Birds of a Feather

by Harper Crowley

  I instinctively shrink away from his touch, and even though Nick looks like he wants to ask me about it, he wisely keeps his mouth shut. It’s a good thing, too, because if he doesn’t, I’ll probably end up making up some lie I’ll regret, and then he’ll catch me and blow my cover. Nick seems pretty attuned to things like that, especially for an accountant. An accountant who’s going to shoot someone in the near future.

  “I think we need to let the cops know about Frankie’s visit,” Nick says. “And then”—he looks around the bookstore as if making a decision—“I’m taking you out to lunch. Being cooped up in here too long is enough to drive anyone crazy.”

  I can’t argue with that. “I can’t believe that jerk thought he could just come in here and buy all of Wanda’s stuff. Nope. I’d rather put it all outside with a ‘free’ sign before I let him anywhere near this place again.”

  Chapter 9

  After I call and inform Detective Landry about the latest developments, Nick waits for me to lock up the shop and then leads me to the café. It’s not that busy, but there’re people spread throughout, so he chooses a booth near the back. There’s a table of six a few feet away, but they seem to be having some sort of work meeting, so it shouldn’t be too loud.

  “Hey, Nick,” Maryanne says with a coy smile only for my companion. “Haven’t seen you in a few weeks. What’s up?”

  He leans toward her and winks. “Oh, you know, work. My boss is an ass. Keeps me working all the time.”

  She giggles as if it’s an inside joke before seemingly noticing me for the first time. “Oh, Willa, right?”

  As if she’s really forgotten my name. I’m tied to the most interesting things that have ever happened in Tranquility Falls. Nope. Her forgetting my name is on purpose. “Yup, that’s me.” I give her a tight smile that says I know exactly what she’s up to. If she has the hots for Nick, she can have him. I’m not sticking around, so dating, commitment, or anything like that is strictly off-limits.

  “I told you, Martin. This is a disaster.” A woman in her mid-fifties glances over her shoulder, her round eyes skimming over Nick and me. “The gala is our biggest fundraiser. We have to throw it.”

  Her companions, a younger couple and a man I recognize with a start—Eddie—lean closer.

  “We can’t,” Eddie says. “We just don’t have the funds. I looked at the books six different times. It’s impossible.”

  “Eddie’s right,” the other man says. “Maybe if we pool our resources, we can save up and throw one every other year, but now, it’s just not feasible.”

  The woman dashes tears out of her eyes. “But Wanda would have been so devastated. She loved the library. And now that Sandra’s gone...” She sniffs.

  Eddie reaches across the table and squeezes the woman’s hand. “We’re not closing, Eleanor. We’re just taking a fundraising hiatus until we can figure out what’s most important.”

  Eleanor sniffs. “Well, I think the gala is important. How else are we going to get people to donate?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin, the other man, says. “But we’ll make it. I promise you that.”

  Maryanne brings our food, and we have to turn our attention to our dinner. It’s hard to continue eavesdropping, and the group only sticks around for a few more minutes before squaring up their bill and leaving.

  “Who were those people?” I ask after they’ve disappeared through the front doors.

  “Friends of the Library. It’s a group that meets to help plan the fundraisers and anything else that can keep the library going.”

  “Was Wanda part of that group?”

  “It sounds like it,” he says. “I honestly don’t know. I’ve never been to the library before.”

  “Huh. If she was, now that she’s gone she won’t be able to help with the fundraising.”

  “That stinks. I’m sure they’ll find the money somewhere else though. I heard Eddie was a good guy.”

  “You know him?” I sit up a little straighter in my seat.

  Nick’s lips twitch wryly. “Why? You got the hots for him? I don’t think he’s married, but I’ve never cared to find out.”

  My cheeks burn, and I glare at him. “No! That’s not what I mean at all. I was just wondering... I don’t even know, really. You know what? Never mind. Just drop it.” I don’t know where I’m going with the conversation, but it’s still interesting that someone else knows him, has interacted with him, and doesn’t think he’s a snake. Or maybe you’re just paranoid.

