The Real Macaw(7)

“Put a lid on it, bird,” I said.

The macaw responded with several rude remarks in language so blue they’d probably have bleeped the entire sentence on network television.

I stood staring at the macaw for a few moments, speechless.

When I looked around, everyone else in the room was also speechless and staring.

“Do that again, featherbrain, and I’ll wash your beak out with soap,” I said.

The bird responded with another string of off-color insults.

“No crackers for you, Polly.” I pulled the cover over the macaw’s cage. I could hear him muttering a few more four-letter words as he settled down for a nap. At least I hoped the cover would have that effect.

The chief—who always apologized if, under extreme provocation, he uttered the occasional “hell” or “damn” in front of a lady—was frowning severely at the shrouded cage.

“He’s new here,” I said. “And not staying.”

“I should hope not.” He glanced around the living room and shuddered. Mother would probably shudder, too, if she saw the room in its current state.

“I think I will take you up on that offer of the library,” the chief said. “Assuming it’s empty.”

“Of animals? Yes,” I said. “And it’s going to stay that way,” I added, looking pointedly at my grandfather.

“Could you send Clarence down to the kitchen when he’s finished babysitting?” the chief asked.

I nodded.

“Now, if you don’t mind, Dr. Blake.”

Grandfather and the chief disappeared into the long hall that led to our library.

I tried to shove some of the cats and dogs into crates and cages but gave up after a few minutes.

“Let sleeping dogs lie,” I said. “And sleeping cats, too.”

At least until I could task someone else with waking them up to crate them. I went upstairs to the nursery.

I peered in to see a heartwarming domestic scene. Michael, in boxer shorts and a tattered Caerphilly College T-shirt, was sprawled on the recliner, half-asleep, feeding Josh.

Heartwarming wasn’t exactly what I’d call the vision of Clarence in his full leather and denim biker’s outfit stretched out on the moss-green rug with Jamie sleeping on his well-padded stomach, but it was rather entertaining. I hoped Michael had captured the scene on the digital camera that he’d taken to carrying everywhere since the boys arrived. Yes, the camera was lying on the arm of the recliner.

Clarence looked up when I entered, his face anxious.

“The chief’s not here about the animals,” I said.

“It’s Parker, isn’t it?” he said. “Did he wreck the truck, or did some jealous husband catch up with him? Is he just injured or…?”

“He’s dead.” I reached down to take Jamie. “You’re very quick to assume that Parker met a violent end. Why is that?”

“Obviously you didn’t know him.” Clarence was trying to loosen the death grip Jamie had on one of the many chains dangling from his vest. “Parker was passionate about animal welfare. He’d never just blow off an animal rescue mission. So something serious must have happened. And the chief wouldn’t be coming here in the middle of the night if he’d died in his sleep, or just had an accident.”

Jamie woke up enough to release his grip, fussed a little, and dozed off again.

“Speaking of the chief,” I said. “He’d like you to go down and wait in the kitchen with Dad and Rob and Deputy Sammy.”

Clarence nodded.

I eased Jamie into his crib.

“If you could stop by the living room on your way and make sure all the animals are secured, I’d appreciate it,” I said to Clarence. “I’d really like them out in the barn, but just having them caged or crated would do for now.”

He nodded again and went downstairs.

“All the animals?” Michael said, opening one eye. “You mean there really is a herd of animals downstairs?”

“You couldn’t hear them?”

“I was hoping maybe it was your grandfather watching some kind of animal video on the big-screen TV with the sound cranked up. How many dogs and cats?”

“I didn’t count.”

He winced.

“Only half a dozen guinea pigs and hamsters, though,” I said. “And only one macaw.”

“What did they do—rob a pet store?”

“Not a bad guess.” I explained about the animal shelter.

He shook his head.

“I don’t like the change in policy, either, but aren’t they overreacting a little?” he said. “They couldn’t just picket the place?”

I shrugged. It was too late—or maybe too early—to get into a discussion about why my relatives did what they did.