Parrots Prove Deadly (2 page)

“Randolph,” I addressed the bird. I didn’t really see an option. “What did you say?”

“Ka-duh-KLUMP!” The bird repeated, louder this time. Sounding for all the world like a walker, holding up the infinitesimal weight of a frail old lady, as it tumbled first against a table, and then to the floor.

Chapter Three

I’m not insane. No matter what some of my clients would say, were they to know how I really got the dirt on Flower’s biting habit or Pinky’s litter problems. I do have a rudimentary knowledge of animal behavior.

Parrots are smart—for birds. Some studies suggest they have the intellect of a human toddler, with a similar ability to string words together for simple—very simple—sentences, and that they do have a sense of what they say—the meaning of words. But they don’t usually pick things up immediately. Certainly not after one hearing. So just because I had heard something that could have been an aural recreation of Polly Larkin’s death—a death apparently brought about by an interaction with an intruder—didn’t mean that was actually what Randolph the parrot was reproducing for me.

Still, when the door opened behind me, I jumped.

“Who the hell are you?” A man, short, dark, and stocky, stood bull-like just inside the door. “And what the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m Pru Marlowe, the behaviorist.” I reached for the knife I always carry. The bullish little man wasn’t moving toward me, but I wasn’t going to take any chances. Sure enough, the knife was in my pocket, its handle cool to the touch. “And you are?”

“Oh, huh.” His already limited vocabulary seemingly exhausted, the man relaxed. “Sorry.”

I waited.

“Marc! There you are.” Jane appeared behind him, in the doorway. “Miss Marlowe, this is my brother? Marc?”

I looked from my client to her sibling, unable to see any resemblance between her pale hesitation and his florid bulk. “Charmed.” I put an extra dollop of acid in it. Hey, he’d startled me.

He had the good grace to blush, his olive cheeks turning red as he raised one hand to brush over his close-cropped hair. “I’m sorry, Miss. It’s just, well, we’ve had some problems.”

“I understand.” I wouldn’t have phrased the death of a parent that way, but we all experience grief in our own way. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“No, that’s not it. I mean, thanks.” The blush was deeper now. “I didn’t mean my mother. Since, well, before really, there’ve been some problems with things going missing. Some important family things. The aides, you know.”

“Ah.” What had the parrot said?
Put that down. That’s mine.
A dozen questions sprang to mind.

“But what are you doing
here?
” Jane stepped between us before I could phrase any of them. “If I hadn’t seen you—you said Tupenny’s.”

I remembered that she had left in a hurry. The self-consciously cozy tea house was on the other end of Beauville’s main drag.

“Did I? Gee, sis, you sure?” Jane was blocking my view of the little man, so I stepped to the side. His color had faded back to normal as far as I could see. “Now that you’re here, though, maybe we can get some things settled.”

He looked at me as he said that, and I didn’t like it. I get paid to work with animals. Families, that’s a whole different species of trouble.

“I mean, Jane and me.” He was still looking at me. I know I’m easy on the eye, even with my long hair tied back and my curves camouflaged in denim. Something else was going on here, though. Something between this man and his sister—something I had fallen into. “We’ve got some things to discuss.”

“Do you want me to go?” Behind me, the bird was quiet. I wished I too could just listen in here.

“No,” said Jane. “Yeah,” said Marc. I looked at Jane. She was the one paying me.

“I want her to work with Randolph.” She was standing straighter and was clearly taller than her brother. “That’s what Mother would have wanted. And you said, if the bird didn’t curse so much…”

“So
much
? I have kids, Jane.” This sounded like well-worn territory, and I waited for her response. “You don’t have anything else to take care of.”

“You know my landlord won’t allow pets.” She sagged visibly. Usually I reserve my sympathy for animals. They’re the ones who can’t defend themselves in our world, but this was too much. I could be wrong, but I was betting that Jane had done the lion’s share of caring for their mother—the lioness’, actually—and was now in charge of cleaning up.

