The Real Macaw

by Donna Andrews

  “Vivian?”

  “Yes?”

  “I almost didn’t recognize you in your uniform.” Actually, I had no trouble recognizing her. The red hair was unmistakable, and never had I seen a nurse who made her uniform look more like a Paris original.

  Her professional smile froze for a moment, then changed to a more personal one as she obviously recognized me. “Oh, yes. You must be Dr. Langslow’s daughter. Maeve?”

  “Meg.”

  “The one who’s being so generous about sheltering the animals in your house.”

  Clearly I hadn’t made my desire for the animals to leave clear enough, if the Corsicans were still calling me generous.

  “You must be here to visit Dr. Blake,” she went on.

  “How is he?”

  “We were a little concerned for a while, but he regained consciousness about an hour ago and your father says everything’s looking good.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Relief washed over me—relief, and just a touch of guilt that I hadn’t come down in time to provide moral support while he was still unconscious.

  “By the way,” I added. “Why is he so far away from your station? Is there some reason you want him right over the ER?”

  “We had to move him after he regained consciousness,” she said, permitting a slight frown to crease her brow. “He was disturbing the other patients.”

  “Disturbing them how?” I had a brief vision of Grandfather howling in pain.

  “Well, so far he’s complained about being left to starve, having to eat inedible food, being awakened for his meds, not being given his meds soon enough, the lack of the Animal Planet channel on his TV, the lukewarm water in his carafe, the bad taste of our ice cubes and—well, I don’t know what else.”

  I winced.

  “And I gather he’s not complaining quietly,” I said.

  She shook her head.

  “Luckily we’re not full up,” she said. “We were able to move him to the far end of the hall and the other patients up this way, so we can have a couple of empty rooms on either side of the hall as a buffer zone.”

  “Sorry about that,” I said. “He’s a pain in the neck sometimes.”

  “He’s a great man,” she said. “A noble crusader for the environment and the welfare of animals.”

  “Yes,” I said. “But that doesn’t make him any less of a pain in the neck, does it? Can I go and see him now?”

  She nodded and returned to her paperwork.

  When I got closer to 242, I heard voices inside. I paused in the open doorway. The room’s bathroom door was to my left, off the small entrance hallway, and at the end of the hallway my view into the main part of the room was blocked by a curtain. Not a full-length curtain, though—I could see two pairs of male feet below it, presumably standing at the foot of the bed. One was a pair of glossy black oxfords whose regulation shine had held up well in spite of a long, busy day. The other was a pair of beat-up sneakers that Mother had been trying for years to get Dad to throw away.

  “Retrograde amnesia,” Dad was saying. “It’s not uncommon after a blow to the head.”

  “What are the chances he’ll eventually remember what happened?” the chief asked.

  “Impossible to predict,” Dad said. “Some people completely recover their memories of the events leading up to the injury, some never get any better, and most fall somewhere in between.”

  “Can’t you get some kind of forensic evidence from the room?” Grandfather said. I was relieved to hear his voice. Vivian had said he was conscious, but hearing him for myself made it more real. His voice didn’t sound as bold and resonant as usual, but it wasn’t that far from his normal irascible tone.

  “Forensic evidence,” the chief echoed. “Like what?”

  I stepped closer so I could peer through the curtain. Grandfather was sitting up, looking weak but feisty. Dad and the chief glanced my way. Dad waved. The chief nodded to me and turned back to Grandfather. I took this as permission to enter, so I did.

  “I don’t know,” Grandfather said. “Aren’t you modern cops always picking up an eyelash hair and using it to prove it was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick?”

  “Only in the movies.” The chief sounded remarkably patient, considering. “In real life, forensic science has its limits. For example, in a case like this, just about everyone in town has been in that room, either to help with the animals or to gape at them. So even if we thought we knew who hit you, finding trace evidence that he’d been in Meg and Michael’s living room wouldn’t prove anything. If we found whatever he hit you over the head with, that might help, but it’s a long shot. Horace is working on it, though, on the admittedly unlikely chance that your attacker dropped his weapon in the house or yard.”

  “And he hasn’t found anything?” Grandfather asked.

  “Couple pounds of dog hair,” the chief said. “Nothing incriminating. So I’m afraid if your memory doesn’t come back, we may never catch your attacker.”

  “What if my memory comes back and all I remember is someone hitting me from behind?”

  “Not likely,” Dad said. “From the shape of the injury, it looks as if someone hit you from the front. Like this, Chief.”

  I stepped fully into the room to see better. Dad glanced around, and picked up an object—I couldn’t see what. Some kind of medical instrument? He slowly raised it up and brought it down until it gently touched the chief’s left temple.

  The chief watched this demonstration, then scribbled in his notebook.

  “So I was facing my attacker?” Grandfather said. He was frowning as if this didn’t sync with what he remembered.

  “Facing him and looking up at him,” Dad said, nodding.

  “Looking up at him?” The chief glanced at Grandfather’s long frame—he was well over six feet.

  “You mean I was attacked by a giant?” Grandfather asked.

  “No, no,” Dad looked at me. “Meg, crouch down as if you were tending a dog or something.”

