Fine-Feathered Death

by Linda O. Johnston

  “Like?” I prompted, not even attempting to hide my impatience.

  “Well, I met Ezra briefly a few weeks ago because I’m a friend of Bella Quevedo’s, a lawyer with the firm Ezra used to work for, Jambison & Jetts. I helped Bella train her wonderful Amazon parrot, Pinocchio. Bella told me she’d dated Ezra for a while when she joined the firm a couple of years ago—but she wound up marrying a partner, Jonathon Jetts.” Polly’s frown forced the ridges of her pudgy eyebrows nearly together. “There was bad blood between them, you know—Jonathon and Bella on the one side, and Ezra on the other.” She shook her head. “When I heard about what happened to Ezra, well …” Her words wound down, and she took a serious sip of coffee.

  “Well what?” I had to ask, confused as to how this related to Ezra’s purportedly ill-conceived acquisition of Gigi.

  “Well, I shouldn’t have said anything. As I mentioned, I’m a friend of Bella’s. But …”

  She wouldn’t meet my eye or Elaine’s, though Elaine and I stared at each other.

  “Are you trying to not say that you think Bella or Jonathon might have been Ezra’s murderer?” I blurted.

  “I didn’t say that!” Polly exclaimed indignantly. And then she wilted a little, while still studying her coffee cup. “But …”

  Though she didn’t finish the thought, her “but” spoke tomes.

  Chapter Ten

  SNAIL-SLOW, I PRIED from semireluctant Polly the little that she knew, with Elaine uttering encouragement as we bided our time in the booth.

  Polly proclaimed that Pinocchio was the epitome of Amazon parrots, and his owner, Bella, adored him. A noted corporate lawyer in her late fifties, Bella had joined the Jambison law firm a year ago, which was when she’d met both Jonathon Jetts and Ezra.

  Why she’d decided to date Ezra, Polly hadn’t a clue. She herself hadn’t met Ezra till near the end of the saga. By then, Bella had broken up with the irascible older guy and taken up with Jonathon … enough of a take-up to wind up marrying, a month ago, the stable, somber lawyer who was five years her junior.

  Which I found interesting in itself. Jonathon Jetts had been here hollering at Ezra the day before he died—allegedly for stealing firm clients but I’d bet good ol’ ordinary male jealousy skulked behind it. Jetts, a murder suspect? Sure. I’d make sure he was high on the investigating detectives’ list, though from my previous dealings with Ned Noralles, I imagined Jetts was already there. But above or below Jeff?

  I definitely questioned Bella Quevedo’s taste. She’d taken up with irritable and irritating Ezra, then dumped him for the dumpy Jonathon. Maybe Jetts had a heart of gold when he wasn’t picking apart a former law partner, though the way Polly spoke of him suggested he pinched pennies till they fused together.

  I posited that Ezra had remained angry over losing Bella. Perhaps his rage was a major reason for his being forced into retirement. He obviously didn’t depart easily.

  Plus, from what Polly proclaimed, he’d made it clear he would outdo both Jonathon and Bella. That was when he’d sought out a bird of his own, not long after their nuptials. And not just any old pet of the parrot family. No, if Bella had a nice but relatively common Amazon, then he would acquire something even bigger and better: a macaw.

  Aha! Here at last was Polly’s elucidation of why she considered Ezra’s purchase of Gigi inappropriate.

  Ezra had started with scant research, though, and ended up begging Bella to introduce him to her bird expert for help after already adopting Gigi. Polly had pretty much disliked the guy on first sight and hated being in the middle of the mixed-up relationships involving her friend Bella.

  “But I felt sorry for poor Gigi,” Polly said with a sigh. That was why she agreed to provide a lesson for the mature and partly trained Blue and Gold Macaw. She snorted. “Ezra didn’t know the first thing about macaws. He was angry that poor Gigi didn’t talk as much as Pinocchio and what she did say wasn’t an imitation of his grumpy old voice.”

  From what Polly said, although macaws could be loving and learned lots of tricks, they weren’t the speech mavens of the parrot family. With patience, some could be taught to speak, and they even occasionally sang. “But they’re simply not Amazons or African Greys when it comes to skills in speaking or repeating things they hear,” she finished.

