“I can’t go home! I need to stay here and help!”
“You’ve already helped. Thank God you came in. And thank God you convinced me. I’m not an easy person to convince, as your mother would testify.” The phone began to ring again. His computer pinged. “We’re hoping for the best, but this could be a long, unpleasant wait. You’ll be better off at home.”
“I’m steady in a crisis. Just ask Miss Rinker.”
“Who?”
“Please. Please don’t make me go.”
He picked up the phone. “Whit here. Could you hold a moment?” Pressing the phone to his chest, he waited for Loah to leave, and when she didn’t, he pursed his lips.
“You know, I remember when you were born. It was soon after the last time a loah—that ghost bird—was reported. Your mother brought you in to show you off, and when she told us your name, it was so perfect, we all started cheering. I think we scared you, though. You started bawling. And then you got a killer case of hiccups.”
“I still do that.”
“She talks about you all the time, you know.”
She does? Loah thought. She wanted to ask what her mother said, but the computer pinged again and Dr. Whitaker steered her toward the door.
“I’m sorry she went off alone,” he said. “Very sorry. But we will find her. I promise you that. As soon as we know anything, I’ll tell you. Anything—I promise. Now I’ve got to take this call.”
He opened the door. Mr. Smith stood right outside it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
This time, the ride back felt much shorter than the ride there.
When the truck pulled up in front of Loah’s house, Bully commenced barking. It was impossible to tell if he sensed danger or was barking for no reason whatsoever. Mr. Smith hadn’t said a word the whole way, and no sooner did Loah’s feet hit the ground than he pulled away in a cloud of evil exhaust.
Then backed up.
“Little Squirrel is hardheaded. She gets that from me.”
“Oh.”
“If she says you’re her friend, count on it.”
“Well, I’m her friend, too.”
He peered at the house, all but swallowed up by the trees. “You going to be all right here by yourself?”
“Yes.”
His scowl was dubious.
“You can stay with us. Squirrel and her mother would like that.”
“Thanks, Mr. Smith. But I’m always happiest when I’m home.”
He nodded as if that was the right answer. Bully barked, and they drove away.
Miss Rinker had left many messages. Theo, she said, continued to recover. The doctors insisted on keeping her, though she kept telling them she was perfectly fine. Why on earth didn’t Loah call her?
When Loah did, a nurse answered.
“She’s asleep,” he said in a low voice. “Do you want me to wake her?”
“No thank you. Just tell her Loah called.”
Loah’s goldfish blew a delicate stream of silvery bubbles. It flicked its lovely, translucent tail. Had the fish always been so beautiful, or had living here made it shine this bright? Loah and the fish kept each other company as she ate cold mashed potatoes and it nibbled fish flakes. She carefully carried the bowl up to her room, where she set it on the night table beside the photo of her and her mother. Kneeling on her bed, she spoke to the loah bird.
“If you’re there—if you managed to survive and I really hope you did—if you’re there and you see her, could you… could you maybe… maybe somehow watch over her? Since I can’t?”
The bird would not meet her eye.
The night was long.
Very long.
The next morning, Loah put on her CREW poncho for comfort, then sat in her mother’s desk chair. She was staring at the phone when tires crunched the gravel drive. She raced along the hall and out the back door, forgetting the rotting last step, which collapsed once and for all and so completely, the earth itself seemed to give way beneath her feet. The poncho made a completely ineffective parachute.
“Loah Londonderry?” A woman bustled toward her. Her hair was patchy—gray, white, and black. If she’d been a cat, she’d have been a plump tabby. “Are you all right, hon?”
“Did Dr. Whitaker send you? Did they find my mother?”
The woman had soulful green eyes. Their edges crimped with sadness.
“Oh dear,” she said. “So she is missing.” She helped Loah up, then opened her purse. “Don’t worry, hon. I’m here to help.” She extracted a small card and handed it to Loah: Margaret Murphy, MSW, Child Protection Services.
Protection? From what?
“What is that you’re wearing, hon? Don’t you have proper clothing?”
