Lexie Starr Cozy Mysteries Boxed Set

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "Why, I never!" Patty exclaimed once she could speak again. "I ought to sue this abhorrent establishment for every dime I can squeeze out of it! Serving chicken with the bones still intact? What in God's name were you thinking? Good grief. I could have died right here at this very table! Don't think for one damned second you're going to get away with this kind of—of—uh, negligence!"

  Otto Poffenbarger stared at his wife as if he were just seeing her for the first time. A look of pure disgust came over his face, and he spoke out with an assertiveness even he couldn't have known he possessed. "Shut up, you fool. You owe your life to Mr. Van Patten, Patricia. It was he, the owner of this abhorrent establishment, who kept you from keeling over dead from nothing more than your own obsessive gluttony. It certainly wasn't his fault you were stuffing yourself like a Christmas turkey. If not for him, you very well would have died at this table, and you owe him your utmost gratitude for reacting as he did and saving your fat ass!"

  For the next few seconds, you could have heard a fly pass gas in the dining room. Otto was livid, pointing his finger in fury at his spouse, who was beginning to turn purple again—but this time from mortification. It was safe to assume she'd never seen Otto take a stance like this before. He normally let her play him like a four-stringed banjo. But not today.

  "There shouldn't have been any bones in the—"

  "Shut up, I said!" Otto commanded. "I've heard enough out of you for one night. Everyone at this table has heard enough out of you! Chickens have bones, you dolt. They always have had bones, and they always will have bones. You should be smart enough to know you can't gulp fried chicken down like a bowl of tomato soup. It's not like you haven't been shoving it in your face for years. And nobody claimed we were having de-boned chicken for supper, did they? Well? Did they?"

  Patty began to respond but thought better of it. She clamped her lips together and struggled to her feet. Otto used his left hand to grasp her elbow to lead her away from the table and his right to shake hands with Stone. "We owe you our deepest appreciation for your quick thinking and action. There'll be no more mention of lawsuits—of any kind. I promise. You've been a most gracious host, and we're in your debt, Stone. Thank you."

  Stone patted Otto's shoulder, and replied, "You're welcome, sir."

  Otto waved at Crystal as he turned to escort his seething spouse from the room. "And thank you, young lady, for another delicious supper."

  * * *

  "Boorish hog," I heard Crystal mutter under her voice as she left the dining room. I had to agree with Crystal and was amused at her assessment of Mrs. Poffenbarger. She wasn't aware I'd heard her comment, so I didn't embarrass her by mentioning it.

  After I'd carried all the dirty supper dishes to the kitchen, Crystal dealt with the leftovers, and I began loading the dishwasher. In unspoken agreement, all of the leftover chicken was hurled into the trashcan so as not to be a gruesome reminder the next day of the choking incident.

  As I added Cascade to the dishwasher's reservoirs, I noticed Crystal's normal rosy complexion had suddenly taken on an ashen appearance. It was apparent she was thinking about the near-tragedy and beginning to feel personally responsible for the bone that had lodged in Patty's throat. "Lexie, maybe I should have—"

  "It's not your fault, Crystal. There's absolutely no way you could have prevented what happened. De-boning chicken before you fry it is not common practice. Like Otto said, the woman was gorging herself with no thought of being cautious of the bones that are always found in southern fried chicken," I said. "You've had a very long day, my dear. Why don't you call it a night and let me finish up in here? You've got to be back here early in the morning. And beyond everything else, it's snowing outside. You'll want to get home before it gets too slick or deep."

  "Yes, you're probably right," Crystal said, looking out the window at the snow melting as it landed on the sidewalk. For the first time since I'd met the young woman, she appeared weary and distracted. Gone was her normal gregarious personality.

  "If you have any trouble getting out in the morning, call me here and I'll come pick you up in my Jeep. It's got four-wheel-drive, of course."

  "I live in St. Joseph, you know, not Rockdale," Crystal said.

