Summer and I wandered around the aisles, taking our time, as the Emporium had the best air conditioning of any building in the park: The doors were open at all times to lure in customers, so the cooling system was cranked down to fifty degrees to compensate. In some parts of the store—especially the frozen foods aisle—it was cold enough to make you shiver. Meanwhile, it was so hot outside that I’d already begun sweating on the short walk over. Without thinking twice about it, Summer opened a freezer, grabbed two Fudgsicles, and tossed one to me.
Eventually we found the aisle we were looking for. It was full of really cheap toys, stuff like rubber spiders and snakes, playing cards, fake jewelry, and action figures of all the FunJungle characters, even ones of Henry Hippo the store had forgotten to remove. Right in the middle of it all was a small cellophane packet of jacks.
Summer snatched it off its hook and tore it open, spilling the jacks into her hand. Then she plucked the one she’d found in Henry’s pool out of her pocket and held it up to compare. “Looks like the same brand,” she said.
I nodded in agreement. It wouldn’t have taken someone with a metal file very long to shave the little balls off the jacks until the stems were pointy. Presto—instant murder weapons.
“Think the killer bought them here?” I asked.
Summer looked at me like I was incredibly naive—a look she seemed to give me often. “No, I think the killer stuck them in his pocket and walked out the door. He wouldn’t leave a trail that way. And if he didn’t have an issue with murdering Henry, he probably wouldn’t have one with swiping a two-dollar packet of jacks.”
I considered pointing out that we didn’t know the killer was a he , but something told me Summer wouldn’t appreciate that. She seemed to have made up her mind it was a man, so I let it slide.
Instead, I said, “So pretty much anyone could have done this.”
“Pretty much,” Summer agreed. “Steal them, sharpen them, then wad them in some food and toss it into Henry’s mouth. Not too complicated. Although there is one thing we know about the killer. . . .”
Before she could finish the thought, a hand grabbed her shoulder. Summer and I spun around to find one of her bodyguards glaring down at her. “You have any idea what we’ve been through today?” he growled.
The second was suddenly behind me, gripping my arm as well. “’Course she does,” he said. “She thinks we’re playing a game here. Not trying to protect her life or anything.” He swung me around and glowered at me. “What have you two been up to, Fitzroy?”
I gulped, worried. My arm felt like it was being pinched in a vise. But before I could answer, Summer piped up:
“We haven’t been up to anything. I only ran into Teddy right now. There’s no need to interrogate him.”
“Maybe I’ll be the judge of that,” said the huge man holding me.
“Maybe my dad should know you’re terrorizing his employees’ children just because you’re annoyed I gave you the slip again.”
The bodyguard’s angry gaze shifted to Summer, but he seemed to realize she was right. He lowered his sunglasses and gave me the full brunt of his menacing stare. “This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” he warned. “I’m gonna keep my eye on you.” Then he let me go, but did it so roughly I ended up sprawled on the floor.
“C’mon, Princess,” the other bodyguard snarled. “Playtime’s over. You’ve had enough fun today.” With that, both men marched Summer toward the door.
She didn’t even glance back at me, apparently not wanting to let the goons know I meant anything to her. But as she was led away, she opened her hand, letting the jack she’d found in Henry’s pool drop. It bounced across the floor, stopping a few feet from me.
By the time I’d picked it up, Summer and her shadows were almost out the door. I could see both of them reprimanding her sternly as they went.
Up until that point, I had envied Summer, thinking she probably had the coolest life in the world. But as of then, I knew I wouldn’t ever trade places with her. Not for a billion dollars.
Without Summer around, I quickly felt like I was in over my head again. I wondered what she’d been about to tell me before her bodyguards had shown up. I wondered what she thought our next step should be. Unfortunately, I had no idea how to contact her again; in all the time we’d spent together that day, I’d never thought to ask for her cell number or e-mail—or to give her mine. Without that information, I doubted she’d be any easier to get in touch with than J.J. McCracken himself.
So for now, it appeared I was on my own again.
Or was I?
I ran out of the Emporium and cut through a small alley marked by a sign warning visitors it was off-limits to anyone but park employees. It led to the administration building, and right beyond that was the veterinary hospital.
The hospital was state-of-the-art. Mom had told me it had better medical equipment than most hospitals for humans . It was only one story tall, with several large pens along the sides for sick animals to recuperate after surgery. It had an elaborate security system, though this was primarily to limit the number of people coming in and out, since people carried germs and there were sick animals inside. Still, I had been there enough times with my mother that the receptionists knew me. Any time a new animal came in for Monkey Mountain—or anywhere in FunJungle—it had to be quarantined for up to three months to make sure it wasn’t bringing any diseases into the zoo, and the quarantine was part of the hospital.
There was a call box and a security camera by the front doors. I fished through a nearby trash can until I found a lunch bag, then pushed the call button and faced the camera. I didn’t have to fake being out of breath after running over.
