The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery)

by Boneham, Sheila Webster

  Dr. Kerry gave me a look that suggested I’d lost my mind. “Why would I leave an animal in pain?” I didn’t have an answer for that. “We hope they pay, but the dog comes first.” She rubbed her nose against her arm. “Why does my nose always itch when my hands are busy? Anyway, this doesn’t look too bad. Clean break, not displaced. He’s going to be a sore little puppy from the bruising, but I think he’ll be fine.”

  Peg appeared in the doorway. “Dog’s name is Mike. Owner’s on his way. Said the plumber accidentally let the dog out. How is he? The guy is frantic. Asked me to call him back.” Kerry filled her in.

  By the time I left, the owner was pacing the lobby waiting for Mike to be completely out of the anesthesia and the driver who hit him had calmed down. She had offered to pay the bill. The owner said no, but after considerable discussion he agreed to let her pay half, which I figured was good therapy for her.

  twenty-one

  Bill was waiting for me in the lobby of the Botanical Conservatory, although I didn’t see him at first. He was partially hidden by a flock of some fifty plastic flamingos and a humongous multi—colored beach ball.

  “What’s all this?” I asked as I wove through the plastic birds.

  “‘Beach Days.’ More inside.” He started to laugh. “Remember when we stuck fifty of these guys in the yard for Mom’s fiftieth birthday?”

  We reminisced for a few minutes about happier times with our mother, and then Bill checked the time and asked me what was going on. I told him about my conversation with Mom about the house, and felt a sad little twinge as I watched him fight to keep the emotions off his face when I said she had given it to me.

  “Here.” I handed him the envelope I had brought.

  “What’s this?”

  “I know you love that old house. You helped put in those gardens and you helped Dad finish the basement. To me, it’s just a house. Lots of memories, sure, but I like the house I’m in. Better yard for the dogs. So it’s all yours.”

  Bill stared at me as if I were speaking Martian.

  “Mom gave me a quit-claim making the house mine, and I want you to have Norm draw up another for me to sign. If you want it, it’s all yours.”

  “Janet …” Bill cleared his throat.

  “If you don’t want to live there, you could rent it out, or you can sell it. Whatever you like.”

  My brother is a sweet guy, but he’s not a hugger. At least I haven’t seen him hug anyone except Norm in years. Imagine my surprise when Bill stood, pulled me to my feet, and wrapped me up in a big bear hug. I tried to hug back, but he had pinned my arms to my sides, so I just stood there for a couple of minutes with my nose pressed into his fine summer-wool jacket and the faint scent of his oh-de-so-subtle cologne swirling around my nostrils.

  I meant to go home after my meeting with Bill, but my emotions were running wild, and as I drove east on Coliseum I had an overpowering urge to see Tom. I parked, all the while trying to convince myself that I was there to talk about the strange happenings at Twisted Lake. Nothing more. A little internal jab to the conscience made me give that up, though, and as I scurried up the sidewalk to the building’s entrance I admitted to myself that I wanted to see him and hear him and breathe him in.

  When I turned down the social sciences corridor, I could hear Tom’s voice from several doors down, and he did not sound happy. “I’ve been bringing him in here for years, John. He barks less than you do, he’s a registered therapy dog, and my students come to see him more than to see me.”

  “He’s a therapy dog?”

  I hung back just outside the door to Tom’s office.

  “Yes, he is. Tested and registered with the largest therapy organization in the country.”

  Whoever was in there with Tom sort of harumphed, and said, “What do you need a therapy dog for?”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Tom said, “John, did you know that it’s illegal under the Americans with Disabilities Act to ask a person why they need a service animal?”

  A short, balding man backed out Tom’s door, so I tried to look as if I had just arrived. He glanced at me, then said to Tom, “You should have said he was certified to begin with. We could have avoided all this.” And then he was gone.

  I stepped into the doorway. Tom was petting Drake, who was lying in front of the file cabinet on a plaid doggy bed. “That man is certifiable, doncha think?”

  “What exactly do you need a service dog for, Professor Saunders?”

