The Real Macaw
Page 26
I retrieved my cell phone.
“Debbie Anne?” I said.
“Meg! What in the world is happening there?”
“Tell the chief to get another stall ready,” I said. “We’ve got the real killer here.”
Chapter 26
“You should go back to the hospital, Grandfather,” I said. “Dad, don’t you think he should be back in the hospital?”
Grandfather ignored me, as he had the last dozen times I’d said the same thing since the chief finished questioning us and let us come here to Mother and Dad’s farm for breakfast. I had to admit, from the way my grandfather was packing away pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, and fruit salad, he did look rather like a patient well on the road to recovery.
“He’ll be fine,” Dad said, from his place by the stove. “He can stay here for a day or two and I’ll keep an eye on him. More pancakes, Dad?”
Grandfather nodded, shoved the last bite of his current pancake stack into his mouth, and held out his plate.
I sighed, and looked at my own overladen plate. Maybe escaping a murder attempt had given Grandfather an appetite. Mine was almost nonexistent, thanks to the painkillers Dad had given me for my injury. He assured me that Francine’s bullet had only grazed my leg, and it would heal just fine without any scarring, but right now it hurt like hell, and the painkillers weren’t helping—just making me woozy.
“Good news!” We all looked up to see Clarence running in, followed by my brother, Rob. “They’ve found the macaw!”
“The real macaw?” Dad asked.
“Yes, Parker’s macaw. An animal shelter outside Charlottesville found his cage on their front step yesterday morning. He’s fine. Rob’s going to drive up today to collect him.”
I peered suspiciously at my brother. Bad enough when he seemed to be on the road to adopting an Irish wolfhound. But better the wolfhound than a foulmouthed macaw.
“Are you still giving the macaw to the Caerphilly Inn?” I asked.
“Parker’s macaw? Yes,” Clarence said. “He’ll still be good company for Martha Washington, even if he’s not the same species. But they don’t want him till we’ve done some reeducation. Cleaned up his vocabulary a bit.”
“So I’ll be taking him down to the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary,” Rob said. “Caroline’s going to rehabilitate him. She’s done it before.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. “Make sure she teaches him to say ‘Monty, you old goat,’ just the way she does.”
“And while I’m up there, I’m going to spend some time videoing all her animals.” Rob had joined us at the breakfast table and was loading his plate with bacon and eggs. “Might even stay over a day or two. Assuming it’s okay to borrow your video camera for a while? Just until the chief gives mine back?”
“Fine with me,” I said. “Michael’s the one who uses it, and he can probably settle for still photography for a few days.”
I’d make sure I saved all the videos from it before I gave it to him. And if he lost it, I’d buy a new one and send him the bill.
But it was worth the potential hassle to get rid of the macaw.
And perhaps, if we worked hard, we could get the rest of the animals adopted while Rob was gone—including Tinkerbell, the wolfhound.
“Rob, pancakes?” Dad asked. “And what about you, Clarence?”
Clarence took a seat, and Dad began working on another batch of pancakes, along with reinforcements for the bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Normally I’d be helping, but between my leg injury and the fact that I’d only had about two hours of sleep on a bed in the ER, Dad had put me on injured reserve and was cooking solo.
And as soon as Michael arrived to pick me up, I could go home and start catching up on my sleep. Or at least returning to my normal level of sleep deprivation. Meanwhile, it satisfied the orderly part of my mind to see so many loose ends being tied up.
I thought of another one.
“What about the blue-and-yellow macaw Francine left behind when she stole the hyacinth macaw?”
“Technically, she belongs to Francine,” Clarence said with a sigh. “So I suppose she gets to decide the blue-and-yellow’s fate.”
“Technically, she’s evidence.” We looked up to see the chief standing in the kitchen doorway. “And as such she will remain in our custody for the time being.”
“Great,” I said. “If you like, I can drop that particular item of evidence by your new office this afternoon.”
The chief winced and nodded.
“Francine will probably need all the money she can get for her legal defense,” Clarence said. “I’ll talk to the pet store where she got the macaw. They’d probably be willing to buy the bird back once the chief says it’s okay. And if not, maybe I can convince the Caerphilly Inn to buy her. We’ll work something out.”
