Cockatiels at Seven (28 page)

“No!” Timmy wailed. “Want Auntie Meg!”

I stared at him in astonishment. Okay, so over the last few days, Timmy had no doubt gotten used to me, but I assumed he’d drop me like the proverbial hot potato the minute Karen turned up again.

“We see that sometimes,” the social worker said. “They feel abandoned by their parent and cling to the caregiver. He’ll get over it.”

I found myself frowning. Cling to the caregiver? Get over it? Wasn’t it possible that Timmy had become just a little fond of Auntie Meg? And for that matter, wasn’t it even more probable that Timmy was objecting not to the idea of seeing Mommy but to the prospect of some stranger tearing him away from the place and people who had become familiar over the past few days? Not even a very friendly looking stranger, though I suppose I should make allowances for the fact that she’d been awakened well past midnight to come and get him.

And she was trying to reunite Timmy with Karen—the same thing I’d been working on so hard over the last several days. And it wasn’t as if I’d never see him
again. Odds were he’d need a place to stay for another night or two. After all, even if they didn’t detain Karen for some reason, she couldn’t very well go home to her trashed apartment at the ghastly College Arms. She could come to stay with us—plenty of room—and let me and Dad and the rest of the tribe look after her and Timmy for a bit.

“Come on, Timmy,” I said. I pried his arms loose and then took a firm grip on the hand that wasn’t holding Kiki. “We’ll go down together to see your mommy.”

“But we’re not finished with her,” the DEA agent and the USF&WS agent said in unison.

Chief Burke exploded.

“Not finished!” he roared. “Damn it, these are honest, God-fearing, law-abiding citizens of my county. They’ve been answering your questions for three hours, and if you want the continued cooperation of the Caerphilly Police Department, you treat them properly, you hear?”

“Don’t worry, Chief,” my grandfather said, popping out of the dining room where another set of agents had been interrogating him. “A little persecution from misguided authorities will make for a much better story when I’m editing my special on the finch-smuggling ring.”

The chief scowled at him.

“And the excellent cooperation from the Caerphilly police will make such a wonderful, enlightened contrast,” Michael added, popping in from wherever they’d been interrogating him.

“Definitely,” Dr. Blake said.

“Sammy,” the chief shouted. The young deputy also
popped in, as if he’d been waiting for his cue. “You take Ms. Langslow and Master Timothy down to the station to see his momma. The rest of us will be coming along as soon as we can.”

“But Chief—” one of the Feds began.

“And anyone who has an objection is welcome to leave now, and file a complaint with his or her agency head and the Caerphilly Town Council in the morning.”

Nobody cared to voice an objection, so the various interrogators and suspects began shuffling out to the cars. Scout, the hound dog, came over and thrust his head at the chief to be petted. Scout had arrived with the police and followed the chief from room to room for the past couple of hours. From the calmer look that came over the chief’s face as he was petting Scout, I had a feeling the dog had already found a new home.

“I’ll need to pack some things for Timmy,” I said to the chief. “Everything’s upstairs in his room.”

I picked up Timmy and headed for the stairs.

“I hope you’re not expecting to offload your little charge immediately,” he said, following me. “I don’t think Ms. Walker did anything wrong—well, nothing criminal, anyway. Stupid, yes, all that running around and sneaking and making it harder for us to figure out what was going on, but if stupid was a crime, the town would be out of jail space. But it might take a few days for all these Feds to figure that out. Of course, the contents of that thumb drive you gave me should do the trick. Apparently Ms. Walker got some pretty conclusive evidence that this Sandie person was the embezzler.”

“I thought the thumb drive files incriminated Nadine,” I said “Did I just interpret that wrong or—”

I suddenly realized that I was confessing to something the chief might consider tampering with evidence.

“I should have expected you’d be messing with that thing,” the chief growled.

“I made a copy,” I said. “In case something happened to the original before I got it into your hands.”

The chief snorted.

“But what about Nadine?” I asked again. “If she’s not in on the embezzling scheme, what was she running away from?”