“What is it, Teddy?” I recognized the voice as belonging to Roz, a sweet old lady who seemed to regard every animal in the hospital as her favorite.
“I need to talk to Doc,” I told her. “Mom says one of the gorillas is sick.”
The door immediately clicked open, allowing me into a small reception area where Roz sat behind a desk, a worried look on her face. “Which one?” she asked.
“Kwame,” I replied, and Roz gasped with enough concern that I felt guilty and added, “He’s not super sick. Mom just wants Doc to come take a look at him.”
“Let me call him.” Roz reached for her phone.
I held up the lunch bag. “Actually, Mom gave me a stool sample to give to him.”
Roz recoiled, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Oh. In that case, you know the way to his office, right?”
I nodded. Roz pressed a button on her desk and another set of doors clicked open.
I headed for them, hoping this would pay off. My dad had taught me a few things about stretching the truth. Over the years, he’d conned his way into lots of places to get the photographs he needed. But he always cautioned that lying was a trick best used as rarely as possible. You couldn’t deceive someone many times before they stopped believing you. If Doc told Roz I’d suckered her, I’d have blown my trust with her and probably wouldn’t ever be allowed into the hospital alone again.
There was a wide, shallow plastic tub by the doors with a thin layer of liquid disinfectant at the bottom. I dutifully stepped into it; most infectious agents that would be dangerous to sick animals traveled on the soles of people’s shoes. Once mine were sterilized, I pushed through the doors and hurried inside.
The building was immaculate. It was supposed to be as clean as possible for the health of the animals, of course, but except for the quarantine area, it had barely been used. FunJungle hadn’t been open long enough for many animals to need surgery yet.
I headed down a perfectly white and spotless hallway. Doc’s office wasn’t far along, but the door was open, so I could see that he wasn’t there. I hurried on toward the operating rooms, passing other offices on the way. Most of these were empty as well. There were ultimately supposed to be a dozen vets on staff at FunJungle, but they weren’t all hired yet—and those who were on staff spent most
of their day out in the park, tending to sick animals on site. Few of these calls were emergencies; mostly, they were only preemptive checkups. If a keeper noticed anything unusual with one of their animals—a limp, listlessness, loss of appetite—they’d call the hospital and a junior vet would be dispatched to see what was wrong. Only Doc had the clout to do what few operations there were.
There were four operating rooms. Two were the size of a normal human operating room, for smaller animals, while two were much larger, big enough to perform surgery on a camel. (It wasn’t a mistake that they weren’t quite big enough for a hippo; the bigger an animal was, the more dangerous it was to move from place to place, so it was ultimately safer to do any surgery on it within its enclosure.) The first three operating rooms were open, no one inside. They were so clean, it appeared no one had been in them in weeks, if ever.
However, the door to the fourth, one of the larger operating rooms, was shut. I pressed my ear against it and heard voices inside. The thick steel door muffled them, but I could recognize one as Doc’s. I knocked.
Doc opened the door a crack and peered out, looking flustered—but that changed to annoyance when he saw me. “How the heck did you get back here?” he asked, sounding more irritated with me than usual.
“I need to show you something,” I said.
“I’m busy,” Doc snapped. He started to close the door, but before he could, I held up the modified jack.
“I found this in Henry’s pool.”
Doc stopped the door an inch from shutting it, surprised. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. A hundred different questions seemed to be tumbling around in his head. Finally, he turned to whoever was in the operating room, said, “I need a moment,” then stepped into the hall with me and shut the door behind him.
“What were you doing in Henry’s pool?” he demanded. He kept his voice low, so whoever was in the operating room wouldn’t hear.
I tried to choose my words carefully. “I, uh . . . I heard you were looking for this.”
Doc swiped the jack from my hand and looked it over cautiously.
There was a cold silence. I tried to fill it. “It’s one of the murder weapons. . . .”
“I know what it is,” Doc hissed. “The question is, how did you ? You shouldn’t have been looking for this.”
Something told me it wouldn’t be too smart to mention Summer’s involvement. Or to answer Doc’s question directly. “I thought you’d want to see it,” I said.
“You’re not supposed to be back here,” Doc replied. “So scoot.”
“But I thought—”
“Now.” Doc shoved the jack in his pocket and turned back to the operating room.
I knew saying anything else was a bad idea, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t let Doc take my evidence and leave me with nothing. “But this proves Henry was murdered! Don’t you think we should do something?”
Doc turned back on me, his eyes narrowing. “You shouldn’t be involved in this at all,” he growled. “Next time you consider doing something stupid like going into the hippo pool, run it past your parents first. Now get out of here before I call security.”
With that, he stormed back into the operating room and slammed the door behind him.
Right before the door closed, I caught a glimpse of what he’d been doing. A dead jaguar lay on an operating table, sliced open in mid-autopsy.
I stood in the hallway, stunned.
The dead jaguar was upsetting, but the conversation with Doc had really thrown me. So much about it was disturbing, I wasn’t even really sure where to start.
