The Real Macaw(26)

“Why not move him to one of the sheds?”

“Dunno.” Rob shrugged. “Dad’s back; ask him.”

He followed the cage into the living room. I went outside and looked around for Dad.

I spotted him in the backyard. He and Randall Shiffley were standing by one of the larger and more dilapidated of our dozen or so sheds, apparently discussing some renovations. I strolled over to join them.

“Please tell me you don’t have to do much work to make this shed macaw-worthy,” I said.

“Needs a new roof.” Randall thumped the lowest part of the roof. Several shingles and a lot of little wood splinters rattled down as if in emphasis.

“It needs a lot more than that,” I replied. “We’re not even sure we want to keep that one.”

“No, it’s not the best of your sheds,” Randall said. “You’re probably eventually going to want to tear it down, but for right now, it only needs a new roof for you to keep the macaw in it.”

“And if after that you still don’t want it, Randall can put it on his big truck and move it to our farm,” Dad said.

“Move it anywhere you like.” Was Randall just being accommodating, or did he, like me, have some idea of exactly how Mother would greet the arrival of a dilapidated shed on the grounds of the farm she was trying to transform into a picture perfect weekend haven?

“Okay, if that’s what it takes to get the macaw out of our living room, then do it,” I said. “How soon can you start?”

“Heading out to get the supplies now,” Randall said. “If they have everything I need in stock at the hardware store, maybe today. If they have to order anything, it’ll be Monday before they can get it in.”

Not what I wanted to hear, but then another night or two with the macaw in the living room wouldn’t kill us. Especially if we kept the cover on his cage.

“Keep me posted.” I nodded to Randall and headed back to the house. Dad trotted along after me.

“So how was your day?” he asked.

“Busy,” I said. “And not over yet. But okay.” And then, since he was obviously dying for me to ask, I added, “How was yours?”

“Difficult,” he said. “This is going to be a tough case to solve.”

“I’m sure the chief is up to it,” I said.

“And poor Horace.” Dad shook his head. “He had to go all over that grisly crime scene, and he hardly found any usable evidence.”

Dad sounded remarkable cheerful about Horace’s ordeal.

“I thought Parker was shot at close range in the cab of his truck,” I said. “You’re not saying it left no traces?”

“More than traces,” Dad said. “The cab was horrible. But the range wasn’t quite that close. Not close enough to guarantee blood spatter on the suspect’s clothing. Not that we’ve got enough evidence against anyone to make it worth testing their clothing.”

I winced at the “we” and hoped he wasn’t annoying the chief too badly.

“How do you know?” I said. “About the range?”

“Well, Smoot is out of town, you know,” Dad said.

I shook my head. Dr. Smoot, the acting medical examiner, was already on thin ice with the chief. And this wasn’t the first time he’d been out of town when needed.

“No, I didn’t know. Was the chief irritated or relieved?”

“A little of both, I think,” he said. “So the chief had me do a preliminary examination of the body. And a good thing, too, since I discovered something important.”

Apparently he and Horace were feeling competitive today, which at least partially explained his glee over Horace’s supposed failure to uncover any evidence.

“Congratulations,” I said.

Dad frowned, and glanced around to make sure no one was within earshot. The yard was peaceful and empty, except for a border collie chivvying three sheep around the corner of the house.

“Of course I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he began.

And, of course, he would, if I just waited.

“The shot may have been fired from a slight distance,” he said finally. “Making Horace’s life difficult. But before his death, Parker appears to have struggled with his killer in some fashion. Or possibly quarreled. Because— Remember, you have to keep this to yourself.”

I nodded. I was watching the border collie, which appeared to be herding the sheep toward our barn. He didn’t seem to be accompanied by a human shepherd.

“The killer appears to have taken a trophy!” Dad announced.

He seemed to find this fascinating. I didn’t.

“Yuck,” I said. “I do not want to know about missing body parts, if that’s what you mean.”