“If you’ll excuse me.” From the look I got, I almost thought they’d forgotten me. “I think I may be able to retrain the parrot. They’re very intelligent birds, you know.” A faint chirp behind me made me feel the compliment was appreciated. “If not, I can help you find some options.”

“Mother wouldn’t want Randolph to go to strangers.” There was a prissy tone in her voice that I knew would have gotten to me.

“I’m not exposing my kids to that kind of language.” Then again, he wasn’t much better. “They’re
kids
, for Christ’s sake.”

I raised my hands for quiet before the parrot could chime in, too. “Please, we have this room till the end of the month, right.” Jane started to interrupt, and I remembered. “Until the fifteenth, I mean. Let me see what I can do.”

They both nodded, Marc only after his sister glared at him, and I saw the dynamic: she was the elder, the one who ultimately managed everything. The responsible one, despite what Marc had said about her getting their meeting place wrong. He was the one who had gotten away—and gotten a life.

“I’ll need your contact info, Marc.” I reached for my notebook, looking up only when he squawked, parrot-like.

“Why?” His face grew dark again. Suspicious.

“You’re a family member. Randolph here has some experience with you. And if the plan is for Randolph to live with you, it may help for him to learn a different set of reactions to your presence.” It was all true, but it wasn’t the only reason I wanted this man’s information. I handed him my notebook and watched as he took my pen to scribble down some numbers. Keeping as quiet as I could, I waited to see if he was going to turn back the page, look at what his sister had told me about his mother’s decline and death. He didn’t, but I got the feeling he wasn’t happy—either at giving me his contact info or at finding me here in the first place.

Jane might see him as her naughty baby brother. The one who wouldn’t help out.

Me, I was thinking about what the parrot had said. I was wondering why he’d misled his sister about their meeting place and tried to sneak into his mother’s empty apartment. I was wondering, too, why he couldn’t meet her eye.

Chapter Four

“A bird.
”
Wallis was washing her face. I knew that each time she swiped her white paw over her whiskers, however, it was really to avoid facing me.
“She’s listening to a bird now.
”

I didn’t answer her, even though I could. Wallis and I have something special. With most animals, I hear their thoughts. It’s like I’m eavesdropping usually, and as my brief time with the parrot had reminded me, the give-and-take is pretty iffy. Wallis and I can have actual conversations, although I usually speak out loud and her voice is only in my head. I suspect that this two-way communication is because we’ve lived together for so long. She’s sure it’s because she’s a cat.

What I did know was that her feline nature lent her a certain attitude toward other, smaller animals. And while a day before I might have agreed with her about avian authority, at this point, I just couldn’t be sure. Those sounds—that virtual reenactment—had been a little chilling for my taste.

None of which I could explain to my tabby housemate. I’d hit the Internet as soon as I had gotten home and only after a couple of articles had I related my day’s experience. And then the chime of the doorbell, followed by a hard rat-a-tat-tat rap on the door, had interrupted us.

It was the police. One officer, actually, and he squinted back at me as I eyed him, door opened part way.

“Evening, ma’am.” With that angular face and the short hair, he looked like a boy scout, all grown up. “We’ve had reports of a disturbance.”

“No disturbance here, Officer.” I leaned on the doorframe. I could feel Wallis around my ankles, but I tuned her out. I was focused on the cop’s blue eyes. They didn’t blink. Neither did I.

“You’re not in need of assistance then?” For a moment, he glanced down, and I could feel Wallis tensing ever so slightly.

“Assistance?” I let my gaze slide over his body. Slim, muscular. Definite boy scout. Definitely grown up. “No.”

“Well, how about pizza then?” He proffered a flat box. It smelled of anchovies. Delicious, but I wasn’t hungry for pizza.

“Maybe later,” I said, letting my voice soften. He took my cue, setting the pizza box down to take me in his arms as Wallis trotted away.

