom said. “You’re not eating your French toast.”
“I want to,” I said. “But my stomach’s all jumpy.”
Mom gave me a sad smile and tousled my hair. “I understand, given the circumstances. If I’d been unfairly accused of a crime, my stomach would be jumpy too.”
“Who would want a pet koala?” I asked.
“Lots of people probably think they do,” Mom said. “Look at the crowds who have come to see Kazoo. To most of those people, koalas probably look like the perfect pet. They’re adorable, and yet they just sleep all day.”
“But they’re not easy to take care of,” I countered.
“Not at all,” Mom agreed. “But not everyone knows that.”
“And even if they do, they still might want one,” Dad put in. “There are far more owners of exotic pets than anyone realizes. Especially around here. Did you know there are more tigers in captivity in Texas than wild tigers in the entire world?”
I looked to him, surprised. “As pets?”
Dad nodded. “And that’s just tigers. People also have lions, leopards, bears, chimps, zebras, and who knows what else. Maybe one of those collectors was dying to have a koala.”
“Is there anyone like that around here?” I asked.
“I think there is,” Mom said thoughtfully.
“I remember hearing that too.” Dad jotted down another note to himself. “I ought to find out the name.”
“Of course, you wouldn’t necessarily have to be a collector to want to steal a koala,” Mom said. “Back when I worked at the Bronx Zoo, regular people occasionally broke in and tried to steal the animals. No one ever succeeded, but they tried. It wasn’t common, but it wasn’t that rare, either. Now, that zoo is right in the middle of New York City. There are a couple million people living around it, so you’d expect that sooner or later a few of them are going to do something stupid. I’d hoped that, being out here in the sticks, we’d have a bit less crime, but we all know that hasn’t been the case so far. The sad fact is, there are probably a lot of people out there dumb enough to try to steal a koala.”
“But the person who did this wasn’t dumb, were they?” I asked. “I mean, they figured out how to get around all the cameras and frame me.”
“True,” Mom admitted. “The person who stole Kazoo was clever. I just meant that the motive itself was dumb.” She shook her head sadly, as she often did when she talked about how badly people could behave. Then she looked at my plate. “Still not hungry?”
I still hadn’t touched my French toast. “Sorry. It smells great, but . . .”
Mom put a comforting hand on mine. “No need to apologize. I get it.”
“No need for it to go to waste.” Dad reached across the table, speared a slab of my French toast with his fork, then moved it to his plate and dug in.
A thought suddenly occurred to me. “What if Kazoo wasn’t stolen at all? Is there any chance he could have just escaped?”
Mom considered that for a moment, then shook her head. “Koalas don’t like the cold, and it was freezing last night. Kazoo’s exhibit is nice and warm, and he had plenty of food and water there. Even if someone left the door to his exhibit wide open, I’d doubt he would have ventured outside.”
“Plus, koalas aren’t exactly the mos
t adventurous creatures,” Dad added. “I’ve never heard of one escaping from anywhere before. And from what I can tell, that exhibit was built pretty well. I don’t think there’s any way Kazoo could have gotten out on his own.”
“You’re sure about that?” I asked.
“Not completely.” Dad made another note on his pad. “I could check it out, though I’m pretty sure it’s a dead end.”
Mom glanced at her watch, trying not to look nervous. “It won’t be long before Marge and the police realize they’ve been had. Then they’ll probably come right back here, and I doubt they’ll be happy.”
Dad turned to me and spoke with his mouth full of French toast. “That means you’d best not be here, kiddo.”
“Well, I’ve got school,” I said.
Mom and Dad shared a look, then both shook their heads. “Not today you don’t,” Dad said. “After here, that’s the next place they’ll look for you.”
I failed to stifle a smile. “Guess there’s one good thing about being framed for a crime.”
“This is only temporary,” Mom told me. “And if I felt we could trust Marge to lay off you and hunt for the real thief, we wouldn’t even be doing it. But Marge has a real bug up her bottom where you’re concerned. So for now you’re going into hiding.”
