by Edie Claire
“Well, it does!” she protested hotly, fluffing her covers. “Such nonsense, I tell you…”
“What’s up, Koslow?”
Leigh startled at the voice coming from her phone. She hadn’t expected Maura to answer. “I’m at my parents’ house,” she reported. “Somebody snatched the cockatiel from off their front porch. Cage and all.”
Maura was silent for a beat. “Holy crap,” she muttered. “I didn’t really think… hang on. I’m coming over there. Gerry?” she called to the side. “Can you finish burp duty, here? I’ve got—”
The line cut off. Leigh put down her phone. “Maura’s coming over,” she announced.
When a knock on the door sounded fifteen minutes later, Bess was still in her kimono and Leigh’s legs were still advertising a television show. But Frances was fully dressed with her hair fluffed and her lipstick on, and Randall sat miserably with a rain jacket thrown around his shoulders.
“I’m not wearing this,” he protested, grabbing at it. “It’s hot. My pajamas are perfectly decent and I’m in my own home.”
“Into which you have invited an impressionable young lady!” Frances insisted, pulling the jacket back into place.
Leigh stifled a chuckle. “Impressionable young lady” was not something the six-foot-two-inch, forty-three-year-old policewoman got called every day.
Leigh opened the door and invited her friend inside.
“Sorry to hear about this, everyone,” Maura said sympathetically. “I’ve called the Ross Township PD and they’re sending somebody over to take your statements.”
“I hope we’re not wasting their time,” Randall said in his no-nonsense monotone. “Obviously, somebody took the bird from our front porch. But that doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with someone cutting through the screen last night. It could just be that some neighborhood kids heard the bird and got curious. They might very well bring him back.”
“I’m afraid we can’t count on that, Dr. Koslow,” Maura said smoothly, accepting the seat offered her on the couch by Bess. “True coincidences are the exception, you know. Most often, what’s most obvious is also the most likely.”
Her expression turned sober. “I don’t know how much of the background Leigh has shared with you so far, but under the circumstances, there are some things I think all of you should know.”
Leigh braced herself. She could hardly keep straight whom she had told what, but whatever Maura was about to say was certain not to go over well.
“The cockatiel,” Maura began, “and the cat — which I understand is now at Cara’s farm — were until Monday morning in the possession of a man named Kyle Claymore. Mason Dublin has known Kyle for some time, because they both play professional poker. In fact, when Mason was looking for a place in town, Kyle told him about the apartment next door to his in Bellevue being available, and that’s how Mason came to lease it.”
“Mason Dublin has moved to Bellevue?” Frances exclaimed with annoyance. “Who allowed him to do that?”
Maura ignored the question. “Kyle disappeared over the weekend, and on Monday morning Mason noticed that the cat hadn’t been fed. He took possession of the bird and the cat, dropped them off at Leigh’s, and then left town. His claim is that the cat belonged to Kyle but that he had never seen the cockatiel before that morning.”
Frances sniffed. “A likely story.”
“Later on Monday morning, someone broke into Kyle’s apartment,” Maura continued. “On Tuesday night, someone attempted to break in here. On the next night, tonight, someone has taken the bird.”
Randall exhaled heavily. “I see what you’re getting at.”
“I know it seems like a pretty thin link,” Maura explained. “But it has to be taken seriously, because Kyle Claymore is wanted for questioning by the state police in conjunction with a murder that took place up in Erie Saturday night.”
“Oh, merciful heavens!” Frances shrieked. “I knew that Mason Dublin was up to no good! I told you! I told you all!”
“Oh, s-stuff it, Francie!” Bess blurted, still holding her now-empty glass. “She didn’t say Mason had beans to do with it! All she said was that he took care of the man’s pets!”
“The long and short of it,” Maura continued calmly, “is that we have no idea where the cockatiel came from, who would want it, or why. But given its association with Kyle Claymore, I think you all need to be very careful. Keep your doors and windows locked. And until we have more to go on, don’t mention any of this to anyone.”
An awkward silence descended. Leigh broke it. “Maura,” she said hesitantly. “There’s something else. I didn’t bring the bird straight here from my house. It spent all day Tuesday at the clinic first.”
