Serengeti Serenade Exposed

By Anne Knowles

Cinn Wyatt-Jones returns to the Serengeti to find Dr. Colin McCullough's time dominated by a group of rich, foundation donors. An already stressful situation becomes tragic when one of them is murdered. It becomes frightening with the realization that one of them has to be the murderer, but which one? Daughter of a detective, Cinn can't keep herself from trying to solve the crime. Worried about her safety, Colin tells her to stop. When she asks him if that's an order, he replies that she can call it what she wants, but she has to stop. "You're not the boss of me," she replies. Alienated from Colin, Cinn finds herself struggling with a difficult film script, her own fictional murder mystery, and a real murder mystery. What else could go wrong? Another murder, perhaps?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anne Knowles
• Release date: Mar 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310958502

Anne Knowles

I'm a former Vista Volunteer, zookeeper, and teacher. I write books and poetry for children.

Book preview

Serengeti Serenade Exposed

Anne Knowles

Copyright 2014 Anne Knowles

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Cover Design by Laura Shinn

Dedication

For my friend

Kristine

Chapter 1

It started to go really bad when I tripped over the dead body. And there I was, thinking it was bad before that. When I'd landed in Nairobi, after my trip to China, I received a message that Dr. Colin McCullough wasn't picking me up at the airport for a night of welcome-back cuddles and such. He couldn't pick me up because he had to host a reception for donors to the foundation that funded his research. He had to play host because Dr. Simone, a zoologist in Tanzania and one of Colin's close friends, couldn't. She'd had to return to the states because her parents had been critically injured in a car accident. The reception had already started when I finally made it back to my room in the Seronera Lodge, so even puppy-love, welcome-back kisses would have to hold their horses.

Colin, ditching his guests, knocked on my door--and me just out of the tub and lavender delicious--and implored me to come to the reception. So, I did. The gathering at his cabin was a hammer-in-the-head nightmare. One of the donors was a drunken, bombastic bully. Another was a leering sleaze-lizard. A third was an extroverted televangelist who kept his wife in high heels even when hiking down a Serengeti pile of granite called a kopje. And the cherry on the sundae? A screeching headache had settled in my head like an Oklahoma Sooner.

Of course, that was all Saturday morning cartoons compared to the murder. Yep! Homicide. My own real-life mystery. Colin ordered me to stop trying to solve the crime. Ordered. Me. To. Stop. Had time in the Serengeti warped its way back to the days of sugar and spice and everything nice while I was on another continent for two weeks? Was Dr. Colin McCullough my superior officer? The cock-a-doodle-do to my cluck, cluck, cluck? The CEO freakin' boss of me? Hell no!

But I digress. As my kooky mother always reminded me, Darling, put on your tap shoes before you start the dance or the audience will bug out. Which is to say, I need to back up the bus. That puts me just home from China, standing naked beside my bathtub with a small bottle of lavender oil in my hand.

* * * * *

I had three bathtub goals. First, I wanted to scrub away the fourteen-hour plane trip and the long, bumpy Land Rover ride from Nairobi to the Serengeti with my two Edwards Film Production pals and a strange driver who found us at the airport with sign that read Perry, Patch, and Sin. (My name is spelled Cinn, short for Cinnamon Sugar--my mother, again). Second, I wanted to rinse away the whiney, middle-school reaction I'd had to the fact that I hadn't been met at the airport by Colin, hadn't been overwhelmed with hugs, kisses, and happy hormones, and hadn't been spirited away to a night of lovemaking in a Nairobi hotel before driving back together to Seronera in his Land Rover. It wasn't Colin's fault. Still, I was thirteen-year-old, badass cranky. Third, I wanted to soak away twenty-four hours without a shower, without fresh deodorant, and without changing clothes (yes, including girly under-garb). Body odor wafted above me in undulating, offensive cartoon lines.

