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MALTESE VULTURE MURDER
a Merry Wrath Mystery
by
LESLIE LANGTRY
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Smashwords Edition
Copyright © 2020 by Leslie Langtry
Cover design by Janet Holmes
Gemma Halliday Publishing
http://www.gemmahallidaypublishing.com
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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CHAPTER ONE
Philby, my cat who looks like Hitler, had just narrowly dodged being killed and stuffed. I'd like to say it wasn't her fault, but I can't. At least I can say it wasn't mine. Rex and I were having a cookout with his twin sisters, Randi and Ronni. Everything was going well… Leonard, our Scottish Deerhound, was sitting next to the picnic table begging but not stealing food. Martini, Philby's daughter, was passed out on the deck in the sun. Ronni, the Evil Twin, hadn't yelled at me once.
Philby, on the other hand, had ideas above her station as she settled on the table. This cat did not beg, so much as demand. Begging was beneath her, as humans should recognize her divine authority and give her hamburgers, backing away in reverence.
Ronni yanked her dish away from the advancing cat. Philby gave her a look before walking across her food-filled plate. I'd seen stalemates that ended badly in my past as a spy. I've seen fistfights, shootouts, and one duel by small cannon. I knew what was coming.
I jumped up and snagged the cat while Rex sought to placate his older sister.
"I'm sorry," he said patiently as he took the plate from her. "I'll fix you a new one." And with that, he went into the house to replace and refill her dish.
Ronni glared at me and the cat. Maybe we were both in danger. It was hard to tell because Ronni's face was always scrunched up, as if she was just about to explode. I held Philby on my lap, rather forcefully, as Rex returned with a fresh hamburger on a clean plate. He placed this before his sister in an attempt to appease her rage.
"This coleslaw is terrible!" Ronni slammed the bowl onto the picnic table, causing little bits of mayo-coated cabbage to fly everywhere—which earned a devastating glare from my coleslaw encrusted cat. "I'm getting lemonade!"
And yes, she shouted everything.
Randi smiled. "She's just having a bad day."
I wanted to say that she was always having a bad day. My husband's older twin sisters were completely different people. Randi was all sweetness and pie, while Ronni could usher in the four horsemen of the apocalypse with a snap of her fingers.
"What's wrong?" Rex asked quietly as the angry twin stormed off.
"We had a project returned," Randi said. "She always takes that personally."
"Who would return an…um…project?" I asked as I mopped coleslaw off the feline fuhrer's angry face.
When my sisters-in-law talk projects, it means dead animals posed in interesting ways. Picture two warthogs in top hats playing shuffleboard. Or recreating the Battle of Gettysburg with a variety of snakes wearing gray or blue caps, complete with rifles and bayonets—which is impressive since they don't have arms. One of my favorites features the entire map of Westeros from Game of Thrones, with all the characters portrayed by lemurs, including three dragon lemurs flying overhead.
The twins have a taxidermy business, run out of the old Peterson Victorian on Main Street—Ferguson Taxidermy – Where Your Pet Lives On Forever! It's a fascinating place, and I take my Girl Scout troop there all the time because it's educational seeing the entire diorama of the Magna Carta signing with King John and the opposing barons as cockroaches.
Randi looked over her shoulder to see if Ronni was still inside. "You might like it. It's a king vulture."
I sat straight up in my chair. "You did that…stuff to a king vulture?"
Not everyone has a king vulture on retainer, but I did. Okay, Mr. Fancy Pants wasn't on retainer—I was the adopted "parent" of Obladi Zoo's king vulture, a South American raptor on loan from the Smithsonian. The bird had saved my life more than once, and I rewarded him with late night visits and shortbread Scout cookies.
Randi smiled. "It was a long time ago. The bird had been at a zoo in Texas and was the favorite of the zoo director. When the bird expired, he sent it to us. It was one of our first jobs, come to think of it."
"I'm interested!" I raised my hand, which was completely unnecessary at a barbeque in our backyard. "Let's go get it!"
Rex, my husband, refilled my wineglass, which was very nice of him. "You don't think that's a little morbid, since you are friends with a living version?"
I ignored him, but not the wine. "Why was the bird returned?"
Randi shrugged. "The zoo director ended up giving it to a friend, who had it for ten years. I guess his family didn't want it around anymore. The owner died just last month. The family found our label on the bottom, did some research, and sent it to us saying they didn't want it anymore."
"What's the vulture doing in your scenario?" I was beyond curious. We had several of the twins' bizarre creations, from Sigurd, the stand-up comedian crow (currently in Rex's office at work), and numerous items they'd given us over the last year—usually based on themes, like stuff for our wedding (by the way, green tree snakes make terrible pew bows).