Maura blinked at her. “Seriously?”
“What on earth difference does that make?” Bess asked with a hiccup.
Leigh took a breath and explained about the petnapping rumors, finding Lucky, and the failed stakeout.
Randall exhaled with a grunt. “You’re making too many assumptions,” he protested. “There’s no reason to believe that whatever’s going on with Kyle and the cockatiel has any relationship whatsoever to the petnappings.”
Frances’s chin dipped. She peered at her husband over her glasses, her lips pursed. “Well, of course not,” she drawled. “What could one petnapping in the North Boros possibly have to do with another petnapping in the North Boros on the same day?”
Randall frowned.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Leigh said sympathetically. “But the clinic is the logical link. That’s why I came over here. Someone at the Koslow Animal Clinic — knowingly or otherwise — has to be feeding information to the petnapper.”
Maura’s brow wrinkled. “But the previous petnappings have been motivated by ransom,” she noted. “The perp has targeted cats and dogs whose owners had enough of an emotional attachment to cough up a lot of money to get them back. People who would be too scared about their animal’s welfare to risk contacting the police. The bird’s theft doesn’t fit that pattern. Who would pay ransom to get back a cockatiel? What do they cost anyway, fifty bucks?”
The others turned to stare at her. Leigh smirked. “Have you ever met a bird person?”
Maura’s mouth opened. “Well, I…”
Bess tittered. “Really, my dear. I daresay a petnapper could specialize in birds.”
“The financial motive would be the same,” Randall assured Maura. “But in the case of the cockatiel, we are not the ones who would be paying the ransom.”
Another silence descended.
Unpleasant thoughts churned in Leigh’s head. Kyle Claymore was in financial straits. Kyle Claymore had been keeping two pets in his apartment this weekend. Had there ever been more?
Her stomach churned with a mental image of Lenna cuddled up in bed with the skittish, three-legged tortie. If the bird was stolen property… what about the cat?
Was Kyle Claymore really MIA, or was it him she had seen hanging through her parents’ kitchen window last night? Had he come back for the bird again just now? And what or who was his connection with the clinic?
A loud knock sounded on the front door. “Police!” a man’s voice called.
Maura rose and moved to answer it.
Leigh prepared for another sleepless night.
Chapter 14
“Aunt Leigh,” Lenna asked speculatively, with no trace of a whine in her usually baby-like voice. “Have you ever heard of anyone suing for pet custody based on abandonment?”
Leigh peered over the rim of her second cup of coffee to study the girl, who was sitting across the breakfast table next to Allison. Lenna, who showed signs of becoming a talented artist, was working on a charcoal drawing of a cat. Closer examination showed that the cat was a dilute tortie with three legs.
Apprehension flared. “I’ve heard of pet custody cases as part of a divorce,” Leigh answered. “But, Lenna… you know that Peep already has an owner.”
The girl’s eyes narrowe
d. “Yes, but he doesn’t deserve her! She’d have starved to death by now if it wasn’t for Grandpa. And she’s disabled!”
Leigh’s eyes moved to Allison. Grandpa? Since when did any of the Pack know that it was Mason who had delivered the pets? Since when did they know anything about Kyle?”
Allison sipped her orange juice. Her dark eyes met her mother’s without shame, but when she looked at her cousin, her small forehead wrinkled with concern. “You’re not going to be able to keep her, Lenna,” she said firmly. “Everybody keeps telling you that.”
Lenna tossed down her charcoal with a pout. “I don’t care what everybody says. She loves me, and I love her. We were meant to be together!”
Allison turned to her mother with a sigh. Your turn.
Leigh blinked back dumbly. Words failed her. Clearly, it would take a third cup of coffee to clear the fog from her brain. By the time she’d returned home last night, Warren was already snoring, and before her eyes opened this morning, he was gone again. Whatever sleep she had gotten in between hadn’t seemed to make a dent in her deficit.
