The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

they could have left the gate open?” Michael said. “Accidentally, if they were a little spooked by the llamas?”
    “Or on purpose, just as likely. Yes, and I’ll hurry home to look for the llamas.” I figured an account of my afternoon’s adventures could wait until the llamas were safe and I had his full attention.
    And of course my cell phone rang when I was halfway home. Normally I just let it ring while I’m driving, but when I saw Cousin Festus’s name on the caller ID, I pulled over into a neighbor’s driveway and answered it.
    “Is this what I think it is?” he exclaimed.
    “If you think it’s the smoking gun that might finally convince the town voters that Mayor Pruitt is a sleazy crook, then yes,” I said.
    One of the neighbor’s horses ambled nearer and was stretching his neck over the fence, hoping for a treat.
    “Where did you find this?” Festus asked.
    “In the files of a guy who might have been murdered because of it,” I said. I turned my back to the horses so they wouldn’t get their hopes up.
    “Do you have the originals?”
    “No, the chief of police has the originals.” I glanced over my shoulder. Now all three of the neighbors’ horses were staring at me expectantly. I felt vaguely guilty. “I have a very clean photocopy. Shall I fax it to you?”
    “No, just hold on to it for now,” he said. “I’m not going to wait till tomorrow—I’ll be down there in a couple of hours. This is fabulous! You just made my day.”
    “I’m happy that you’re happy,” I said. “See you later.”
    I waved at the horses and pulled out of the driveway. I was feeling happier myself. I had hated the idea that Parker might have been killed because of his involvement in the animal rescue mission. The notion that one of his ex-girlfriends had done him in was not an improvement, since it threatened to make CORSICA look less like a legitimate animal welfare organization and more like one of the steamier soap operas. I could imagine the hatchet job the media would do on it.
    But if Parker had been killed because of his plans to become a whistle-blower, then his death seemed at once more heroic and more solvable. There were a limited number of people who had a vested interest in hiding the scam that the mayor was pulling, and most of them were far too stupid to be successful at concealing a murder.
    It was nearly suppertime by the time I got back to our house. I noticed that the number of cars outside had increased. The backyard was abuzz with energy. Good; the Corsicans weren’t deserting their posts, just getting off to a slow start.
    Mother was in the side yard, ordering Rob and Rose Noire about. They appeared to be measuring various bits of the lawn and garden so I deduced that the redecoration of the great outdoors was underway. By the time Mother was through, no one would be able to claim our property was blighted. We’d probably have trouble fending off requests from the Garden Club to open the place for their spring tours. And Rob should be grateful. Normally Mother’s tape measure marathons were followed by orgies of furniture moving, but even Mother couldn’t expect anyone to dig up and replant the trees and shrubs “just to see how they’d look in a different arrangement.”
    I grabbed my tote and the hangers with Parker’s clothes and headed for the barn. Half a dozen people called out my name when I entered, but I waved at them and proceeded undeterred to my office.
    Clarence was sitting at my computer, pecking away at something. He leaped up when I came in.
    “I just wanted to type something up,” he said.
    “Type away. Here.” I handed him the hangers.
    “Wow.” He turned the suit and shirts from side to side and examined them with a faint frown, as if inspecting the strange and slightly unseemly native garb of an extinct tribe. “Nobody will recognize him in this.”
    “I’d have dropped them off with Maudie, but I ran out of time,” I said. “I forgot to get a tie, by the way, but I expect you can supply one.”
    “I’ll put these in my truck.”
    While Clarence was loading the clothes, I went over to my own printer/copier. By the time he returned, I’d finished making several copies of the contract and Parker’s article.
    “Here.” I handed him one set. “Just in case you were wondering, Randall was right. Parker was definitely on to something. I’ll leave it to the chief to figure out if this was why he was murdered.”
    Clarence blinked, and