“Dust,” the chief said. “Her house was empty because she’d put all her furniture in storage so Duke Borden’s decorating shop could come in and redo the floors. Which, as you probably know from all that construction you did on this place, kicks up a heck of a lot of dust. She was going on a Caribbean cruise till the floors were done and Duke’s crew had given the whole place a white-glove cleaning from attic to cellar.”

“Does that sound reasonable to you?” I asked. “That she would have someone doing that much work without being there to see that it was done right?”

“Doesn’t sound reasonable to me, no,” he said. “But she’s a Pruitt by birth and you know how those Pruitts are.”

“She’s a Pruitt?” I exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me? It explains how she can afford a two-million-dollar house in Westlake. Though not why she’s working at the college.”

“No idea,” the chief said. “Except those Pruitts always
think they know best when it comes to running the college. Incidentally, I didn’t mention that you had anything to do with making her miss her boat.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I can just see her sabotaging Michael’s paycheck for the next decade out of spite.”

“She is spiteful,” the chief agreed. “Keeps threatening to sue the department. Well, she has the right.”

“Talk to Dr. Driscoll,” I suggested. “Nadine’s boss. I’m sure he could convince her that if she sues the department, it will all come out about how she never noticed the embezzlement going on right underneath her nose. I suspect that will cool her urge to sue.”

“Now that’s a right smart idea,” the chief said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Getting back to Karen—”

“As I said, I don’t think she had anything to do with the murder or the embezzlement, but she’s got a lot of explaining to do. Why didn’t she just turn in that thumb drive herself? And why did she hide from us?”

“She was going to turn it over to you—she asked me to at the accident scene,” I said. “But when she found Jasper’s body, she panicked. Knew he was in with some bad people, and she was afraid they’d come after her and her son. So she brought him to me for safekeeping. And she was probably afraid you’d suspect her of the murder, at least to begin with, so she hid until you’d have time to find the real culprit.”

“More likely she was expecting you to figure it out,” he grumbled. “If more people would talk to the police, we’d have a lot easier time solving crime around here. And you have no idea how much trouble you’ve been
the last few days, popping in and out of that damned cockatiel farm every five minutes. Been a full-time job convincing the damned Feds that you’re not a drug smuggler, just a meddling busybody.”

“Sorry,” I said. “If I’d known you were taking Karen’s disappearance seriously and making the hunt for her a priority, maybe I’d have stayed out of it. I thought you suspected her of the murder. Now that I know what was going on that I didn’t see—well, I’m sorry I added to your stress.”

The chief snorted.

“Which is a good ways still short of promising you’ll never do it again,” he said. “Well, it all worked out in the end.” And then, as if annoyed with himself for unbending that far, he stomped off. Dad and Dr. Blake came in.

“Meg, what’s wrong?” Dad asked. “You look pale.”

“I think Chief Burke understands that Karen wasn’t involved in the embezzlement or the murder,” I said. “But I’m not sure about some of the other agencies.”

“I’m sure the chief will bring them around,” Dad said. Did he really think that, or was he just being optimistic?

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Blake said. “I’ve already called both those lawyers whose names you gave me. They’re on their way down to the station, and I’ll make sure they have Karen on the list of people they’re supposed to represent, if need be. Between the two of them, I’m sure they’ll sort all this out.”

“Speaking of sorting all this out,” I asked, “where did all those finches come from? There were only six here yesterday.”

“Well,” Dad said. “Last night we were right in the middle of stealing them—”

“Confiscating them,” Dr. Blake corrected.

“When a car drove up, and we thought it was Freddy coming home,” Dad went on. “It turned out to be Rob, bringing Ms. Hamilton home from the airport, but it still meant we had to cancel the mission for the evening. We thought we’d have to call it off entirely—it was heavy work, carrying those cages, more than we could handle at our ages.”

“Speak for yourself,” Blake said, with a sniff.

“But when Michael volunteered to help us—well, that was perfect!”

“Unless they put all three of you in jail for burglary,” I said.

“I’m sure it will turn out all right,” Dad said. “But we should be getting down to the station to make our statements. Wish us luck.”

“Good luck, Dad,” I said, giving him a quick hug.

Dr. Blake looked rather wistful. What the hell.

“And you, too, Grandpa,” I said, giving him a hug of his own.