***

Twenty minutes later, I was getting dressed. That was supposed to be a hint. Jim Creighton—Detective James Creighton—and I had been seeing each other regularly enough that his showing up unannounced wasn’t totally out of place. But he was pushing, and as much as I enjoyed interludes like the one we’d just had on my sofa, I didn’t want him to get too comfortable. I had a lot on my mind, and the one colleague I wanted to discuss it all with was tiger-striped.

“You hungry?” He reached over to where the pizza box had been abandoned on the coffee table. “It’s still warm, and I know Wallis wants some.”

I looked down. Sure enough, my tabby had returned to the living room, and now sat on the rug, tail neatly curled around her front feet and a look of devotion on her face.

“Well, mozzarella wouldn’t melt in your mouth,” I said to her as I accepted a slice. Wallis brushed against Jim’s shin as he stood and reached for his pants, and I wondered what both of them were playing at. It wasn’t all about the cheese.

I was right. “I want to ask you something, Pru.” I’d started toward the kitchen, but I could hear fine. “And I don’t want you to take offense.”

I returned with a six-pack. That was better than a verbal response.

“It’s about your old friends.” He opened two beers and handed one to me. I took it, and waited. “Really old friends.”

Wallis had jumped up on the sofa by then, and I sat beside her. With both of us focusing on him, Creighton would have had to be made of something harder than stone if he didn’t crack.

“I’m not saying anyone you know is involved. I’m just—” He waved one hand in the air, nearly knocking over his drink. “I’m kind of at my wit’s end with this one, Pru.”

“So, tell.” I had some pity and took a swig of beer.

It broke the tension. “We’re seeing a flood of drugs in town. Drugs we haven’t seen before. Prescription drugs, for the most part. Oxycodone, Oxycontin, and a new synthetic opiate that’s even more powerful.” He waited, and I nodded. I read the news occasionally. “The usual route is from Canada. There have been some big busts in Albany.”

Another nod. I’d heard.

“This is something different. It’s more powerful, and the money involved seems to be much bigger, as a result. I wasn’t sure if you were still talking to Mack—”

“Whoa!” This was too much. My sort of ex might not be the straightest arrow, but I didn’t see him as a dealer. Even if he was, I didn’t know if I’d rat him out to my current beau. And if Creighton thought I was still seeing them both…“Off limits.”

“I’m not saying he’s involved.” I glowered. Beside me, I could feel Wallis’ fur begin to rise. “Honest! I was just wondering if he’d heard anything.”

“Heard?” He wasn’t getting off that easily. “So this wasn’t just a booty call.”

“Look, it’s going out to schools, okay, Pru? It’s serious.” He looked at his beer. I noticed he didn’t drink. “This new drug, it’s brutal. Two kids ended up in Berkshire General over the weekend. One didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry.” I was. Some things might just be more important than my loyalty to an old flame. Besides, I’d been the one to set the terms on our relationship; Creighton’s only innovation was the pizza. “Look, I’ll ask around, but that’s not—that was never Mack’s thing.”

“I know.” The pressure off, Creighton looked years younger. “I’m just clutching at straws here. And what happens between us…” He paused. He knew if he continued, I’d shut him down.

“Understood,” I let him off, as Wallis flopped on her side. “Now, are you going to eat that, or let it get cold?”

A half hour later, we’d finished most of the pie, and I’d filled my guest in on my unusual new client. Since he was here, I shared some of my suspicions, too. “Something’s wrong with that family,” I’d concluded. “Something besides grief.”

That was when Wallis had broken in:
“A bird. What’s next? A dung beetle?
”

It was her tone as much as the words, and I’d had to catch myself before responding out loud. To Creighton—to anyone really—she probably appeared to be just another dumb animal, grooming her neat tiger-striped fur after a special treat of cheese. I knew better.

I also knew that Creighton had some suspicions about me, about my gift. He’d picked up enough—and given me some funny looks. I didn’t want to go there. Instead, I pressed my point. “I think something happened with the old lady. Something besides an accident.”

“Haven’t you had enough of murder?” His voice was soft. The look I gave him wasn’t. I’d been involved with some bad types recently. It wasn’t an experience I’d choose to repeat.