  “Not even when they hear it in an emotional situation?” I had to inquire.

  “Well, like people, every bird is different. Certainly some macaws might pick something up in a crisis. But Ezra wanted a bird who’d outdo Bella’s in everything, including speech. He might have been happier with a bird more similar to Bella’s—smaller, too, like Pinocchio. It is simply too bad that he did not seek expert advice first. Had he asked, Bella might have introduced us sooner, and I have studied the parrot family for so many years that I am known absolutely everywhere as … well, no matter. At least he did one thing right: choosing a Blue and Gold over, say, a Hyacinth Macaw.”

  “Why is that better?” I asked in follow-up, as I figured she wanted me to.

  “Hyacinths are even larger and noisier,” she responded. “And many have worse dispositions. Of course, they’re as individualistic as humans, but on the whole Blue and Golds are fairly even tempered. Some people even refer to them as the golden retrievers of the macaw family.”

  “How do you propose to help Gigi calm down?” Elaine asked.

  “I have techniques to try,” Polly said. “Trade secrets.” She smiled. “As I said, I’ll startle her if I have to, but I’ll use a kinder and calmer approach first, talking to her, and even bribing her. I’ve brought some veggies along to tempt her with. Of course, I washed and sliced them myself.” Still seated in the booth, she reached into her large tote bag and extracted plastic containers that held green peppers, carrots, and celery.

  She stood. “Gigi, here I come.”

  And a good thing, since the macaw’s moans still resounded through the office, a lot more audibly once we exited the bar.

  I HIED MYSELF back to my office, where Lexie seemed pleased to see me. I sat again at my computer and started tossing my proposed T.O. strategy onto it. I virtually vomited my ideas out first, intending to refine them later before passing them along to my client in memo form.

  My cell phone sang, and I opened a drawer and reached into my purse for it. The readout told me it was Jeff.

  “Hello,” I said stiffly.

  “We need to talk, Kendra,” he said. Before I could tell him to chew on whatever he wanted to say and choke on it, he continued, “But not now. Ned Noralles has been asking a lot of questions of people who know me—neighbors, my employees … Althea was so incensed that she used our usual legitimate resources and a few that aren’t to run a search on Noralles.” His tone contained a grin, but it vanished with his next words. “I’ll show it to you sometime, but right now I need to really dig in and try to find the SOB detective a better suspect than I am. Can I come talk to you about it?”

  I wasn’t eager to see Jeff, not even to discuss my own home security issue, but after having been the subject of a Noralles top-suspect list, I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. “Sure,” I said. “I’m at my office, and a few other people are here today. Some knew Ezra better than I did—Borden, for one, and Elaine Aames. Maybe you can chat with them and get ideas. Oh, and there’s always his pet macaw and her trainer to talk to.”

  “The bird. Right. Well, I’ll be right over to speak with anyone with information.”

  I still hadn’t told him Darryl’s talking bird theory of murder investigations. Maybe it was just as well.

  Being interrogated by a P.I. with an important agenda of his own might rob Gigi of any progress Polly might make in calming the macaw down.

  JEFF ARRIVED HALF an hour later. I knew that because Lexie told me, leaping around frenetically and digging at my closed office door. I opened it, and she ran out, circling Jeff and clearly searching for his Akita.

  He must have thought so, too, since he bent down, patted Lexie, a
nd said, “Sorry, girl, but I left Odin at home.”

  As if she understood, Lexie sat and glared, though she wasn’t too miffed to pull away from his petting. Or to snub the biscuit he picked from the pocket of his navy sport jacket.

  When Jeff stood up again, elevating to his full six-foot height, my irrational lower body began buzzing as if wishing for some petting, too.

  Until I reminded it about Amanda’s visit last night.

  Coolly, I said, “Come with me. You’ve already met Borden and Elaine, and I’ll introduce you to the other attorneys who are here today. And to Corrie Montez. She was a paralegal with Ezra’s old firm. You’ve met Gigi, too, haven’t you?”

  “The bird? We haven’t been formally introduced, but I’ve seen her and been privy to her screeching.”

