Toucan Keep a Secret

by Donna Andrews

  Well, it was worth a try.

  “I have no idea what this is,” I said, holding up the little bit of metal and narrowing my eyes as if the glare of the moonlight dazzled them. “I’m just trying to make sure the gazebo floor is structurally sound before repairing the railing. Now that I know the secret compartment is here, I can make sure the railing doesn’t interfere with opening it, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  It almost worked. He blinked a couple of times, and a puzzled look crossed his face. Then he frowned and tightened his grip on the gun.

  “Nice try,” he said. “But you know who I am.”

  “Buddy,” I said. “Sorry, but I don’t know your last name, and I have no idea which band of Ragnar’s you were in. I’ve never really been a big heavy metal fan.”

  “I bet you thought you’d found the treasure,” he said. “But you’re out of luck. I saw you messing around out here this afternoon, and I moved it.”

  “Treasure? That’s nice.” I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, and add in just a hint of disbelief that any treasure existed. “Why don’t you let me get back to repairing the secret compartment?”

  “I won’t be needing the secret compartment anymore,” he said. “I think it’s time for the police to find the jewels and return them to their rightful owner. Me.”

  He smiled. Not a pleasant smile, and I found myself thinking, irrelevantly, that perhaps he could use some of the money he made from selling the jewels for some restorative dental work. Though even perfect teeth wouldn’t make his smile anything but menacing.

  I decided pretending not to know his identity wasn’t getting me anywhere.

  “So that’s where the jewels were all these years?” I pointed to the secret compartment.

  “Yeah,” he said. “A lot more secure than most of the dumps I’ve been living in since I got out. Whenever I really needed a cash infusion, I’d sneak back, grab a few things, and sell them. But I was getting down to the stuff that’s impossible to sell on the black market for anything like what they’re really worth. So I figured if I could arrange to have the stuff found, I could sell it out in the open. Except I didn’t think it would work to just pretend to find the secret compartment.”

  “Someone might suspect you’d known about it all along.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “Plus, what if finding it on Ragnar’s land gave him some kind of claim on it? But I figured people would buy it if I could make it look as if Ma had had them buried with her.”

  “Tell me,” I said. “Did you really call her ‘Ma’?”

  “Yeah.” He cackled. “Drove her crazy. She wanted to be ‘Mama.’ Like zee French.” He smiled and chuckled as if driving his mother crazy was one of his fondest childhood memories. Then he shook himself slightly and his face assumed a serious look.

  “Just a few loose ends to wrap up,” he said. “Get up.”

  I stood, moving as slowly as I could. Obviously I was one of the loose ends, and I didn’t want to make myself easy to wrap up. In fact, I was puzzled why he hadn’t knocked me off already. Not complaining about his failure to do so, mind you—just puzzled.

  “I want the bird,” he said.

  “Bird?” I wasn’t just pretending to be dense. It took me a moment to realize he probably meant the toucan. Okay, that explained why I was still alive.

  “Don’t play dumb. The parrot.”

  I couldn’t help nodding. Just as I’d thought—he’d mistaken the toucan for a parrot. Though I was still puzzled about why he was so worried about it.

  “Just out of curiosity,” I said. “And since I assume I’m probably one of the loose ends you plan to wrap up, so you have no reason not to tell me—what did the parrot hear that you’re so worried about him repeating?”

  “Me arguing with that old fool in the church. He saw me go out to the crypt. Came out to see what was going on instead of calling the police like any sane person would. Of course, maybe that was because he was up to no good himself. He’d parked his car somewhere out of sight and was sneaking in to steal his wife’s ashes. Turned out to be useful to me, though. Stupid church started locking the crypt door since the last time I visited Ma’s grave.”

  Which by my calculations meant he hadn’t paid his respects in a quarter of a century. Well, everyone mourns in their own way.

  “So I convinced the old goat I’d get his wife’s ashes for him if he let me in, and he leads me into the church and gives me his crowbar and a key that’s just sitting on a hook in the church office—pretty pitiful security if you ask me.”

