Birds of a Feather

by Harper Crowley

  I tell him about the birth certificate and the deed.

  “Was there anything else? Any valuables?”

  Time for another partial truth. “Nope. Just that.” Without thinking, I cross my fingers behind my back.

  “Hmm. Still, I’d still like to send out an officer to take a look.”

  “That’s fine.” A thought hits me, and I say it without thinking. “You don’t get a lot of crime like this, do you?”

  He lets out a self-conscious chuckle. “No. I’ve been here three years, and this is my first murder. I hope you don’t judge our town too harshly. Tranquility Falls is a quiet place, and we do our best to keep it that way.”

  “Sorry, that was rude of me. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He asks me what a good time would be to have his officer come by, and I suggest that afternoon.

  “If you don’t mind waiting until then,” I say. “I’d like to get out and explore the town a bit while I’m still here.” This is not a complete lie.

  “Of course. Thank you for being so accommodating,” he says.

  By the time we hang up, the coffee pot has stopped percolating, and I pour myself a steaming cup. Adrenaline hums under my skin. There’s no going to sleep now. Might as well make it a two-cups-before-noon kind of day. I’m not much of a coffee drinker, so that’s saying something.

  Before I leave, I tuck my aunt’s black book into my purse. Given the attempted break-in, I don’t want to take too many chances. The library is the perfect place to make copies, just in case. Just in case you give the book to the cops, or just in case someone steals it? Either.

  Tranquility Falls Library is a squat cement building with wide windows and short, round hedges lining the outside. Inside, rows of bookshelves fan out, each labeled by genre and authors’ last names to help the patrons find the books they want. A young woman with a wide smile and curly blond hair perches on a tall stool behind the front counter.

  “Hi, welcome to Tranquility Falls Library. I’m Melody. How can I help you?”

  “Hi, I’m Willa, I’m—”

  “The girl from the bookstore,” she says in a rush, the words tumbling over each other. “Yeah, I know you. Everyone knows you. This is so cool. Are you looking for a book? Who am I kidding? You have a store full of books. You don’t need any of ours. Is there something else I can help you with? We have internet.” She glances around quickly, as if to make sure no one else is close. “It’s not the greatest, and my boss doesn’t like it when people are on it too much, but he’s not that bad. Or is there anything else I can help you with?”

  Geez, this girl’s going to give me a headache just trying to keep up with her. “No, no, I’m good. I was, ah...” My mind latches on to an idea. It’s a tenuous one, but it’s worth a shot. And, to top it off, I might be able to kill two birds with one stone and talk to one of the people in my aunt’s book. “I was wondering if I could talk to Eddie.” I gauge her reaction, but there’s no confusion in her eyes. If anything, some of the giddiness disappears, and she schools her expression into one of calm.

  “Yeah, he’s my boss. I’ll go get him.”

  “Thanks.” Score one for the B-rated psychic with the psychotic parrot.

  While I wait, I stuff my hands into my pockets to keep from nervously twisting them in front of me or reaching for the book. I shouldn’t be here. This is a stupid idea. There’s no way this’ll work. I won’t be able to get anything out of Eddie. I’m not a cop, I’m a... well, I’m not sure what I am anymore, except the owner of a defunct bookstore.

  “Ms. Thompson?” someone asks behind me.

  I spin around.

  Eddie Garant is a tall, thin man with mousy-brown hair and gold-rimmed spectacles surrounding mousy-brown eyes. A thin, hooked nose perches over a trim mustache, and he regards me curiously, studying me just as intently as I’m studying him.

  “Hi, Mr. Garant. Thank you for meeting me.”

  “Of course.” He gestures at an open door behind him. “Please, join me in my office.”

  I follow Eddie into a room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves overflowing with books of all shapes and sizes. Towers of books spill onto the floor and are tucked into every drawer and crevice imaginable. Eddie’s desk is barely visible—stacks of books and paperwork cover almost every surface. Not unlike the bookstore. It must be a booklover thing.