  "That's okay. I can find it if you give me directions. I don't mind driving the extra distance at all."

  "All right, I'll head home. And I promise to call in the morning if I can't get my car out. It doesn't do real well on snow or slick roads, and sometimes the old clunker won't even start in cold weather."

  Crystal bundled up in her coat and knit hat in preparation to leave. "Good night. See you tomorrow."

  "Good night, dear. Thanks for all your hard work today."

  * * *

  After the kitchen was gleaming again, I made a fresh pot of decaf, poured myself a cup, and put the rest into a pump-style thermos. I sat it out on a cart in the parlor in case any of the guests decided to look for a cup of after-supper coffee. I added a few small saucers, forks, napkins, and an apple-strudel crumb cake Crystal had baked earlier in the day. I was sure Patty Poffenbarger, given a little time to recover from her near-death experience, would be back in the kitchen before retiring, attempting to stave off starvation. After all, supper had been cut short, and she needed to eat to keep up her strength. She did have a pesky thyroid condition to cope with.

  Chapter 13

  I took my coffee and retreated to Stone's office. I booted up his computer and logged on to the Internet. First I did a crosscheck on the phone number I'd transferred from my wrist to my notebook before scrubbing it off with a bar of Lava soap. The number belonged to someone named Mortimer Sharp, according to the online phone directory. I jotted the name down in the notebook.

  Next, I typed "kakapo" into the keyword box and clicked on the "search" button. Before long I knew more about the critically endangered parrot species called the kakapo than I'd ever expected to know. Kakapo meant "night parrot" in the Maori language, and the remaining eighty-six kakapos in existence were located on the offshore islands of New Zealand. So what could this possibly have to do with Boris? I wondered.

  The kakapo was the only nocturnal parrot, as well as the largest, the longest living, and the only flightless parrot. Strict vegetarians, they hopped like sparrows, and they growled like dogs. They had strong, fruity scents, making them easy to detect by their predators: cats, rats, ferrets, possums and stoats. This had been a contributing factor to their decrease in numbers, I read on the computer screen.

  I clicked on a link that took me to the home page of the New Zealand Department of Conservation where I found a lot of information about the current program to protect and increase the kakapo population. Each parrot was fitted with a radio transmitter and a microchip for individual identification. They were constantly monitored by a staff of six people, all of whom were dedicated to the preservation of the dwindling parrot species. They'd actually managed to increase the kakapo population to eighty-six from sixty-four the previous year, so the program was having some measured success in its endeavors to bring the bird back from the brink of extinction. Now I was even less convinced Boris was involved with one or more of the eighty-six kakapos in existence. But I continued to read on.

  The staff members gave the kakapos regular health checks, supplemental feedings, and were involved in predator control and artificial incubation, and also in the hand-raising of the newly hatched chicks. Although it sounded like a somewhat enviable job, the DOC staff worked long, hard hours in less than ideal conditions.

  I clicked on another link to take me to a page of recent media releases. I noticed one release had just been posted earlier in the day. Four Kakapos Abducted from Transfer Pen was the headline.

  According to the article, two pair of adult kakapos had been snatched in the dead of night from a holding pen where they were awaiting a transfer back to Whenua Hou, or Codfish Island, scheduled to occur in three days time.

  Basil, Gunner, Bella, and Maggie were all part of the complica
ted breeding program and had been undergoing examinations to ascertain that they were fit for mating. The kakapos' main source of food was the rimu and kahikatea fruits, and during years such as this, when the fruits were plentiful, mating and breeding was most successful.

  When the designated staff members made their early morning rounds to check on the welfare of the foursome, they were devastated to discover the four birds had been covertly removed overnight from their holding pens.

  Although Te Kakahu, or Chalky Island, where the parrots were being held in a transfer pen, was only accessible by plane or helicopter and unauthorized landings were prohibited, there was evidence that a small chopper had landed in a remote site on the island during the night. Wire cutters and other tools had been utilized to gain access to the rare, and therefore valuable, birds. The radio transmitters had been removed from the parrots and left in a pile outside the enclosure, and somehow the microchips had also been disabled.

