The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

asked that they put every new pet owner on notice that they were responsible for producing the animals if they were needed as evidence,” the chief put in. I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not.
    “Over half of them out of our hair,” Grandfather said, with satisfaction. Although he was committed in theory to the welfare of animals of every kind, he tended to be bored rather quickly with individual animals unless they were either dangerous or endangered—preferably both.
    “We had a lot of them spoken for already, yesterday or earlier today,” Clarence said. “Some of those people took them home tonight, after the chief gave his okay, and a lot more people just adopted on the spot. All of them people I’m well acquainted with, naturally—anyone I can’t vouch for has to go through the usual investigation. And when you add in the people from that file you gave me—the people Parker was going to meet to hand over the animals—we’ve got about three-quarters of them placed.”
    “Of course, the ones left over are going to be the hardest,” Grandfather said. “But we’ll manage somehow. We’d better—looks as if we’ll have plenty of other work to do.” He gestured toward the stage, where the Fight or Flight Committee was starting to assemble.
    “Ironic, isn’t it?” I asked.
    “What do you mean?” Grandfather was frowning suspiciously. I had the feeling he didn’t like irony very much unless he was the one wielding it.
    “If the committee does decide in favor of evacuation, there’s one county agency that won’t have a very big moving job, thanks to CORSICA,” I said. “You won’t see the animal shelter staff scrounging for a new location.”
    “That’s because the mayor fired all the staff,” Grandfather said.
    “No, they quit,” I said. “So isn’t it lucky for the mayor you took all the animals away? Otherwise they’d have to figure out what to do with all those animals cluttering up one of the buildings they’re seizing.”
    “Hmph.” Grandfather glowered at me and stormed out.
    “I plan to take care of moving the shelter equipment,” Clarence said.
    “I plan to get some sleep,” I said.
    I decided to check my office to see if Rose Noire was there so I could ask her to lock up the barn after everyone left.
    I opened the door and found Caroline and Rose Noire standing on either side of a sobbing Corsican. I recognized her. The weepier of Parker’s two known girlfriends. Louise; that was her name.
    “Sorry to interrupt,” I said, and backed toward the door.

Chapter 15
    “No, come in, please,” Caroline said. “You might be able to help.”
    And I might not want to help, I found myself thinking. But Caroline appeared uncharacteristically agitated, and even Rose Noire looked at me pleadingly—Rose Noire who normally basked at the chance of comforting someone else and was always urging us not to hold in our grief.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked, closing the door behind me.
    As if in answer, Louise held out a damp, crumpled wad of paper. After blinking at it for a few moments I realized it was office paper, not tissue, so I reached out to take it from her.
    It was a copy of the first page of the infamous contract. Third- or fourth-generation photocopy, by the looks of it. The thing was really making the rounds.
    But however maddening I might find the existence of the contract, I wasn’t quite sure why it should produce such buckets of tears. I glanced up at Rose Noire. She shrugged and shook her head slightly. Caroline threw up her hands and grimaced.
    “There, there.” Rose Noire handed Louise another handful of tissues and patted her shoulder comfortingly.
    Caroline began edging sideways, as if planning to make a break for the door.
    I wondered if I should suggest bringing Louise a kitten to feed. It seemed to have worked well before. Of course, they’d probably already thought of that, and perhaps all the kittens had been adopted by this time.
    I took a deep breath and reminded myself to use my gentlest tone—the one I’d use if Timmy were agitated.
    “Why does this upset you so much?” I asked.
    “Because this proves it,” she moaned.
    “There, there,” Rose Noire said, patting diligently.
    “Proves what?”
    “He didn’t really care about me at all,” she sobbed. “He was just using me to get that.”
    She pointed at the wad of paper in my hands and collapsed onto Rose Noire’s waiting shoulder. Rose Noire patted and there-there’d with