  He gestures for me to sit in a worn green leather chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asks. Something simmers in his voice that sets my nerves on edge.

  “I just, well...” Come on Willa, think. Think. “I was just wondering if the library might be interested in any of the books from the bookstore. Wanda always talked highly of this place, so I wanted to check here before I started getting rid of things.” There. I think I did a pretty good job with that one.

  “Did she, now?” Eddie asks, steepling his hands before him. “She was a member of Friends of the Library, and I’ve heard she had quite the collection, but she never let me see it. She was quite secretive about it, in fact, and while she boasted of its breadth, we only saw unique pieces on one or two occasions.”

  “That’s... strange. She never mentioned that to her nieces. She loved books and was always generous with them.” I’m missing something here, and I hope I can coax it out of him.

  “Perhaps it’s me. We weren’t the closest of confidants, if you will. It’s all water under the bridge now, of course, and I would love to finally get a look at Wanda’s collection. In fact, there’s a particular book that might be of immense interest to the library and to the town itself.”

  My mind immediately travels to the book in my purse. That can’t be the one he’s talking about. He wouldn’t be so bold, so out in the open about it if he knew his name was in it. He’s got to be talking about a different book.

  “I’m sorry,” Eddie says. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Old animosities die hard, I’m afraid. I hope you’ll forgive me. You must have been very close to Wanda and her nieces to agree to take on the matters of her estate.” He doesn’t mention Marge, but the implication is there. Honestly, no one else in their right mind would want to take care of that bird.

  I study my host, watching a myriad of emotions flit across his face. This is interesting. “So, are you interested in stopping by the shop sometime? I’m not going to be here for very long, but I’d like to take care of as much as I can while I’m here.” I might be able to glean more information out of him too.

  “Absolutely. I’d be delighted.” Eddie tilts his head to the side. “You know, you look familiar. Have you visited Tranquility Falls before? I rarely forget a face.”

  That’s my cue to get out of here while the getting’s good. I haven’t been back to this town since my parents died, but my sister always said I look more like our last living relative than she does, so maybe that’s what Eddie is seeing. Either way, I can’t stick around to find out. “No, this is actually my first time here.” The lie flows easily off my lips. I’m getting better at telling untruths, which should concern me, but my whole life is pretty much a lie, so I have to roll with it.

  He makes a noncommittal noise.

  I stand, pasting a smile on my face. “Feel free to stop on by whenever you want and take a look to see if there’s anything you might want for the library. You’re more than welcome.”

  Eddie walks me to the door. “Thank you, truly. Let me check my schedule, and I’ll get back to you about when I can stop by.”

  “No problem,” I say.

  After he promises to call me this afternoon, he leaves me at the front counter.

  I ask Melody where the copy machines are. My mind whirls after the conversation with the man, and I photocopy each page of my aunt’s journal on autopilot. I’ll read them later and see if I can find any other obvious suspects, but it seems like there has to be at least one person from her entries who would be willing to break into the shop. Now I just need to figure out what they were after.

>   After I leave the library, I head back to the bookstore. Even though this mystery is taking over every waking moment, I have to keep my mind on my original reasons for coming: cleaning out the bookstore and figuring out what I want to do with my life. In the long run, my aunt’s little black book doesn’t have a thing to do with my purpose here in Tranquility Falls, and I need to remember that. I tuck the photocopies in the trunk of my car for safekeeping and return the book to its nook under the front desk. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I feel better having two copies of the thing in two different locations.

  Marge eyes me warily from the base of her tree then paces back and forth on one of the lower branches before pulling her food bowl out of its holder and tossing it at me.

  Thanks, bird. Like I don’t have enough to do—now I have to clean up your leftover food. Again. “You could just tell me you’re hungry,” I gripe, sweeping the food up. “I’ve heard some parrots talk. They have the intelligence of a five-year-old, even. You could just tell me if you want something, you know.”

  Marge gives me a dirty look before climbing back up to the top of her stand. Indignantly, she fluffs up her feathers and tucks her head beneath her wing.

