The Real Macaw(55)

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, and backed toward the door.





Chapter 15




“No, come in, please,” Caroline said. “You might be able to help.”

And I might not want to help, I found myself thinking. But Caroline appeared uncharacteristically agitated, and even Rose Noire looked at me pleadingly—Rose Noire who normally basked at the chance of comforting someone else and was always urging us not to hold in our grief.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, closing the door behind me.

As if in answer, Louise held out a damp, crumpled wad of paper. After blinking at it for a few moments I realized it was office paper, not tissue, so I reached out to take it from her.

It was a copy of the first page of the infamous contract. Third- or fourth-generation photocopy, by the looks of it. The thing was really making the rounds.

But however maddening I might find the existence of the contract, I wasn’t quite sure why it should produce such buckets of tears. I glanced up at Rose Noire. She shrugged and shook her head slightly. Caroline threw up her hands and grimaced.

“There, there.” Rose Noire handed Louise another handful of tissues and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

Caroline began edging sideways, as if planning to make a break for the door.

I wondered if I should suggest bringing Louise a kitten to feed. It seemed to have worked well before. Of course, they’d probably already thought of that, and perhaps all the kittens had been adopted by this time.

I took a deep breath and reminded myself to use my gentlest tone—the one I’d use if Timmy were agitated.

“Why does this upset you so much?” I asked.

“Because this proves it,” she moaned.

“There, there,” Rose Noire said, patting diligently.

“Proves what?”

“He didn’t really care about me at all,” she sobbed. “He was just using me to get that.”

She pointed at the wad of paper in my hands and collapsed onto Rose Noire’s waiting shoulder. Rose Noire patted and there-there’d with renewed vigor.

“So you’re the one who gave him this?” I said.

“No! I never would!” She whirled and glowered at me as if I’d accused her of animal abuse.

“Sorry, I must have misunderstood you. So how did he get it? And if you didn’t give it to him, why would it have anything to do with you?”

“Because I work in the mayor’s office,” she said, in a tone of utter exasperation at having to explain the obvious. “If Parker was looking for stuff like that—government secrets—then he would know I knew where to find them. And that means he never really loved me—he was just using me.”

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Rose Noire said.

“Yes,” I said. “After all, you didn’t give him this, right?”

She shook her head.

“And I assume you never gave him anything else confidential?”

Another head shake.

“Then why would anyone assume this has something to do with his relationship with you?”

“The mayor will,” she said. “He’ll assume I gave it to Parker and he’ll probably fire me. And I really need the job—do you think I’d be working for Mayor Pruitt if I could get any other job?”

She collapsed in sobs.

So were these paroxysms of tears for Parker, or for the impending loss of her job? Maybe both.

“But you didn’t give him this or anything else confidential,” I went on.

“No,” she said. “And he never asked me to. Even if he had, I wouldn’t have given it to him. I may not like working for the mayor, but that doesn’t mean I’d stab him in the back.”

“Did Parker ever even ask you to help him get confidential information?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Then your conscience is clear, right?”

“Yes,” she said, sniffling. “But a clear conscience isn’t going to do me much good if I’m fired.”

“Then again, is it really that bad being fired by the most hated man in the county?” I asked. “And not all that popular in town, either. If they get that recall campaign going, being fired by him could be a badge of honor. And they’ll need honest people who know how the office works.”

“Really?”

Clearly she wasn’t very politically savvy if that angle hadn’t occurred to her.

“Louise, even though you didn’t give him the contract, is there any chance he could have used you to get it?” I asked. “Did he ask a lot of questions about your work?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, sniffling slightly. “He always seemed interested in what I was doing. I thought it was because I was doing it, not that he wanted inside information. But I didn’t know that contract existed, so even if I were in the habit of blabbing, I couldn’t have told him about it.”