by Clea Simon
“Anyone want to start?” I didn’t want to disturb what seemed to be a communication here. I did want in. Leaning forward, I put my good hand on Buster’s back. I couldn’t reach Randolph from here, but I looked up at him, trying not to blink as I met his small black eyes with mine. “Randolph?”
“Hello,” he said, softly. “Hello. Pretty bird.”
“Buster?”
I felt the dog’s response, rather than hearing it. A low rumble, the precursor to a growl, and for a moment I wondered if I had miscalculated. A bored dog might just see a large bird as legitimate prey.
“Hands off!” Randolph squawked, his voice louder. “Hand’s off! Bugger off! That’s mine! Stop it!” He was getting louder, shuffling on his perch. Beneath my hand, I could feel Buster’s growl getting louder. Could almost hear it.
“Hands off! Stop it!” Randolph shrieked. Clearly, Buster’s growl had set the parrot off. “Stop it!”
“Okay, that’s enough.” I stood up and reached for the cage cover.
“Help! Help! Help! ” Buster stood too, and began barking.
“Quiet.” I turned toward her, my voice low and firm. “Quiet, Buster.” Using both hands, I motioned for her to sit and be still. Good dog that she was, she sat.
“Sorry about that.” I apologized to Randolph as I began to spread the cover once again over his cage.
“Hello,” he responded, much more quietly. “Hello.” I paused. The dog was no longer barking, nor could I sense that incipient growl. But the cage wasn’t covered yet, and Randolph and Buster could clearly see each other. Still, the parrot had clearly calmed. “Hello,” he said. “Pretty bird?”
Did my command to the dog work with the parrot, too? Was Randolph intelligent enough to have picked up some of Buster’s training? For a moment, I paused, the implications racing through my head. Maybe I did have a future in animal behavior. Maybe there was even a thesis in this.
Or, at least, a content client. Backing carefully out of the room, I went across the hall and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Jane, sounding more tired than the day before.
“Jane, great news.” The woman I saw sitting cross-legged on the floor looked like she could use it. “Would you come with me?”
Her sigh could have been a jetpack, launching her upright, only it took too long. “I believe we’ve made some progress,” I said, hoping to jolly her along. The look she gave me was both doubtful and confused, and I realized I’d lost her. “Randolph? The parrot?”
She nodded without saying anything, and I realized that she’d disengaged. Granted, she had her hands full, but I needed her to realize that even if the African gray was currently in my care, he was her responsibility.
“He’s really coming along,” I said, glad to have the excuse to reintroduce them.
“Oh, good.” She paused to brush some dust from her sweatpants, and paused again at the door, looking at her sweater.
“He’s right across the hall.” I was doing my best not to lose my temper. “At Rose Danziger’s, remember?”
“Of course.” There was a bit of snippiness in her tone. “I didn’t know if you left him there, after—well, after all that fuss.”
“You were here this morning?” I didn’t remember seeing her. Then again, with everything going on, it would have been easy for someone so pale and nondescript to go unnoticed.
Jane nodded. “I can’t sleep,” she said by way of explanation. Looking back at the boxes behind her, she added, “Sometimes, I think I’ll never be done.”
“Well, one problem may soon be solved.” I was using my happy voice. I really didn’t have time to waste. “Come see.”
With a flourish, I opened Rose’s door and ushered Jane inside. The worn-looking woman took two steps and then started, holding her hands up as if stifling a yell.
“That’s just Buster,” I reassured her. “You’ve met Buster. She’s very well trained.” Just the same, I made the calming gesture with my hands—palms down. None of us needed another barking fit. The dog obliged, tilting her triangular head to consider the newcomer.
“This is who I wanted you to see.” Hands low, pitching my voice in as calm and unthreatening a tone as I could, I drew Jane over to Randolph’s cage, and turned to him. “Hello, pretty bird. Would you say, ‘Hello’?”
There was a moment, I’d swear to it. The bird looked at me, turning that round gray head side to side to examine me with each of those yellow eyes. Then he looked over at Buster, and then at Jane. “Hello?” I tried again. Something was going on. Something I didn’t like. “Pretty bird?” I could hear the hope drain out of my own voice.