Lately, the theme had been nursery based, as Randi not very subtly made us baby things in hopes we'd provide her with her first niece or nephew. This wasn't going to happen because currently I had ten little girls to look after. The most recent gift featured a baby mobile of dead mouse angels. Philby ate almost all of them.
My name is Merry Wrath, and I'm a Girl Scout leader in my hometown of Who's There, Iowa. Before I came back home, I was Finnoughoula Merrygold Czrygy, an "accidentally" outed CIA agent. The vice president had taken offense to something my senator father had done and had my information leaked. This was a problem because I was outed on CNN while in a rundown excuse for a tavern in Chechnya, surrounded by baddies (who, you guessed it, loved CNN), when the story aired.
So, after receiving a huge settlement in the ensuing courtroom case, I changed my name to Merry Wrath (my mother's maiden name) and moved back here to figure out what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, since my previous plan of being a spy until I retired fell throug
h.
Randi replied to my question on the dead bird's pose, "It's gorgeous, if I do say so myself. She's standing on a large rock, wings open and head down as if she's about to fly away."
"I'll take it!" I nodded enthusiastically. "How much is it?"
Randi waved me off. "It's free, of course!"
"No it's NOT!" Ronni's voice screamed from the house.
I half turned toward the disembodied voice and shouted. "I'd love to pay for it!"
"One hundred thousand dollars! Not a penny less," the angry twin shrieked. She'd gone in to get lemonade, which she was probably dosing with an unhealthy amount of Anthrax.
Randi patted my hand. "It's free. You're family, and I'm glad to see her go to a wonderful home. I won't accept a single penny."
Ronni stalked out of the house toward us, fury written on her face as she carried the dubious pitcher of yellow liquid to the table. "You can't give it away! And she's not really family!"
Randi sighed. "We've already sold it. It came back. It's an old piece, and Merry gets it. For free." She leaned closer. "You know, it would be adorable in a nursery!"
I pictured a baby, terrified in its crib as it stared at a vulture, convinced that at any moment, it would eat him.
"I'll go get it!" Randi smiled and got up from the table.
"It's here?" I jumped up, letting go of Philby, who lunged for Ronni.
There was no way I'd get to her in time, so I deployed my secret weapon.
"Bobb!" I shouted loudly.
The cat stopped in her tracks and hissed violently, an action that always caused her to shoot backwards and fall over on her side, where she wobbled, like a tick. Bobb (yes, with two b's) had been the owner before me. He'd been less than friendly to the feline fuhrer, and whenever you mentioned his name, she had this same reaction. I tried to avoid using it if I could, but in cases like this, it was the only way to stop her.
Philby glared at me as she rocked her round body until she got to her feet. With her dignity in shreds, she stalked away toward the house, glancing back to shoot me a look of fury every few steps.
If the twins thought this was strange behavior (it was), they didn't show it.
"It's in the car. I thought you might want it." Randi gave a wave before disappearing around the side of the house.
Rex shook his head before pouring a glass of lemonade and drinking it. I froze, afraid he might seize up and die from poison. But he didn't. Still, it paid to be careful. We had both made it clear in our wills that we wanted to be cremated, in an attempt to avoid Ronni body-snatching and stuffing us.
"Here it is!" Randi reappeared holding the dead bird by the large, flat stone that it had been mounted on.
I ran over, and she handed it to me.
"Hold it by the base," Randi cautioned. "It's an old piece, and I don't know how fragile it is." She looked at me for a moment. "I should take it back to the shop and make sure it's okay first."
"NO!" I shouted a little too loudly. "I mean, I'm just so excited about it! I'll be careful. I promise."
The stuffed vulture stared at me through googly eyes. If you've never seen a king vulture, you'd be in for a treat. Stubbly black and purple heads, eyes that seemed to go in three directions at once, a bright orange wattle draped over a short beak. Their plumage was white with black trim. It looked like something a five-year-old under the influence of LSD would draw.
Philby froze, unblinking, as she spotted me. She'd met Mr. Fancy Pants and wasn't terribly fond. The cat jumped to the grass and began stalking toward me, very, very slowly.
"I think I'll put this somewhere safe," I said, having no idea where that would be.
Philby could walk through walls, materializing on the other side. No, we've never seen her do it, but somehow the cat was always able to get through locked doors when it came to the twins' projects.
Rex stood up. "I'll just put Philby in the house."
He scooped up the basketball-shaped feline and took her inside. Her head hung over his shoulder, eyes fixed on the bird. Maybe I'd have to keep him in my car.
"This is great!" I set the beast down on the table and looked him over. "You guys did an amazing job!"
The bird fixed its glassy gaze on me. The feathers looked soft, and it looked like he might come alive at any moment.
"He's so realistic!" I added.
