The Preening Peacock - A Rosalinda Alameda Mystery, Page 3

doesn’t seem likely.”

  Rosalinda began walking around the first cage, carefully examining it. “We had rain on and off all morning, so if there were footprints or marks, they’d probably be washed away by now. Still, I don’t see anything odd, and the cockatoo’s nails look fine.”

  Mark rolled his eyes. “Of course they’re fine. You’re just imagining this whole silly thing. Probably read too many Agatha Christie novels. Or watched too many episodes of … what’s that silly show my grandmother used to always watch, with that absent-minded white-haired crone as the leading lady …”

  Rosalinda moved over to the other cockatoo cage, ignoring Mark’s continuing babble. Again, she examined the cage and surrounding area for clues. But the bird seemed untouched and the cage pristine.

  She looked over at the Australia Aviary. “Could we get some of those food sticks and go in?”

  Mark shook his head. “See? She just wants free food for the parakeets! She doesn’t want to pay the three dollars a pop we charge for their snacks.”

  Christian ignored him. He walked over to the kiosk and murmured something to the elderly man within. A moment later he had returned carrying a handful of the thin sticks. Each held a large dab of peanut-butter-and-seed at the far end of it.

  Rosalinda nodded her thanks. “These will do nicely.”

  They stepped to the aviary.

  The half-cylinder cage was large – perhaps twenty feet tall at its center and a full fifty feet long. The wire mesh held within it a flock of perhaps one hundred colorful budgies in green, blue, yellow, and white. Double doors on either end helped ensure that none of the chirping residents escaped to the outdoor world.

  The group moved past the first door and waited in the ‘airlock’ until that first door was firmly closed.

  Then they stepped within.

  Rosalinda felt that same burst of joy that she always did when she entered the aviary. It felt like she had come home. She stretched her arms wide in front of her, spreading her fingers so a treat stick was held between each pair.

  The birds descended as if she were Saint Francis of Assisi preaching to them the Gospel of Love.

  She waited patiently as they came and went, her eyes carefully going to their beaks and nails. Many of them held a purple staining, slight but visible.

  A light blue parakeet wiggled its way up her arm, playfully pulling at the threads in her red dress. She looked over to Christian. “Do you see it?”

  He nodded, his gaze more serious now. “Yes, I do. So someone was in here as well. Why?”

  “They probably just wanted to get rid of the remaining evidence,” she murmured, smiling fondly at a bright yellow keet who was overly enthusiastic about having its share of the treat. “The chance of someone drugging this entire aviary would be slim to none. Besides, keets can roust at the blink of an eye. Even if the flock scattered in this aviary, they’d settle down again soon enough and none would think anything of it.”

  She looked around the enclosure. The wooden walkway ran about five feet above the ground level. The open section of the aviary held several trees for the parakeets to roost in as well as a small pond.

  Rosalinda’s gaze focused in on the dirt behind the larger tree. She motioned with her hands to Sarah and Kayla. “Can you please take the treat sticks?”

  The two girls reached over, and the flock of keets rose up in a cloud at the intrusion. When the girls reseated the sticks in their own hands, only a scattering of keets returned to investigate.

  Rosalinda carefully climbed over the railing and lowered herself down. She ignored Mark’s huffs of disapproval and made her way around to the back side of the tree – the spot which was hidden from view from the walkway. The rain had smoothed away the rougher edges, but the ground here had certainly been disturbed recently.

  She dropped to her knees in the rough soil and began digging with her hands.

  Mark’s cry had an edge to it. “Someone stop her! She’s gone senile! The old bat thinks she’s a mole, or a prairie dog, or –”

  Rosalinda’s hands hit something solid. Something metal with square edges.

  Christian was nodding in agreement to Mark. “Maybe this has gone too far. Maybe we should –”

  Rosalinda steeled herself. Christian might have a classic Puerto Rican look which would bring most women to their knees, but she’d sworn never to be swayed by such things again. He could easily be involved in whatever was going on here. She drew her eyes up to Kayla and Sarah and stated in a clear, steady voice, “Yes. I think you should call security.”

  Her fingers curled beneath the box. She gave a tug, and it came up into her lap, dripping her lovely dress with gobs of mud.

