The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

He could stand to lose five or ten pounds, but that put him way ahead of most people in their late thirties. Not my type, but I could understand someone finding him attractive. Just not quite so many someones—that was what puzzled me. He must have been a real charmer in person.
    I made sure I had a decent copy of all the pages of the contract and the article and stuffed them into my tote. While I was at it, I made two copies of the animal rescue information. Then I returned his original files to the file cabinet.
    As I was returning the “Animal Rescue” file to its hanging folder, a thought struck me. I went to the other end of the alphabet and found Parker’s will. It was brief and to the point, leaving his entire estate to several animal welfare organizations. It didn’t shed any light on his murder, but at least Clarence’s job as executor would probably be relatively easy.
    I realized that I’d been poking around Parker’s house for some time and still hadn’t completed my commission for Clarence. I moved on to the back bedroom, where Parker slept. The bed was a full bed with a vintage headboard that matched the bureau and dresser. Not a king-sized bed with satin sheets or whatever was considered the height of bachelor decor these days. The tops of the dresser and the bureau were almost bare, and the drawers were impeccably organized and not overfull.
    Not at all the stereotypical playboy lair I’d been expecting. I apologized silently to Parker and opened the closet.
    Where I quickly realized that Clarence was right about one thing. The black-and-white Hawaiian shirt probably was the closest thing in Parker’s wardrobe to a somber funeral suit. He had loads of T-shirts, many of them for animal welfare organizations or liberal causes. He had enough jeans to outfit a regiment. The dozen or so brightly colored Hawaiian shirts were clearly a central piece of his wardrobe.
    I found two sports jackets, neither of them suitable. One was pale blue seersucker that probably hadn’t been all that presentable thirty or forty years ago when it was new. The other was a threadbare brown wool jacket that appeared to have had several dozen holes gnawed in it, ranging from pencil eraser up to golf-ball size. Moths or teething puppies? Possibly a little of both. I had the feeling he kept these jackets, along with the two astoundingly ugly ties slung over a hook on the back of his closet door, so when he went someplace that required a coat and tie he could comply while making the rule-makers feel very, very sorry they’d insisted.
    Nothing here to gladden Maudie Morton’s heart. I pulled out my notebook and began jotting down Parker’s shirt, coat, and pants sizes.
    Then an idea struck me. Clearly Parker had no use for coats and ties in his current life, but had that always been the case?
    Back to the files. In a section labeled “Employment Records” I found a neat, chronological list of the jobs he’d held between his graduation from college and five years ago, when he’d inherited the furniture store from his aunt. Most of them were office jobs, in sales or marketing. He’d have had to wear a suit for those. But had he ditched the business clothes when he came into his inheritance?
    I continued poking through the files until I came across a section I thought I remembered spotting—one marked “Household Inventory.” The first folder in the section, marked “Attic,” contained a three-page list of boxes and items he’d stored there.
    I ran my fingers down the list. Business records. Camping gear. Christmas decorations. All neatly listed in alphabetical order, with notations like “A5” or “F1” that corresponded to the markings on a neat floor plan of the attic.
    Strange. I didn’t often meet people who made me feel unorganized. I was liking Parker more and more. If I’d gotten to know him, would I have seen past his rather louche exterior to the man who nurtured kittens and kept a perfect filing system?
    I continued down the list. Aha. “Clothing, Business.” According to this list, he had a garment bag containing business clothing in section F8, which would be the far corner, ahead and to my right after I climbed the attic stairs, which looked to be in the middle of the attic. Which probably meant …
    Yes, back out in the hallway I looked up and saw a trapdoor in the ceiling, with a hanging cord that indicated that there was probably a set of pull-down stairs.
    The ceilings were ten feet