The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

were, too. But we weren’t, so I don’t have an alibi for all of that time.”
    “And neither does Clarence,” I pointed out. “And I expect nine thirty to ten thirty won’t be the critical part of the alibi. After all, Parker was supposed to meet you at midnight, maybe a quarter hour’s drive away. Why would he go to his truck before eleven thirty or so?”
    “You’re right!” Relief washed over Rob’s face. “So I don’t have to tell the chief!”
    “No, you should still tell the chief,” I said. “He’s unlikely to suspect you, but the more he knows about what happened the night of the murder, the better his chance of solving it. While we’re on the subject of what happened that night, why the melodramatic midnight rendezvous at the graveyard?”
    “Parker said he couldn’t meet us any earlier,” Rob said. “And of course once we set the meeting for midnight, Dad insisted on the graveyard.”
    “Of course,” I said. “What I meant was, why the rendezvous in the first place? Why not just drive Parker’s truck up to the shelter and load the animals directly? Wouldn’t that have saved a lot of fuss and bother?”
    “Beats me,” Rob said, with his characteristic shrug. “Maybe everyone was afraid people would start to wonder if they saw that big furniture store truck backed up to the shelter loading dock.”
    “No, not a lot of fine furniture deliveries to the shelter,” I said. “Of course, there were a bunch of smaller trucks there.”
    “Two pickups and a van,” Rob said. “I bet every other vehicle in the county’s either a pickup or a van. Maybe Parker wanted a buffer between him and the actual burglary.”
    “Maybe,” I said. “Still—meeting at midnight to load the truck. Maybe you and Clarence are night owls, but it’s hard on Dad and Grandfather. Did he give a reason why he couldn’t meet you earlier?”
    “No.” Rob snickered slightly. “He was a little secretive about it. We all figured he had a date or something.”
    “A pity he was secretive,” I said. “If he’d boasted a bit, maybe you’d know who killed him.”
    Rob nodded.
    “So tell the chief,” I said.
    “Okay,” he said. “First chance I get.”
    He began loping off, half following Tinkerbell and half pulled by her.
    Should I tell the chief myself?
    Probably best to give Rob a few more hours.
    And what if I was wrong about when Parker went to his truck? What if the time of death fell within the window of time when neither Rob nor Clarence was alibied?
    No matter how unlikely I found the idea of either of them killing Parker, if their alibis failed, the chief would have to consider them suspects. The chief would know that Rob had been interested in a woman romantically involved with the victim—he’d have to wonder if the murder was the result of a lethal love triangle. And I had no idea what Clarence’s relationship with Parker had been.
    Damn.
    I looked around to see if I could spot any of the bison. No such luck. And even if I had spotted any, I wasn’t sure they’d work their usual magic on my mood.
    Though I did rejoice to see that the llamas had clustered by the fence and were spitting vigorously, using the surveyor’s SUV as their target. I made a mental note to reward them each with an apple or two for an evening snack.
    I called Cousin Festus’s cell phone number and left a message on his voice mail. Then I turned and strode back toward the house.

Chapter 10
    I was still fuming as I threaded my way through the sheds and the shrubbery that cluttered our yard.
    Chill, I told myself. I needed to find something to distract me until Cousin Festus called back. I made a quick stab at seeing the place through the surveyors’ eyes. The house, I decided, didn’t look bad. It was all the sheds, plus the general lack of anything even beginning to approach landscaping. All the more irritating that Randall Shiffley and his two workmen were busily making repairs on one of the largest and most ramshackle of the sheds. We were already having a hard time deciding if that particular shed should go or stay. Now we’d probably feel obliged to renovate it to go with the new roof. Far better to tear it down altogether. It blocked the best view. If it were out of the way I might occasionally catch a glimpse of the bison from the kitchen window. It was time to thin the shed herd.
    I spent the next hour cleaning as if spit and polish alone could save the house. By the time I had the nursery and