Predator. Faye Kellerman

I’ll take a cup.”

      Padding around in her socks, she took down two mugs and filled them with hot water. Then she added a heaping tablespoon of instant coffee and doused it with milk before Decker could tell her that he drank his java black. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” She sat down. “So you don’t know anything about the will?”

      “No, I really don’t.” The woman looked dispirited. Decker pressed on. “I’d like to know what would happen to the animals if the place closed down.”

      She shook her head. “I’d like to think that a zoo or a circus would pick them up. But the truth is that some of these animals are so inbred that zoos wouldn’t have any use for them. Zoos need wild stock to prevent inherited diseases. Lots of these animals were bred by for-profit dealers. The majority of the animals are too unpredictable for circuses and zoos, but they’ve lost their instincts to exist in the wilds.”

      Decker nodded, and she continued.

      “If we couldn’t find another sanctuary, the majority of the animals here would have to be put down.”

      “Sad.”

      “That’s why Mr. Penny was so important to us. When he saw what we were doing, he became a major supporter.”

      “He visited here?”

      “Yes, he did.”

      “He was very reclusive. How’d you manage to get him out here?”

      “It took a lot of cajoling, but I got him here several years ago. I wanted him to know what his fifty thousand dollars was doing. He seemed pleased. Then, a month later, I got a check for six figures. I nearly fell off my chair. We have other supporters, but he was the biggest contributor. His money gave us slack so we didn’t have to constantly fund-raise.”

      “Do you have a professional fund-raiser?”

      “Good God, no. Most of our help are volunteers. Like Everett James, the gentleman that you met. On top of helping with the animals, he helps us with our accounting. We can’t afford a big staff like a zoo or anything.”

      “How many paid employees does Global Earth actually have?”

      “Full-time, it’s only me. The costs come from feeding and maintaining the animals, state licenses, vet services, all that kind of stuff. I started off volunteering. Then, after Fern died and they offered me a junior position, I jumped at it. Allan was made president. Then after he left for Alaska, they were going to close the place down. I couldn’t let that happen without a fight. So I took over with a salary of twenty thousand a year—barely enough to pay for my car, food, and rent. A short time later, I got the call from Mr. Penny. It was like manna from heaven.”

      The walkie-talkie on her belt suddenly belched out static. “Excuse me.” She took out the squawk box. “Hi, Vern, what’s up?” Static over the line. Vignette said, “I’ll be right there.” She signed off, slipped on her hiking boots, and began lacing them up. “One of our grizzlies isn’t eating. Want to come with me and see what we do?”

      “That would be … interesting.”

      Vignette slipped some supplies into the pockets of her jacket. “Never met a grizzly before?”

      “Nope.” Decker managed a weak smile. “An encounter with a grizzly never made it to my bucket list.”

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      No matter how many times Marge made the ride, she always felt that spark of excitement when that blue expanse peeked from the horizon and then came into full view. In the sun, the Pacific was all sparkles and diamonds, frothing at the break line, the front yard of miles of luxury real estate. Lately she and Will had been talking about the next step. It made her anxious to think about it, but life was about change.

      Her mood was light, and Oliver seemed at peace. He didn’t grouse, he didn’t carp, and he didn’t bellyache. He ate his tuna sandwich and potato chips while looking out the window, licking his fingers like a fourth grader at lunch. He said, “Tell me again why we’re working in L.A.?”

      “Because our lungs have become adept at filtering smog.” A quick glance at her surroundings. “And despite the plunge in home prices, I do believe that neither you nor I make enough to afford one of these puppies.”

      “How does your boyfriend do it?”

      “His bungalow is a one bedroom and it’s inland. No view of the ocean, but he does have a huge sycamore in his tiny backyard, and the place is within walking distance to the hiking trails.” She inhaled and let it out. “You know we’re thinking about taking it to the next level.”

      “Which is?”

      “Getting a ring.”

      Oliver’s eyes widened. “Nice.” A pause. “I hope not too soon.”

      Marge’s smile was genuine. “Not immediately, no.”

      “That’s good.” Oliver bit his lip. “I mean … it’s good to take your time.”

      “We’ve been working together for years, Oliver. Say it out loud. You’d miss me.”

      “I would miss you.” He meant it. “I hope you’re not contemplating a move to Santa Barbara?”

      “Not at the moment.”

      “He’s moving to L.A.?”

      Marge said, “That would be a no as well. Right now we’re okay with the arrangement.”

      “Good deal from where I’m sitting.” He was visibly relieved.

      “Aw … you care.”

      He squirmed and changed the subject. “What kind of ring?”

      “He’s resizing his late mother’s old diamond—three-carat emerald cut.”

      “That’s the real deal.”

      “Yes it is.”

      “Good for you, Marge. I’m happy for you.”

      “Thank you, Scott. I’m happy, too. I’ve got a good guy. I know that the ring’s only a symbol, but it’s still nice. Not only will it look pretty on my finger, but jewelry is always a good investment in times of economic uncertainty.”

      Sabrina Talbot lived behind gates in a multi-million-dollar estate house on multiple acres with multimillionaires and a few billionaires as neighbors. The structure wasn’t visible from the road. It was masked behind a forest of trees and iron fencing. The metal pickets had been forged into seven-foot-high helmeted men sporting pikes. Directly behind the fencing were rosebushes, sprouting thorns on each branch. Every ten feet or so were brick pilasters topped with decorative lights and security cameras. The guard house bisected the driveway to the house. Marge stopped in front of the gate and rolled down the driver’s window. The sentry pulled back a door revealing a very big man: around six feet three with at least 275 pounds of fat and muscle. His bluish black skin tone spoke of Africa, so Marge wasn’t surprised when he spoke with an accent.

      “How can I help you?”

      “I’m Sergeant Marge Dunn and this is my partner, Detective Scott Oliver. We’re from LAPD, and we’re here to see Sabrina Talbot. Her secretary set up an appointment today at eleven.”

      “One moment.” The door slid shut. It took several minutes. The guard stayed ensconced in his protective chamber, but the gates parted majestically. Directly in front was a golf cart with a sign on the back that read: follow me.

      They rode an asphalt trail that cut through acres of greenery—silvery olive trees, California oak, bare sycamores, and varieties of menthol-exhaling eucalyptus, all of the trees underplanted with thick