The Real Macaw(27)

“Oh, no!” he said. “Nothing like that. You know how Parker always wore an earring in one ear?”

“I hardly knew the man.” I mentally applauded as the border collie deftly steered the sheep away from our rosebushes. “So I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Well, he did. It was a ruby. Or maybe just a sparkly red stone that looked like a ruby. I suppose that’s trendy, earrings on men?”

“It was at one time.” I shifted position so I could continue watching the border collie, which had succeeded in driving the sheep through the barn door. “It still could be. I’m not exactly up on trendy. Dad, were there sheep at the animal shelter?”

“No, only domestic animals. Why?”

“Then what’s he doing?” I pointed to the border collie, which had popped out of the barn door, minus his flock. “He just herded three sheep into our barn.”

“Yes, I saw that,” Dad said. “Good technique. They look like Seth’s sheep. Maybe the Corsicans borrowed some to keep the border collie happy.”

“Maybe,” I said. He was probably right that the sheep belonged to Seth Early, our across-the-street neighbor. But I wasn’t sure I believed that Seth would willingly lend a trio of his prized Lincoln sheep just to keep a rescue dog happy. I suspected the border collie was doing a little unauthorized herding.

But that was the Corsicans’ problem, not mine.

“Getting back to Parker,” I said. “So he normally wore an earring. Is this important?”

“I suppose he thought the earring made him look rather piratical,” Dad said. “And of course he could never have foreseen that it would be a clue in his murder!”

“No,” I agreed. “I don’t suppose he was expecting to be murdered. Most people aren’t. But even if the earring’s missing, it isn’t necessarily a clue. They fall off, you know, and sometimes people forget to put them on.”

“It’s not just missing—it was ripped out with enough force to tear the earlobe!”

I winced and had to consciously stop myself from touching my own earlobes. In the last several months I’d given up wearing earrings except on special occasions, to avoid the very real danger that the boys would innocently do the same thing to me.

“Poor guy,” I said.

“Of course, word will get out once we have the funeral,” Dad said. “Maudie Morton can make the ear look fine, of course, but people will notice that his earring’s missing.”

“The chief probably won’t release the body for a few days,” I said. “Maybe they’ll find the earring by then.”

“If they do, it’ll be evidence,” Dad said.

“Buy another one,” I said. “Or tell people he couldn’t be buried with it because he was leaving it to someone in his will.”

“He was only in his late thirties,” Dad said. “With no dependents. I’d be surprised if he had a will.”

“Then get Clarence to say Parker told him he wanted his earring sent to his elderly mother in Dubuque, or wherever he’s from.”

Was he trying to make this difficult?

“He grew up here, and his mother died years ago.”

“Or that he wanted it sold so the proceeds could be donated to some animal welfare organization,” I went on.

“That might work,” Dad said.

“Of course, there’s always the option of having a closed casket,” I suggested. “If he was shot in the head—”

“The neck, actually.”

“If he was shot anywhere that Maudie would have to cover up a bullet hole for the viewing, maybe you should go for the closed casket.”

“You don’t think people will be disappointed, not being able to say good-bye?” Dad asked.

“I think they’ll manage to say good-bye without a viewing,” I said. “And think of the enjoyment everyone will have, looking solemn and intoning ‘Of course, it had to be a closed casket.’”

“Good point,” he said. “And it really would be easier.”

I turned toward my car again.

“Of course,” he added, to my back, “it would be even better if the earring were found.”

And clearly he thought I was the one to do it.

“I’ll keep my eyes open,” I said. “Speaking of keeping eyes open—here comes the border collie with four more sheep. He’s got to be getting them from Seth Early’s pasture. Could you check it out? See if anyone knows he’s doing it?”

“Can do!” Dad said. “Happy hunting!” He sounded cheerful again.

As he bustled off toward the barn, I found myself thinking that people were taking Parker’s death quite philosophically. With the exception of the two ex-girlfriends, I hadn’t seen anyone genuinely overcome with grief—and who knew how well the ex-girlfriends’ grief would survive the discovery of each other’s existence? Everyone said what a shame about poor Parker and how much he’d done for animals. A few people were honest enough to call him a letch. I hadn’t yet met anyone whose reaction was anything like “You know, some people didn’t approve of him, but damn! I’m going to miss him!”