The Real Macaw(13)

I decided it was high time I checked on the boys. Or at least used them as an excuse to get away from the barn, where any minute now someone might suggest that I use my newfound maternal skills on an orphaned beagle. I waved farewell to the Corsicans and headed back to the house, where I ran into the chief packing up to leave.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, as courteously as if I’d served him a gourmet dinner instead of merely staying out of his way while he interviewed a few witnesses.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “I hope the investigation goes well.”

He peered at me over his glasses for a few moments, frowning slightly.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

“Get some rest, Meg,” he said. “You look done in.”

I nodded. He frowned at me for a few more moments, then shook his head, as if doubting I’d follow his advice, wished me a good morning, and left.

Perhaps I should have reassured him that I had every intention of following his advice.

I detoured through the kitchen and stayed long enough to restore it to some semblance of order. Rob had accused me of becoming a neatnik since the babies were born, which was ridiculous. If anything my housekeeping standards had plummeted. But I’d also quickly learned that it was much easier to keep up than to catch up. The dirty diapers alone would bury us in a few days if we didn’t keep after them. So I made time for a little triage in the kitchen, lulled by the peaceful silence I could hear over the nursery monitor.

I got carried away, and it was nearly eight before I finished in the kitchen. For once, I’d done more than triage. The pale gray countertops and white-painted cabinets gleamed and the countertops and the heavy oak table contained only the things that were supposed to live there. I took a long, satisfied look. I even thought of running upstairs for my camera to take a few shots. It might be weeks before the room looked this good again.

I was pushing the button to start the dishwasher when Rob sidled in.

“Um … Meg? Could you help us with something? Just for a minute?”





Chapter 4




“Help you with what?” I turned around and tried not to frown as I waited to hear more. Evidently I failed.

“See!” he exclaimed. “That’s exactly what you need to do to him. Give him that stern, maternal look.”

I wasn’t sure I liked that thought.

“Who are we talking about?”

“The guy who’s here to take the animals away,” he said.

“Rob, you’re a lawyer. Can’t you deal with him?”

“He’s got an official order and everything.”

I was opening my mouth to say something harsh—something that would probably have included the words “grow up.” But I reminded myself that there was a reason Rob made his living as a designer of bizarre computer games rather than in the legal system.

“I told him he needed to talk to the owner of the property first,” Rob said. “I’ve set the stage—all you have to do is waltz in and squelch him.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Rob raced out. I followed at a more sedate pace, putting on my sternest, most businesslike manner.

“I still don’t see why the Corsicans can’t fend him off themselves,” I muttered.

A small panel truck had backed up to the barn door. Its back doors were open and a ramp led up from the ground to the body of the truck.

But nothing was being loaded. The barn doors were closed, and I could see Corsicans peering from most of the barn windows. Rob stood in front of the barn door, arms folded, looking very stern now that he had me to back him up.

The driver of the truck was sitting on the truck bed beside the ramp. He was a lanky young man who looked barely old enough to drive, in a uniform clearly intended for someone several inches shorter and at least a hundred pounds heavier. He looked up when I approached, and scrambled to his feet.

My appearance on the scene was greeted with cheers from the Corsicans.

“Are you the owner?” the driver asked.

“Of this property, yes,” I said. “What can I do for you?”

“I have this paper,” he said.

The Corsicans had begun chanting, “Hell, no! We won’t go!”

I turned to Rob.

“Please ask your fellow members of the committee to refrain from any action that would exacerbate the situation,” I told him.

“Um … okay.” He took a few steps closer to the barn, and then stage whispered, “Hey! Meg says shut up.”

Not precisely what I had in mind for him to do. I could have done that myself.

I turned back to the kid in uniform. He handed me a sheet of paper.