  My phone rings just as Nick drops me off at the bookstore, and my sister’s number flashes across the screen. I give Nick a half-hearted wave and answer the phone. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “You’re not coming home yet, are you?” Sara doesn’t beat around the bush. It’s a family trait.

  “Not yet. Look, I’m fine. I told you. Everything’s okay.”

  “Everything’s okay?” she sputters. “You found a dead body. Someone tried to break in. Give me a break. Everything is not okay.”

  Her voice rings in my ears, and I pull the phone away to stare at the screen. Sara keeps yelling, her words blending into each other.

  Marge glares at the phone and bobs her head as if offering to take care of it for me. She’d probably chomp right through it, and then I’d really be screwed. It’s still tempting, though.

  “I’m fine. I promise. The cops don’t even know if any of this is related to the bookstore. That woman could have been killed in the alley for another reason. That doesn’t mean it was because of something our aunt had in the store.” I walk a few steps away before Marge decides to take matters into her own claws.

  “What about the person who was trying to break in? How are you going to explain that?” she demands.

  “Maybe they didn’t know I was there. I mean, the store has been vacant for a while now, so maybe whoever it was thought this would be a good time to break in.” I blink, and in my head, I see the face outside the window again, the wide-eyed surprise. I don’t think whoever it was thought I’d be there. Lucky for me, they underestimated one very determined cockatoo with very, very good hearing.

  She continues harping on me for a few more minutes, but I tune her out, instead focusing on picking up the rest of the magazines and books Marge knocked over earlier.

  “Are you even listening?” she snaps. I must have been quiet for too long.

  I pause, gripping a dusty, five-year-old Popular Mechanics magazine. “I’m sorry. I’m just tired, but I’m being careful, I promise. Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

  She sighs. “I hope so. I don’t want to lose you too.”

  I’m a terrible sister. “I know, and nothing will happen to me. I had a vision last night, and we were on vacation. It was great.” A white lie that makes my sister feel better isn’t that bad, is it?

  She sniffs. “You did?” She doesn’t know my visions are almost always bad. It’s another secret I’ve kept most of my life.

  “Yup,” I say, growing confident even though I feel like I’m jinxing myself. “I don’t know when it was, but you know how these things work. It can’t be too far away.”

  “Good.” She lets out a breath so loud I can hear it over the phone. “I think we all need a vacation.”

  “Amen, sister.” An unfamiliar number flashes across the screen. Maybe it’s Dorothy Dane calling from her office with the good news that they can list the store. That would be amazing. “I hate to cut this short, but I think the realtor’s calling. I’ll talk to you later?”

  “You better,” Sara says. “And if anything else happens, you have to come home. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

  “I promise.” I hang up on my sister before she can guilt me into promising anything else I’m not sure I can deliver.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, hi,” a woman says. There’s a squawking in the background that’s all too familiar. “I’m Josie Wayne with Feathered Friends Parrot Rescue. Amy at the animal shelter gave me a call and said you ne
ed helping finding a home for a parrot.”

  “Oh my God, yes. She’s a cockatoo. It was my—I mean, I’m helping my friends clean out their aunt’s bookstore, and she had a cockatoo.”

  The screeching in the background reaches a crescendo. “Just a sec.” A door slams, and the screaming disappears.

  “Sorry about that,” Josie says. “It’s dinner time, and things get a bit crazy here.”

  I cradle the phone next to my ear, trying to imagine Marge living in a room full of other big, fluffy white birds, some who may or may not have a taste for blood. “Do you have a lot of other birds?”

  She laughs wearily. “It sounds like it, doesn’t it? I only have five, Lucy, Mango, Angel, Dave, and Ricky.”

  “Are they all cockatoos?” My ears start ringing just being in the same room as Marge when she’s on a bender, let alone five of her.

  “Yes. They’re actually one of the most surrendered species of parrots. Lucy, Mango, Dave, and Ricky are umbrella cockatoos, and Angel is a Moluccan. Can you tell me a bit about your bird?”