“Well, this is better than all that foul language,” said Jane, coming up behind me.
And that was it. “Sqwah!” Randolph flapped his wings. “Hand’s off, damn you! That’s mine!”
“Quiet.” I tried using the same voice, low and commanding, to Randolph. “Be good now.”
“That’s mine!” The parrot was on a roll now. “Screw you! Hand’s off!”
To make matters worse, Buster started barking. “Help! Help! Help! ”
“Buster, no.” I spun around and caught her in mid-bark. She shut up, but Randolph was still at it. “Screw you! Your own damned business.”
“I’m—” Jane flapped her hands, in a sad mockery of the parrot. “I’ll be across the hall.”
“I’m sorry.” I watched her go. “Randolph really was doing better.” The door closed behind her, and immediately the parrot settled down.
“And what,” I turned back to the bird. “Was that about?”
“Ah, bugger all!” He was quieter, now, as if he’d made his point. “Bugger all and be done, you ignorant slut!”
Chapter Forty
“Well, that was useless.” I wasn’t talking to Randolph, not really. Nor to Buster, although the guide dog was staring at my face as if trying to make sense of my words. “Worse than useless. And I still don’t know what to do with either of you.”
Both animals were quiet, now that Jane was gone, but my thoughts were anything but. I could understand some of it. Jane was not an easy person to be with. I’m not into psychobabble, but I knew enough about depression to recognize it. And I’d had enough experience to know that the quiet ones were the ones who turned. Jane clearly didn’t want responsibility for her mother’s pet, even though I doubted she’d ever admit that, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the bird had picked up on some of that. Even a big bird, like Randolph, was essentially a prey animal. You see any of your family become dinner, and you learn pretty quick to recognize hostility—and to do what you can to chase it away.
And Buster? Well, the parrot’s voice had sounded enough like an old lady’s—Rose’s, though also, I imagined, Polly’s—that the dog might have been responding as she would if her person had been yelling. She had been calling for help, trying to alert me to a problem. And she had shut up when I’d told her to.
Animals make sense. They don’t know any other way. It’s people who act erratic, and Jane’s mixed messages were the cause of the commotion, of that I was sure. Though as I sat there, being stared at by three inscrutable eyes, I realized Jane’s behavior had raised some alarms in the back of my mind, too. For starters, where had she been that morning? You hear cries for help, you hear emergency techs racing down a hallway, isn’t it natural to stick your head out? Especially when you know that your beloved mother’s beloved pet parrot is in the room where the emergency is happening?
I already suspected that Jane wanted Randolph gone. Unlike her brother, she would never dare voice the words out loud. It was clear, though, that she’d love for me to spirit the parrot away and never bother her again. We still had no explanation for Randolph’s seizure. Come to think of it, we didn’t yet know what had happened to Rose, either. Could Jane be some kind of closet killer? And could Randolph have been yelling his gray head off to save himself—or to warn me? No, I realized. I couldn’t bring that bird back to his old home. Not yet,
maybe not ever.
I couldn’t leave them here, though. Buster was clearly too bored, and it wasn’t fair to Genie to expect her to keep cleaning up after a foot-long bird. I toyed with the idea of bringing them over to my house. It was big, and, on paper, it was mine. Well, except that the paper didn’t reflect the reality. Wallis might agree to the parrot being there. Even that was pushing it, I feared, as I thought of the tabby’s “interrogation.” The dog? No way. Wallis had been clear about that, and our old house was her territory. Besides, I had too much to do to try to convince her. Albert had as good as told me the time was running out for that raccoon, and although I had every intention of stalling him, I had to do something for the poor beast. Odds were, if he was getting sick, it was from being stuck in that back kennel for days now.
That’s when it hit me. A little over the top, maybe, but with a little luck, it just might work.
I ran into Genie on my way to the elevator. Buster was leading me, in her fashion, and I saw the wave of relief wash over the aide’s face as she looked down at the now-silent dog.