“Where?” I asked.
“The one place they’ll never think to look for you,” Dad said.
SCENE OF THE CRIME
I spent the day hiding out at FunJungle.
That might seem odd, seeing as I was a wanted criminal there, but I knew FunJungle from end to end, better than any of the security guards did. Plus, I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.
My parents hadn’t put roots down in Texas. They had no family there, and all of their friends worked at the park. My only close friend was Xavier Gonzalez, and I still didn’t know his family well enough to ask if they could help me lie low from the police. (I’d only met them twice.) If it had been a bit warmer, I could have hung out in the woods near our trailer all day, but it was frigid and windy, and Mom said she didn’t want me to die of pneumonia.
So FunJungle it was. We had to take some precautions, though. For example, I couldn’t go in through the back gate as usual. That was staffed by FunJungle security, and Marge had put out an all points bulletin for me.
Instead I walked right in through the main entrance. There were security personnel posted there, but they just searched through guests’ bags to make sure no one was bringing anything dangerous into the park, like weapons or fireworks. They weren’t really part of Marge’s platoon of guards, and they were so focused on everyone’s belongings they rarely looked at anybody’s face.
Marge hadn’t posted anyone at the front entrance to keep an eye out for me. Most likely she assumed that I wouldn’t come through the front gates because you needed a ticket to get through them—and tickets were expensive. However, all park employees got a few free passes every year. (Technically, these counted as bonus pay, although Dad always grumbled about them. “In the first place, they don’t cost J.J. McCracken a thing to give away,” he’d say, “so it’s not like he’s giving us money. And second, what good is a free pass to a place that we work at anyhow?”) The passes were ostensibly for us to give to family and friends, but none of our family had visited yet, so we had a wad of them sitting unused in a kitchen drawer.
It was more than two miles to loop around the park to the front gates. Dad went with me, though we split up in the main parking lot. Dad went through the front employee entrance, while I fell in with a group of schoolkids. Another part of J.J. McCracken’s plan to increase attendance at FunJungle was to offer big discounts to schools (which also allowed the PR department to claim FunJungle was “a major supporter of education”). On this particular morning, there were a dozen yellow buses discharging students at the front gates. Given the cold weather, half the kids had pulled the hoods of their jackets up over their heads, so I did the same. Since I didn’t have a bag with me, the bag checkers waved me past without even a glance. I was through the front gates in less than a minute.
I kept the hood on and joined back up with Dad by the FunJungle Friends Theater. (This had been the Henry and Pals Theater back when Henry the Hippo had still been alive, but FunJungle had renamed it, for obvious reasons.) Dad had hoped to leave me with Mom in her office all day, but when we got close to Monkey Mountain, we saw several of Marge’s minions posted by the doors.
“Looks like the heat is on,” Dad sighed. “Marge must have realized by now that we sent her on a wild-goose chase. Guess you’re spending the day with me.”
“I can’t,” I said. “You have to see your friend about the security recordings, and that’s inside the administration building. Admin has more security than any other building at FunJungle.”
Dad frowned. “I can’t just leave you alone.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “Besides, I’m probably easier to spot with you than without.”
“How’s that?”
“This place is crawling with schoolkids today,” I explained. “If I stay close to a school group, no one will look twice at me. But if I’m only with you, we’ll stand out. If security knows to look for me, they’ll probably be looking for you, too.”
Dad waffled a few moments, but he ultimately realized I was right. “Your mother’s probably going to kill me for this,” he sighed. “Be careful. This is a big park. It shouldn’t be too hard for you to keep some distance from the guards. And you’re right about the schoolkids. Try to blend in with them if you can.” He pointed toward a large, rowdy crowd of students my age gathered close by.
“Will do,” I said.
“I’ll be in touch the moment I’m done,” Dad told me. “It shouldn’t be too long.”
We split up, although Dad kept looking back to make sure I was okay. It was kind of silly, but I appreciated it anyhow.