Thank goodness it was Cara’s assignment to haul the boys back down to work at the clinic this morning and to relieve Aunt Bess for day duty. Leigh had assumed Allison would want to go to the clinic also, and was surprised when the girl chose to stay at home. But it was Thursday, a surgery day, and Randall wouldn’t be taking any appointments until the afternoon. “And besides,” Allison had said with a sour expression, “Kirsten is going to be there. And I refuse to watch Matt make a complete idiot out of himself again.”
Before Leigh could respond to Lenna’s woes about the cat, the girl’s personal cell phone rang. Leigh and Warren remained staunch in their belief that eleven-year-olds did not need their own smartphones, but Cara and Gil had different rules.
Lenna picked up the penguin-encased mobile. “Why are you calling me?” she asked, using the particularly peevish tone kids reserved for their siblings. “Why didn’t you just text?” She was quiet a moment. “Oh, okay. Here.” She stuck the phone out blindly in Allison’s direction with her left hand. Her right hand picked up her charcoal again.
Allison took the phone. “You got something?” She listened a moment, then grabbed up a pencil and flipped a page in the notebook in front of her. “Okay.”
Leigh leaned back and crossed her arms over her chest. She had been quite deliberate, before the boys left with Cara, to tell everyone an appropriately edited version of last evening’s events. The Pack knew that the cockatiel had been stolen, but they were left to believe that in all likelihood, the theft was a random petnapping. All four of them had sat there and listened politely, never bothering to mention that they already knew about Mason’s involvement in the matter. How much else did they secretly know?
“Uh huh,” Allison replied, beginning to scribble. “And when exactly was that?”
Leigh leaned forward again. Allison’s handwriting was as bad as her own, and she could only make out snatches of it, but the story unfolding on the other end — from Matthias, presumably — was evident.
First attempt… screen cut… hacking cough… second attempt… outside. Kyle Claymore — murder suspect?… missing… poker… DEFEND GRANDPA MASON! Stakeout failed due to tipster… clinic?… four PDs… reconnaissance…
Leigh leaned back again with a grumble. Aunt Bess never could keep her mouth shut, even if she wanted to, which she usually didn’t. Her refusal to treat children like children had made her the greatest aunt on earth for a young Leigh and Cara, but in the last eleven years, the trait had ceased to endear.
“Okay, got it,” Allison said finally. “Thanks. I’ll be down later. No, they’re still sitting here.” Her eyes looked resentfully at the unopened tip letters on the table in front of her. “Still waiting to hear from Aunt Mo. Mom forgot. Okay. Later.”
Allison hung up. She sat the phone down again by Lenna, who continued to draw.
Leigh cleared her throat. “Excuse me?”
Her daughter looked up at her innocently. “Yes?”
Leigh frowned. “Did he get everything, or were there any blanks you’d like me to fill in?”
Allison smiled, turned her notepad around, and scooted it across the table. “I don’t know, Mom. You tell me.”
Leigh’s teeth gnashed. She knew it was better, from a college cost perspective if nothing else, to have the children that she had. But some days it really did seem like life would be easier with dumber ones.
Her own phone rang. It was the siren tone.
“Maura!” she exclaimed, answering swiftly. She started to leave the room, but realized the futility of it. “You’re up! Thanks for calling back.”
The only sound from the other end of the line was a yawn.
“Sorry,” Leigh offered. She explained about the two letter-sized envelopes that had arrived at the clinic Wednesday afternoon with Tuesday postmarks and no return addresses. Both had come from the same zip code as the clinic. “There are some people here itching to open them, as you might expect. What do you want us to do with them?”
Maura yawned again. Baby Eddie gurgled happily in the background. “What time does the clinic’s mail usually come?” the policewoman asked.
Leigh referred the question to Allison. She might as well use speakerphone.
“Around noon,” Leigh relayed. “I’ll be taking Allison back down around one, if you’d like me to check for more.”
“How about if Master Eddie and I pop down there and meet you?” Maura suggested. “Bring the two letters you already have and I’ll take a look at what we’ve got. I may want to talk to your dad afterwards. And some other people.”
Leigh felt a wave of foreboding. She didn’t like to think of her father’s staff — or even his clients — as suspects in something as heinous as the kidnapping of beloved pets for ransom. But the evidence was compelling.
