by Clea Simon
He looked alarmed. “Should I run you back now?”
“No.” I smiled. “It can wait. It can all wait until morning.”
Chapter Fifty-two
The shot wasn’t as bad as I remembered, or maybe it was simply that so much else had happened that I was too tired to fight it much. Either way, it had gotten done without too much fuss. That is, unless you count being driven to the hospital with a police escort fuss.
“You didn’t need to do this, Jim.” I’d protested over coffee.
“I have a vested interest in you staying alive,” he’d replied.
“Huh.” Wallis, who joined us at breakfast, had snorted. “A bird, a dog, and now him, too? ”
“Wallis…” I’d forgotten. Creighton looked at me, looked at the cat.
“I’m going to get dressed, and then we’re going to the hospital.”
I nodded, my eyes still on my tabby.
“Well, that was smart,” she said, licking her chops. I’d given her a can, to show Creighton that she was “just a pet.” She didn’t appreciate it.
“No, it was all right. For a change.” She sat to wash. “It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Me?” I kept my voice low, although I had a feeling that Creighton was giving us time.
“You.” She ran her white paw over her ear. “You’re getting quite…domesticated.”
“Ha.” I was too tired to make more than a halfhearted objection. “You wish.”
The look she gave me as she left the room said volumes, I was sure. Only this time, I couldn’t interpret them all.
***
“You ready?” Creighton was waiting for me when I got out of the doctor’s office.
“Yeah,” I said. “It hurt.” I was rubbing my arm, just to stress the point. “And I’ve got to come back for three more.” At least my hand, neatly bandaged once again, was healing. Odds were, I wasn’t going to die anytime soon. At least not from this series of mishaps.
“Good.” He led the way. “Maybe that will keep you out of trouble.”
“Hey, I solved a murder for you.” I’d laid out my theory about Polly the night before. It didn’t sound quite as good without all the extras from Buster and Wallis. He’d nodded, though. The drugs were the ones he’d prescribed to Polly and to Rose, powerful new synthetic opiates—worth their weight on the black market. It was circumstantial, but it made sense. “Maybe an attempted murder, too.”
“And we’re looking into it.” He glanced at me as he unlocked the cruiser. “But, Pru, we would have had this guy without you getting involved. Had him and his ring of troublemakers, too.” He meant the Gaffneys.
He started driving, staring straight ahead. “I won’t have you getting hurt, Pru.”
“Come on.” I raised my hand as if this was what he was talking about. “This is what I do.”
He didn’t say anything after that, just drove me home. When he came back later, though, he brought pizza. I took that as an apology. I even let him stay the night again. This time, Wallis refrained from comment.
Chapter Fifty-three
Buster remained with us until Rose was released a week later. I like to think it helped the old lady’s recovery to know the dog was in good hands. Besides, it was good for me to work with Buster. I’d finally cornered Doc Sharpe, and he’d admitted to—in his words—“feeling his age.” He needed help, more than Pammy could deliver, and we were talking about me taking some shifts, finishing up my degree. Training service dogs is a specialty, and not one I’d ever planned on. I was never one to look a gift horse—or dog—in the mouth, though, and knowing that I might soon become more employable seemed to relax Doc Sharpe a bit.
It certainly amused Wallis. What Buster thought was harder to tell. With me, she was all business. When I brought her back to Rose, though, it took all her service dog training not to leap on her mistress and lick her face again, as she had in the hospital. Rose did look great. “It’s the rehab,” she said to me. “Those young hunks really made me work my ass off.”
I laughed. The fact that she was no longer being drugged probably helped, but the glance Genie gave me, over the old woman’s head, reassured me that Rose was in good hands.
Randolph stayed with us a little longer. Jane had been shocked—almost overwhelmed, she’d told me—by the news that an investigation was being opened into her mother’s death. But she’d been aware enough to parlay that shock into additional time with her mother’s apartment—at no extra cost.
I wasn’t as foolish—or as culpable. I told her I could keep her mother’s beloved pet for a while longer, at my regular rate. I stressed that last bit, and she made some noises. I let her. In truth, he wasn’t any bother, and I had stopped worrying after the first time I found Wallis in his bedroom.
