Bird Brain: A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery (Polly Parrett Pet Sitter Cozy Murder Mysteries)

by Liz Dodwell

  Finally, he looked at me. His face wore a mask of pain and betrayal.

  “Can I sit down?... Please?”

  He gave a slight lift of his shoulders, so I eased myself onto the ground in front of him.

  “Mike, I’ve been a complete ass. It’s not the first time but it’s certainly one of the worst. I should never have talked behind your back; I should have come to you to talk about my concerns. Please give me a chance to make it up to you.”

  He began chewing on his lower lip, obviously unsure what to say or do.

  “I’m so sorry, Mike. Please tell me what I can do to make things better?”

  “Give me a kiss, give me a kiss.” Polly Parrot spoke with impeccable timing.

  This time, it was Mike who began to laugh, then I joined in and we just couldn’t seem to stop until Mat stood beside us. “What on earth is going on?”

  Fourteen

  There’d been a lot of back-slapping and hugging at Welcome Home when we returned with Mike. Turned out he had nearly been hit by an eighteen-wheeler hurtling round a bend. The driver probably never saw him, but he’d leapt away and fallen into a stony ditch that ran alongside the road, breaking his prosthetic leg and smashing his hip. He managed to drag himself back up to the road, hoping to thumb a lift somewhere because he certainly couldn’t walk. The thing that really tore him up, though, was that Polly, who was secured in his shirt, could have been crushed when he fell.

  Once again, I was more than a little thankful for Mat’s presence. He got Mike into the van and we drove straight to the hospital to get him checked out. While Mat waited with him I took the parrot to Doctor Jim, our local vet, who gave her a thorough going over before pronouncing her a little stressed, but otherwise fine.

  Mike had X-rays taken, which showed a lot of bruising and the need for a chiropractor. Thankfully, nothing was broken and he was released with pain killers and instructions to alternate ice and heat and be careful. He and Polly had now been reunited and sent to rest, while Rooster worked on the damaged prosthetic.

  “Think you can fix it?”

  Rooster peered at me over the top of his glasses. “Nothing actually broke. These things are made really strong; the material didn’t even bend, it just went out of alignment. All I have to do is undo a couple parts, realign it and put it back together. Mike could easily do it himself if he had a few tools with him. I’m gonna put together a small pack he can carry in a pocket, in case anything happens again.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t give it to him ‘til we’re sure he’s going to stay.”

  “That’s not really our call to make, is it?”

  “Then I’m going to do everything I can to persuade him this is the best place to be.”

  “Atta girl,” Rooster grinned.

  Fifteen

  Suzette and I were tucking into grilled bacon and pimento cheese sandwiches with crunchy fries. We were lunching at Bennie’s Diner, Mallowapple’s favorite eating place and gossip hub. When she wasn’t helping at the halfway house, Suzette worked in her family’s real estate firm, and we tried to get together for lunch every couple of weeks or so.

  Today we were discussing the murder of Del Forlong, or Fannin, I should call him.

  “And Rooster hasn’t been able to get anything out of the Sheriff?”

  I shook my head. “If Wisniewski has any idea why Del was posing as a homeless vet he’s not telling anyone, not even Rooster, which makes me think he just doesn’t know.”

  “Do you girls need more coffee?” Nita, the diner’s owner and gossip-in-chief hovered beside us.

  “Not me,” I said, while Suzette shook her head. Nita promptly put the pot on the table and settled herself into an empty chair.

  “I heard you mention the murder. What’s the latest?” Elbows on the table and chin on her clasped hands, Nita leaned towards us.

  “There’s nothing,” I said.

  “Oh, come on. I know Sheriff Wisniewski talks to Rooster. You must know something.”

  “Really,” I shrugged, “we haven’t heard a thing.”

  Nita sat back with a grunt. “Unless I come up with something soon people will begin to think I’m losing my edge to Combing Attractions.”

  There was a bit of an ongoing feud between the diner and the hair salon as to who got the best gossip. It could be really annoying at times, but right now an idea was forming in my mind.