  “And why lock up a graveyard, anyway?” I asked. “No one outside wants to be inside, and no one inside’s likely to try to get out.”

  Archie frowned suspiciously.

  “It’s an old joke,” I explained. “So you’re worried the parrot would recognize you just from being in the office? They’re not actually that smart.”

  “They repeat things,” Archie said. “And the more they hear something, the more likely they’ll repeat it. The old man recognized me. He kept calling me by name. ‘Archie, Archie, Archie.’ Over and over.”

  At any other time I might have admired his spot-on imitation of Mr. Hagley’s hoarse, nasal, crowlike voice.

  “And telling me, ‘it’s not a crypt, it’s a calamari.’”

  “Columbarium,” I corrected absently.

  “Whatever. I didn’t worry about it at first—I thought I’d convinced him to stay put in the office. Give me a few minutes privacy to commune with Ma, and then on the way out I’d pop open the front of his wife’s niche and bring her jar back to him. He was going to be my witness. I’d come back and say ‘Holy cow! Someone’s already been prying open niches! And look what I found in the crypt!’ And then I’d hold up that big, ugly ruby ring of Ma’s and tell him to call the cops.”

  “What went wrong?” I asked.

  “I guess the old goat didn’t trust me. He followed me out there. I had to shut him up.”

  “You could have just told him you thought the jewelry was hidden in one of those niches and you had to see for yourself. I don’t know what the penalty would be for prying open a niche, but I bet it’s pretty minimal compared to the penalty for murder. And if they thought you were doing it to reclaim the stolen property you’d been trying to find for thirty years, they’d probably waive any penalty.”

  “Gee, too bad I didn’t have you there to boss me around that night,” Archie said. “Get moving. You’re going to get me the bird.”

  “He’s at the zoo,” I said. “It’ll be closed by now.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he said. “I figure you know the place well enough to help me get in. And show me where the bird is.”

  Oh, great. I was thrilled at the idea of trying to break into someplace guarded by an unknown number of armed Shiffleys. Though at least the chief had sent Vern there, which probably decreased the chances that we’d get shot in the dark.

  Still, I’d rather manage my escape from Archie’s clutches here at Ragnar’s. I had the feeling the less time I spent in Archie’s company, the better my chances for survival were.

  What was up with those idiots in the house, anyway? Why didn’t they come looking for me?

  As if in answer to my mental question, a muddled blast of guitar, bass, and drum shattered the quiet night, startling both of us. If the music was this loud all the way down here at the lake, I couldn’t imagine what it was like up in the house.

  “Oh, God,” Archie exclaimed. “Not that again.”

  “What in the world is it?”

  “I think they’re calling themselves Feral Slime this week,” he said. “Couple of the other guests are trying to form a band.”

  “Someone should stop them.” The only thing worse than dying here in Ragnar’s gazebo would be dying here—or anywhere—with Feral Slime’s ungodly racket filling my ears.

  “Well, at least with that racket going on, they won’t notice our departure.”

  Unfortunately he was right.r />
  I tried to think of some reason to linger. Surely it wouldn’t take long for Feral Slime to drive at least a few sane people out of the house.

  “Close up the secret compartment before we go,” Archie said. “No sense letting everyone find out about it. You never know. I might need to hide something again.”

  I stooped down and fumbled with the cover to the secret compartment. While I didn’t want to annoy Archie too much, I figured I could delay our departure at least a few minutes if I pretended to have trouble lifting the heavy stone slab. And if I could manage to hurl the thing at him—

  “Sometime this year,” Archie said, tapping his foot.

  “You know how heavy this thing is.” My tone was probably a little surly, because I had just realized that hurling the heavy stone slab wasn’t an option.

  “Just— What the hell?”

  Something ran into the gazebo and hurled itself at Archie’s leg. At first I thought it was an exceptionally large and very wet rat. But after it bit Archie on the leg and scampered toward me I realized it wasn’t a Rodent of Unusual Size. It was Spike.

