Chapter 1: The Big Stink 1 THE BIG STINK I had just subdued an angry tourist with a zorilla when I got the bad news from Rwanda. At the time, I was in the children''s zoo at FunJungle Wild Animal Park. Marge O''Malley, the former chief of security, had brought me and my girlfriend, Summer, there to meet an employee named Orville Fenster, who had a mystery for us to solve. Since I was only in eighth grade, being a detective was more of a hobby than a full-time job. It had happened by accident; some crimes had occurred at FunJungle, I''d turned out to have a knack for solving them, and word got around. I didn''t handle major cases like armed robbery and murder. The local police took care of those. I was generally contacted about crimes that were more unusual.
Crimes that professional law enforcement often didn''t take seriously. Like this one. "Someone has been stealing the ducklings," Orville declared. Orville was in his early twenties and worked as a member of the FunJungle custodial staff. He wore a blue jumpsuit with a baseball cap and always carried a broom and dustpan, on the lookout for any stray garbage. The moment he saw some, it was his job to sweep it up and deposit it in the nearest trash receptacle. At any given time, there were dozens of people like him patrolling the park. The official job title was roving sanitation specialist, though everyone who worked at FunJungle called them sweepers.
"Have you actually seen someone stealing the ducklings?" I asked. "No," Orville admitted. "But three days ago, there were forty-eight of them in the pond. The next day, there were forty-seven. And today there are only forty-six." We were standing beside the pond in question. It was about the size of a tennis court and shaped like a kidney bean. Its shores were lined with cattails, reeds, and other water plants.
FunJungle was the largest zoo in the United States, and so its children''s zoo was the largest and most elaborate in the country as well. It featured an enormous petting zoo, several playgrounds, a performance stage, and an animal encounter area where keepers allowed visitors to meet--and occasionally even touch--live animals. The whole area featured whimsical architecture, animal-themed sculptures, and a great deal of topiary. The pond wasn''t really an exhibit so much as landscaping: a spot for people to sit at picnic tables and eat the overpriced snacks they''d bought at Eleanor Elephant''s Elegant Eatery. Unfortunately, there had always been problems with the pond. It wasn''t a natural body of water; it had only been designed to look natural by a team of contractors, theme park consultants, and landscape architects. It was supposed to be filled with crystal-clear water and beautiful koi fish, but for reasons no one could explain, the water was always murky and choked with algae. Despite this, the pond had proved surprisingly enticing to wild birds.
While some of these were cute and pleasant to look at, like the ducks, many were troublesome. The Canada geese were ornery. The seagulls had developed a taste for junk food and would snatch any refreshments left unattended for more than three seconds. And the grackles formed gigantic flocks that were extremely noisy and produced staggering amounts of poop. Trees that should have provided shade from the blazing Texas sun had been turned into danger zones; any guests who tried to dine beneath them would likely find themselves plastered with "grackle spackle." Between the bird poop and the algae, the pond often had an unpleasant, funky odor. As was the case at any zoo, there were plenty of places at FunJungle that didn''t smell great--but the pond was the worst offender by far. On hot and humid days, it emitted a noxious stench that my father said smelled like the outhouse section at a chili festival.
Luckily, the pond wasn''t particularly pungent that day. It was early November, so the temperature was mild, and a strong breeze was carrying any unpleasant aromas away. By that time of year, most ducks would have migrated out of central Texas, but the ones at FunJungle had plenty to eat and had become permanent residents. In the wild, ducklings were rarely born in the fall, and yet the FunJungle ducks had hatched a surprising number. I hadn''t realized how many there were until Orville mentioned it. Everywhere I looked, there were small clutches of ducklings. Some swam in lines behind their parents. Some paddled off on their own.
A quintet had waddled onto dry land a few feet away from us to devour some spilled popcorn. And those were just the ones I could see. The plants along the shores provided plenty of cover; there were certainly more ducklings hidden from sight among them. "Seems like it''d be hard to get an accurate count of them all," I said to Orville. "Are you sure you didn''t just miss a few?" Orville shook his head. "No. I was very thorough. I''ve counted the ducks every day since they were born.
