How To Tail a Cat by Rebecca M. Hale Read Free Book Online Page B

turned his attention to an artificial tree with a ribbed banyanlike trunk that rose from the base of the tank all the way up to the first floor’s elevated ceiling.
    His eyes searched through the reams of fake moss that hung from the limbs, but he found nothing more than the Academy’s regular arsenal of artificial greenery.
    No one hid behind the tree’s thick trunk; no eyes peeped through its branches.
    His gaze slid down toward the brass balcony that surrounded the upper ring of the sunken exhibit. The balcony’s facing was made up of a row of vertically aligned seahorses. The flattened bodies had been artfully arranged in close parallel alignment to prevent any of the Academy’s smaller visitors from slipping through the slats.
    A few foreign tourists leaned against the railing on the opposite side of the tank, and a homeless man rested, half asleep, on a nearby bench. But no one unusual appeared to be lurking about the exhibit’s top floor, Sam quickly concluded. He could find nothing to explain the persistent and unsettling sensation that he was being watched.
    Satisfied that he had cleared the upper level, Sam leaned over the railing to look into the tank.
    A trimming of decorative ceramic tiles, each one depicting an aquatic image, ran just beneath the balcony’s footings.
    In the water below, a boulder-sized snapping turtle climbed clumsily over a half-submerged log. The awkward, lumbering creature had a wart-covered head that looked as bony as its shell. A second turtle floated, motionless, a few feet away, its short, stumpy appendages pulled inward as if it were impersonating a rock.
    Sam lingered briefly on the turtles before shifting his focus to the exhibit’s main attraction, an albino alligator that, according to a plaque posted by the brass balcony, was named Clive.
    He stared down at the creature, intrigued by its unusual coloring. He’d never seen anything quite like its scaly, segmented skin, which held just enough pigment to give off a yellowish, almost neon glow. Creamy leather squares filled in the flat length of the animal’s back; the center of each segment of skin tufted up like the baked whipped topping on a meringue pie.
    Mist began pumping out of spigots mounted onto the sides of the tank, a mechanism used to increase the humidity at the water’s surface. As the tiny droplets coated the gator’s body, the corners of his mouth curved gently upward, giving the impression of a smile.
    Slowly, Sam met the alligator’s bleary gaze, and one of the gray-pupiled, red-tinged eyeballs blinked back. For a moment, Sam forgot the paranoid fear that had gripped him minutes before.
    This was a peaceful, gentle beast—Sam could tell. He felt an instant kinship with the reptilian misfit.
    • • •
    JUST THEN, A stampede of pounding feet emanated from a distant corridor. The accompanying chorus of high-pitched screams signaled the end of the penguin-feeding session in the building’s opposite wing.
    Sam flinched, and his hands instinctively clenched the brass railing. He watched the gator’s lids sink down over its eyeballs, as if he were trying to shut out the irksome noise.
    Standing there, pressed against the seahorse balcony, staring down into the alligator’s tank, Sam felt a renewed commitment to the day’s mission.
    His voice whispered his thoughts, his tone soft but resolute.
    “Don’t worry, Clive. We’re going to get you out of here.”
    • • •
    ON THE OPPOSITE side of the Swamp Exhibit, the old man in tramp’s clothes stood up from his bench. He watched as one of the Academy’s frog scientists hurried across the atrium to greet her amphibian expert. Still bent over the seahorse balcony and staring into the tank, Sam didn’t appear to hear the woman call out to him.
    Seemingly satisfied with the turn of events, the hobo transmitted an update into the microphone tucked into his sleeve. Then, he skirted the edge of the exhibit area and crossed to the atrium.
    Thoughtfully