Knowing that the macaws were not only safe but destined for a cushy life at a five-star hotel raised everyone’s spirits even higher.
“Pancakes, Chief?” Dad asked.
The chief hesitated, then sat down.
“Thank you, I believe I will,” he said. “It’s been an unusual morning.”
I interpreted this as a hint that under normal circumstances he did not plan to be having breakfast with Mother and Dad while his police station was in their barn. But Dad beamed with delight, and poured more batter into a skillet. He was in seventh heaven, between having the chance to cosset his father for a few more days and the prospect of hosting the police station indefinitely.
“How’s the case coming?” I asked.
“Very well, thank you,” the chief said. “A search of Mrs. Mann’s home has turned up several bits of useful evidence, including printouts of e-mails between her and the victim and a charge slip that establishes her presence in the vicinity of the pet store where she purchased the substitute macaw.”
“She was stupid enough to buy the macaw with her charge card?” Rob exclaimed.
“No, she paid cash for that,” the chief said. “But she used her charge card to buy gas six blocks away. I have every confidence that the pet store owner will be able to identify her. And Horace is optimistic that the ballistics on the gun will be useful.”
“Good morning, everyone!” Mother sailed into the kitchen. Although it wasn’t even seven yet, she was already dressed in what I recognized as working clothes—the dress a little darker and more tailored than her usual wear, and her normal high heels replaced with elegant ballet flats.
“Pancakes?” Dad asked.
“Just a little fruit salad, I think.” And then, seeing how his face fell, she added, “Well, perhaps a very tiny stack of pancakes.”
Dad returned to pouring and flipping with renewed vigor.
“I gather the garden club has more to do today?” I asked.
“Yes, dear,” Mother said, as she took her seat. “We’re going to relocate the plants to their temporary homes today. I’ve put you down for a dozen. They’ll fill in the empty spaces in your living room nicely. And don’t worry,” she added, seeing the look of dismay on my face, “they’ll all be neatly labeled so the plant care service will know which ones to tend and water when they come.”
“The county’s going to keep the plant care service?” I asked. “Instead of asking the plants’ hosts to care for them?”
“Some of our garden club ladies have only the vaguest notion of how to tend houseplants adequately,” she said, with a tiny shake of her head. “And besides, the county plant care contract is a substantial part of Leah Shiffley’s income—we don’t want to drive her out of business while this whole thing plays out.”
“And just how long do we think it will take the whole thing to play out?” I asked. “Has anyone talked to Festus today?”
“No, but he was singing in the shower when I left,” Rob said.
“Of course he’s singing,” I said. “He’s got a potentially lucrative new case. What I want to know is if we should be singing.”
“Festus likes money, bu
t he hates losing more,” Mother said. “If he’s cheerful, that means the prospects are good. On a happier note, Randall Shiffley’s coming over today to start on your library shelves.”
“So much for catching up on my sleep.” The thought triggered a huge yawn.
“I told him he wasn’t to make so much as a peep until afternoon,” Mother said.
“And I won’t.” Randall had followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of measuring to do before we start sawing and hammering. And I need to bring over some boxes for the stuff you two have in the room.”
“I’m not sure I’m up to packing today,” I said.
“’Course you’re not,” he said. “The Shiffley moving company’s doing all that. Free, on account of your valiant service to the county. Which reminds me. Here.”
He put a clipboard atop my plate. I peered down at the paper it contained.
“The petition to recall Mayor Pruitt?” I asked. He nodded, and I signed with a flourish. “Long overdue, if you ask me. How many more signatures do you need?”
“Got more than enough,” Randall said as he retrieved the clipboard. “But somehow we missed getting your John Hancock yesterday, and I thought maybe you’d like to be in on it.”
“Absolutely,” I said. “Any idea who’ll be running to replace him?”
“I just might,” Randall said.
“You live outside the town limits,” I said.
“He could move into town,” Clarence said.
“Fat chance finding a place,” I said. “Do you know how tight the real-estate market is?”
“I do,” Clarence said. “And as a responsible executor, I consider it my duty to see that Randall pays full market price when he buys Parker’s house from the estate.”