“This is my…” How to explain Miss Rinker’s bargain poncho to a stranger? “Never mind. If you’re not here about my mother, then—”
“But I am. My office has received reports of lack of adult supervision.” Ms. Murphy’s voice was soothing, almost apologetic. “I’m here to see what’s what.”
As if on cue, Inspector Kipper’s car pulled into the driveway. He strode purposefully toward them, wearing the solemn, important look of an adult who’s certain that he knows better than you do, and that one day you’ll be deeply grateful for his wisdom.
Loah considered ducking inside and locking the doors, but what good would that do? Clearly, the inspector was not giving up. This time he’d brought reinforcements.
“Hello, Margaret,” said Inspector Kipper. “Thank you for coming.”
“We were just getting acquainted.” Ms. Murphy smiled brightly at Loah, who edged away backward. “We were discussing her missing mother.”
Loah wanted to say her mother wasn’t missing, but—at the risk of being awfully repetitive—she hated to lie. As it happened, there was no time to speak anyway, because just then a harsh scraping sound made them all look up. No! Not now! Ms. Murphy gasped and gripped Loah’s arm as a slate tobogganed off the roof and smashed into the ground.
“Good heavens.” Ms. Murphy gasped. “I see what you mean, Wayne.”
Loah attempted to retrieve her arm, but Ms. Murphy held fast.
“Poor thing. Have you eaten lately? Are you hungry?” She fumbled one-handed in her purse.
Though there was no breeze, the trees began to stir. Feathery rustles, flickery whispers. Bright tufts and dark crowns, tilting and twisting. And then, out of nowhere, as if the air had conjured it—the vulture. Its thick talons clicked against the slates. Mrs. Murphy, extracting a cereal bar from her purse, gave a second, even bigger, gasp. The purse fell from her hand.
“Is that a buzzard?”
“Vicious bird of prey,” said Inspector Kipper. “Quite possibly diseased.”
Loah picked up the purse and handed it back. “Vultures only eat carrion,” she said, “which is meat that’s already dead.”
“Ooh.” Ms. Murphy dropped the purse again.
Like a snake with wings, the vulture hissed. Its stony eyes bored into Loah, trying to tell her something she tried to understand. Stand your ground. Or was it Beware? Up in the trees, deep in the bushes, tucked in the ivy, more birds gathered.
“You can see the situation, Margaret,” said the inspector.
“Please,” said Loah. “You don’t understand.”
“It’s not your fault, hon,” said Ms. Murphy in that infuriatingly soothing voice. She took Loah’s arm again. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”
“I know that!” cried Loah.
Ms. Murphy gasped her third gasp as a car hairpinned into the driveway. Brakes screeched, gravel flew, and the car’s front bumper crunched into the rear bumper of Inspector Kipper’s official vehicle.
“Hey!” he cried.
It was Loah’s turn to gasp. “You’re here!” she said.
The feather on Miss Rinker’s hat quivered as she climbed out of the car and mashed Loah to her cactus-y chest.
“Are you all right? Why didn’t you answer the phone? I was so worried. Tell me you’re
all right, Loah Londonderry!”
“Now,” said Loah. “Now I am.”
Miss Rinker’s head swiveled—from Loah to Inspector Kipper to Ms. Murphy then back to Loah. At that moment, something that Loah had never witnessed in eleven and a half years happened.
Miss Rinker went speechless.
Inspector Kipper, however, was never at a loss for words. Unfortunately.
“Ma’am? Hello. Can I ask who you might be?”
She blinked at him. “I know who I am, not who I might be. Who you are is the question.”
“Inspector Wayne J. Kipper, housing department.” He removed his red cap, revealing his bald spot and ring of dented hair. “And this is Margaret Murphy from child protection services. May I ask your relationship to this property and to this child?”
“Relationship? I… We… This is the beloved home of me and my brother, and this…” She turned to face Loah, who realized with a jolt that they had somehow become the same height. Miss Rinker’s eyes narrowed. She believed in the truth, even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. But apparently she also believed in deciding for herself what the truth was. “This is our one and only family.”
Have you ever wished you could stop time? Pause it so you could enjoy something a little bit longer? If so, you know how Loah felt just then.