" He then thought to add, "Not while I was working, of course. I count them on my own time." Summer carefully considered the ducklings in the pond. She had her long blond hair tucked under a baseball cap and wore big sunglasses to avoid being recognized. As the daughter of the park''s owner, J.J. McCracken, who was one of the richest people in America, Summer was famous, but when she dressed like a tourist, she was rarely noticed. Despite her wealth, Summer was extremely down-to-earth--and she was really smart as well.
We had met while solving a mystery together, and had been a great team ever since. "The ducklings all look really similar," Summer said to Orville. "Is there a chance that you might have counted the same ones twice?" Orville shook his head again, more emphatically this time. "They don''t look exactly alike. I can tell the differences. I didn''t make any mistakes." I started to ask another question about his accuracy, but Marge cut me off. "If Orville says he didn''t make any mistakes, then he didn''t make any mistakes.
" "I''m neurodivergent," Orville explained helpfully. "And I really like birds." "Oh," Summer said. "Cool." There were a lot of neurodivergent employees at FunJungle. The park was very supportive of them, which meant many neurodivergent people applied for jobs there. Meanwhile, Marge was now FunJungle''s head of crowd control operations. I had first met her when she worked in security, and we hadn''t gotten along at all.
She had immediately pegged me as a troublemaker and spent much of her time trying to bust me for breaking the rules, so I had retaliated by playing practical jokes on her, like slipping slices of bologna into her peanut butter sandwiches. Over time, we had put our differences aside. I still don''t think Marge liked me much, but she at least respected my talent for solving crimes. (I was much better at it than she had been, which was a major reason why J.J. McCracken had moved her to crowd control from security.) She appeared to be good friends with Orville, however, and was very protective of him. "Orville is really upset about this duckling situation," she reported.
"He cares a lot about ducks." "Especially hooded mergansers and buffleheads," Orville put in. "The ducks in this pond are mostly mallards, which are extremely common, but I like them too." "Okay, so ducklings have been disappearing," I conceded. "How do you know they''re being stolen and haven''t just." I paused to pick my words carefully. "Had an accident?" "Like the seagull at the dolphin show," Summer added. The pond wasn''t the only body of water at FunJungle that was plagued by gulls.
They also flocked around the dolphin tank, where they would routinely try to swipe the fish that the trainers used as rewards. The previous week, a seagull had mistakenly swooped in to grab a piece of herring just as one of the dolphins launched itself out of the water to perform a double somersault. The dolphin''s tail had caught the unfortunate seagull head-on, smacking it so hard that it exploded in a cloud of feathers, mortifying the audience. "There haven''t been any accidents," Orville insisted. "I''ve checked. Ducklings rarely venture more than a few feet from their parents, so if anything had happened to one, it would have been within the general vicinity of the duck pond. But I haven''t found any proof of that occurring. No dead bodies.
Or parts of bodies. Which ought to rule out the raccoons. They''re the primary predators at the pond." "You know that for sure?" I asked. Orville nodded vigorously. "Raccoons sometimes eat the koi fish. When they do, it''s extremely messy. I know, because I''m usually the one who has to clean it up.
If a raccoon had eaten a duckling, there would be evidence of it." "Is there a chance the ducklings just flew away?" Summer suggested. "Mallard ducklings don''t fledge until approximately ten weeks after hatching," Orville stated. "But none of the ducklings here are more than a month old." I looked out at the pond again, watching a clutch of six ducklings bob for food around their mother. It seemed to me that Orville had certainly done his detective work. "Do you have any suspects?" "I think it''s definitely a tourist," Orville said confidently, although he didn''t get to explain why, because a passing park guest chucked a beer can into the pond. It never ceased to amaze me how many people could come to FunJungle, which was a park that celebrated wildlife, and then do things that were dangerous or cruel to the animals.
They would pester the animals by knocking.