Of course, Randall could have a tough, uphill battle. Getting enough signatures on the recall petition today didn’t mean Mayor Pruitt was out. And the Pruitts would fight back tooth and nail.
Still, the very notion of a Shiffley replacing a Pruitt as the mayor of Caerphilly made me chuckle.
“Ah!” Mother exclaimed. “There they are!”
I turned to see Michael and Rose Noire strolling in, each carrying a twin.
“Aren’t they adorable?” Mother cooed. She held out her arms for Jamie, who actually was looking adorable at the moment. Josh was beet-red and howling like a banshee.
“Sorry,” Michael said. He was bouncing Josh just the way he liked to be bounced, to no avail. “He’s been cranky all morning.”
“I know how he feels,” I said.
“You want me to examine him?” Dad asked.
“He probably just misses his mother,” Rose Noire said.
“His mother misses him, even if he is being a pill,” I said, holding out my arms.
To my astonishment, a couple of seconds after I propped Josh on my shoulder, he stopped crying, hiccupped a few times, and fell asleep.
“See?” Rose Noire said. “He only wanted his mother.”
“Coincidence,” I said.
Just then Timmy burst into the room.
“Aunt Meg!” he shouted. “Clarence says I can keep her if Mommy says okay! Can you call and ask her?”
Keep her? I peered over to see which of our four-legged residents had captured Timmy’s heart.
Tinkerbell the wolfhound. Of course. A dilemma. On the one hand, it might be a satisfying payback, returning Timmy with a pet wolfhound in tow. On the other hand, who knew how long he and any pet he adopted would be staying with us.
“I have no idea what your mother will say, but I’ll ask her,” I said finally.
“Yay!” Timmy seemed to think that Tinkerbell’s fate had been happily settled. He sat down at the table and looked up expectantly. Tinkerbell settled down at Timmy’s feet, no doubt hoping for a few table scraps.
“Pancakes, Michael?” Dad asked, as he slid a plate in front of Timmy without asking.
“Love some,” Michael said. “By the way, Festus says we have a long battle ahead of us, but he’s optimistic. And he also says we all owe a big debt of thanks to the late Parker Blair. I wasn’t quite awake enough to follow his explanation, but I gather if we hadn’t found out about the whole debt problem when we did, Festus’s job would have been infinitely harder.”
Everyone fell silent, and I could hear the bacon sizzling in Dad’s skillet. I wondered if the others were fretting about the many problems facing Caerphilly, or feeling sadness over the death of Parker. Or, like me, a little of both.
I lifted my glass of cranberry juice.
“To Parker Blair,” I said. “He had his faults, but he loved animals and he did us all an enormous service. I wish we’d all had a chance to get to know him.”
“Here, here,” Clarence said, and the rest of the breakfasters murmured agreement and toasted Parker with coffee, juice, and in Rob’s case, Diet Dr Pepper.
We were all putting our cups and glasses down when Sammy stuck his head in the back door.
“Chief!” he said. “The forensic computer guy’s here from Richmond!”
“Great!” Dad and the chief said in unison as they leaped toward the door.
Dad scurried out the back door after Sammy. The chief closed his eyes for a few moments, took a deep breath—I could almost hear him counting to ten—and followed at a more sedate pace.
“Isn’t that nice?” Mother said. “Having the police station here is going to be such great fun for your father.”
OTHER MEG LANGSLOW MYSTERIES BY DONNA ANDREWS
Stork Raving Mad
Swan for the Money
Cockatiels at Seven
The Penguin Who Knew Too Much
No Nest for the Wicket
Owls Well That Ends Well
We’ll Always Have Parrots
Crouching Buzzard, Leaping Loon
Revenge of the Wrought-Iron Flamingos
Murder with Puffins
Murder with Peacocks
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
THE REAL MACAW. Copyright © 2011 by Donna Andrews. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Andrews, Donna.
The real macaw : a Meg Langslow mystery / Donna Andrews.—1st ed.
p. cm.
“A Thomas Dunne book.”
ISBN 978-0-312-62120-9
1. Langslow, Meg (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Women detectives—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3551.N4165R43 2011
813'.54—dc22
2011007072
First Edition: July 2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-8358-7
First Minotaur Books eBook Edition: July 2011