  “Nita, how about we start a rumor and catch a killer?”

  Suzette raised her eyebrows at me. “Is this something I might regret being a part of?” But Nita was instantly hooked.

  “Tell me what you want?”

  Sixteen

  Being a pet-sitter is not always easy, but then there are times it’s just plain fun.

  Tina was spending a week with a bulldog by the name of Otis, while his pet parents romped around Cozumel. It happened that it was Otis’s birthday today, and we’d been asked to give him a “pawty” and video the happy event. The preparation had all been done by Tina; my job was to run the video and take pictures.

  Otis was already in his pawty hat when I got there. As I used my phone to film, Tina brought out a pupcake she’d made using a recipe from a book called The BARKtender’s Guide. She’d shaped it and decorated it with peanut butter frosting to look like a dog’s face. In it were three lit candles and she sang Happy Birthday as she presented the pupcake to Otis, whipping the candles out before he devoured them with his cake. The Pawty Animal Pupcake, made with oatmeal and watermelon, was a huge hit and Tina confided there were a couple more for Otis to enjoy another day.

  When it came to opening presents, no dog could have been more excited. Otis snorted and whuffled as he ripped the paper off the hide-a-squirrel from his parents – a soft tree trunk with holes in which plush squirrel toys were hidden. He poked his head in the holes as Tina played peek-a-boo with the squirrels, and carried them off proudly when she let him have one.

  From Pets are People, Too he received an organic elk antler that he promptly began to chew and drool over. All in all, it was a great success and I left soon after, giving Otis a generous scratch on the rump.

  Tyler’s car was in my driveway as I pulled in. It wasn’t like him to turn up unannounced, so my first feelings of pleasure turned to concern that something was wrong.

  The dogs gave me their usual ecstatic greeting as I went in the house, but Tyler stood with his arms crossed and his expression stern. Uh oh.

  “I hear something’s been found at the farmhouse.”

  “Hi, honey.” I tried to sound normal but my voice came out as a squeak. How had he heard so soon? Surely Suzette didn’t rat me out?

  In answer to my unasked questions he continued. “I stopped into the diner for lunch right after you and Suzette left.” Yep, that would do it. “Nita told me it was something valuable. In fact, she told everybody in the place that an item of great value had been discovered out at Welcome Home and you have it in your possession. Of course, I tried to call you,” Oh, yeah, I’d turned my ringer off while I was filming Otis, “but you didn’t answer. So I called Suzette.”

  Not even Tyler’s sister could resist him when he was determined to get the truth. She would have caved and told him everything. I didn’t blame her; I would have done the same.

  I swallowed and took a deep breath. “Nothing was happening about finding Del’s killer or why he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. So I…”

  “So you what? So you invented a story that would put you right in the killer’s crosshairs. What kind of lame-brained idea was that? And how do you know nothing’s happening? Did it never occur to you that this is a police investigation and there’s no reason they would include you in it? Maybe Sheriff Wisniewski deliberately kept you in the dark because he knows you just can’t stop meddling where you don’t belong.”

  By now my face was burning and my emotions had run the gamut from shock to hurt, to anger. “It’s not meddling; I was trying to help.” Damn, I was going to cry.

&n
bsp; “How the heck is it helping when you put yourself in danger? And maybe others, too?” Tyler wasn’t backing down. Worst thing was, I was beginning to realize he was right, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. Instead, I stamped my foot – jeez, how juvenile was that? – and yelled back.

  “Someone had to make a move. You just don’t have the guts to do it.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Tyler’s eyes went wide then his lips tightened. He gave a curt nod and strode past me, and out the door. I heard his car start up followed by a piercing wail, which happened to be me. My chest felt tight and it was hard to breath. I sank to my knees, dropped my head back and moaned Heavenward. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have said something so mean?

  Upset, the dogs crowded round me, whining, and I buried my face in their necks, sobbing loudly. Had I just destroyed the best thing in my life?