  She remembered when she’d bought the dress. She had treated herself to it, several years ago. She’d vowed to wait to wear it until she and Luis went out to a proper dinner at a nice restaurant. And she had waited … waited … and then there was that awful night in the pouring rain when she had seen …

  A pair of Massachusetts State Police stepped into the aviary. Rosalinda realized that the rest of the patrons had been quietly escorted out. She still sat, splayed, on the aviary’s ground floor, a metal box the size of a toaster resting in her lap.

  Kayla and Sarah huddled to one side, the phone clutched in their hands, their eyes wide.

  Christian’s voice was a low growl. “Fine. They’re here. Now say whatever you want to say and get out. You’ve caused enough trouble already.”

  She turned the metal box around on her lap. She raised its lid so all could see within.

  There was a pile of what appeared to be the ragged ends of tiger claws, undoubtedly discarded by the zoo’s two tigers during normal growing cycles. There were baggies of long, white whiskers. A foam enclosure held ten vials of what seemed to be blood. Another set of vials held yellow-green liquid.

  She lifted a tray. There were even more items beneath.

  Christian paled. “You need to –”

  Rosalinda glared at him. If he thought he’d get away with this due to his good looks, he had another think coming.

  Her eyes bored into his. “In Chinese medicine, this operation is undoubtedly worth a fortune. Claws for a sedative. Whiskers for toothaches. Feces will cure alcoholism. The fur drives away bugs. The blood builds strength.” Her voice grew in strength. “Do you know how they extract the bile? With a catheter, painfully inserted –”

  Mark spun on his heel and raced for the inner door. He flung it wide and dove for the second one.

  Rosalinda’s heart thundered in fury. She launched to her feet. “Stop him! The parakeets will escape!”

  To her utter surprise, it was not the two Massachusetts State Police who moved at that cry. It was Christian who launched, full dive, at Mark’s feet. Christian’s hands closed around Mark’s ankles, pulling him off balance.

  Mark flailed … sprawled … reached …

  He landed heavily in the airlock area, his hand still grasping for the handle.

  Christian rolled to a seating position and hauled hard on Mark’s ankles, pulling him back into the aviary. “Mark! My God! What have you done?”

  “The tigers didn’t need them,” snapped Mark in irritation. “Whiskers! Feces! Heck, those get trampled into the mud every day.” His eyes shone. “And think of how many people desperately want those items. How much they’re willing to pay.”

  Christian’s gaze grew sharp. “And the bile? The blood? That is hardly just discarded.”

  Mark hunched in defensively. “Still, it’s not like the tiger is killed when it’s removed. He recovers. There’s still a tiger sitting there for people to look at. They snap a few photos and move on. They don’t even notice.”

  “We should notice he’s in pain,” growled Christian. “It is our duty to care for these animals. To keep them as healthy as possible while they are entrusted to us. Each animal is on a precious mission to inspire a new generation of activists, veterinarians, and researchers.”

  Mark scoffed. “Th
e beasts are obsolete. Today’s kids would rather watch high-definition videos and play online games than see a smelly old animal in real life. They’re more interested in their selfies with the animal than the creature itself.” He waved a hand toward the metal box. “And in the meantime, thousands of dollars of goods are just going to waste!”

  Rosalinda shook the mud from her dress. “Animals are not factories. They are living, growing creatures. By perpetuating the market for tiger parts, you encourage people to buy illegally harvested items. There are only a thousand breeding female tigers left in the wild. Just one thousand! How many fans of tiger parts do you think it would take to drive those few remaining females into extinction?”

  Mark muttered and looked down.

  Rosalinda closed the lid and walked to the wooden platform. She put the box down on the neatly-swept surface and motioned to one of the state police. “You should probably take this.”

  He reached down to lift up the box and nodded. The other statie took a hold of Mark’s arm and hauled him to his feet. In a moment Mark’s hands were handcuffed behind his back.

  Christian moved over to the edge of the walkway and dropped to one knee. He held out a hand to Rosalinda. “I’m sorry. For everything. I should have been more open to what you were saying.”

  Rosalinda looked at that hand – and the strong shoulders which lay behind it. Temptation tore at her heart. It would be so easy to take the hand … to trust in him …

  With a heft, she lifted herself up onto the walkway and