  I crouched and looked up as Dad brought his demonstration weapon gently down on my left temple. I could see now that he was wielding Rob’s missing little video camera.

  “Very good,” Dad said, beaming at me. I stood up again.

  “Crouching and looking up at his attacker,” the chief said.

  “Crouching or kneeling,” Dad said.

  “And the attacker was right-handed?”

  “Unfortunately,” Dad said, with a sigh. “Like ninety percent of the human population.”

  “I was crouching?” my grandfather muttered, as if he found the thought not only unlikely but vaguely distasteful.

  “Tending the animals, I should think,” Dad said, in his most soothing tones.

  I noticed that he had set Rob’s video camera down on the windowsill. Which was quite possibly where he’d found it, but someone should take it back to Rob. I went over, snagged it, and put it in my purse. I made a mental note to call Rob later to report finding it.

  “That does indicate that your attacker was probably someone you knew and trusted,” Dad said. “After all, if you didn’t trust someone—”

  Grandfather yawned suddenly.

  “Looks like the sedative is finally working,” Dad said. “We should let him sleep.”

  “If you remember anything, have the nurses call me,” the chief said.

  Grandfather nodded, his eyes already closed. Dad and the chief began quietly walking out of the room. I was about to follow them when Grandfather mumbled something.

  I went to the head of his bed and bent closer.

  “What was that?” I kept my voice soft enough that if he’d already fallen asleep it wouldn’t wake him.

  “I hate hospitals,” he said.

  I looked around. The management had made an effort to gussy up the room so it didn’t look quite so much like most people’s idea of a hospital. They’d hung curtains on the windows and art prints on the walls, and painted the walls in soft, dark colors. T
he room I’d been in with the twins had been forest green with tan woodwork and a framed reproduction of a Rousseau jungle print on the wall beyond the foot of the bed. Grandfather had slate blue, chocolate brown, and Picasso.

  Unfortunately, the hospital’s efforts didn’t do much to disguise the fact that you were in a hospital room—they just made it look like a cross between a hospital room and a budget motel chain. A drop ceiling with acoustic tiles made the room less cold and echoing than the corridors, but it was still clearly something you’d usually only see in an institution. And it was hard to forget you were in a hospital when you were attached to an IV bag and a couple of monitors that beeped or hummed every few seconds.

  “I know what you mean,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  Out in the hallway I found Dad and the chief halfway down the corridor, talking quietly.

  “—have to wait and see,” Dad was saying.

  “What about hypnosis?” the chief asked.

  “That can be successful in cases of this kind,” Dad said. “But I think trying it right now might be premature. Too stressful for the patient, and not really that likely to produce results. The first thing to do is let the brain heal.”

  The chief nodded.

  “Can you wait a moment, Meg?” Dad asked.

  I wanted to say no, I was going home to be with my kids. But he and the chief both looked exhausted and I didn’t want to cause either of them any more hassle. So I nodded, and Dad dashed back down the hall toward my grandfather’s room.

  Chapter 23

  “Just a moment. Yeah, right,” I murmured, although not loud enough for Dad to hear. I’d known him to say he’d be back in a moment and not turn up for hours. I looked at my watch. Fifteen minutes, I decided, and then I was going looking for him.

  I went down to wait by the elevators. There was a bench, but I was afraid if I sat down, I’d keel over fast asleep. So I stayed vertical, pulled out my cell phone, and called Michael.

  “Josh and Jamie’s residence,” Michael answered.

  “I’m glad you have your priorities straight,” I said. “How are they doing?”

  “They woke, they cried, they received new diapers, they ate, they burped, and they’ve gone back to sleep to work up the energy to do it all over again for you when you get home. How’s your grandfather?”

  “Conscious, and starting to sound like his old self again. He may or may not ever remember how it happened, but Dad says he’ll be fine.”

  “Good,” he said. “I want the boys to get to know their great-grandfather. Even if he is disappointed with how much slower human babies develop compared to the young of other primates. Orangutans, for example.”

  “He said that?”

  “I think he was joking.”

  “He’d better be,” I said. “Or I’ll go and whack him a few more times myself. Sorry to leave you to handle so much of today all by yourself.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Rose Noire was here most of the day, and when she had to leave, I recruited help. For the record, Clarence is a fairly promising babysitter prospect, but Caroline’s technique clearly shows that she’s had a lot more experience feeding creatures with hooves or claws.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Not to worry,” he said. “She was a hoot. That reminds me—in case Rob asks, our little video camera’s in the shop.”

  “In the shop? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it, and I’ll probably let him borrow it once I’ve had a chance to download all our video. We can replace a lost camera, but I wouldn’t want to lose this week’s footage of the boys. And Rob already lost his own this weekend.”

  “Yes, he left it down here at the hospital while he was documenting his grandfather’s illness. I’ve got it.”

  “I’ll tell him. He’s been tearing the barn apart and starting to worry that one of the larger dogs might have eaten it or buried it.”

  “I’ll bring it home when I come—which will be as soon as Dad finishes here. I’m supposed to give him a ride. In just a moment, which damn well better be less than half an hour or he can walk home.”