  The article stated the theft was apparently the work of professionals who had considerable knowledge of the kakapo's anatomy and characteristics and that they had pulled off the mission in an almost militarily precise manner. These were not run-of-the-mill thieves the authorities were dealing with. A substantial supply of specially formulated pellets used for supplemental feedings had also been filched by the parrot-nabbers. The heist had been extremely well planned.

  I began to piece all my bits of knowledge together and realized Boris Dack was apparently a middleman in some kind of endangered parrot-trafficking ring. Shorty, the six o'clock caller, must have been one of the men involved in the actual abduction of the kakapos, and their destination was the personal zoo on the estate owned by Pablo Pikstone.

  I printed off the media release and rushed downstairs to find Stone. I knew he'd be as flabbergasted and confused as I was. Stone was in the parlor with Robert Fischer discussing the snow, which was now coming down at a brisk rate and beginning to pile up on the grass. It was still melting on the sidewalk from the heat of the day radiating out of the concrete. As the temperature began to drop, the melted snow would quickly turn to ice, Robert Fischer predicted. Stone agreed with the amicable gentleman.

  To explain to Stone what I'd discovered, I joined in their conversation and waited until after Robert Fischer had bidden us good night and retired to his room. Midway through reading the news release I'd handed him, Stone asked, "Basil, Gunner, Bella and Maggie? They all have names? Aren't they wild parrots? This sounds a little personal."

  "Yes, but according to the web page, the DOC staff has named each of them for easier identification. I'm sure the staff members are similar to doting mother hens, watching over their brood. It would be natural for them to name the chicks as they're hatched. From what I've read, every successful hatchling is a major feat. According to all I read, the mortality rate among these birds is extremely high."

  "This is a big deal, isn't it?" Stone was just beginning to understand the enormity of the situation. "I guess it's not just your everyday case of bird-napping, as I'd first thought. That is, if there is such a thing as an everyday bird-napping."

  "I'm afraid it's not a typical occurrence. I think we need to alert the authorities so they can set up a sting operation of some type. They'd only need to arrange a stake-out on Boris, tail him to the transfer site tomorrow night, and catch him in the act of turning over the kakapos to Mr. Pikstone."

  "Okay. It's too late tonight, but I will go down to the police station in the morning, or at least talk with someone there. They can determine who to contact, and what actions to take. Good work, Lexie. I still believe hiding under Boris's bed was a foolish and ill-advised act on your part, but I can't deny it may turn out to have been a fortuitous one, at least for the four threatened birds. Please don't attempt something that risky again. Okay?"

  "Yes, well, I hope they can catch Mr. Pikstone, Boris, Shorty, and any other accomplices red-handed. I can't even imagine why someone would go to all that trouble and expense to steal endangered parrots."

  "It's probably because of the novelty of owning something so rare, I'd guess," Stone said. "Pablo Pikstone can buy anything he wants, which probably makes him crave things that are more of a challenge to obtain. Something like four of the last eighty-six kakapos on the planet would be a real addition to his rare and exotic wildlife collection. You'd have to admit he'd probably be the first one on his block to own four—or even just a pair—of the kakapos. He might be hoping to mate and raise more of them himself, as a challenge of sorts. Stranger things have happened, I suppose."

  "I suppose you're right, but it's a real shame to threaten the survival of the parrots the way he has. I'm sure the trauma of the capture and the long trip to America has not been easy on them."

  "No, probably not," Stone said. "But hopefully, they'll all survive the ordeal and be returned safely to the DOC staff on Chalky or Codfish Island. Parrots in general have very long life spans, or so I've read. That probably indicates they are hardy creatures. Why don't you go on up to my suite, take a nice long bath, and get ready for bed, Lexie? I'll lock up down here and see that all of the guests are safely ensconced in their rooms, and then I'll be up in a few minutes."