“Your family calls you Miss Rinker?” said the investigator.
“I’ll thank you to do the same,” said Miss Rinker.
“Miss Rinker. It’s against the law to go off and leave a minor alone under any circumstances. And these circumstances—”
“Go off?” Miss Rinker rocked backward as if struck a blow. “Whatever do you mean?”
Swift and stealthy as arrows, still more birds gathered. The vulture hopped off the roof and into the gutter. This close, it was even uglier, but ugliness no longer seemed like the main thing about it. Maybe this was because Mr. Smith, in his own way, had been so kind to her, or because Miss Rinker, who never hugged, had hugged her as if her life depended on it, or maybe it was because Loah was not the girl she used to be, but whatever the cause, she saw the vulture differently now. Something her mother had told her about vultures whispered in the back of her mind.…
“In point of fact, every time I’ve been here Loah has been alone, in a structure that does not meet our municipality’s standards of housing.”
A jay screeched, and the inspector’s shoulders rose around his ears. Yet he stood his ground. Say what you will about him, Inspector Kipper believed in his mission. He explained that the tower (would he never learn?) was a menace, the trees a disaster in the making, the rotting step and crumbling roof serious hazards, and there were predatory and potentially disease-ridden creatures on the premises. He pointed at the vulture.
“Numerous notices have been ignored. Meanwhile, Loah Londonberry, a nice little girl though she needs some new friends, seems to have been abandoned.”
By now Miss Rinker had grown deathly pale. With all she’d been through in the last several days, with all she’d been through since she was a child, you’d think she could easily stand up to a pipsqueak like Inspector Kipper. Yet his accusations seemed to knock her off her feet. Her lips worked soundlessly. She tottered. Her hand went to her heart, and she began to tremble so hard she had to lean against Loah.
Who felt anger blaze up inside her. No—not anger. Make that fury. Any anger she’d felt in the past was a campfire compared to this. This was a wildfire. She put her arm around Miss Rinker. Her bones like toothpicks. Her chin sharp as an ax.
“Miss Rinker knows what it’s like to be abandoned. She knows how terrible it is, and she’d never let it happen to me. She and her brother are homebodies, just like me, and when my mother’s not here, Miss Rinker and Theo are.”
Loah pulled up a lawn chair and helped Miss Rinker into it. Maybe you’re thinking that by this point, Loah had used up her anger, which, like courage, she had in only limited supply. But it was actually getting stronger.
“My mother, Dr. Anastasia Londonderry, is dedicated to saving birds and their habitats. You say you care about homes, Inspector Kipper. Well, dozens and dozens and dozens of species of birds, mammals, fish, insects, and plants are losing theirs even as we speak! Do you even care?”
Something was happening overhead. The birds seemed to be conferring with one another, though that was impossible. Robins never speak to sparrows, and cardinals don’t communicate with nuthatches. But twitters and warbles flew back and forth, sharing some common language understood by every mysterious bird brain. The vulture shifted on its clumsy feet, never taking its eyes off Loah.
“I’m sorry she ignored your inspection notices. She didn’t mean to break the law. It’s just… Sometimes she gets so caught up in her work, that other things, she forgets…”
Loah’s voice began to fold up. Do not do not do not. Do. Not. Cry.
“My mother will be home soon,” she managed to say. “And when she is… when she gets home again…”
What if she didn’t?
“Oh, hon.” Ms. Murphy’s soulful green eyes glittered with tears. “You love your mother very much, and I’m sure she loves you just the same. How could she help it?” She turned to Miss Rinker. “My own mother died when I was young. I was raised by my grandmother, and I owe her everything. She’d have loved your hat, by the way. Listen, Miss Brinker. I’ll have to do a follow-up assessment, but for now I’m going to leave Loah under your supervision. You two take good care of each other, okay?”
Miss Rinker managed a nod.
Ms. Murphy gave Loah the cereal bar, got in her car, and drove away. Inspector Kipper, however—surprise, surprise—was not satisfied.
“It’s impossible to get anything straight around this place.” His face was edging toward a shade of red that matched his cap. “But I’ll tell you this. Dr. Londonderry is in violation of the law. She’s putting this property at risk. Soon it’ll be out of my hands.”
