The Real MacAw (32 page)

From the floor, I heard faint noises from my phone. Debbie Anne, I hoped, asking what the hell was going on.

“I don’t think so,” Francine said. She squirted a little bit of the liquid from the syringe, and the drops caught the light and glittered as they landed on the sheet covering Grandfather.

I was racking my brains for something to use as a weapon—and kicking myself for not having stopped to find something on my way. Of course, if I’d stopped to search for a weapon, by the time I’d gotten here, Francine might already have done whatever she was planning to do to Grandfather. Maybe I had something in my purse that I could use.

Or maybe I could just keep her talking until help arrived. As long as I kept her away from Grandfather.

“What were you planning to do to Grandfather?” I asked. “Put potassium chloride in his IV? Or maybe succinylcholine?”

She looked startled for a moment, then her frown deepened.

“Hey, remember, I’m a doctor’s daughter,” I said, shrugging. “I know a few things. Just as you do, in spite of what the nursing staff think. And speaking of them, were you going to frame Vivian for the theft of whatever’s in that vial, or just let the blame fall on the whole nursing staff?”

“I’m sorry you came here.” She didn’t sound sorry. More like annoyed.

“Just drop the syringe,” I said. “You can’t get away with poisoning him now.”

She sighed, held out her hands, and opened them. The syringe and the little bottle clattered to the floor.

“You’re right,” she said. She took a fumbling step backward, as if she were about to collapse into the whoopee cushion chair.

Then I realized that when I thought she was reaching back to grab the chair arm for support, she was grabbing something from the oversized pocket of her jacket.

A gun.

“Why bother fiddling with his IV when I can just shoot you both?” she said. “And no, I probably can’t get away with that, either, but I’m not sure I care anymore.”

“Not since you found out that Parker Blair was only using you to get information about what the mayor was up to,” I said.

She winced as if I’d struck her, and her face hardened. Maybe that hadn’t been the wisest thing to say. Then again, she seemed to be working up to saying something. Just keep her talking—that was the ticket.

“And I thought you were my friend,” she said. “But now— Oof!”

She suddenly lurched forward as if someone had shoved her.

No, someone had kicked her. I could see Grandfather’s long, bony leg sticking out from under the sheets. He kicked her again and this time she fell down. As she hit the floor, the gun went off, and I felt a sudden sharp pain in one leg.

“Get her!” Grandfather shouted. “Quick! Before she recovers!”

I was already in motion. I landed on top of Francine and managed to grab her wrist and pin it down. She started shooting, but none of the shots went anywhere near Grandfather or me. One bullet did ricochet off the tasteful chocolate-brown wall and into one of the machines, which died with a small arpeggio of tinkles and beeps.

The gun was now clicking empty. Francine began struggling wildly.

An object sailed past us and struck the wall with a light thud.

“Stop it!” Francine shrieked. “How dare you throw that bedpan at me?”

“Wasn’t throwing it at you,” Grandfather said. “What’d be the use? Damned flimsy piece of plastic junk!”

I was glad he seemed to be looking for a weapon, but I hoped he’d hurry. I was having trouble holding her down.

“And you’re bleeding all over me!” Francine added. This appeared to be aimed at me. “Get away from me!”

Yes, there was rather a lot of blood smeared on the floor where we were struggling. Apparently my leg was bleeding. I felt a momentary twinge of dizziness, and then snapped myself out of it. No time for that now.

I punched her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, which had the double effect of halting her struggles and shutting her up. Though both effects probably wouldn’t last long.

“Tie her up,” Grandfather said.

“With what?” I’d twisted both of Francine’s arms behind her back and was sitting on her. I figured I could probably hold her down until help came. Assuming help didn’t take too long. She was getting her wind back and starting to struggle again. Desperation gave her more strength than I’d have expected and my leg was starting to hurt like hell. If I lost so much blood that I fainted …

“Here.” I heard a ripping noise. Some small strips of tape landed near me. I glanced up to see him pulling the IV out of his arm.

“Hey,” I said. “Even if you didn’t need that IV, there’s not enough tape here to hold her. And besides—”

“Then tie her up with this.”

He was waving the IV bag with its long trailing cord.

“Great,” I said. “Except I’ve got my hands full here.”