I’d known Doc could be crusty, but I’d figured showing him the jack would have produced a far different reaction. I’d hoped Doc would have been impressed by my detective work—or thrilled to see proof that his theory was right. Instead, he’d seemed angry. . . .
Well, not just angry. I realized there had been something else wrong with Doc.
He’d seemed worried as well.
Who was in that operating room with him? I wondered. I pressed my ear to the door, but the voices had faded, as though Doc and whoever else was in there had stepped away from the door. I listened to no avail for thirty seconds, then decided I’d tested Doc’s patience enough and left, my mind full of questions.
What was I supposed to do now? If Doc wasn’t interested in the jack, why had he taken it? Why was he worried? Was it because of the mystery person in the room? Or was it because another animal was dead?
I stopped outside the hospital, struck by another disturbing thought. Something had been bothering me about the jaguar since I’d seen it and now, I’d finally figured out what it was.
There weren’t any jaguars at FunJungle.
There were supposed to be jaguars at FunJungle. They should have been on display as of opening day, but their display area—Carnivore Canyon—wasn’t finished. It had fallen several months behind schedule during construction. This was because FunJungle’s designers had mistakenly chosen to carve the canyon into the ground, rather than build a fake canyon altogether—only to discover that the area they’d picked to carve was solid rock. To get through it, they had to use dynamite—but this couldn’t be done as quickly as they’d hoped, because the explosions spooked some animals and could damage nearby exhibits. The first time the demolition crew had blasted, the tremor had cracked a ten-thousand-dollar glass wall at Shark Encounter, threatening to release ten million gallons of water—and six very hungry sharks—on the guests. Shark Encounter had been quickly closed for “Visitor Enhancement” and the demo crew had promised to be more cautious from then on.
There had been talk of delaying FunJungle’s opening until Carnivore Canyon was done, because Carnivore Canyon had lions and tigers in it and zoo visitors are always disappointed if there aren’t lions or tigers. In truth, those animals are usually boring—lions spend twenty hours a day sleeping and tigers are masters of hiding in the landscaping—but people still love them. Even so, J.J. McCracken had refused to put off the big day. Instead, he’d found a way to turn the construction delay into a money-maker.
J.J. had decided to make an event out of Carnivore Canyon’s unveiling, turning it into a second grand opening for FunJungle. First, he had the new exhibit heavily advertised, making it sound so amazing that people who’d already come to the park were excited to come back. Then he’d organized a huge gala sneak peek at the exhibit the night before it opened for “special members.” Special members were primarily people who’d paid a lot of money for the privilege—but a few invitations were being randomly awarded to park guests, which kept people coming. The party was two nights away, and it was going to be huge, with catered food and live music and fireworks; there were even rumors that a few movie stars and professional athletes might be there. I had hoped to go, as Carnivore Canyon had been off-limits to everyone during its construction and I was dying to see it, but Mom—who was invited—had sadly informed me the event was for adults only.
Until the Canyon opened, no cats were on view at FunJungle. The tigers and lions had been in quarantine for weeks, as had the raccoons, otters, and other carnivores that would be on display. (Since lions and tigers don’t move much, the trick to a good carnivore exhibit is to feature many smaller, more active carnivores. Raccoons and otters might not have much marquee value, but they’re fun to watch.) The delays had created all sorts of screw-ups for the delivery of many animals. Mom said the jaguars hadn’t even arrived yet.
So how had a dead jaguar ended up in Doc’s operating room?
I pondered this as I wandered through FunJungle. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I should be doing next. I thought about heading to Monkey Mountain to tell Mom all that had happened—that I’d met Summer McCracken and that we’d found the murder weapon together—but then she’d want to know how we’d found the murder weapon. I didn’t want to tell her that not only had I decided to investigate Henry’s death against her orders, but that I’d also broken into Hippo River to
do it. She’d be livid.
Or maybe she wouldn’t believe me at all; I didn’t even have the murder weapon anymore. She certainly wouldn’t buy that Doc had stolen it from me. Even though Doc was a crabby old jerk, Mom still respected him.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I fished it out, thinking it was probably Mom, but found a text message instead.
It stopped me in my tracks.
Meet me at World of Reptiles. Black mamba exhibit. 7PM. Summer.
I was surprised that Summer knew my cell number—but only for a moment. Her father was rich and employed both my parents. It had only taken Summer a few minutes to learn about every prank I’d pulled at FunJungle; getting my phone number would have been easy for her.
I was even more surprised by how excited I felt. Suddenly, my heart was beating quickly and my skin tingled. I felt like I’d ridden the motion simulator for the first time. I wanted to believe this was because Summer had found a new lead in the case to share with me, but when I thought about it, I realized there was something more: I couldn’t wait to see her again.
I texted back that I’d meet Summer at the black mamba exhibit, then found myself watching my phone, waiting for a reply. After five minutes, I realized this was stupid; why would she need to text me when she was going to see me soon?