  “Sure.” I’m not sure how to say this without scaring her away. “I didn’t know Marge was here when I came to take care of the store for my friends. She’s... protective of her territory, and she’s very specific about who she likes.” If she wants to meet Marge, then I’ll give her the whole story. Who knows, they might fall madly in love and the occasional psychotic outburst might not matter. Stranger things have happened.

  “Does she pluck her feathers or self-mutilate?”

  I eye the sleeping bird. “No. She’s loud, but I’m guessing all cockatoos are like that.”

  The woman chuckles. “It’s part of their nature. Any aggression issues? Other bad habits?”

  “Only when someone comes near her tree stand. Oh, and she’ll toss her dish when she wants food.”

  A pause. “Does she have a cage?”

  “No.” Even as a kid, I don’t remember Marge ever being in a cage. “She’s always been on the tree stand.”

  “Really? And she doesn’t destroy anything?”

  Only me. “No. As long as you give her space, she’s good.”

  “Huh. Is there anyone in the family who might want her? It’s usually best for birds to stay in their families, especially if they’re older and more settled.”

  “Well, no. I don’t think so. I’ve talked to them, and they don’t feel like they can take care of her.” Now I feel guilty, like I should be keeping Marge. But no, taking care of the bird was never in my plans, nor do I have a stable enough life to give her a good home.

  Silence. “Okay. I’m about half an hour away, but I’ll check my schedule and see when I can come over and meet her. I’m not sure I can take her right away, but if I can get to know her, it’ll help me place her when a spot becomes available.”

  My stomach lurches. That’s it. I’m going to be stuck here forever. I can’t list the shop if I still have Marge, and this woman can’t take the bird until she has room. I mean, it makes sense. I imagine there aren’t a ton of people who want to keep these exotic pets, and there probably aren’t a lot of rescuers. I can’t get angry at Josie. It’s not her fault.

  “Okay, thanks. I was hoping only to be here for a few more days, but I understand.”

  Josie asks for my address and as much information as I can provide, which I give her, such as how much Marge doted on my aunt, and how much she truly loved the bird. Their bond was special, and Marge didn’t like sharing her with anyone.

  “That’s pretty typical,” Josie says. “And we see it a lot with birds who have spent many years in one home. They bond so strongly with one person or family that the transition is difficult. That may be why you’re seeing more negative behaviors than you were before.” Since I don’t have a before to compare Marge’s behavior to, at least not from recent years, I can only assume she’s either grieving or she’s become more of an asshole in her old age. Seems about fifty-fifty to me.

  After we hang up, I finish sorting through and boxing up the office before ordering pizza. Marge eyes the box as soon as the pizza guy steps tentatively through the door, so I make sure to cut her up a slice after blotting the grease. She picks up a piece in her claw and plucks off a chunk of green pepper.

  “What do you think? Do you want to go live with Josie? She’s got other parrots you can live with. You can have friends.”

  Marge picks up a piece of pepperoni and flicks it at me.

  “Not a fan, eh? Let’s just meet her. I bet you’ll like her.”

  The bird glares at me.

  I sigh. “Yeah, I know. It’ll be okay.” I hope.

  Chapter 10

  I can’t sleep again and toss and turn all night until I give up at around five thirty and turn on the coffee pot. As it’s brewing, I jump in the shower then get dressed. I might as well get some work done so I’m ready to list this place when Marge finds a home.

  “Willa, are you in there?” a familiar reedy voice calls from the back door.

  I nearly jump out of my skin and spin around only to find Mumu Kathy peering inside, a key ring jangling in her hand.

  “Oh God, Kathy. Sorry, you just startled me.” I press a hand to my chest, feeling my heart racing inside.

  “I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t mean to scare you.” She steps inside, craning her neck in the shadows to see if the door between the two halves of the building is shut. “I saw your lights on from across the alley and thought I’d drop these off so you can enjoy them while they’re still hot. I also wanted to make sure you were all right, after, well, after what happened.” She lifts a covered plate that smells suspiciously like cookies. “I was going to send Harold over the other night, but we thought you’d be so exhausted that we’d leave you to rest.”