  “He bit me!” Archie howled. He pointed the gun at Spike instead of me—which would have been a relief if Spike had been the rat I’d originally mistaken him for. But annoying as Spike was, I took a dim view of anyone shooting him. Besides, he was running straight at me.

  So I reached out, grabbed Spike as soon as he came close enough, and vaulted over the railing and into the lake.

  The water was just as slimy as I remembered, and not a lot warmer than it had been in February. And jumping into the lake might not have saved me or Spike if Archie had been free to take potshots at us as I tried to scramble upright and wade to the shore.

  But just then the swans arrived—several dozen of them. I deduced that Spike had found his way to their nesting grounds at the far end of the lake and done something to annoy them. Or maybe just woke them up—annoyed was the swans’ default setting. Not finding Spike in the gazebo, they turned their wrath on Archie. By the time I made it to the shore they had knocked him down and were flailing at him with their powerful wings, with an occasional beak jab by way of variation.

  Fortunately he’d attempted to flee from the gazebo when they’d attacked. He’d only gotten about six feet, but that meant he and the swans were far enough away that I thought I could risk wading back to the gazebo and fetching my phone.

  As soon as I got close to the gazebo, Spike wriggled free of my arms and leaped onto its stone floor. Instead of acting grateful for being rescued, he drenched me by standing as close as possible while he shook the surplus water from his fur. Then he set off at a run to the house, howling in mingled fear and fury as he went. He’d probably bite the first person he met.

  I put a little distance between me and the swans and called 911.

  Chapter 39

  “So glad to see you again, Dr. Shakespeare,” Mother was saying to the genial supply priest. “And such a thoughtful sermon.”

  They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Mother sailed through the vestibule in the direction of the parish hall to make sure the potluck lunch was set up properly.

  “Thoughtful,” Lyndon Shakespeare repeated as he shook hands with me. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing? Robyn has already warned me that ‘interesting’ would mean there was nothing nice to say about it.”

  “Thoughtful is good,” I said. “Thoughtful probably means Dad squirmed less than usual. Or possibly that you said something she can make use of at her next book club meeting.”

  “It’s all good, then.” He looked relieved. “How are you feeling after your ordeal?”

  “Very glad it’s over,” I said. “You can’t imagine what a treat it is to come here and find the biggest problem going on is that too many people brought potato salad instead of green bean casserole.”

  “I will feel free to indulge my unseemly passion for potato salad, then. My years in America have not made me a convert to the green bean casserole. Is it my imagination, or do we have a larger turnout than usual?”

  “We don’t usually manage standing-room-only outside of Christmas and Easter,” I said. “And no offense to you, because it was a nice sermon, but I expect everyone turned up because they wanted to get the scoop on what happened last night.”

  “Me included.” He laughed and shook his head. “Although I feel guilty keeping you from that lunch, and I notice that the line to shake hands with me is backing up so that people are beginning to sneak out the side doors—so just one question, if I may.”

  “Sure.”

  “Is it over now? I know it’s been fretting Robyn, and I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through. Have they got the right bloke? Are things going to settle down finally?”

  “They’ve definitely got the right bloke,” I said. “For Hagley’s murder, the attack on me, and Aaron Hempel’s murder, which they didn’t even know was a murder until this week. Caerphilly is rapidly becoming a town devoid of mystery.”

  “I can’t imagine that will last long,” he said. “But let’s enjoy the lull while we can. And let Robyn focus on Matt and the impending new arrival. See you later.”

  I was about to follow Mother to the parish hall, but in the vestibule I ran into Robyn. Matt had brought her to the service in a wheelchair and was standing guard to make sure she stayed in it. They were feeding some grapes to Nimitz—we’d had Grandfather bring him in so Robyn could see for herself that he was perfectly happy and healthy out at the zoo.

  “Meg!” Robyn exclaimed. “So glad you’re safe! Can you stay for the ceremony?”

  “What ceremony?”