  Tom looked up at me and his expression changed from royally annoyed to surprised and delighted. “Hey, it’s my favorite photographer!” He stood and gave me a hug. “I need him to help me meet women. Regular chick magnet, you know?”

  “Good for you. What was that all about?”

  “I didn’t say he was a service dog. I said therapy. Not my fault if that pompous a …, uh, administrator doesn’t know the difference.” Yet another reason I’m nuts about this guy. “Come on, let’s go outside. Drake could use a little walk.”

  “Can’t stay long. I was just driving by.”

  Tom pulled the door shut behind us and waggled his eyebrows at me. “Ah, the old ‘I was just in the neighborhood’ ploy.”

  We walked across the parking lot to the grassy bank of the St. Joseph River and I told him about my encounters with Mom and Bill. He asked how my morning session at the vet clinic went, and that led us to Lennen and wildlife smuggling. “I can’t help thinking there’s more to that red feather than we know,” I said.

  “Have you heard the news about Anderson?”

  I stopped and took Tom by the arm. “What?”

  “I heard it on the radio. He drowned.”

  “No he didn’t.”

  Tom looked at me, questions all over his face. “Janet?”

  “It doesn’t make sense.” My cheeks were burning and I wasn’t sure whether it was the August heat, my anger, or a hot flash. I pointed to a big maple a few yards off the path. “I need to stop a minute.”

  “You’re flushed,” Tom said, looking at me even as we headed for the patch of shade. “You really okay?”

  It seemed about twenty degrees cooler under the tree. I leaned back against the trunk and gazed at Tom for a moment without speaking. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped my sweaty face, and waited.

  I told him about the message Anderson had left me Tuesday. “He had already been to the lake, Tom. He was back in his car, leaving. Not arriving. Leaving.”

  “Maybe he went back for another look?” Ever the voice of reason, but he didn’t sound convinced either.

  “He had already loaded his canoe onto his roof, or whatever. He was on his way. Said he’d be on Coliseum in half an hour.”

  Tom tilted his head back and looked into the maple’s wide arms.

  “He didn’t go back out on the water, Tom.” Then I remembered something Jo Stevens had said. “They found his camera in his car, Tom. He wouldn’t have gone back to the island without his camera.”

  Tom told Drake to lie down, then tried to put his arms around me. I pushed him away, then stood very still, eyes squeezed shut, listening to the blood in my ears beat like bass drums. I thought the top of my head might blow off as rage thick as magma bubbled up inside me. I have no idea how long I stood like that. Everything else had stopped, and I was mildly surprised when I opened my eyes and saw Tom watching me. I don’t know how he managed it, but he looked concerned and angry and thoughtful all at the same time.

  “It’s all connected. Somehow, it’s all connected.”

  “Maybe.” Tom looked thoughtful. “I bet a bird guy could identify that feather, or get close anyway.”

  “A ‘bird guy’?”

  He grinned and squeezed my hand. “Yeah, you know, like I’m a plant guy, and you’re sort of a dog-hair-and-pixels guy. Bird guy. Ornithologist.”

  “Is there anyone here?” I asked, tilting my head toward the buildings of the Indiana-Purdue Fort Wayne campus.

  “No, but l
et me ask around. There has to be someone at one of the main campuses.” Meaning Indiana University in Bloomington, or Purdue in West Lafayette. By then we were almost back to the building. Tom ran the tips of his fingers along my cheek. “You okay?”

  “Not exactly.” I pushed my fury and grief out of my throat. “Anderson was a really nice young man. I want whoever did this held accountable.”

  “Janet, let the police do their job.”

  “Right.”

  “Janet! Don’t do anything reckless. I don’t know what I’d do …”

  I didn’t realize what he’d said, or started to say, until I was almost home. For the moment I was just too angry about Anderson Billings to pay attention.

  twenty-two

  The light was flashing on my answering machine when I got home. It was Neil, and he began by saying he had left a message on my cell, but wanted to be sure I got it. I scratched Leo’s chin while the message continued. It didn’t make much sense. “It was great to see you last night.” No it wasn’t, I thought. You hated being in a building full of dogs and, I smiled at the memory of Jay “shimmering” all over Neil’s pants, dog hair. When the message finished, I hit “Erase” and headed out the back door with my critters, thinking about the rest of the message. Neil hoped he could see me again soon. “How about a walk on the River Greenway or something when the heat breaks,” he’d said, “say around seven? You could bring your dog if you want.” That made me laugh out loud. As if I’d go for a walk on the Greenway with you and without Jay, you boob.

