The Disappearing Otters by Emma Carlson Berne

Author:Emma Carlson Berne
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Stone Arch Books; Seaside Sanctuary; fiction; 9781496578600; 9781496580290; 9781496578648
Publisher: Capstone
Published: 2019-01-02T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

An hour later, the three of us were crouched over a computer at the Charleston Public Library. Anson seemed totally at home in the quiet space.

“Let’s Google river otters first, to see what’s out there,” he suggested. His fingers flew over the keys with surprising speed.

“I already did that the other day,” Olivia said.

“Might be worth another look,” he said.

We all scanned the list that popped up. Sites on the otters’ habitats, feeding habits, babies, family groups. Lots of pictures of the little guys. I teared up a little at the sight of their funny old-man faces. I hoped the stolen pair were out there somewhere, and safe.

“Anson, dear, let me know if I can help.”

I turned around at the sound of the librarian’s voice. She stood behind us, smiling, then patted Anson on the shoulder before walking away.

“You know the librarian?” I asked.

Anson shrugged. “I come in here a lot to read, look things up…” He cleared his throat. “We don’t have a lot of books at home. Or a computer, for that matter.”

Something about the way he said it told me not to ask any more.

Anson cleared his throat. “Here, look at this.”

Olivia and I turned our attention back to the screen. “Otters Crowd Tokyo’s Wildlife Cafés,” I read aloud.

Quickly we scanned the article. It described cafés in Japan, full of animals to pet and play with, where people could go and have fancy drinks. The animals were like entertainment. But they weren’t just regular pet-type animals like dogs or cats. The cafés in the article had owls, small exotic cats like ocelots, and otters.

“So this place gets animals and basically uses them as entertainment?” Olivia asked.

“Yeah, that seems like the idea,” Anson said. “And look, here’s another article about these wildlife cafés in general. They’re all across Asia and Russia, apparently—and they’re really popular.”

Suddenly he stopped and leaned closer to the screen. He read for what seemed like a hundred years, his face growing more and more serious.

“What? What?” I gripped the edge of the table and tried to see what he was reading. Beside me, Olivia was gnawing on her fingernails, her eyes fixed on Anson.

Anson finally looked at us, his eyes big. “This article was from a wild-animal watchdog group. It talks about the black-market trade of exotic animals.”

“Black market? That means illegal, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Right, like animals bought and sold against the law. Anyway, it says that the wildlife cafés in Asia and Russia are a big part of it. Most of the animals there were bought on the black market.”

I took the mouse from Anson and scrolled through some of the pictures. Well-dressed people sat around a candy-colored café. There were caged animals on each side and other animals, including otters, walking around on the floor. People were taking selfies with the otters and drinking foamy-looking drinks.

It didn’t look anything like Seaside Sanctuary. It didn’t look like any kind of place for animals. There were no pools to swim in, no bushes to hide in, no logs to den under.

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