Nude as a newborn, I dipped my fingers into the tub. Perfect. Just this side of scalding. I squeezed a couple drops of lavender oil into the water, and femininity filled the air like a love sonnet. I eased one foot in and then the other. When all ten toes, souls of my feet, and ankles had adjusted to the heat, I carefully lowered the much more sensitive rest of me into the water until I was sitting down. Finally, I inched my way back and rested my head on a rolled-up towel. As the water closed over my breasts, I closed my eyes in deep, delicious gratitude. I was happy to be back in Seronera, and I was happy to be just up the hill from the cabin where the man I loved resided while doing research on the lions of the Serengeti. So what if we hadn't been able to have a night together as we'd planned? It's not like a meteor had smacked into Earth condemning humanity to permanent extinction like a bunch of dumb dinosaurs.

On top of that, China had been fascinating and productive. Perry Kellogg (camera), Patch Whitney-Coates (sound), and I had returned with excellent film on Dr. Mei Zhang, world-renowned expert on the effects of global warning on pandas, the Siberian Tiger, and the Snub-nosed monkey. She and Dr. McCullough had been the first two scientists to adopt Candace Harrington-Richlieu's methodology for collecting data that could be easily accessed by scientists around the world. Candace was Colin's intern, and the documentary we were filming was about the cutting-edge methodology she had developed that scientists were convinced would enable quicker responses to global warming issues. Dr. Zhang had been a must-do interview for our documentary, and I was pleased that it went so well.

I was also excited about the work I'd done in my spare time on the murder mystery I was writing. It was an idea my father had talked to me about the morning of the day both he and my mother were killed in a head-on crash. The book was dear to me, an ode, almost, to my brave, detective father. I'd sent three chapters and a synopsis to his agent before I'd come back to the Serengeti. Maybe, just maybe, he would be willing to represent me.

I'd managed to finish the rough draft of the book through the sixth chapter. Clues? Subtle as could be, but available to any reader who wanted to pay attention to the details. Red herrings? Bold and brassy as an aging Las Vegas call girl. My murderer's motive? Out-of-left-field and heart wrenching as an afternoon made-for-TV movie. I'd worked and thought so hard about the details, I felt confident I could detect my way with the best of them.

With lavender and warmth and relaxation, it wasn't long before Dr. Colin McCullough took over each and every one of my thoughts. I wished he'd been able to pick me up at the airport, but I'd had enough time in the Land Rover to moan about that. No more disappointment. Time to be a big girl.

I knew the reception was important. When my pal Randi called me at the airport with our get-home plans, she told me it was for major donors to the wildlife foundation that funded Colin's work. Donors kept the foundation alive and made Colin's research possible. Those who had donated 250,00 dollars or more the previous year were being hosted for a week in the Serengeti. They had to pay for the trip to Africa themselves, but their thank-you reward was a week with a Serengeti research scientist.

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and submerged myself under the water. My long blond hair swirled around my face, and if I hadn't been holding my breath, I would have smiled. OK, I was tired and I was disappointed, but damn I was clean and smelling good. I could see Colin after the reception. I totally, as they say, got this. I sat up, soaped myself all over, shampooed my hair, and stood up to let the shower rinse me off.

As I turned off the shower, I heard a knock on my lodge room door. I grabbed a towel from the rack, bent over, and wrapped my hair in it turban style. Another knock. Louder. I stepped out of the tub, grabbed my robe from the hook on the back of the door, and slipped it over my dripping wet, lavender-yummy body. Another knock, more insistent. Hang on. I'm coming, I yelled as I hurried from the bathroom and to the door. I unlocked it and pulled it open.

Dr. Colin McCullough--he of the sandy hair, sexy hazel eyes, and strong, warm arms--didn't say a word. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him, pulled me into his arms, and lowered his mouth to mine in a welcome-home, let's-have-sex kiss. When he finally came up for air, he cupped his hands on my cheeks, looked into my eyes, and I tingled like an old-fashioned school bell. Exactly at that moment--at that tinglety, tinglety moment--he said, I'm miserable."

Huh?

I mean... He didn't finish the sentence. He untied my robe, and his warm hands invited themselves on in and up my sides, with the Misters Thumb and Thumb taking pleasurable detours to my breasts. Then, Colin pulled me into his arms again, and the needle on my hormone meter scampered like a happy terrier to red. Maybe my evening wouldn't be so lonely after all. I backed toward the bed, pulling Colin with me.