It was as much as I could do to hold Francine. And now she had begun kicking everything within reach, trying to knock something down on me. The IV stand barely missed me. Could I manage another stomach punch?

“Damnation,” Grandfather said. “Let me do it, then.”

To my astonishment, he looped the IV tube around Francine’s neck and began pulling it tight. Francine stopped trying to kick the furniture and began struggling wildly.

“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.”

“Technically, she’s evidence.” We looked up to see the chief standing in the kitchen doorway. “And as such she will remain in our custody for the time being.”

“Great,” I said. “If you like, I can drop that particular item of evidence by your new office this afternoon.”

The chief winced and nodded.

“Francine will probably need all the money she can get for her legal defense,” Clarence said. “I’ll talk to the pet store where she got the macaw. They’d probably be willing to buy the bird back once the chief says it’s okay. And if not, maybe I can convince the Caerphilly Inn to buy her. We’ll work something out.”

Knowing that the macaws were not only safe but destined for a cushy life at a five-star hotel raised everyone’s spirits even higher.

“Pancakes, Chief?” Dad asked.

The chief hesitated, then sat down.

“Thank you, I believe I will,” he said. “It’s been an unusual morning.”

I interpreted this as a hint that under normal circumstances he did not plan to be having breakfast with Mother and Dad while his police station was in their barn. But Dad beamed with delight, and poured more batter into a skillet. He was in seventh heaven, between having the chance to cosset his father for a few more days and the prospect of hosting the police station indefinitely.

“How’s the case coming?” I asked.

“Very well, thank you,” the chief said. “A search of Mrs. Mann’s home has turned up several bits of useful evidence, including printouts of e-mails between her and the victim and a charge slip that establishes her presence in the vicinity of the pet store where she purchased the substitute macaw.”

“She was stupid enough to buy the macaw with her charge card?” Rob exclaimed.

“No, she paid cash for that,” the chief said. “But she used her charge card to buy gas six blocks away. I have every confidence that the pet store owner will be able to identify her. And Horace is optimistic that the ballistics on the gun will be useful.”

“Good morning, everyone!” Mother sailed into the kitchen. Although it wasn’t even seven yet, she was already dressed in what I recognized as working clothes—the dress a little darker and more tailored than her usual wear, and her normal high heels replaced with elegant ballet flats.

“Pancakes?” Dad asked.

“Just a little fruit salad, I think.” And then, seeing how his face fell, she added, “Well, perhaps a very tiny stack of pancakes.”

Dad returned to pouring and flipping with renewed vigor.

“I gather the garden club has more to do today?” I asked.

“Yes, dear,” Mother said, as she took her seat. “We’re going to relocate the plants to their temporary homes today. I’ve put you down for a dozen. They’ll fill in the empty spaces in your living room nicely. And don’t worry,” she added, seeing the look of dismay on my face, “they’ll all be neatly labeled so the plant care service will know which ones to tend and water when they come.”

“The county’s going to keep the plant care service?” I asked. “Instead of asking the plants’ hosts to care for them?”

“Some of our garden club ladies have only the vaguest notion of how to tend houseplants adequately,” she said, with a tiny shake of her head. “And besides, the county plant care contract is a substantial part of Leah Shiffley’s income—we don’t want to drive her out of business while this whole thing plays out.”

“And just how long do we think it will take the whole thing to play out?” I asked. “Has anyone talked to Festus today?”

“No, but he was singing in the shower when I left,” Rob said.

“Of course he’s singing,” I said. “He’s got a potentially lucrative new case. What I want to know is if we should be singing.”

“Festus likes money, but he hates losing more,” Mother said. “If he’s cheerful, that means the prospects are good. On a happier note, Randall Shiffley’s coming over today to start on your library shelves.”

“So much for catching up on my sleep.” The thought triggered a huge yawn.

“I told him he wasn’t to make so much as a peep until afternoon,” Mother said.

“And I won’t.” Randall had followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of measuring to do before we start sawing and hammering. And I need to bring over some boxes for the stuff you two have in the room.”

“I’m not sure I’m up to packing today,” I said.

“’Course you’re not,” he said. “The Shiffley moving company’s doing all that. Free, on account of your valiant service to the county. Which reminds me. Here.”