  Yes, rest. That’s what I’ve been doing.

  “Oh. Yeah, I’m fine.” It’s so sweet of her to check in on me. “You really didn’t have to do that.” I take the plate and smile at her, my mouth watering as the chocolatey scent surrounds me.

  “Are you sure? I mean, seeing all of that must have been a terrible fright.” With her hands free, she waves out the back door.

  “It was, and I hope Dorothy is all right too. She saw it first, and—”

  “Dorothy is here?” Kathy glances around me, looking for the realtor.

  Does she think Dorothy lives here? “Um, Dorothy isn’t here. I haven’t seen her since... well, since the other day when we found that poor woman.”

  Kathy tilts her head to the side, her tight, bright-pink curls following her every move. “What do you mean? Dorothy has to be here if you said she saw what happened outside. Are you planning on calling the police?”

  A shiver of unease trails down my spine. “What are you talking about?”

  Kathy’s hand flies up to her mouth. “Oh my, you don’t know, do you?”

  I shake my head. “What’s outside?” I start to push past her, but she holds out her hand to stop me.

  “Maybe you should stay inside,” she says. “Let me call the police. They’ll deal with this unfortunate business.”

  “Let me go,” I say, brushing past her after she drops her hand. She starts to protest again, but I ignore her.

  Out the back door, the early-morning sun lights up the narrow alley and the small parking area behind my shop. My first glance goes to the new dumpster, since the cops removed the old one to look for evidence inside, but luckily, there aren’t any surprises there.

  Of course not. If there were, don’t you think Kathy would have called the cops herself before coming in to drop off her cookies?

  And then I see it—my beloved car, splashed with bright red glistening paint. Paint like fresh blood liberally coats the sides, the roof, and the back, dripping onto the windshield and covering the side windows. And on the hood, in thick black spray paint, are the words, “Your next!!!”

  “Damn it,” I mutter as Kathy appears behind me. Fear wars with annoyance inside me. I dealt with worse after the fire, but this is
still a pain in the butt. You can handle it. You’ve survived worse than idle threats and bogeymen trying to break in. Right. I’ve got this.

  “Are you okay?” She glances from me to the car.

  My mind whirls. This is going to cost a fortune to get repainted. “No, I’m not all right.”

  Kathy reaches for me, but I brush her off. I don’t have time to deal with visions right now, as sporadic as they are. “You must be terrified to have someone threatening you like that. I’d be scared to stay alone if I were you.”

  I give the car another scathing look. “No, I’m not scared. I’m pissed. Not only can I not afford to get the darn thing repainted, but now I have to drive around with ‘your next’ spray-painted across the hood like a giant billboard for bad grammar. At least if you’re going to threaten me, do it right.” The things people used to say in Oregon were far, far worse. This is child’s play compared to that.

  She blinks, mouth agape.

  Whatever. I stomp back into the apartment and grab my phone. Before I dial the now all-too-familiar number for Tranquility Falls PD, I look at the time. It’s only 6:21 in the morning, and my day is already officially ruined.

  “Hi, is Detective Landry there? It’s me, Willa Thompson, again.”

  He’s not there, but the dispatcher sends me to another cop, who comes out to see the vandalism and write a report.

  After he leaves, I try to call Dorothy Dane, since I’m already up and I bet she is too. I might as well get something done. There’s no answer, which annoys me even further. I know she has a job to do, but I have a life—well, sort of—and I want to get out of here and figure out what it looks like. Being stuck here in perpetuity isn’t my idea of a good time. Having failed at reaching her, I call a couple of auto body shops to at least get a quote to scrape the paint off of my windshield. I can’t even afford that much.

  Even more annoyed, I bring my cup of coffee outside and glare at my car. The back door to Nick’s shop opens, and he saunters out. The sunlight glistens off of his skin and emphasizes the broad width of his back and the strength in his arms.