The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

around, is there?”
    “Won’t that depend on Parker’s family?”
    “He doesn’t have any.” Clarence shook his head as if the lack of family to bury him was as much a tragedy as Parker’s death. “And I’m his executor, so I guess it’s up to me, and I say the sooner the better. The longer we leave him unburied, the more time people have to gawk and gossip.”
    I wasn’t sure about the gawking part, which made it sound as if Parker’s unburied body would be on display in the town square instead of safely ensconced at Morton’s Funeral Home. And if he thought burying Parker would cut off the gossip, he was more naïve than I thought.
    But I guessed from the uncharacteristic frown on his face that the weight of his executor’s responsibilities weighed heavily on him.
    “So you need to go clothes shopping,” I said. “Does it have to be right now?”
    “I don’t mean for me,” Clarence said. “I have a dark suit. Or I could wear my uniform.”
    “Uniform?” I was eyeing the battered biking leathers that were his usual daily wear. I couldn’t remember seeing him in anything else. Was that what he meant by a uniform? If so, I hoped he had a newer set at home that he kept for funerals. One that hadn’t yet encountered quite so many sick cats, piddling puppies, and incontinent macaws.
    “I was a Marine, you know,” Clarence said, drawing himself up to his full six feet six. “I could wear my dress blues. Out of respect. Of course it’s been a few years since I’ve had them on.”
    More like twenty years, I suspected. He was eyeing his belly dubiously. I had a feeling it wasn’t the years so much as the beers, along with quite a few pizzas, that might prevent him from squeezing into the uniform.
    “But I can worry about that later,” he went on. “What I meant is that I just got another call from Maudie down at the funeral home.”
    “Ah,” I said. Clarence’s curious haste to select Parker’s burial clothes suddenly became more understandable. “She’s fretting?”
    “I told her the funeral can’t be for a few days, but she keeps saying we need to settle what they’re going to put him in for the services.”
    “You know Maudie,” I said. “Only woman in town who finishes her Christmas shopping by Valentine’s Day.”
    “I think she wraps it up by Twelfth Night,” Clarence said. “So I went over this morning after the chief released the house and took Maudie some of Parker’s clothes, but she says they won’t do and she wants something else.”
    “What did you take?” I asked.
    “Some new jeans, and a nice Hawaiian shirt,” he said.
    “I can see Maudie’s point,” I said. “You can’t have Parker wearing a Hawaiian shirt and blue jeans to his own funeral.”
    “I don’t see why not,” Clarence said. “I can’t remember Parker wearing anything else the whole time I knew him.”
    “Not suitable,” I said. Perhaps I should bring up the closed-casket idea. Although that probably wouldn’t placate Maudie, who fretted horribly if she had to send any of her customers to their reward in less than perfect fashion.
    “I picked the most somber Hawaiian shirt in his closet,” Clarence said. “Black and white flowers. And black jeans.”
    I shook my head and frowned at him. I was struggling not to laugh, imagining how Maudie Morton had reacted at being handed a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of jeans to put on one of her charges.
    “It’s just not done,” I said.
    “So Maudie tells me,” Clarence said, with a sigh. “Which means someone has to drop everything to go over there and get a suit, if he has one. Or figure out what size he wears so we can borrow one.”
    “Borrow?” I said. “You think he’s coming back to return it?”
    “Buy, then,” Clarence said. “Anyway, it looks as if I’m the one who has to take care of all that. So could you make sure the beagle puppies get their next feeding? And I need for you to pill a couple of the cats. And—”
    “You take care of the animals.” I held out my hand. “Give me the key and I’ll work on Parker’s funeral clothes.”
    “Are you sure?” He sounded uncertain, but I saw he was already fumbling in his pockets, presumably for Parker’s key.
    “Do you really want to face Maudie if you show up with another unsuitable outfit?” I countered. “I probably have a lot better chance of picking out something she’ll approve of.”
    “Thanks.” He plucked out an enormous key ring, fumbled with it for a