I knew he was as turned on as I was, but on my final, backward step to the bed, he stopped, pulled his hands from under my robe, and took a step back. I can't...this damn reception. I have to... Then, naughty boy, he stepped on up and kissed me again. Warm hands back under my robe. Different tour guides this time because they moved down, down, down to my oh-so-bare bottom. Picture hands kneading dough, and you'll get the idea. I was so on the edge of Hallelujah. I took another step toward the bed. He cradled me down onto my back, pushed my robe back, crawled on top of me, nuzzled my neck for a nanosecond, reached down to unsnap and unzip his pants, and, without pulling them off, he came into me hard and in a hurry. Rejoicing was immediate and multiple.

And then the phone jangled. We ignored it. Jangle. Jangle. Phone not stopping. Colin not stopping. And then warp drive and BAM! He climaxed; I climaxed again; and when he finally slowed down and stopped, we lay quietly in each other's arms. Phone was silent. Colin nuzzled my neck, kissed my forehead, my hair, my cheeks, and then lifted on his elbows. I love you.

Me, do.

He cleared his throat, rubbed a hand through his hair, and the phone jangled again. He muttered, I have to get back. Said I'd be right back. There's this one donor... He leaned down and lay claim to my mouth, again. Jangle. Jangle. He lifted up on his elbows again.

What?

The reception. This one guy. I'm the scientist. He gave...I don't know...half a million dollars. He thinks he owns me for a week. I mean, he gets to hang around with me for the week, but, Jesus, he really thinks he owns me. He lowered his head and kissed my breasts. Phone went silent again. I could feel Colin begin to harden inside me.

And jingle jangle goes phone again, for crying out loud. Jangle. Jangle. Colin was rock hard inside me and raring to go. Jangle. Jangle. I reached my arm toward the end table to answer the phone. Don't, Colin whispered from around a happy nipple.

I picked up the phone anyway and managed to croak out a reasonably understandable, Hello?

Before I could say another word, Howard Edwards, my boss, yelled, Where the hell is Colin? That was certainly an impolite greeting. He'd skipped the Hi. How are you? How was your trip? niceties. I couldn't come up with a response even thought I knew exactly where Colin was.

Where the hell is Colin? Howard's voice was moving from bass to tenor. This big donor Rombaster guy is getting on my nerves. I mean kill-me-now getting on my nerves. He's drunk. Keeps asking me to get his scientist. Calls Colin HIS scientist, and I'm talking capital letters HIS. Where the hell is he?

My mind ran through a variety of scenarios trying to figure out what he was talking about. Finally, I simply said, Calm down. He's here. He just wanted to invite me to the reception.

Sure he did. That's exactly what he's doing at this moment. Put him on the phone, dammit.

You're not his superior officer...

Put. Him. On. The. Phone. NOW.

I held out the phone to Colin who was still nuzzling away. I guess it's for you.

Colin managed to pause long enough to look up and ask, Who is it?

Howard yelled, Give him the damn phone. I didn't respond immediately because Colin had started slowly moving inside me. Howard's voice reached a level that even Colin could hear through the receiver. "Tell him to get his hands off of you and get the hell down here. I'm not putting up with this bombastic, drunken jerk while you two say Howdy on the bed."

Jeez, Howard. Get your mind out of puberty, I said. He'll be right down.

Faster than that, Howard said, and he clicked off without the requisite, polite goodbye.

You better get down there, I said. Howard's gone nuclear.

He paused, kissed me softly, and then slowly pulled out. A couple of deep breaths from each of us, I tied my robe closed, and Colin tried to zip his pants up. Not easy at that particular moment. Mission accomplished, he said, Sorry.

Nothing to be sorry for. It's OK. I get it. I can see you later. How's your shoulder? Are you OK?

Fine. Come down with me.

Colin...

Please...

Despite our energizing tryst, I was still bone tired, and I had the beginning of a jet-lag headache. The last thing I wanted was to go to a reception of big donors, especially if one of them was hogging all of Colin's time like a piggy pig pig. "It