"It's a SHE!" Ronni screamed. "Randi told you that! You're so stupid you can't even tell the difference!"
Randi, for the first time since I'd met her, snapped. "Ronni! That's enough! Merry is our sister-in-law, and you will behave!"
Ronni and I stared at her. Me with an adoring admiration, Ronni with a look that told her twin she'd better sleep with her eyes open when they went to bed.
Rex joined us as Philby plastered herself up against the kitchen window. She knew we couldn't keep it out there all day and night, and was obviously plotting the dead bird's demise.
"It's female?" I asked, wondering how anyone could tell the difference. "Does she have a name?"
For a moment, I worried that I'd committed a faux pas. Maybe people didn't name things like this.
"Nellie." Randi smiled. "That's what the nameplate says, anyhow. The owner added that."
I hadn't even noticed, but there was a large brass nameplate in front of her feet that said Nellie Lou on it.
"Welcome to your new home, Nellie Lou!" I air hugged the bird without touching it, causing my husband to give me a strange look.
"WE ARE LEAVING!" Ronni shrieked and stomped back into the house.
Randi stared at the door her twin had just slammed. "I'm sorry. She isn't just out of sorts because Nellie Lou was returned. We've had some strange occurrences at the shop."
I stared at her. "Like ghosts?"
Which would be awesome because my troop would love to set up shop overnight to catch any ghosts.
"No." She frowned. "Just little things have happened over the last couple of days. Nothing big."
Rex's frown mirrored his sister's. They looked so much alike. Well, he didn't look like Ronni, no matter if she was Randi's identical twin.
"What kind of things?" he asked.
"Oh, you know." She threw her arms up. "The usual, doors we thought were locked are found unlocked, lights on in the basement in the morning after we'd turned them off to go to bed. A crowbar lying in the middle of the kitchen. You know."
"Why didn't you call me? That sounds like a break-in," my husband asked. I nodded in agreement.
"Don't worry about it." Randi smiled as the car horn gave one very long blast from the driveway. "We're just getting old and forgetful."
"I'm coming with you to the shop." Rex got to his feet.
His sister put her hands up. "No. It's nothing. Besides, Ronni is in one of her moods."
One of her moods? She had more than one? I'd only been acquainted with full-blown fury for no apparent reason.
"I think I'll follow you home," he pressed.
"No," Randi said firmly and nicely at the same time. "Come over in the morning, and I'll have coffee ready." She kissed her brother on the cheek and fled to the driveway as Ronni was performing the 1812 Overture with car horn blasts.
CHAPTER TWO
"Are you going to put your dead bird down and help me clean up?" Rex winked as he started stacking plates.
I'd been holding the base of that stuffed vulture for about an hour, staring at every inch of her with adoring eyes. She was beautiful. I wanted to touch her but was worried about Randi suggesting she was fragile.
"Okay"—I set the bird down and helped clear the table—"but I don't want to lose her."
"Lose her?" Rex's right eyebrow went up. "In your own yard?"
"Well, sure." I thought about it. "What if a predator carries her off while I'm inside? Maybe I'd better stay here until we figure out where she'll be safe."
A few hours later, as dusk descended, Rex insisted that we had to go inside eventually.
"I still don't know where to put her!"
I whined.
In the end, we settled for the top of the wardrobe in our bedroom, with the door permanently closed. After placing her there, we just managed to get the door shut before Philby began racing up the stairs, barreling toward us. As we walked downstairs, we heard the cat throwing herself against the door, yowling loudly in protest. Philby continued throwing herself at the door all night as we tried to sleep.
Tomorrow, I'd have to figure out what to do with our newest family member so that one of the other family members didn't eat her.
Or worse…
Bright and early the next morning, I tried to get Rex to Skype me during his visit to his sisters, but he refused. That was fine. I had other plans.
Ten little girls swarmed Nellie Lou at my house across the street (not to be confused with Rex's and my house—that's right, I had two houses). After warning them not to touch her directly, the four Kaitlyns (I have four Kaitlyns, all with M as their last initial) were air-petting her. Hannah was drawing her portrait, Inez and Ava were staring at the bird, open-mouthed, Caterina was air-patting the top of her head, and Betty and Lauren were arguing with me over her name.
"This," Betty said, her arm pointing at the dead bird behind her, "is Mr. Fancy Pants's soul mate!"
Lauren added, "Except for she's dead."
"She can't have a dumb name like Nellie Lou." Betty folded her arms over her chest to indicate that not only was this argument over, but she was right.
Kelly, my best friend and co-leader, came into the living room, shaking her head at us.
"You have a better idea for a name?" I asked, not really intending to change it—mainly because that would require replacing the bronze nameplate, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to go to all that trouble.
Maltese Vulture Murder Page 1