“Are you on this case?” Leigh asked.
“There isn’t one case to be on,” Maura replied. “This stuff crosses four local jurisdictions, as you know. I’m still officially on leave till Monday, so you could say I’m providing a little friendly, informal case coordination — but I’d rather you didn’t. Just let me see if there’s anything in those letters you’ve got. If so, I’ll pass it on to the locals. But right now, there’s not enough to kick it up to the county.”
“Extortion?” Leigh suggested.
“Lucky came back on his own,” Maura reminded. “And no one took the bait. It’s not enough.”
“We filed a complaint about the cockatiel last night.”
“Simple property theft. Unless and until there’s a ransom note.”
“I get it,” Leigh acquiesced. The women signed off, and Leigh poured herself that third cup of coffee.
“Aunt Leigh?” Lenna begged, her tone back to whiny again. “If I have to spend the afternoon at Grandma Frances’s, can’t I at least spend the rest of the morning at home with Peep? She misses me already, I know it!”
Leigh looked into the girl’s giant cornflower blue eyes, which they all knew could turn teary on demand. If Lenna ever decided to study acting, she’d be the scariest of the four. “Sure,” Leigh agreed. “I’ll pick you up at twelve fifteen.”
Shortly after one o’clock, Leigh, Allison, and Randall arrived at the clinic. Lenna had been left with her mother at the Koslow house, pouting at the prospect of being drafted into yet another happy afternoon of cleaning imaginary dirt, and the mood of the family had been somber. No one liked being laid up, having one’s home broken into, and then being stolen from. More surprising was that everyone, including Frances, truly seemed to miss the bird.
“I’ll check the mail, Mom,” Allison offered, flitting off the second they had Randall settled on his stool. His first patient of the day — another emergency visit — was already waiting for him.
Leigh looked across the exam table at a man who was about her own age, but for whom time had apparently frozen in the seventies. He wore a tie-dyed tee shirt
, wide-bottomed jeans that dragged the floor, and grungy sandals. His long, graying brown hair was gathered into a thin pony tail, and the glasses perched on his head had giant round lenses framed with tortoiseshell plastic. He reeked of cigarette smoke.
“Hello there, Leonard,” Dr. Koslow said pleasantly. “What seems to be the problem?”
Leonard gave a sad grimace, then reached his arm into the carrier on the table. “Come on, Bartie bird,” he called with a clucking sound. “Come on, boy.”
The bird that stepped onto his hand was one of the most pathetic Leigh had ever seen. It was a cockatoo, and it should have looked very much like the magnificent Zeus that Olan had brought in yesterday. Instead, it looked like a caricature. Its head was snowy white, with a spiky bright yellow crest. But from the neck down, its bumpy pink skin was totally naked, without a single feather. Worse, in the center of its chest was an angry open wound.
“I hate to admit failure, Doc,” Leonard said sadly. “But I swear, I don’t know what else to do for him. Every collar we’ve tried drives him absolutely crazy. He obsesses about getting it off, won’t eat, bangs his head around till I’m afraid he’ll give himself a brain injury. But without the collar, there’s just no stopping him from plucking. I’ve tried every combination of on-time and off-time, and it just doesn’t matter. He won’t eat till it’s off and then he’ll start plucking even while he’s eating.”
Dr. Koslow sighed. “I know how hard you’ve worked with him Leonard,” he said sympathetically.
“Every enrichment I can think of,” the man lamented. “Everything that’s worked with the others. Toys, physical therapy, bird companions, no bird companions. One-on-one attention… I even hired a pet sitter during the day so he’d never be alone at the house. I’ve asked around online, and there’s only one thing that keeps coming up that might help him, and I can’t give it to him.”
Dr. Koslow nodded. “Flight.”
Leonard blew out a breath and nodded. “My house just isn’t big enough, even if he did have the feathers for it. I’ve got him on the waiting list for an outdoor sanctuary in southern Florida — they’ve had decent luck with some tough cases.” His voice suddenly cracked. “But now that he’s opened up that wound again, I’m afraid he won’t last long enough to get there!”
