The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

believed, much less saw as significant.
    “Someone moved this,” I said, pointing to a small wooden tray about four inches square that was one of the half-dozen items neatly arranged atop Parker’s dresser.
    “It wasn’t on the dresser when you first came in?”
    “It was on the dresser, but square with the edges,” I said. “This is askew.”
    He looked up from his notebook and peered over his glasses at me.
    “I’m serious,” I said. “Everything is organized. The books are alphabetical. The Hawaiian shirts are arranged by color. The beers and sodas in the refrigerators are lined up by brand like soldiers on parade. The few prints on the wall are framed identically and they’re all precisely the same size and the same distance from the ceiling. By the time I peeked in here, I was expecting patterns. So I noticed that the book on his nightstand, and that little square wooden thing were both perfectly aligned with the edges of the furniture they were on. He was maybe a little OCD. I could relate.”
    He nodded.
    “And I could have sworn it had more earrings in it when I came in.”
    He paused and looked up from his notebook with a wary look on his face.
    “Earrings?”
    “He wore an earring, you know,” I said. “And I guess he dropped them in that little tray when he wasn’t wearing them. I have something similar on my dresser. Mine’s an antique satin glass box Rose Noire gave me a few birthdays ago, but it serves the same purpose.”
    “His earrings.” The chief’s voice was flat, and he was staring at me. “Been talking to your father lately?”
    “I talk to him often,” I said, but I could tell right away that my innocent act wasn’t fooling him. “I figured out from something he let slip that Parker’s earring is a clue of some sort, if that’s what you mean, but I haven’t told anyone.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “One of the ambulance crew who took the body to the hospital spilled the beans before I could warn him off. Apparently the Clarion has picked up that tidbit, so the twelve or thirteen people in the county who haven’t already heard about it will know by Monday.”
    “I’m sorry,” I said. “It could have been useful. Speaking of useful—I took a copy of this for the Corsicans.”
    I handed him the second copy of the list of people who were to have received the animals.
    “Ah,” he said. “Thank you. Mr. Blair had a folded document in his pocket that’s rather too stained to be easily readable. But this appears to be a clean copy.”
    “I figured it could be useful,” I said. “Of course, I suppose it’s a long shot that any of them are strong suspects.”
    “Yes,” the chief said, as he studied the document. “If they didn’t want to be saddled with a litter of puppies, they could just say no.”
    “I found something else that might have something to do with the murder,” I said.
    I led him to Parker’s office, opened up the file cabinet, and handed him the file containing the contract and the article.
    He began reading, or at least skimming. After a minute or so, he looked up at me.
    “So Randall wasn’t just having another attack of anti-Pruitt paranoia? There really is something to this mortgaging the town thing?”
    “It looks that way,”
    “Lord help us,” he muttered. “I was hoping it was all a mix-up. Judge Shiffley’s family are all downtown emptying the courthouse and hauling everything out to her farm, while she’s up in the mayor’s office, yelling to beat the band. I’m starting to wonder if I should send a swat team up there to pull him out before she hauls off and kills him.”
    “Can’t you hold off till she hurts him a little?” I asked.
    He smiled faintly.
    “I should get back and figure out what’s going on,” he said. “See if I’m going to have a police station to finish this case in or if I’m going to be working out of someone’s barn like Judge Shiffley.”
    When I got out to my car, I took a deep breath and tried calling Michael.
    “Hey,” he answered the phone. “Where did you put the llamas?”
    “Our llamas?” I asked.
    “Of course, our llamas. Why—were there any llamas at the shelter?”
    His voice had taken on an acquisitive tone that worried me. Weren’t four llamas enough?
    “No, and the last time I saw our llamas, they were down by the fence, spitting at some trespassers, with my blessing.”
    I explained, as briefly as I could, about the surveyors.
    “Do you suppose