  Someone clears their throat behind me, and I jump, dumping half of the spilled bird food back on the floor. A short, pudgy man with shifty eyes stands there, wearing a gray tweed jacket over matching slacks. He eyes the shelves hungrily, as if memorizing the contents.

  “Um, hi. I was just... cleaning up.” I wave at the mess on the floor with my free hand. “We’re not exactly open for business.”

  The man takes off his hat and twists it in his hands. “That’s okay. If you don’t mind, I, uh, I heard you were getting the shop ready for sale, and I was wondering if I could help you by taking the contents off your hands.”

  “The contents?” I scan the shelves on either side of the store, packed tightly with books, the tables piled high with boxes and stacks of even more novels. My aunt didn’t have a computer, at least not one that I’ve unearthed, and no handwritten inventory sheet that I can find, so organizing everything will be a nightmare. If someone is willing to buy the lot of it, that could be a godsend.

  But there must be a reason this guy wants all this stuff. Most of its junk, so he has to know something valuable is here, or it wouldn’t be worth it.

  From the top of her tree stand, Marge jerks upright and lets out a raucous screech. In her haste to climb down, she misses a perch and lands on the counter. Indignant, even in her rage, she puffs up her feathers and charges toward us. Knowing how close to death I came last time, I dodge out of the way, but she’s not aiming for me. She’s going for the man who offered to buy the contents of the store.

  With murder in her eyes, Marge reaches the end of the counter and launches herself at the man, landing on a nearby table. Books crash to the floor, and she nearly knocks over a box of magazines. As quickly as her short little legs will carry her, Marge rockets to the end of the table, clearly bent on ensuring the man’s demise. At least she’s not after me this time.

  He scrambles out of the way, his face pale, barely missing her steel-gray talons. “Get that thing away from me!” He ducks around a bookcase right when Marge reaches the end of the table, and she peers around, trying to find her prey.

  Seconds stretch into minutes, and all I can focus on is the murderous bird pacing the table. It’s a good thing she can’t fly well, or we’d all be dead. When he doesn’t reappear, Marge treks back over the table and eyes the desk as if debating whether she can make it across when not in a full-on rage. Then, as if seeing me for the first time, she cocks her head and beeps, sounding suspiciously like the ancient fire alarm. I don’t speak bird, but even I know that she’s expecting me to help her.

  I shake my head. “Nope. I am not letting you climb on my arm. Not after that little display there.”

  Marge beeps again.

  “Fine, just give me a sec.” Searching the store, I grab a broom and carefully offer the handle to her. After giving me a dirty look, Marge climbs aboard, and I gently carry her back to her tree. Once I set the broom handle on the stand, she ascends to the top to resume her nap.

  “You’re weird, you know that?”

  The bird ignores me.

  With only a few careful glances over my shoulder to make sure Marge doesn’t decide to come after me now that her former target has disappeared, I tiptoe around the table and down the aisle in which the strange man disappeared. I find him huddled against the wall behind an outdated magazine rack, his hat askew, his arms tight around his face to protect himself from harm. I reach for his shoulder but stop just short of touching him. With my luck, I’ll have a vision of the guy having a heart attack after he leaves. He jumps, flailing his fists to protect himself.

  I dodge them easily. “Whoa, it’s okay,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so I don’t attract my guard bird. “It’s me, Willa. Who are you?”

  The man slowly unfurls, relaxing his arms gradually when he isn’t attacked. Seeing that he’s safe, he straightens himself and brushes off his jacket. “My name’s Frankie Kash. You, uh, you might have heard of me from around town. I own a store down the block.” He gestures vaguely out the front window to the left, past Nick’s office.

  His name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite pin it down. I didn’t see him in my aunt’s book of horrors—I would have remembered that. “Do you own a bookstore too?” I don’t know why else anyone would want to buy all of this stuff. Most of it looks to me like useless junk.

  He shakes his head. “No. I deal with antiques. Oddities, if you will. I heard Wanda had quite the collection, so I was just waiting for someone to come and, well, start to take care of things so I could offer my assistance.”