He stiffened, as if he wasn’t quite expecting my hug, but he looked pleased.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “If they try to railroad your friend, we’ll stir up a hornet’s nest!”

Something he was all too good at, I thought with a sigh. But strange to say, I found it nice to think that he was on our side.

They strode out, passing Michael on the way in.

“Here, let me help you,” he said. “Timmy, want a horsie ride downstairs?”

Timmy thought about it a moment, then held out one arm as if to agree to the transfer. Clearly he was very tired. He merely slumped over Michael’s head as if about to fall asleep.

“He should be in bed,” I said, hoisting the bulging diaper bag to my shoulder and heading for the stairs again.

“Well, it’s been an unusual night,” Michael said. “He’ll love having another ride in the police car, and we can get him back into his normal schedule tomorrow.”

“Not really,” I said. “After all, his normal schedule would involve being with Karen. I don’t think Karen is guilty of anything except panicking, but what if they convict her of something anyway? I can see Karen pleading with me to take care of Timmy, just until she gets parole. And me dutifully mailing off pictures of his first day at school, his lead role in the class play, his prom date, his wedding . . . .”

“Well, if it comes to that, we’ll cope,” Michael said. “He’s a good kid. Make a good consolation prize if I can’t convince you we need a couple of our own.”

“Or a nice big brother to those couple of our own,” I said. “But let’s hope in a few days’ time he’ll be back with his mother and we can discuss the whole kid issue in peace and quiet.”

Michael looked happy at that, and there was a bounce in his step as he carried Timmy out to Sammy’s patrol car and set him down. Timmy reflexively grabbed onto my pants leg.

“Okay, Timmy,” I said. “We’re going to take a ride
in the police car, and then we’re going to see your mommy!”

Timmy perked up slightly. He wiped his nose, partly on my pants leg and partly on Kiki, and nodded.

“Come on, Kiki,” he said. “Go see Mommy.”

Read on for an excerpt from

the next Meg Langslow tale from Donna Andrews—
available soon in hardcover from Minotaur Books!

“Dreadful news!” Dad said.

He collapsed into a chair at the foot of the breakfast table, as if no longer able to bear the weight of his dire tidings, and wiped his balding head with a pocket handkerchief. The head, the handkerchief, the hand holding it, and nearly every stitch of his clothing were so encrusted with mud and garden dirt that Mother would probably have ordered him off to take a shower immediately if she weren’t so visibly curious to hear his news.

“Yes?” she said, one hand clutching her throat in a gesture that would have looked artificial and old-fashioned on anyone else. On her it merely looked elegant.

“We’ve lost Matilda,” Dad said.

“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. From her expression, I could tell that she found this news genuinely heartbreaking.

Faint murmurs of sympathy arose from the dozen assorted friends and relatives seated around the table, but I could tell from their uniformly puzzled faces that
they were all mentally asking the same question I was: who the heck was Matilda?

We used to have a Matilda in the clan, my Great Aunt Matilda. But she’d been dead for years, and I couldn’t recall anyone else gracing a recent arrival to the family with such an unusual name. Nor could I remember any friends or neighbors named Matilda. There was a time when I would have assumed Matilda was one of Dad’s patients, but he was semi-retired now, and his medical practice consisted mostly of those same family, friends, and neighbors, whose names I would recognize. Not a Matilda in the bunch.

“And what’s more,” Dad went on, sitting up and frowning fiercely, “it was foul play. No question. I only suspected it with Adelaide, but I’m sure of it now.”

“It’s the Pruitts,” Mother said. “I’ve suspected them all along.” Not surprising. The Pruitts were an old local family who used to own most of Caerphilly County and often behaved as if they still did. Most locals were quick to blame the Pruitts whenever anything sneaky or underhanded took place. Mother and Dad only spent weekends here in Caerphilly, in the old farmhouse they’d dubbed their summer cottage, but they were quickly picking up many local attitudes.

“You suspect the Pruitts of two murders?” my brother, Rob, asked. “Have you told the police?”

“Murders?” Dad echoed. “What murders?”

“This Matilda and Adelaide you’re talking about,” Rob said.

Dad burst into laughter. I suddenly realized what he’d been talking about.