  “The Restoration of Things Profaned. I thought it would help speed getting things back to normal around here, so we’re going to do it after lunch—Dr. Womble, Father Shakespeare, and I. Don’t worry; I’ll stay in the chair and let them do any heavy lifting.”

  “I’d be delighted to,” I said.

  “Thanks for getting the household cleanup started,” Matt said. “Especially for sending the Shiffleys over. I’ve learned my lesson—next time I need something fixed, I’ll ask Randall which one of his cousins would be interested.”

  “Good idea,” I said. “In the long run it’s cheaper than doing it yourself if you don’t have time to finish.”

  “Yeah. And the Shiffleys are real interested in trading handyman work for paintings of their kids, so it should work out great.”

  He wheeled Robyn toward the parish hall.

  I smiled as I watched them, wondering if perhaps I could safely delegate most of the future decluttering to Mother and Cordelia. And I glanced over at Nimitz, who, in spite the large tarp we’d laid down beneath his cage, was managing to create quite a mess for someone to clean up. Not me, luckily; I’d managed to weasel out of cleanup duty today.

  “Meg?”

  I turned to find Mrs. Washington standing in front of me. I must have looked alarmed, because she stepped back slightly and held up her hands as if in surrender.

  “I’m here to apologize,” she said.

  “No need,” I said.

  “I think there is. I startled you yesterday.”

  “Startled?” Suddenly it seemed funny, and I burst out laughing. “You scared the Dickens out of me. I thought I was trapped alone in the church with a cold-blooded murderess who was also a diabolically clever jewel thief.”

  “When you come right down to it, I suppose I should be flattered.” She laughed—in fact, you could almost call it a giggle. “Little old ladies like me spend too much of our lives feeling invisible. And here you were, suspecting me of being behind the biggest crime wave to hit Caerphilly in decades.”

  “I know better than to underestimate little old ladies,” I said. “Have you met my grandmother Cordelia? A very formidable little old lady. And for that matter, my mother would kill me if I called her a little old lady, even a formidable one, so I’ll just say that in a few decades she, too, will be quite possible the most formidable little ol
d lady in the universe.”

  “You have quite a few formidable ladies here, of all ages,” she said. “I hear good things about your woman priest, too. Junius has a lot to answer for.”

  “Like what?” Not that I disagreed, but I was curious which of Mr. Hagley’s many sins was annoying her at the moment.

  “You may notice that you haven’t seen me here since James died, and not that often before. All these years I’ve assumed that Trinity had to be as boring and narrow-minded as Junius.”

  “Oh, dear.” Though true, I hadn’t seen her here before.

  “But I couldn’t have been more wrong. I have no idea how he put up with this place all these years, or you with him. I feel as if I’m among kindred spirits for the first time in years. And if he wasn’t dead already, I’d be sorely tempted to strangle Junius. It’s as if for the past two decades he’s robbed me of something that would have made my life so much richer.”

  “Don’t let it make you bitter.”

  “I will do my best to let go of the bitterness,” she said. “And I think showing up here again next Sunday will help. Tell me, what is St. Clotilda’s Guild? Your mother—who I agree is very formidable—seems to think I should join it.”

  “It’s the group that takes on good works and special projects,” I said. “Joining would be a great way to get involved and meet all those formidable ladies.”

  “I’ll think very seriously about it. For now, I should be going.”

  “Aren’t you going to check out the potluck lunch?”

  “I didn’t bring anything.”

  “No problem,” I said. “If everyone brought something there wouldn’t be room for it all. If you feel guilty, ask Mother what you can do to help.”

  “Well, if you’re sure it’s all right.”

  I made a shooing motion. She smiled, and stepped, still a little nervously, toward the parish hall—giving Nimitz’s tarp a wide berth and ignoring his flirtatious head bobbing.

  “Ms. Langslow?”

  Professor James Donovan. Also someone I didn’t remember seeing here at Trinity before.

  “Just Meg.” I shook his offered hand. “How are you?”