  Huh. I guess I could see why an antiques dealer might want to pick through Wanda’s treasures. Maybe we could start with the creepy cat paintings. But something about his interaction with Marge makes me pause. There was hatred in that bird’s eyes, and not just the normal amount that she needs to sustain her rage. This anger was pure, unadulterated fury.

  “Have you been in here before?” Maybe if he’s had past interactions with Wanda and Marge, as it seems Eddie from the library has, that would explain the bird’s reaction.

  “Uh, no,” he says. “I’ve talked to Wanda on the street, but my own business keeps me so busy that I haven’t had the chance.”

  Liar. “So how do you know if there’s anything of value in here?” If there is something here worth a million dollars, then I definitely want to know. It would make my life a lot easier. Somehow, I doubt that there is.

  An expression that looks a lot like respect replaces the fear in the man’s eyes. “Wanda had good taste. We moved in a lot of the same circles, she and I, and purchasing what she deemed worthy and helping the items find homes with people who will appreciate them would be an honor.”

  I think my aunt had an admirer. “That’s... interesting. I will definitely think about your offer, but I’m kind of... well, I’m kind of busy right now, so I don’t know that I could put a price on everything.” And then there’s Marge. “I’m not sure now is the right time to take a walk-through, either.”

  Frank opens his mouth as if to argue then glances toward the front before sighing. “No, you’re probably right. Will you be here long?”

  Every time I get asked that, I see the timeline stretching further away. “A few days.”

  “Perfect. Are you going to be finding a home for her bird?” he asks.

  A quick laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. “I’m trying, but I haven’t had any luck yet.”

  “Would you like some help with that?”

  I eye the guy curiously. “Are you offering to take her? I don’t think she likes you very much. That might not end very well.” For his fingers, that is, or any part that Marge can reach.

  “No, no. I mean, well, it’s like I said, Wanda was a dear friend of mine, and if there’s any way I can help you with her belongings, then
I’d love to do so.”

  Uh-huh, sure. I straighten up and move out of the way so that I’m not standing between him and the closest route to the door. “Like I said, I’ll think about it. Do you have a phone number or something? I’ll call you when I’m ready to start selling the contents.”

  He slides a few steps toward the door. “Don’t you worry about it. I’ll stop by in a few days, and we can talk then, okay?”

  “Okay.” I follow the strange man to the door. Luckily, he makes it without incident and darts out before Marge notices he’s there.

  Outside, he almost collides with a familiar face. Nick saunters through the door, looking confused. “What was Frankie Kash doing here? He wasn’t bothering you, was he?”

  “Him?” I chuckle and tell Nick about Frank’s near-death experience.

  He laughs. “I wish I could have seen that.” He gives Marge a wide berth, even though she has her head tucked, sleeping. “What did Frank want?”

  What a weird reaction. “Why do you ask that?”

  Nick folds his arms across his chest. He’s waiting for me to answer him.

  “He offered to buy the contents of the store.”

  Nick scowls. “He had some nerve coming in here and asking that. You should have called me. I’m right next door.”

  “What are you talking about? He didn’t do anything wrong. He said he ran an antiques store and was a friend of Wanda’s.” I almost slip and say “my aunt” again.

  Nick shakes his head. “Did that weasel actually say that?”

  I nod. “Yeah. Are you sure we’re talking about the same guy?”

  “Definitely. But he lied to you about being an antiques dealer. Frankie Kash owns Kash and Karry Pawn Shop over on the corner. Didn’t he tell you that?”

  Kash and Karry Pawn Shop. Oh God. Dorothy’s words ring in my head. “Sandra, th-the woman we found, was married to a guy named Frank who owned the pawn shop.” I swallow a thick lump of fear in my throat. “What if it was him? What if he was the guy who killed her? H-He was here. In the store. Oh my God.” I stagger back, and Nick reaches out to grab me before I trip over some of the books Marge knocked over in her mad dash to attack Frank.