“I know you’re busy, Jim.” I held his gaze. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I just wanted to—” I paused. What did I want? “I wanted to talk this over with someone beside Wallis.” Let him think that was a joke. “And I’m not imagining this. You know me.”

“I do, Pru, I do. It’s just that I really don’t know if you should give much credence to what you hear from a parrot,” Creighton said, echoing Wallis so closely that the tabby and I both paused and turned toward him. “I mean, they make noises, right? They repeat what they hear.”

“That’s the thing.” I started picking pepperoni rounds off the last slice. Wallis isn’t as young as she thinks she is. “Usually, parrots learn by repetition. They mimic what they hear often, which is useful in training.” Every now and then, I throw that in, just to remind Jim that I have a rational reason for my “hunches.” “But I’ve been doing some reading. There are some new studies that suggest they may also pick up sounds that make an impression—sounds that are loud, scary, or stressful, for example. That they’re not just mimics.”

I’d already told him about Alex, the famous parrot who seemed to be able to form simple sentences. “There’s evidence they understand what they’re saying.”

“You’re seriously saying that this parrot witnessed a murder?” Creighton reached for his beer, but he kept his eyes on mine.

“I’m saying there’s something off. That someone broke in—or the old lady thought someone was there—and that’s why she fell.” I didn’t say what I really felt, that she was pushed. The basic principle of any training regimen is to go one step at a time.

“And you think this because the parrot told you so.” Creighton was fully dressed again, but he wasn’t drinking. He was watching me.

“The parrot would have no reason to link those particular sounds without reason.”

“Pru, this is a bird we’re talking about.” He took a drink finally. A long one. “A
bird.
”

“Told you so.
”
Next to me on the sofa, Wallis began to purr.

A tactical retreat was in order. “How do you explain what it did keep repeating, then?” I’d stopped stacking the pepperoni, and Wallis leaned forward to sniff at it, and I put my hand on her back to restrain her. The purring stopped. “I mean, ‘stop,’ ‘what are you doing?,’ ‘that’s mine’? That all sounds pretty suspicious to me. Besides,” I reached for my knife—my dinner knife—as I made my point. “The son said they’d had some problems with theft.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t.” Creighton had collapsed back into the sofa, beer in hand. “For all we know, the old lady was dotty. Maybe she misplaced things—and then assumed they’d been stolen. You know what old people can be like.”

I nodded. “But it was the son who told me.”

“Sounds like the daughter was the one who was around more.” He had a point, and he knew it. That was probably why he offered me a bone. “But look, why don’t you speak to the aide? Maybe she, ah, knew something.”

Like that the old lady was paranoid. Or that her job was time-limited, and she had to feather her own nest. “She might be able to help me with the retraining.” I gave him that. “She was there long enough, she could probably tell me about the bird’s routine.” I began scraping the cheese off the slice.

“And the daughter’s.
”
Wallis looked up, eyes glinting. I nodded back. Exactly.

“You’re trying to make more work for me, aren’t you?” Creighton was joking, but I could hear the edge in his voice. He knew there was something going on that he wasn’t party to. He’s a smart guy. “You want it to be a murder.”

“That’s pushing it, Jim.” I scooped the cheese onto my plate, and pushed the plate toward Wallis. “I didn’t know the lady. I have no reason for wanting her death to be anything, natural or otherwise.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Pru. I’m just wondering if, well, if you’ve gotten caught up in the idea of solving crime. If, maybe, what you’re doing—you know, the animal training and, well the rest of it—” He was too polite to say dog walking—“isn’t enough to occupy your mind these days.”

I didn’t respond, and he stumbled to fill the silence. “I mean, you’re too smart to spend your days talking to animals. And, hey, are you really going to give all that cheese to Wallis?” We both looked up at that. “I mean, isn’t she kind of stout already?”

“Down, girl!
”
I heard the voice in my head.
“Isn’t it time for you to leave?
”
I swear, I didn’t know which of us was talking.