  I didn’t hear the door open, but strong arms came around me, drawing me close. A hand pulled my head into a shoulder, and over and over a voice said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” as I was rocked gently. Tyler. He’d come back.

  “Yum buk,” I mumbled into his collar.

  “What?” He released his hold on my head and stroked the hair away from my face.

  I sniffed and took a steadying breath. “You came back.”

  “How can I leave when I’m so in love with you?”

  Wow. There aren’t many things that can shut me up, but that was one of them. He kissed me softly on the lips and of course I burst into tears all over again.

  Seventeen

  At Tyler’s insistence I’d had to come clean with Mom and Rooster about starting the rumor. Concerned for my safety they’d insisted I come and stay at the farmhouse where there were lots of people to keep an eye on me. Meekly I’d agreed, knowing it would make Tyler happy.

  Business was running smoothly right now and I’d put Tina in charge for a couple of days, thinking this might be a good opportunity to go through the furniture and furnishings from my inheritance. So Rooster and I were doing inventory to decide which things to keep and which to donate or dump.

  “Most of the soft furnishings aren’t worth keeping.” Rooster gestured to the ugly yellow sofa, “but these,” he placed his hands on a pair of wing back chairs, “will clean up real good.”

  Rooster read the doubt on my face as I looked at the pukey-mustard chairs.

  “You buy these new today, you’d probably be looking at upwards of $2,000 each.”

  My mouth dropped. “Then how come we couldn’t sell them?”

  “I guess most folk don’t look beyond the dirty fabric, but they don’t even need new padding. In fact, they don’t look like they were ever sat in much. If we can pick up some cheap upholstery fabric I can have them good as new. It just takes a little time and patience.”

  “Who’s going to do all the sewing?”

  “There’s not much to do, most of it’s stapling. Besides, your mom’s pretty handy with the sewing machine.”

  OK, who was I to disagree?

  “What else do you think we can use?”

  “Pretty much all the wood furniture. I showed you some pieces when we, er, found, er…”

  Rooster’s voice trailed off as we both remembered finding Del’s body. There was an awkward moment of silence, broken when Mike walked in with Polly the parrot on his arm. “I wondered if I could help at all,” he said.

  “Help, help,” the bird shrieked, dancing a jig and bobbing up and down, causing us all to laugh.

  “Yeah, Mike,” Rooster waved him over. “Help me move some of these boxes out of the way so we can get a look at the furniture behind.”

  Mike stepped forward, then stopped uncertainly. “Polly,” he looked at me, “would you hold Polly for a while?”

  I sighed. This name thing was really irritating me, but I smiled and held out my arm, “Come here, pretty girl.”

  Mike dug his hand into a pocket and pulled out some nuts for me to use as encouragement and Polly stepped onto my arm. I kept her occupied while the guys cleared the way, then we all eyed a dark-stained credenza. It looked pretty out of place among Naomi Ledbetter’s rather ornate things; this was square-cornered and plain.

  “Isn’t that art-deco style?” I asked.

  “It’s the kind of thing that was popular in the 1950s,” Rooster said. “Does seem out of place with everything else, I agree.” He ran his hands over the wood. “Teak, I think.”

  “Aunty pan, aunty pan,” Polly said. At least, that’s what it sounded like.

  I raised my eyes at Mike and he held out his hands in a “who knows” gesture.

  “Oh well, let’s look at some other stuff,” I said, but Polly had something else in mind. She hopped from my arm onto the credenza, yelling her aunty pan thing followed by “Don’t tell,” over and over.

  Mike reached for her, making soothing sounds, but she avoided him while keeping up the chatter and then began pecking at the back of the credenza. It was made of that cheap fiber board, and her powerful beak was more than a match for it; a macaw’s bite is as strong as a large dog.

  “Hey!” Mike tapped her on the head to get her attention. She stopped ripping at the board, puffed out her chest and gave one last, “Aunty pan. Don’t tell,” before going back to her perch on Mike’s arm.

  “What was that all about?” I shook my head.

  “It sounded to me like she was saying panel, not pan,” Mike said.