I dropped in at the rear of the school group. No one noticed I didn’t belong. The parent chaperones and teachers had their hands full with the rest of the class. The students were so excited to be at FunJungle that groups of them kept racing off to see different animals. The adults were so busy trying to wrangle the rogues that they were thrilled to see anyone actually staying with the group.
Eventually, after several demands that everyone settle down and a few threats (“If anyone else wanders off, they will spend the rest of the day on the bus!”), the class headed into the park.
“What should we see first?” a teacher asked.
“The koala!” almost everyone shouted at once.
A few boys tried to argue for either Carnivore Canyon or World of Reptiles, but they were quickly overruled. The teachers and chaperones seemed just as eager to see Kazoo as the kids did. The class eagerly veered toward the Land Down Under.
I stayed with them. I knew my parents wouldn’t have been pleased I was heading back to the scene of the crime, but I had a couple of reasons for sticking with the school group besides safety in numbers.
First, something strange was going on. If the entire field trip was so excited to go see Kazoo, that meant no one knew Kazoo wasn’t on display. Kazoo’s kidnapping should have been the top story on the local news. FunJungle dominated the press in Central Texas; when the park so much as considered changing the ticket prices, it would make the front page of the paper. It seemed unlikely that a whole class—including teachers and chaperones—could have missed the news. The only way no one could have known Kazoo was missing was if FunJungle hadn’t revealed it. However, I couldn’t imagine how anyone at FunJungle thought they could get away with that.
Second, I wanted to do some snooping myself. Summer’s words kept coming back to me: If I didn’t try to find Kazoo’s kidnapper, no one would. Perhaps J.J. McCracken could get Marge to back off me for a bit, but if Marge truly believed I was the culprit, she wasn’t going to look anywhere else.
As proof of this, there wasn’t a single security guard anywhere near KoalaVille. If there had be
en, I would have kept my distance. In fact there didn’t seem to be anything to indicate Kazoo’s habitat was a crime scene. To my surprise, the exhibit looked exactly the same as it always did. There was no crime tape blocking it off—or, more to FunJungle’s PR-minded style, signs claiming that the exhibit was CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS TO ENHANCE YOUR FUNJUNGLE EXPERIENCE. Instead there was actually a line of tourists snaking out the door.
It was all rather eerie. For a moment I found myself wondering if I had merely dreamed the whole thing about Kazoo being stolen.
“My class” excitedly headed toward the koala exhibit. But as they did, Freddie Malloy leaped into their path.
Freddie was the closest thing we had to a human celebrity at FunJungle—which wasn’t saying much. He’d started out as an actor in the FunJungle Friends Revue playing the evil land developer, Baron Wasteland, who was the villain of the show. However, he’d aspired to more and had eventually convinced the administration to let him host a show he’d cooked up called The World’s Most Deadly Animals. According to my father, the show might have worked out if Freddie had done what he’d promised, which was to present a few dangerous animals—like tigers, cobras, and Komodo dragons—and teach the audience about them. But Freddie had been far more interested in promoting himself, hoping to attract a TV network and score his own reality show. Therefore he kept provoking the animals so they’d be more exciting. He never hurt them, but he’d invade their personal space, make direct eye contact, and do other things they found threatening. Then they’d lunge or snap at him and Freddie would leap away and the audience would gasp in excitement. In theory. Unfortunately, Freddie sometimes lost his focus on the animals—which resulted in him losing other things, like fingers. (A gelada baboon had bitten one off, while the Komodo dragon was responsible for the other.) He’d also lost an earlobe (thanks to an ocelot) and a toe (Nile crocodile) and the tip of his nose (golden eagle). Each time, Freddie had managed to be surprisingly calm for a man who’d just lost a body part, but many audience members had freaked out. They had fainted, vomited, and stampeded for the exits—and those were the adults. (Most of the kids had thought seeing a man lose a finger was pretty cool, but many parents had threatened lawsuits against FunJungle anyhow, claiming their children had been traumatized.)