The Real Macaw(4)

I looked around. Okay, the animals were refugees. They might have been saved from an untimely death. Of course, that didn’t make it any less annoying to see them lying on, shedding on, and in a few cases, chewing or peeing on our rugs and furniture. At least, thanks to the child gates we’d recently put up in all the doorways in case the boys started crawling early, the livestock weren’t free to roam the whole house.

“The problem is that they’re not safely out of his clutches,” I said. “What now? Were you planning on hiding them in our barn until you change the county manager’s mind?”

“We weren’t going to bring them here at all.” Dad plopped down on the sofa with a sigh. The Afghan hound scrambled over to put its head in his lap. The patch of upholstery it had vacated was covered with so much shed fur that it looked like tweed. “We’d arranged to have them taken to new permanent or foster homes outside the county,” Dad went on.

“Outside the state, in fact,” Grandfather said. “Parker Blair made the arrangements.”

“He has that big truck he uses to make deliveries from his furniture store,” Dad explained.

“We were going to meet Parker at midnight down by the haunted graveyard, load all the animals on his truck, and there you have it!” Rob exclaimed. “Like The Great Escape, with poodles.”

“Unfortunately, Parker hasn’t shown up,” Grandfather said. “I’ve been leaving messages for nearly two hours now. Not sure what the holdup is, but as soon as he gets here, we can load the animals and have them out of your hair. But in the meantime—”

“Shhh!” Clarence hissed. He was peering out one of our front windows. “It’s the cops!”

Everyone froze—even the animals, who seemed to sense danger.

I strolled over to the window and looked out.

“It’s only Chief Burke,” I said.

“Oh, no!” Dad wailed.

“We’re lost,” Clarence muttered.

“Get rid of him,” my grandfather said.

The chief was getting out of his car. I hadn’t heard a siren, but I could see that he had the little portable flashing light stuck on his dashboard.

“If he were just calling to see the babies, maybe I could.” I glanced at my watch. “But the chief doesn’t usually make social calls at two thirty in the morning.”

“Then stall him while we move the animals,” Dad said.

“Move them how?” Clarence asked. “All the pickups are out front where he’s probably already seen them.”

“Put the animals in the barn till Parker gets here,” my grandfather said. “I’ll call him again.”

He grabbed our phone and began dialing. Dad leaped off the sofa, picked up a puppy in one hand, and grabbed the macaw’s cage with the other.

“All gone!” the bird trilled.

“I wish,” Clarence muttered.

The windows were cracked slightly, to let in a little of the mild April air—or possibly to prevent the smell of the animals from becoming overwhelming. I could hear the staccato sounds the chief’s shoes made on our front walk.

“There is no way in the world I can stall the chief while you move all these animals to the barn,” I said. “And even if I could, do you think they’d go quietly?”

As if to prove my point, one of the dogs uttered a mournful howl, and several others whimpered in sympathy. I even heard a faint bark from the porch.

“Besides,” I added, “the chief has probably already spotted the dog you left outside.”

“What dog?” Dad asked.

“I thought they were all accounted for.” Clarence was fishing in his pockets for something. “We have an inventory.”

“Dammit, Parker, pick up!” Grandfather muttered.

The dog on the porch barked again.

“Just let me handle it,” I said. “The chief’s an animal lover. He probably won’t approve of your methods, but I’m sure he shares your concerns. Let me assess what kind of a mood he’s in. Maybe we can work something out.”

Clarence and my father looked at each other, then back at me.

“What else can we do?” Dad said.

The dog outside barked.

The doorbell rang.

Upstairs, Josh erupted into howls.

“Damn,” I said, pausing halfway to the door. “I was trying to let Michael sleep.”

“I’ll take care of the baby,” Clarence said, bolting for the stairs. “You deal with the chief.”

“Why doesn’t the bastard answer his phone?” Grandfather growled.

“Hiya, babe!” the macaw said.

“Put a lid on him,” I said to Dad, as I turned back to the door.