  As I led Jeff down the hall, my most senior partner appeared from his office. “Hi, Borden,” Jeff said. “I’m assisting with the investigation into Ezra’s death.” I noted that he naturally sidestepped on whose behalf he was helping—not the cops’, of course, but his own. “Can I talk to you for a few minutes?”

  The older attorney looked a bit suspicious, but he nodded. “Sure. Come in.”

  I had work to do before departing to meet Darryl’s referral, so I left Jeff to his own investigative devices. About forty-five minutes later, when I was getting set to go, I decided first to check on his progress. With Lexie strolling beside me, I peered into each office door as I passed. No Jeff.

  Corrie Montez appeared from the room containing the firm’s photocopier with—surprise—an assortment of files in her arms.

  “Have you seen Jeff Hubbard?” I asked.

  “The detective? He sure asks a lot of questions. But I don’t know where he is now.”

  That was when I noticed him exiting the now-quiet kitchen with a cup of coffee in his hands.

  “So you did speak with Gigi?” I teased, happy that whatever technique Polly was using must be at least somewhat successful. No screams filled the office air.

  “Her teacher wouldn’t let me,” he responded with a shrug. “But at least she answered—” A song suddenly rang out, and Jeff reached into his pocket. “Hello,” he said to his cell phone.

  Okay, I had no reason to immediately assume it was Amanda, but I did. I started to stalk away, but Jeff met my gaze and mouthed a different name that started with an “A”: Althea.

  “No kidding?” Jeff’s grin was deliciously devilish. “How long ago?” He paused, then said, “I’ll definitely look into that. Not that it’ll change things, but … Right.” He flipped his phone shut. “Wait’ll I tell you what she found out about—”

  He suddenly stopped speaking, and his cute smile segued to a cold frown as he faced someone over my shoulder.

  “What brings you here, Mr. Hubbard?” asked a familiar silky voice from behind me.

  “Just doing your job, Detective,” Jeff replied to Ned Noralles. “About time someone did it right.”

  I pivoted so I could plant myself between them, my arms out to ensure they didn’t draw too close. “Chill out, gentlemen,” I cautioned.

  Fortunately, Jeff’s cell phone chose an excellent time to sing its rhythmic ringtone again. He glanced down, flipped it open, and intoned, “I’ll call you back later, Althea.”

  “Gee, she must have thought of something else to tell you,” I said unnecessarily, keeping my tone totally light. I turned toward Noralles. “Is there something else we can help you with, Detective?”

  “Sure thing. Is Ms. Aames here? I have a few more matters to discuss with her.” When I assured him that Elaine had indeed reported for work on this Saturday, he seemed pleased. “Oh, and the macaw? How is she getting along?”

  “Better, I think,” I told him. “We’ve brought back our bird specialist to assist her over the trauma.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll want to talk to her again, too.”

  Gigi or the specialist? I had a fleeting suspicion, as I considered the question, that Detective Noralles might read the same mystery novels Darryl did. Only, from what Polly had said, other birds would be better than a macaw at conveying clues.

  At this opportune instant, Polly Bright popped her head out of the kitchen. She glared at the group of milling people just as Elaine and Corrie joined us. “Too much noise out here,” she complained. “Elaine, please come in here. I want to show you how I’d like you to work with Gigi for the next day or so.”

  The hesitant expression on Elaine’s aging face emphasized her wrinkles and belied her prompt response. “Of course,” she said, then added with hope, “I don’t hear her complaining.”

  “Of course not,” Polly said. “We’ve made some progress.” She beamed—brightly, of course—with apparent professional pride. “But she’s still going to need some TLC.”

  “Definitely,” Elaine agreed.

  “When you’re done working with the bird, I’d like a word with you, ma’am,” said Noralles. He flicked open his cop credentials. “Police business.”

  Polly backed up, as if taken aback. Then, after examining the badge, she nodded. “Give us about ten minutes, Officer, and then we’ll talk.”

  WHEN NORALLES MADE it clear he intended to question Jeff alone during his wait, I swallowed my sympathy for Jeff and used the opportunity to pick up my purse, leash Lexie, and leave the office. I headed my Beamer toward Darryl’s.

  Doggy Indulgence was now open every day but major holidays. Since it existed in Studio City and catered to a showbiz crowd, it had a decent clientele even on weekends.