“Ah good.” She looked up at me with a smile. “Thank you, Pru. This is for the best.”
Something in her wording made me worry. “I hope this is just temporary. Genie, have you heard anything?”
She stared at me, blank faced, for a moment. “About Rose?” I lowered my voice.
“Ah.” She nodded and glanced around. Of course. Aides may wash the residents and dress them, deal with all kinds of intimate care. They’re not officially family, though, and I doubted they were supposed to be privy to much information. However, healthcare workers talk to each other, and clearly someone had said something. “I have heard,” she leaned in, and I did the same. “Our Rose is doing well,” she said quietly. “She took too much of something, and so they want to keep an eye on her. But she will be back.”
Something about Genie’s phrasing, her slightly stilted English, gave her words more weight. Rose would be back—it was almost like a declaration of war.
“I’m so glad.” I meant it. “But, they’re still worried?”
A shake of the head. “You said, they’re keeping an eye on her?”
“Oh, that.” The aide’s contempt was clear. “They think our Rose maybe tried to kill herself. How silly is that?”
I shrugged. Aging, blind, with health and money problems. I’d have thought her aide would see the possibility, but Genie seemed oblivious. “You don’t think she might have?”
Another shake. “Not our Rose.”
“But something happened.” I was weighing the factors. Genie was Haitian. Probably Catholic. Maybe the idea of suicide was inconceivable. Still, working here, with so many old and frail people, she must have known other residents who wanted to end it all. She might have been enlisted. The memory of other cases, of so-called angels of mercy, crossed my mind. “Are they saying it was an accident?”
“They are not saying anything.” Her mouth was set, firm. “Not to me. Not yet.” So she did expect to be blamed. Immediately, I was sorry for my own suspicions. She seemed to sense a change, because she looked down at Buster. “But she will not need her dog for now. She’s a good animal. She works hard. If you can take her…”
“I can. But Genie?” A questioning look. “I’m leaving Randolph in Rose’s apartment for a little while longer. I’ll come by and clean the cage, tomorrow at the latest. Is that okay.”
A nod, as Genie stared down the hall. She was probably used to people dumping duties on her, and I made a silent promise that I’d make it up to her. “I’m not going to stick you with bird care,” I said. That got me a smile—and another glance down at Buster. “I guess we better get going.”
“Goodbye, Buster.” She called softly as we walked to the elevator. “See you soon.”
It was interesting, I thought as we waited. Genie never pet Buster, never got down on her knees, as I would, to greet the dog. Then again, Buster was a service dog, and service dogs should not be pet: it distracts them from their job. Genie had spent enough time with Rose so that maybe this had become second nature. At least she’d praised Buster. Randolph, however, was clearly never going to be a favorite. Poor old guy. I could never let Wallis know, but I was beginning to sympathize with him.
Chapter Forty-one
As we took off from LiveWell, I opened the window a bit for Buster. I don’t care what their job is, dogs love car rides. Still, the shepherd mix was so quiet during the ride that I felt her thoughts were elsewhere. Maybe it was just as well. I had a crazy half-thought-out plan in mind, and before we reached our destination, I was hoping to work it into a more manageable shape.
“Hey, Albert!” I let Buster lead me into the shelter as if she were working. I could see her nose quivering, the smell of all the other animals that had passed through here playing like a Technicolor movie through her head. She was too well trained to react, though, and with a steady, gliding pace led me right up to Albert’s desk. “What’s up?”
“Huh?” The bearded animal control officer slammed his desk drawer. Porn, I hoped, and not Frank was quickly closed inside. “Pru! You here for the raccoon?”
“Not right now, Al. As you can see,” I nodded down at Buster, “I’ve got some other business to take care of first.”
“What? Oh, yeah.” He looked over his desk as if seeing the dog for the first time, and started back in fear. “What is that, a German shepherd?”
“She’s a mix.” I was scanning Albert’s desk as I spoke, looking for Frank. I could use an ally with what I was planning. “She’s a trained service dog,” I said, trying to reassure him. A nervous Albert was even less attractive than usual.