  “No rush,” he said. “I’ll be here with the boys.”

  “And you have a full day of classes to teach tomorrow,” I said. “I’ll try not to be too late.”

  “As long as—oops, there’s Jamie’s early warning sign. Love you!”

  With that he hung up. I leaned against the wall, closed my eyes—and realized that one of the light sconces was shining down on my face. I took a few steps to the right until I was midway between the two sconces, at the point of greatest shadow. I leaned back and closed my eyes again. Much more relaxing. I tried to empty my mind. For once it was surprisingly easy.

  I was almost asleep standing up when I heard a slight scraping noise. I opened my eyes. Someone was standing at the nurses’ station. Not Vivian. And not another nurse. It was the elusive Louise.

  She glanced around to see if anyone was watching. I realized that she couldn’t see me here in the shadows.

  She reached down, pulled out a few drawers, and appeared to find what she was looking for. She pulled it out and set it on the counter.

  A purse. Vivian’s purse, undoubtedly. It was slim, sleek, and looked hideously expensive. And it was black—just the thing for fashionable mourning.

  Louise reached into her pants pocket. She took out a twisted-up bit of white cloth or paper, untwisted it, and shook something out of it into Vivian’s purse.

  Was it just my imagination, or did the something sparkle as it fell?

  She scrunched the paper up again, stuffed it back into her pocket, and tucked the purse in the drawer.

  Then she pulled something off her hands. Clear plastic gloves. She shoved those in her pocket, too.

  She looked around and scurried over to push the elevator button.

  I needed to keep her there till I could tell the chief what she’d done. And I also needed to keep an eye on the drawer containing Vivian’s purse.

  I waited until Louise wasn’t looking my way. Then I began walking toward the elevator and called out to her.

  “Hey, Louise!”

  She started, then turned and put on a shaky smile.

  “Hello, Meg,” she said. “I dropped by to see your grandfather but I understand he’s asleep.”

  “Dad’s down there right now, checking to see if he’s awake,” I said. “And if he is I’m sure he’d love to see you. Do stay, please.”

  “I don’t want to be a bother,” she said.

  “To tell you the truth, he pretends to be grouchy when people stop by, but I think it’s really helping his morale, having some of the Corsicans visit. And morale is the key thing at this point. So stay, please; Dad will be back in just a minute.”

  She smiled uneasily, and perched on the edge of one of the benches by the elevator. I sat down beside her, racking my brains for some way to keep her there.

  She gave me the perfect method.

  “How are the babies?” she asked.

  “Great!” I exclaimed. “Want to see some pictures?”

  I’m sure there are people rude enough to say no to that question, but Louise wasn’t one of them. Considering that she was probably dying to make her escape, she cooed and exclaimed over the boys with remarkably good nature. I found myself hoping she was only guilty of jealousy and trying to frame her rival, not the murder itself.

  After what probably seemed like several decades to her—it certainly did to me—we heard footsteps in the hallway. We both whirled to see who was coming.

  The chief, accompanied by Vivian.

  Louise and I both stood. She glanced toward the elevator.

  “Thanks for letting me see those photos,” she said. “I should be going now.”

  “Hang on a second,” I said. “I’ve got one more thing to show you.”

  “Ms. Langslow,” the chief said. “Isn’t it getting rather late? I thought you were going home.”

 
“I was waiting to give Dad a ride,” I said. “And I saw something that I think I should tell you about.”

  Louise flinched as if I’d struck her.

  “Something related to the murder?” the chief asked.

  “Possibly,” I said. “You know by now that Louise and Vivian were both involved with Parker Blair.”

  “He got tired of her months ago,” Vivian said.

  “Tramp!” Louise countered.

  “As you see they don’t like each other very much,” I went on.

  “Yes, I’m aware of their … involvement with Mr. Blair,” the chief said. “They’re not the only ones.”

  The women, who had been glaring at each other, turned to glare at him.

  “Although they do seem rather suspicious of each other,” he went on. “They each tried to convince me that the other was the most likely suspect in Mr. Blair’s murder.”

  “You lying tramp!” Louise exclaimed.

  Vivian contented herself with a superior sniff.

  “So maybe it’s just jealousy that made Louise put something in Vivian’s purse,” I went on.

  “What?” Louise and Vivian exclaimed in unison.

  “Did you see what it was?” the chief asked.

  “No,” I said. “It was small enough to wrap in a tiny scrap of white paper or cloth that she still has in her pocket. And if you search her, you’ll also find the gloves she used to handle the purse.”

  “What was it?” Vivian demanded. She took a step toward Louise, and reached out as if to shake her, but I stepped between them.

  “Sammy,” the chief was saying into his phone. “Get up here. And have Debbie Anne send Horace Hollingsworth over.”

  “We’ll see about this,” Vivian said. She strode over to the nurses’ station.

  “Ms. Forrest,” the chief said. “Don’t touch that.”

  Vivian ignored him. She yanked open the drawer, pulled out her purse, opened it, and poured the contents onto the counter.

  “Leave that alone,” the chief snapped.

  “I didn’t plant anything,” Louise said. “She’s making it up.”