multiple yaps, I couldn’t really tell if there were two or three yappers. As people started streaming in from outside, I hurried to the viewing area and checked our little charges.
Yes! All three stood on wobbly legs, eyes still closed, most likely shrieking from being awakened by my screams—and, oh, by the way, if we happened to want to feed them now, they’d be pleased.
No, I don’t know wolf-pup-speak any more than I can speak Barklish with Lexie, Wagner, or my pet-sitting doggy charges, but I’m often intuitive in discerning what animals attempt to communicate. Or at least I think I am.
I moved back the way I’d come, to block the hordes from heading into the back area. Not everyone would try it, of course, but among the crowd were Krissy, Anthony, caretakers and other employees, and volunteers. I took a deep breath and said, “There’s been an accident, folks. I need for you to step outside and hang around until the authorities arrive.”
Which was when Dante plowed in. I’d bawled enough into my cell phone to convey what I’d discovered, and he gallantly started backing up my orders.
Only later did I wonder where he’d been from the time I’d called until the time he arrived.
THE EMTS ARRIVED only a few minutes before the cops. I wasn’t sure what was communicated to the volunteer staffing the front gate, but presumably she knew better than to keep the authorities out. In any event, I was herded outside by the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Department to join the milling crowd I had commanded to wait there.
It was hot as the sun beat down. I longed to stroll the paths of the sanctuary, peek into the carefully constructed habitats, and spy on the cheetahs and coyotes and mountain lions. Predators all, they wouldn’t blink at the presence of a dead body. But they used teeth and claws, not a human-manufactured blade, to bring down their prey. They hadn’t had anything to do with Jon Doe’s demise.
I would rather have departed HotWildlife, but I knew the drill. No one could leave until the authorities had released them. And that wouldn’t occur until we’d all been interrogated.
I looked around in the crowd for Dante, wondering why he hadn’t joined me. Surprisingly, he seemed deeply engaged in a conversation—with Brody! I thought Brody had left a long while ago to head back to L.A. Why was he here?
Wagner sat at their feet. Krissy hovered nearby in the mass of people, as if she, too, was hanging on every word of Dante’s. Anthony was at her side.
I stood in a group of strangers. Maybe that was a good thing, for now. I used the opportunity to make a call.
“Hi, Ned,” I said when Detective Ned Noralles of the Los Angeles Police Department answered his cell. “Guess what?”
“I know that tone,” my former nemesis and now buddy—since I’d helped clear his sister and him from being murder suspects recently—said to me. “Don’t tell me you’re involved in another murder.”
“I can’t not tell you,” I grumbled as quietly as I could so those around me couldn’t easily eavesdrop. “I need your advice.”
“Where are you?” he asked in apparent resignation. Or so it sounded, as best as I could hear amid the hubbub in the parking lot and the static in our connection. “Do you want me to join you?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I’m at HotWildlife.”
“If it’s where I think it is, that’s the jurisdiction of the San Bernardino County Sheriff-Coroner’s Department, right?”
Looking toward the nearest uniformed cop who was engaged in crowd control, I studied the official green and yellow patch on the sleeve of her khaki-colored cotton shirt that was tucked into deep green slacks. “Seems so,” I agreed.
“That could be a good thing. I’ve got a couple of buddies there. Tell me what happened.”
I eased my way to the perimeter of the crowd, earning a glare from the same exasperated cop. I smiled as disarmingly as I could, then told Ned what had
Yes! All three stood on wobbly legs, eyes still closed, most likely shrieking from being awakened by my screams—and, oh, by the way, if we happened to want to feed them now, they’d be pleased.
No, I don’t know wolf-pup-speak any more than I can speak Barklish with Lexie, Wagner, or my pet-sitting doggy charges, but I’m often intuitive in discerning what animals attempt to communicate. Or at least I think I am.
I moved back the way I’d come, to block the hordes from heading into the back area. Not everyone would try it, of course, but among the crowd were Krissy, Anthony, caretakers and other employees, and volunteers. I took a deep breath and said, “There’s been an accident, folks. I need for you to step outside and hang around until the authorities arrive.”
Which was when Dante plowed in. I’d bawled enough into my cell phone to convey what I’d discovered, and he gallantly started backing up my orders.
Only later did I wonder where he’d been from the time I’d called until the time he arrived.
THE EMTS ARRIVED only a few minutes before the cops. I wasn’t sure what was communicated to the volunteer staffing the front gate, but presumably she knew better than to keep the authorities out. In any event, I was herded outside by the San Bernardino Sheriff’s Department to join the milling crowd I had commanded to wait there.
It was hot as the sun beat down. I longed to stroll the paths of the sanctuary, peek into the carefully constructed habitats, and spy on the cheetahs and coyotes and mountain lions. Predators all, they wouldn’t blink at the presence of a dead body. But they used teeth and claws, not a human-manufactured blade, to bring down their prey. They hadn’t had anything to do with Jon Doe’s demise.
I would rather have departed HotWildlife, but I knew the drill. No one could leave until the authorities had released them. And that wouldn’t occur until we’d all been interrogated.
I looked around in the crowd for Dante, wondering why he hadn’t joined me. Surprisingly, he seemed deeply engaged in a conversation—with Brody! I thought Brody had left a long while ago to head back to L.A. Why was he here?
Wagner sat at their feet. Krissy hovered nearby in the mass of people, as if she, too, was hanging on every word of Dante’s. Anthony was at her side.
I stood in a group of strangers. Maybe that was a good thing, for now. I used the opportunity to make a call.
“Hi, Ned,” I said when Detective Ned Noralles of the Los Angeles Police Department answered his cell. “Guess what?”
“I know that tone,” my former nemesis and now buddy—since I’d helped clear his sister and him from being murder suspects recently—said to me. “Don’t tell me you’re involved in another murder.”
“I can’t not tell you,” I grumbled as quietly as I could so those around me couldn’t easily eavesdrop. “I need your advice.”
“Where are you?” he asked in apparent resignation. Or so it sounded, as best as I could hear amid the hubbub in the parking lot and the static in our connection. “Do you want me to join you?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I’m at HotWildlife.”
“If it’s where I think it is, that’s the jurisdiction of the San Bernardino County Sheriff-Coroner’s Department, right?”
Looking toward the nearest uniformed cop who was engaged in crowd control, I studied the official green and yellow patch on the sleeve of her khaki-colored cotton shirt that was tucked into deep green slacks. “Seems so,” I agreed.
“That could be a good thing. I’ve got a couple of buddies there. Tell me what happened.”
I eased my way to the perimeter of the crowd, earning a glare from the same exasperated cop. I smiled as disarmingly as I could, then told Ned what had
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