  I picked up the hose, turned on the water, headed for my thirsty flowers, and forgot all about Neil Young and his hifalutin message. As I watched puddles form where the water was slow to soak into the ground, I could almost see Twisted Lake. I needed to get out to that island. Of course, whatever Anderson saw might be long gone by now. Or maybe he didn’t see anything. But what did he mean, “There’s a bird”? There are lots of birds out there. And then I thought of the red feather in the bag that Drake found. Long red feather. Persephone Swann’s beautiful parrot had long red feathers like that.

  Mayhem in the yard derailed my train of thought. Leo had initiated a game of “ambush the dog” and Jay obliged by running from him, then turning the tables and chasing Leo into shrubs. And my flower beds. “Hey guys! Outta the flowers!” I had just finished watering the last of the pots when a flash of neon pink caught my eye from across the fence. It was Goldie, kneeling on a pad in the herb garden on the far side of her yard. Her “witch’s garden,” to be precise. She had put it in last spring, and it was filling in nicely three months later. I was surprised that she hadn’t come over to say hello. It wasn’t like Goldie to ignore us.

  I shut off the water and went out my gate and in through hers. I called her name as I approached but she had her back to me and didn’t respond. Odd, I thought. Is she losing her hearing? I didn’t want to startle her so I arced around and entered her peripheral vision from the side.

  “Oh! Janet!” Goldie jumped, then laid a hand over her chest.

  “Sorry!”

  “No, no!” She reached for her ears and pulled out a pair of ear buds. I could just hear a gravely voice coming from them.

  “Dylan?” I asked.

  Goldie grinned at me. “Leonard Cohen.” She pulled an MP3 player from her pocket, turned it off, and returned it with the buds. “See, I’ve joined the twenty-first century.” She stood up and pushed the sleeves of her faded blue shirt to her elbows.

  Leo wandered over, and Goldie plucked a bit of catnip from the garden and tossed it on the ground. A hint of its minty scent mingled with the mix of bergamot, sage, and thyme already held in the humid garden air. We left Leo to his ecstasy, and Goldie went to the fence and said hello to Jay.

  “Have a few minutes, Goldie?” I asked, thinking maybe I could finally pin her down on whatever was going on with her health.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “Say, I made some lemonade last night. Let’s go sit with Jay and have some.”

  She looked a little suspicious, but agreed. When we had settled into my Adirondack chairs and spent a few minutes on small talk, I said, “Goldie, really, you have to tell me.”

  “Tell you what?”

  “I saw you at the hospital. Nuclear medicine? And all those supplements you’ve been buying for months? And you’ve lost weight, and …” I set my glass down hard enough to splash lemonade onto the tangerine tabletop and was surprised to find I was angry.

  “Don’t be angry.” Goldie reached out and touched my forearm.

  “Why not?” I glared at her. “You told Tom.”

  She looked surprised. “What are we talking about? Told Tom what?”

  “At the co-op. He said he saw you there, that you two had a talk.”

  “Oh.” She did a little hand-washing motion. “That.”

  “So?”

  “I’m fine. Now I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not.” I felt my eyes fill with tears, and then I felt a warm furry chin on my lap. Goldie isn’t the only one of my friends who is psychic. Jay is, too, and always there when I need him. I stroked the top of his head and looked at Goldie. “You’ve been saying that all summer. Stop dodging me. Whatever it is, just tell me, damn it.”

  “Okay. I had a scare. A big one. Had a funny mammogram last spring. In May. But …”

  “May,” I said, my voice flat with disappointment.

  “Right. And I had to have another, and then other tests, you know, and it’s gone on more or less all summer.”