“Oh, you brought her because of the raccoon?” Albert began nodding, as he settled back into his seat. For a moment, I was concerned. There was no way he could have guessed my plan, could he? Then I realized the nodding was another nervous tick, like the way he kept petting the down vest he wore over this month’s flannel.
“Excuse me?” I’d seen a movement inside Albert’s vest, something too big for fleas. “Frank? ” I silently mouthed the words. “Can you help me here? ” I could use a hand, even a tiny, clawed one.
“Like those cancer dogs?” Albert was still talking.
“Albert, what are you talking about?” It didn’t pay to be too polite to the man.
“I was just wondering if, you know, the dog was trained to sniff out rabies. You know.”
“Oh, we’re working on it.” I smiled. Out of the mouths of idiots come the best alibis. “Hey, did you bring Frank in today?”
“Why, yeah.” He peeked inside his vest and then glanced nervously at Buster. “You think it’ll be okay?”
“Buster is very well trained.” I had my hand firmly on her halter to be sure. “Hey, Frank,” I called to the small mustelid.
A damp nose inched out of the vest, followed by the rest of the masked face. I could sense Buster’s interest, but true to her training, she held still. Frank, however, seemed doubtful. “Wolf? ”
“Buster is a good dog.” I was using my command voice, low and calm. I figured it would work on everyone there. Even Albert nodded, and slowly Frank emerged, climbing down to the cluttered desktop.
“Interesting.” Frank’s nose was as busy as Buster’s, and I’d have given anything just to be able to observe the two animals interacting. I had other plans, however, and Frank could help me. As simply as I could, I visualized what I was going to do. It was straightforward; it should work.
“Okay, Frank?” I smiled at Albert as I said it, hoping he’d think I was talking about the dog. “We’re good here?”
“We’re good here.” Frank and the dog were still staring at each other, but the ferret had inched forward so that their noses almost touched. “We’re good.”
“Good.” I nodded to Albert and headed toward the back of the shelter. “I’m going to have to leave Buster here, temporarily, Albert.” Let him think it was to sniff out disease. The shelter was nearly empt
y, and this would solve one big problem. It also gave me the perfect excuse.
“Be careful with her,” Frank’s thoughts caught me by surprise, as Albert buzzed me in. “She is tryin’; she always tries. But she doesn’t understand.”
I appreciated it, I really did. Frank’s a good friend. I didn’t need Buster to understand, however. I just needed her to obey commands, and that’s what she did as she led me into the back. “In,” I opened an empty cage, down at the far end of the room. “Go inside, girl.” I shut the door.
“I will be back,” I said, trying to make eye contact. With what I had in mind, I couldn’t be sure I’d be able to keep my promise. I knew I would try.
Buster seemed content, even in the strange setting, and so I walked over to the one other occupied cage in the back room, and gave its resident a good hard look. The raccoon had seen better days, that was certain. A certain dullness in the coat showed that either he wasn’t eating or grooming properly. It could also indicate disease. Without thinking, I flexed my right hand. The swelling had gone down, but when I moved my thumb, I could still feel the deep bite Rocky here had inflicted. What I couldn’t feel was if there were any further damage. Any of the virus multiplying inside me, infiltrating my bloodstream. Making its stealthy way to my brain.
“Hiding, hiding. Burrow—good! ” The interruption startled me, it was so strong and sudden. “Dig away! ”
The raccoon was staring at me, his eyes bright. Bright with fever? I blinked, and the bear-like creature brought his hands together. For a moment, I was touched. Those little hands, so human-like, seemed to be praying. Begging me for a chance. But if I were to try this, I would not only be endangering my career—relocating raccoons and other wildlife is against the law in Massachusetts—I would also be putting an unknown amount of wildlife at risk. Yes, rabies was endemic in the raccoon population. However, I was planning on releasing my captive here in a different section of the woods than where he’d been caught. If he were infected, I could be spreading the disease further, or at least exposing an uncountable number of new animals to it. In addition, if this raccoon were sick, I would be condemning him to die alone, a horrible and painful death. Better he should be euthanized, cleanly and without pain.