  “Aunty panel? That still doesn’t make sense.”

  “Well, she’s a bird,” Mike gave a look that said, “duh.”

  “You’re right. Why should I expect her to make sense? She’s just making noise.”

  “Maybe not.” Rooster was bending over the back of the credenza, Swiss army knife in hand. He straightened his back. “I think she might have been saying, ‘Antique panel.’ “

  I gave him a questioning look and he held up a finger, indicating I should wait. He turned to Mike, “Son, help me turn this thing around.

  “See here.” Rooster pulled back more of the board where Polly had loosened it. “There’s a piece of carved wood underneath, and it looks real old to me.”

  Together, Rooster and Mike carefully peeled away the fiber board and we were presented with a panel, made up of sections decorated with an intricate pattern of stars. At any rate, to me they looked like stars; Rooster and Mike started talking about polygons and geometric rays. Huh? So I interrupted.

  “Basically, you’re saying this is an antique panel?”

  “Antique panel. Don’t tell,” Polly squawked, looking pleased with herself.

  “I’m saying,” Rooster spoke slowly, “we might have found the reason Del was in here.”

  Eighteen

  Paul Schroeder looked more like an aging hippie than an antiques dealer; a tie-dye bandana holding down long hair, and a droopy mustache framing his mouth. He’d pulled up in a new Mercedes though. I wasn’t quite sure how that fit with the whole “free spirit” thing but the guy was donating his time and expertise, so I wasn’t going to question it.

  After finding the panel yesterday we decided the smart thing would be to get it looked at by an expert. Of course, we didn’t know any, but the VFW came through again when Rooster put out a call for help. Schroeder was a member in Greenville, but he’d driven over to Mallowapple to help us out.

  “Well, what’s the verdict?” Sheriff Wisniewski was getting impatient. We’d contacted him as soon as we figured we might have found something of relevance to Del’s murder. He’d been pacing up and down for the last fifteen minutes, but Schroeder wasn’t going to be rushed.

  Actually, most of the Welcome Home family had crowded in to the barn and there was an air of excitement between us. Even Mom had wheeled herself over and Tyler had brought Suzette to join in the spectacle. I suspected Schroeder was enjoying the notoriety and he had spent a lot of time on his knees inspecting the panel while emitting a steady stream of “ahs” and “hmms.”
When he finally tried to stand his knee gave out on him, and he was about to clutch the credenza when Tyler grabbed him and helped him up.

  Clearing his throat, he gazed slowly around at his audience then directed his attention to Wisniewski. “The verdict, Sheriff, is that you have a late fifteenth or early sixteenth century Spanish or Moroccan door panel. This particular style of paneling originated in Maghribi, North Africa and spread to Spain in the fourteenth century. There’s a strikingly similar panel in the Museo de la Alhambra and a comparable pair of doors in the David collection in Denmark.”

  Schroeder sucked in a deep breath but I figured I’d better butt in before he continued his Antiques Road Show parody.

  “That’s all very interesting. I think we all want to know the same thing, though. What’s it worth?”

  Schroeder looked a little miffed at being cut off mid-monologue. “It’s impossible to say for sure without more detailed examination, and carbon dating to confirm the age.”

  “Then you’re not sure it is genuine?” Mom sounded disappointed.

  “I am sure,” Schroeder was emphatic, “but the rest of the world requires proof. I expect you understand that Sheriff, more than most.”

  In the background someone said, “We still don’t know if it’s valuable.”

  “Just give us your best estimate.” The Sheriff fixed an unwavering stare on the antiques dealer.

  “Keeping in mind that it does have some small nail holes where it’s been attached to the credenza, and I haven’t been able to examine it closely...”

  Wisniewski made a low growling noise and Schroeder gave him a nervous glance. “Uh, yes. Well, I can tell you a similar panel sold at auction a few years ago for $75,000.”

  There was a collective gasp. I clutched at Tyler’s arm and we exchanged shocked looks. “You’re saying this thing is worth that much money?” My voice was actually quavering.