  "Okay, Stone. A nice long bath does sound very inviting."

  I was looking forward to that long, hot soak in the tub as I walked up the stairs to the second floor. And I was looking forward to spending the night with Stone. There was little else on my mind as I climbed to the top of the staircase. I noticed it was pitch black in the hallway at the top of the landing. Hadn't I left the hall lights on when I'd come downstairs? Perhaps a guest had flicked the light switch off out of habit on the way to his room. I didn't give the matter any further thought.

  As I approached the top step, I reached out to feel for the light switch. Instead I felt the warm skin of someone else's arm, just as a forceful shove sent me tumbling backwards down the stairs. My own arms were flailing about as my rear end bounced off one step after another. Fortunately, my hands were free, and I was finally able to grab the banister about halfway down, which kept me from tumbling all the way to the bottom of the steps. My backside had suffered the brunt of the abuse. For once I was thankful to have a little extra padding there.

  As I began my descent down the stairs, I'd hollered out in surprise and alarm. Within seconds of my body coming to a stop, sprawled out midway down the staircase, Stone appeared at my side and began examining me for signs of injury. Before long, most of the guests, in various stages of undress, were huddled around me, watching silently as Stone felt for broken bones. Satisfied that I was still in one piece, he asked me what had happened to cause my fall.

  "Somebody pushed me!" I looked suspiciously at the crowd around me.

  I heard a collective gasp among the guests, and I tried to determine who was not present among the group. Only Rosalinda Swift and Boris Dack were missing, I concluded. Everyone else was gathered around me, staring with stunned expressions, and waiting for me to continue with my story.

  "Just as I reached the top of the staircase and was searching for the light switch, I felt the arm of someone standing there. Then I was shoved backwards. I tried to grab hold of the arm I'd felt but failed. He stepped back as he shoved me, I believe."

  "Who was it?" Harry Turner asked. "Couldn't you see the person at all?"

  "No, I don't know who it was," I said, shrugging. I winced as a sharp pain shot from my shoulder down to the tips of my fingers. "With the lights out, it was too dark to see anything at the top of the stairs."

  "Where are you hurting?" Stone asked. "I don't feel any broken bones, at least. Still, it might be a good idea to take you to the ER and have you examined and x-rayed."

  "I don't think that's necessary. They might get tired of seeing me at the ER if I make a habit of going there every night. I banged my head pretty hard a couple times, and my shoulder feels like it was pulled out of its socket when I grabbed the banister. But other than that and a few nasty bruises, I should be okay. I was luc
ky, I guess."

  "You were very lucky, little lady," Cornelius said, standing beside me in ridiculous-looking white silk pajamas, dotted with small red hearts. He had a smug look on his face. He winked at me as he slightly jutted his pelvis out. Good Lord, did he think he was the personification of sex appeal?

  "He's right," Stone said. "You could've been seriously injured. As it is, you're going to be very sore for a few days. You are going to take it easy for awhile, even if Crystal and I have to tie you to the bed."

  Stone picked me up gingerly and carried me back up the stairs. One of the guests had flipped on the light before coming down to see what the commotion was all about. Stone turned slightly to his left to address the crowd, still huddled together on the lower steps. It was obvious the events of the last two days were beginning to take a toll on them. Suddenly they seemed unable to think for themselves. They stood still, as if unable to move without permission from Stone, the man they were beginning to think of as their leader.

  "I think it'd be best if you all went back to your rooms now," Stone said. "Thanks for your concern. I'll take care of Lexie now. Lock your doors, of course, but rest assured no one is going to bother any of you overnight."

  The group slowly disbursed, and we could hear them muttering about the perils of staying at the Alexandria Inn as they made their way back to their rooms. It was obvious to me they were having difficulty believing they'd be safe in their rooms. I couldn't say I felt completely safe either, even as Stone carried me into his room and placed me on top of his massive king-sized bed.