  When Lexie and I entered, Darryl rushed over to us. “You’re right on time. Good. Irma Etherton is waiting for you in the kitchen.” His kitchen was the pet resort area where Darryl introduced me to his referrals, previously for pet-sitting and now, in addition, for lawyering. It was the best location for potential privacy in this place.

  Darryl unleashed my Cavalier, who today chose the canine area filled with human accoutrements. She sailed up onto one of the several sofas and curled into a ball beside a much bigger mixed breed who seemed mostly black Lab. Her companion opened an eye then shut it again, obviously okay with letting the cute little intruder join him.

  Satisfied she’d be occupied—snoozing usually enthused her when she wasn’t insisting on attention—I followed Darryl to the kitchen.

  The lady who sat at the staff lunch table seemed to be in her sixties, with a bouffant of black hair. Her bone structure suggested classic beauty, but the skin around her eyes and mouth sagged sufficiently to show her age.

  “I’m glad to meet you, Kendra,” she said in a soft alto after Darryl introduced us. Her handshake was cool and quick. “Darryl’s told me so much about you.”

  “Let’s see,” I said, sitting across from her. “I’ve been keeping score.” I raised my hand as if to tick stuff off on my fingers. “Best I can figure, you can believe about fifty percent of what he says.”

  “And you can put even more stock in the other half,” said the man I’d just maligned. He stood behind me so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew he’d take my teasing in stride.

  He always did.

  “Well, let’s hope that what he told me is in the second half,” Irma said. “I really need to rely on it … and you.” My banter didn’t make her back away. In fact, she’d begun to smile, a good thing since my first impression of her serious expression was of a woman who’d lost her laugh.

  “So tell me your problem,” I prompted. “Darryl said it’s a legal issue?”

  “Absolutely,” Irma replied. “A stolen inheritance. I need for you to get it back for my dead lover’s dog.”

  Chapter Eleven

  A PASSEL OF legal principles immediately started circling in my head. The most important was that pups were property. They couldn’t own property. Ergo, hounds were forbidden by law from inheriting fortunes from deceased owners.

  I didn’t blurt that out, though. Not with the way Irma Etherton’s gray eyes had puckered, and tears puddled in them.
<
br />   “I’m sorry to get emotional on you,” she said, “but it’s just that my dear love Walt recently died. He left everything to Glenfiddich.”

  I blinked, but instantly made an obvious assumption. “Glenfiddich is the name of his dog?” I doubted that Walt had attempted to make a Scotch liquor manufacturer his heir.

  Still, I had a sudden image of some guy named Walt giving a final toast with Glenfiddich before keeling over.

  “That’s right. We call him Ditch. He’s Walt’s Scottish terrier, and Walt’s kids have kept him away from me, which is the worst part of this mess. I’m supposed to have custody of dear little Ditch … as well as the million dollars Walt left to him.”

  Dear little Ditch indeed!

  “Please tell me what to do to save Ditch’s fortune, Kendra,” Irma entreated. “It’s what Walt wanted.”

  Okay, I’d learned lots of tact as a litigator. And as I’ve mentioned before, I’d been a law school scholar and had learned to think like a lawyer. Every side to a legal issue had arguments that could be asserted to promote a client’s position.

  But I believed this was black letter law. No inheritance rights for pets … Still, without seeing the will and how it phrased the purported inheritance, and without doing legal research on the current state of case law, I couldn’t completely burst Irma’s inheritance bubble. Or Ditch’s, either.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Irma.” I leaned toward her, hoping my expression suggested earnestness, not hopeless-ness. “This doesn’t sound like a case we’re likely to win. But I’ll be glad to look into it for you. I’ll need for you to obtain a copy of Walt’s will for me. In the meantime, I’ll have a paralegal start some research.”

  “Really? You’ll look into it?” Her careworn demeanor seemed to turn instantly optimistic. The age lines on her face grew shallow. She smiled. And my insides sank. Especially when she continued speaking. “I don’t know whether Darryl told you, but I’ve spoken with several other attorneys, and none thought the matter was worth fighting. But I have to, for the sake of Walt’s memory.”