The vulture made a new sound, one Loah had never heard. Its throat began to wrinkle in a weird way, but the inspector, riffling through his papers, didn’t notice.
“Legal proceedings will proceed,” he said.
A house sparrow—could it be the same one she’d begged not to die?—landed at Loah’s feet. It took a few hops, looking over its shoulder. Follow me. It hopped farther away into the trees. Come on.
Loah followed. Meanwhile, the vulture tilted side to side, eyes slitted, red throat convulsing. What was it doing? The sparrow threw another look over its feathered shoulder. Look out.
That was the moment that Loah remembered what her mother had told her about vulture defense mechanisms.
“Inspector Kipper,” she said, “you should step back.”
He ignored her, continuing to hunt through his papers. The vulture’s neck pulsed. It throbbed.
“Inspector Kipper!”
Annoyed, he raised his face, just as the vulture opened its beak and shot out a geyser of the most repulsive-smelling vomit imaginable. (If you are squeamish, don’t even try to imagine it.) The puke spewed in a great arc that hung in the air for a brief, grotesque moment before splattering his face, cap, and shoulders.
The inspector was too stunned to move. Which made him the perfect target for the vulture to do it again.
Was that a decapitated mouse head on his cap? Loah didn’t mean to laugh. She really didn’t.
We all have our limits. Being showered in reeking vomit containing partly digested chunks of rodent was Inspector Kipper’s, at least for today. Hurling his ruined cap to the ground, he said something unrepeatable. Puke-spotted pages fell from his folder as he snapped it shut.
He climbed into his official vehicle, whose bumper was dented and whose upholstery was going to stink to high heaven for a long time, but Miss Rinker’s car had him boxed in. As he tried to maneuver out, several birds took the opportunity to unleash their own opinions on his windshield.
When he was finally gone, Loah looked up at the roof, wanting to thank
the vulture, but it had vanished.
“Loah.” Miss Rinker’s voice was a whisper. “Is Dr. Londonderry all right?”
Loah pulled a chair close to hers. As she explained, Miss Rinker clutched at her cactus-y sweater. Her lip drew back, showing her ill-fitting dentures. By the time Loah finished, Miss Rinker’s eyes were blurry with tears.
“I should have been here for you,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
There had been many times—more times than she could count—when Loah had wished to hear those words from Miss Rinker. Now was not one of those times.
“I kept busy. And I tried not to be afraid. Those are things you taught me, Miss Rinker.”
Miss Rinker took her hand. Mama said all living creatures depended on one another in ways big and small, ways they knew and ways they never guessed at, and she was right. Mama! Loah’s eyes filled with tears. Where was she? Loah lifted her face, and her breath caught as, all at once, the birds exploded out of the trees.
A quarrel of sparrows. A confusion of warblers. A murmuration of starlings, a charm of finches, a radiance of cardinals! Swooping down, they spun the world into wings and beaks, bright feathers and piercing eyes. The air around Loah and Miss Rinker swirled. The light shattered into dazzling bits. Miss Rinker and Loah held tight to each other as the birds looped this way and that, weaving a wild, heart-stopping blanket, a nest of air and song. It was frightening and wonderful beyond words, and Loah, trembling, felt as if her mother were right here with her. In the beat of their wings, between the trills and calls, she could hear Mama whisper, A place brimming with surprise and wonder and beauty for the finding…
The gravel in the driveway crunched, and the birds whirled up and out of sight so quickly that Loah might have thought she’d imagined it, except for Miss Rinker’s hand clutching hers and the singly perfect, deep blue feather drifting down to settle in her lap as Dr. Whitaker climbed out of his car and slowly, solemnly came toward them.
“We found her,” he said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The blue feather lay on the kitchen table as Dr. Whitaker took off his glasses and ran a hand over his eyes. He’d already outlined what had happened to Dr. Londonderry. Now, choosing each word carefully, he was about to fill in the details when the door banged open and Ellis burst into the room.
The Most Perfect Thing in the Universe Page 13