“Don’t strangle her!” I shouted. “The chief will want a live suspect.”
“I know what I’m doing,” he said. “Used to tackle Burmese dacoits this way.”
Francine went limp. Grandfather immediately loosened the tube and began using it to tie her hands. I checked her pulse.
“Okay, at least you haven’t killed her,” I said.
“Better her than me,” he growled.
I retrieved my cell phone.
“Debbie Anne?” I said.
“Meg! What in the world is happening there?”
“Tell the chief to get another stall ready,” I said. “We’ve got the real killer here.”
Chapter 26
“You should go back to the hospital, Grandfather,” I said. “Dad, don’t you think he should be back in the hospital?”
Grandfather ignored me, as he had the last dozen times I’d said the same thing since the chief finished questioning us and let us come here to Mother and Dad’s farm for breakfast. I had to admit, from the way my grandfather was packing away pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, hash browns, and fruit salad, he did look rather like a patient well on the road to recovery.
“He’ll be fine,” Dad said, from his place by the stove. “He can stay here for a day or two and I’ll keep an eye on him. More pancakes, Dad?”
Grandfather nodded, shoved the last bite of his current pancake stack into his mouth, and held out his plate.
I sighed, and looked at my own overladen plate. Maybe escaping a murder attempt had given Grandfather an appetite. Mine was almost nonexistent, thanks to the painkillers Dad had given me for my injury. He assured me that Francine’s bullet had only grazed my leg, and it would heal just fine without any scarring, but right now it hurt like hell, and the painkillers weren’t helping—just making me woozy.
“Good news!” We all looked up to see Clarence running in, followed by my brother, Rob. “They’ve found the macaw!”
“The real macaw?” Dad asked.
“Yes, Parker’s macaw. An animal shelter outside Charlottesville found his cage on their front step yesterday morning. He’s fine. Rob’s going to drive up today to collect him.”
I peered suspiciously at my brother. Bad enough when he seemed to be on the road to adopting an Irish wolfhound. But better the wolfhound than a foulmouthed macaw.
“Are you still giving the macaw to the Caerphilly Inn?” I asked.
“Parker’s macaw? Yes,” Clarence said. “He’ll still be good company for Martha Washington, even if he’s not the same species. But they don’t want him till we’ve done some reeducation. Cleaned up his vocabulary a bit.”
“So I’ll be taking him down to the Willner Wildlife Sanctuary,” Rob said. “Caroline’s going to rehabilitate him. She’s done it before.”
“Excellent idea,” I said. “Make sure she teaches him to say ‘Monty, you old goat,’ just the way she does.”
“And while I’m up there, I’m going to spend some time videoing all her animals.” Rob had joined us at the breakfast table and was loading his plate with bacon and eggs. “Might even stay over a day or two. Assuming it’s okay to borrow your video camera for a while? Just until the chief gives mine back?”
“Fine with me,” I said. “Michael’s the one who uses it, and he can probably settle for still photography for a few days.”
I’d make sure I saved all the videos from it before I gave it to him. And if he lost it, I’d buy a new one and send him the bill.
But it was worth the potential hassle to get rid of the macaw.
And perhaps, if we worked hard, we could get the rest of the animals adopted while Rob was gone—including Tinkerbell, the wolfhound.
“Rob, pancakes?” Dad asked. “And what about you, Clarence?”
Clarence took a seat, and Dad began working on another batch of pancakes, along with reinforcements for the bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Normally I’d be helping, but between my leg injury and the fact that I’d only had about two hours of sleep on a bed in the ER, Dad had put me on injured reserve and was cooking solo.
And as soon as Michael arrived to pick me up, I could go home and start catching up on my sleep. Or at least returning to my normal level of sleep deprivation. Meanwhile, it satisfied the orderly part of my mind to see so many loose ends being tied up.
I thought of another one.
“What about the blue-and-yellow macaw Francine left behind when she stole the hyacinth macaw?”
“Technically, she belongs to Francine,” Clarence said with a sigh. “So I suppose she gets to decide the blue-and-yellow’s fate.”