The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

Damn! I need my video camera for this.”
    He shook his head as he went back into my office. Clearly the late Parker’s romantic triumphs had earned Rob’s respect—and possibility his resentment. I continued to watch Vivian and Louise.
    They had completely opposite notions of how to carry off their self-appointed roles of chief mourner.
    Vivian was dressed entirely in black and gray, and her tailored black wool pants were certainly not what I would have put on for tending dozens of animals. She was impeccably groomed and made-up. She strode about with her head held bravely high, looking quite dignified when she wasn’t tripping over the furniture or the animals. Occasionally she would sweep up one of the animals, sigh, and clutch it to her chest, as if its presence brought back bittersweet memories of Parker. The abundance of animal hair of every conceivable color on her black mohair sweater seemed to indicate she’d been clutching quite a lot of animals. But clearly not a single tear was going to be allowed to sully the perfection of her makeup. I hadn’t yet spotted her doing anything useful, like feeding, walking, or cleaning up after the animals, but perhaps making the animals feel wanted was also an important task.
    I liked Louise’s style better. She was wearing ragged jeans and a faded sweatshirt, and didn’t appear to have combed her hair before she came over. She was a lot more efficient with the animals in spite of the fact that tears were running down her cheeks all the while. Never more than one or two tears at a time, which gave the impression that instead of actively sobbing she was bravely holding her sorrow in check, making what we saw merely the accidental spillover from a vast reservoir of tears. It certainly made you want to avoid upsetting her.
    Which was probably why she was doing one of the prime jobs: feeding baby animals. She looked like a modern-day Pietà, bending dolefully over each kitten or puppy in her lap. Some of the other Corsicans watched over her and kept her supplied with baby animals to feed. I hoped they had a plan for what to do with her when all the baby animals were full. Or were there enough puppies and kittens that the first ones would be hungry again by the time she finished with the last? Looking around, I didn’t discount the possibility.
    What worried me was the fact that neither Vivian nor Louise seemed to take the slightest notice of what the other was doing. Were both aware of having a rival and studiously ignoring her? Or was some kind of confrontation brewing? I hoped not. Or if it was, I hoped I could be far, far away when it happened.
    Rob, on the other hand, appeared eager to capture any fireworks on the little pocket video camera he’d gotten for Christmas. He moved among the volunteers, ostensibly filming them all, but he seemed to pay particular attention to Vivian and Louise.
    Or maybe just Vivian. Was he interested in her as a woman, or only as the most likely source of drama that he could film? I could probably figure it out if I stayed around a little while. But if Rob was trying to capture Vivian on the rebound, I’d find out soon enough.
    I decided it was high time I checked on the boys. Or at least used them as an excuse to get away from the barn, where any minute now someone might suggest that I use my newfound maternal skills on an orphaned beagle. I waved farewell to the Corsicans and headed back to the house, where I ran into the chief packing up to leave.
    “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said, as courteously as if I’d served him a gourmet dinner instead of merely staying out of his way while he interviewed a few witnesses.
    “You’re welcome,” I said. “I hope the investigation goes well.”
    He peered at me over his glasses for a few moments, frowning slightly.
    “Something wrong?” I asked.
    “Get some rest, Meg,” he said. “You look done in.”
    I nodded. He frowned at me for a few more moments, then shook his head, as if doubting I’d follow his advice, wished me a good morning, and left.
    Perhaps I should have reassured him that I had every intention of following his advice.
    I detoured through the kitchen and stayed long enough to restore it to some semblance of order. Rob had accused me of becoming a neatnik since the babies were born, which was ridiculous. If anything my housekeeping standards had plummeted. But I’d also quickly learned that it was much easier to keep up than to catch up . The dirty