The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

care service?” I asked. “Instead of asking the plants’ hosts to care for them?”
    “Some of our garden club ladies have only the vaguest notion of how to tend houseplants adequately,” she said, with a tiny shake of her head. “And besides, the county plant care contract is a substantial part of Leah Shiffley’s income—we don’t want to drive her out of business while this whole thing plays out.”
    “And just how long do we think it will take the whole thing to play out?” I asked. “Has anyone talked to Festus today?”
    “No, but he was singing in the shower when I left,” Rob said.
    “Of course he’s singing,” I said. “He’s got a potentially lucrative new case. What I want to know is if we should be singing.”
    “Festus likes money, but he hates losing more,” Mother said. “If he’s cheerful, that means the prospects are good. On a happier note, Randall Shiffley’s coming over today to start on your library shelves.”
    “So much for catching up on my sleep.” The thought triggered a huge yawn.
    “I told him he wasn’t to make so much as a peep until afternoon,” Mother said.
    “And I won’t.” Randall had followed her into the kitchen. “I’ve got plenty of measuring to do before we start sawing and hammering. And I need to bring over some boxes for the stuff you two have in the room.”
    “I’m not sure I’m up to packing today,” I said.
    “’Course you’re not,” he said. “The Shiffley moving company’s doing all that. Free, on account of your valiant service to the county. Which reminds me. Here.”
    He put a clipboard atop my plate. I peered down at the paper it contained.
    “The petition to recall Mayor Pruitt?” I asked. He nodded, and I signed with a flourish. “Long overdue, if you ask me. How many more signatures do you need?”
    “Got more than enough,” Randall said as he retrieved the clipboard. “But somehow we missed getting your John Hancock yesterday, and I thought maybe you’d like to be in on it.”
    “Absolutely,” I said. “Any idea who’ll be running to replace him?”
    “I just might,” Randall said.
    “You live outside the town limits,” I said.
    “He could move into town,” Clarence said.
    “Fat chance finding a place,” I said. “Do you know how tight the real-estate market is?”
    “I do,” Clarence said. “And as a responsible executor, I consider it my duty to see that Randall pays full market price when he buys Parker’s house from the estate.”
    Of course, Randall could have a tough, uphill battle. Getting enough signatures on the recall petition today didn’t mean Mayor Pruitt was out. And the Pruitts would fight back tooth and nail.
    Still, the very notion of a Shiffley replacing a Pruitt as the mayor of Caerphilly made me chuckle.
    “Ah!” Mother exclaimed. “There they are!”
    I turned to see Michael and Rose Noire strolling in, each carrying a twin.
    “Aren’t they adorable?” Mother cooed. She held out her arms for Jamie, who actually was looking adorable at the moment. Josh was beet-red and howling like a banshee.
    “Sorry,” Michael said. He was bouncing Josh just the way he liked to be bounced, to no avail. “He’s been cranky all morning.”
    “I know how he feels,” I said.
    “You want me to examine him?” Dad asked.
    “He probably just misses his mother,” Rose Noire said.
    “His mother misses him, even if he is being a pill,” I said, holding out my arms.
    To my astonishment, a couple of seconds after I propped Josh on my shoulder, he stopped crying, hiccupped a few times, and fell asleep.
    “See?” Rose Noire said. “He only wanted his mother.”
    “Coincidence,” I said.
    Just then Timmy burst into the room.
    “Aunt Meg!” he shouted. “Clarence says I can keep her if Mommy says okay! Can you call and ask her?”
    Keep her? I peered over to see which of our four-legged residents had captured Timmy’s heart.
    Tinkerbell the wolfhound. Of course. A dilemma. On the one hand, it might be a satisfying payback, returning Timmy with a pet wolfhound in tow. On the other hand, who knew how long he and any pet he adopted would be staying with us.
    “I have no idea what your mother will say, but I’ll ask her,” I said finally.
    “Yay!” Timmy seemed to think that Tinkerbell’s fate had been happily settled. He sat down at the table and looked up expectantly. Tinkerbell settled down at Timmy’s feet, no doubt hoping for a few table scraps.
    “Pancakes,