  “And?” By then my anger was giving way to the fear that had been lurking behind it all along. She started to speak, but I cut her off. “And what? Goldie, you’ve lost weight and …”

  “I know.” Now Goldie looked a bit angry. “Look, you’re not the only one that was scared, Janet. And it’s my life. My body. Private.”

  I gaped at her. “Private? Goldie, I’m your friend. Your, I don’t know, your more than friend. I should have been there for you.”

  “But Janet, you were.” Her face settled back into its usual gentle calm. “Look, I always knew you were there. You, and Tom, too.” She leaned toward me. “You and Tom.”

  “But …”

  “You and Tom, Janet. Stop fighting it.”

  “Don’t change the subject. So what about now?” I wanted her to say it straight out, either way.

  “I’m fine. You saw me at the hospital for the final consultation. All clear. Well, almost. I have to go for some final blood work, but that’s it. Much ado about nothing.”

  “But the supplements? Your weight?”

  “All coincidence, I guess. Okay, not all. I did up my antioxidants. Just, you know …,” she hesitated. “I was scared.”

  “When do you go for the blood work?”

  “Tomorrow. No biggie, I just need to pop into the lab at Parkview.”

  “I’ll drive you,” I said. She seemed ready to argue, but stopped and nodded. “But you look so thin, Goldie.”

  “Oh, that. I decided to go off wheat for a while to see if I felt better. Lost twenty pounds.” She gave me a devilish grin. “Maybe you should give it a try.”

  “Thanks a lot.” And to my horror I burst into tears.

  “Oh my, Janet! I’m sorry, I was teasing!”

  “No, no, not that.” It wasn’t her suggestion that I could lose a few pounds that tipped me over the edge. It was an overwhelming wave of relief and anger and loss. Goldie was okay. Anderson was dead. And it was Goldie’s turn to listen as I told her about Anderson, his message, and my certainty that he had been murdered.

  twenty-three

  Friday morning I was up way too early after a long Thursday and another restless night. It was the last day of my week-long photo shoot with Dr. Kerry Joiner, and she started surgeries at seven-thirty. I wanted a few shots to round out my photo essay, so I was there, at least in body. Kerry was in surgery for two hours, then had a series of routine appointments. Two kittens, a Pug puppy, three Labs, and a
guinea pig later, I had photos of one and all. No one snarled or snapped. Even my bitten behind had no complaints.

  I left the clinic a few minutes before eleven, but even so, by the time I got to my car, my stomach was disturbing my peaceful day with loud growls. I’d had to scramble to get to the clinic on time and had made do with an apple for breakfast, so I was famished and I knew exactly what I wanted to eat, and who I wanted for company. I hit Tom’s quick-dial number.

  “Can’t wait to see me, huh?” he answered, chuckling. The night before we had seen one another at agility practice, and Tom had asked me for “a real Friday night date with all the trimmings.” At first I thought he meant our usual walk with the dogs followed by take-out and beer in the backyard, but he clarified. Dinner, movie, nightcap, the works. I was equal parts excited and terrified, his “expand the family” comment still bouncing around my brain. The last thing I wanted was to lose Tom. The second-to-the-last-thing I wanted was for him to do something silly like propose. At least I didn’t think I wanted that.

  “You’re actually an afterthought.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  “I’m starving. I thought first of grilled cheese and tomato at the Firefly. Then I thought of you.”

  “Ah, hard to compete with that.” I told him I also wanted to talk to him about some things.

  “You’re snooping around again, aren’t you?”

  “Not snooping. Thinking.” Thinking about snooping.

  He met me at the Firefly, and once I had several bites of the best grilled-cheese-and-tomato known to humanity, I told him what I was thinking. “Anderson saw something out on the island that had to do with birds, and I think parrots are tied somehow to Treasures on Earth or Regis Moneypenny.” I reminded him about Persephone Swann’s beautiful if badly named bird Ava, and Giselle’s comment about becoming a “guardian” to “sort of foster” birds for Moneypenny’s organization. “Anderson said ‘there’s a bird,’ which didn’t make sense to me because the place is full of birds. That’s why I told him about it in the first place,” I said. “But if he meant a strange bird, an exotic bird …”