“We’ve come to terms,” my tabby had told me, when I’d opened the door to find her on the dresser, staring at the big bird. “He’s seen quite a lot, you know.”
“Really?” Wallis didn’t respond to that, so I looked to the parrot. He’d stopped pulling out his feathers by them, and his plumage was filling in, gray and smooth.
“Ignorant slut!” Randolph replied. “Took you long enough.” My double take sent him squawking, in an uncanny facsimile of Rose’s cawing laugh. Even Wallis seemed to smile, her whiskers going wide and flat. Shaking my head, I left them there. To talk. I know when I’ve been outwitted.
I was beginning to wonder if this would be a permanent situation when Jane called back.
“I don’t know how Marc got dragged into all of this, I really don’t.” I’d heard he’d been subpoenaed. I hadn’t heard he’d been charged. “This is another blow to the family.” Jane sounded breathless.
“Uh huh.” I didn’t believe it. I remembered them arguing. I knew she’d come out ahead.
“So much of the money is gone.” She was leading up to something. “He’s had to take some awful job, and he’ll be paying restitution for years out of his paycheck, though I don’t know why…”
I geared up for a fight. I’d done the family a service, and I was getting paid.
“Anyway,” she seemed to be winding up. “Because they’re such a good deal now, I am buying one of those condos, now that they’re all fixed up again. Thank goodness, Mother left me some money that he couldn’t touch.”
“Ah.” I didn’t see her point, but I grabbed a pen and started tallying my bill.
“So, once I move, I’ll be able to take Randolph back.”
“He still curses sometimes, you know.” I didn’t know why I was telling her that. “You don’t have to.”
“Mother would want us together.” She sounded firm. “But I trust you’ll give me a discount.”
***
By November, Wallis and I were alone again. Once I was back to my old self, Creighton had enough sense to give me space when I needed it—and company when it suited. Despite what Wallis had said, I wasn’t going to push for more. I liked my freedom, even if it meant quiet evenings by the fire, with my bourbon and a book.
“You’re getting old. You know that? ” It was snowing out, the first snow of the year. Wallis’ eyes glittered in the firelight. Her fur looked glossy and sleek. “You miss that parrot.”
“You should talk.” I’d put the book aside ages ago. The play of flames was enough. “You made friends with him.”
“He’d seen some things.” Wallis shrugged and settled down into her Sphinx pose. “Death. Murder.”
“That interests you?” I turned toward her, saw the fire reflected in her eyes. A miniature tiger in my house.
“Oh, please, Pru.” She shuffled again slightly, getting comfortable. “Like you’re any different.”
I couldn’t argue, and just then the fire sparked, cracking a log. Neither of us jumped, not after this much time. Instead, we sat and watched the flames together, feeling the room grow warm.
“It’s the hunt.” I felt the words, rather than heard them. “Neither of us ready to give up the hunt.”
Acknowledgments
Writing is always an adventure, but this book more so than usual: birds are new to me, and I found them as enticing as Wallis does. Several folks helped me out, but thanks most to Michelle Jaeger, who first turned me on to the work Dr. Irene Pepperberg did with Alex the parrot. I stretched some facts for plot purposes, but I hope I stayed true to what is known about these amazing birds. As always, any outright mistakes are mine alone. Randolph may have some superficial resemblance to the African gray at Ritual Arts in Allston, Massachusetts, but his behavioral problems are entirely his own. The usual crew helped me through the writing and revision process: Chris Mesarch, Brett Milano, Lisa Susser, Karen Schlosberg, Naomi Yang, and Jon Garelick, while—as always—my fellow writers Caroline Leavitt and Vicki Constantine Croke, cheered me on. Thanks as well to editor Annette Rogers for letting Pru be Pru (and Wallis be Wallis) and to agent Colleen Mohyde of the Doe Coover Agency for her faith. Love to Sophie Garelick, Frank Garelick, and Lisa Jones. And, always, to Jon, for helping me realize my dreams. Purrs out, sweetie.
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Table of Contents
Parrots Prove Deadly
Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Chapter Fifty-three
Acknowledgments
More from this Author
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