The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

died in his sleep, or just had an accident.”
    Jamie woke up enough to release his grip, fussed a little, and dozed off again.
    “Speaking of the chief,” I said. “He’d like you to go down and wait in the kitchen with Dad and Rob and Deputy Sammy.”
    Clarence nodded.
    I eased Jamie into his crib.
    “If you could stop by the living room on your way and make sure all the animals are secured, I’d appreciate it,” I said to Clarence. “I’d really like them out in the barn, but just having them caged or crated would do for now.”
    He nodded again and went downstairs.
    “All the animals?” Michael said, opening one eye. “You mean there really is a herd of animals downstairs?”
    “You couldn’t hear them?”
    “I was hoping maybe it was your grandfather watching some kind of animal video on the big-screen TV with the sound cranked up. How many dogs and cats?”
    “I didn’t count.”
    He winced.
    “Only half a dozen guinea pigs and hamsters, though,” I said. “And only one macaw.”
    “What did they do—rob a pet store?”
    “Not a bad guess.” I explained about the animal shelter.
    He shook his head.
    “I don’t like the change in policy, either, but aren’t they overreacting a little?” he said. “They couldn’t just picket the place?”
    I shrugged. It was too late—or maybe too early—to get into a discussion about why my relatives did what they did.
    “Well, I don’t want to kick the animals out if there’s no place else for them tonight, but we can’t keep them here indefinitely,” he said. “Not even out in our barn. You’re going to want to get back to your blacksmithing eventually.”
    “I already want to get back to it,” I said. “But I think it will still be a while before I have the time. And—”
    I interrupted myself with a gigantic yawn.
    “Go to bed,” he said. “That’s what I plan to do when I finish feeding Josh. If the animals aren’t in the barn by breakfast time, I’ll lay down the law to everyone. Meanwhile, let’s both get some sleep.”
    “I will,” I said. “As soon as I pump some more milk for the boys’ next meal.”
    Unfortunately, by the time I finished that, Jamie was hungry again. And by the time I’d fed him, I was wide awake. Dog-tired, but wide awake.
    It was 5:00 A.M. The smart thing to do would be to lie down, and rest even if I couldn’t sleep.
    Instead, I went downstairs to see what was happening.

Chapter 3
    Dad, Clarence, and my cousin Rose Noire were in the living room, tending animals. Grandfather and the Afghan hound were sitting on the sofa, supervising. The others were sitting on the rug, either because their tasks required it or because all the chairs were already occupied by sleeping dogs and cats. No one appeared to have made much headway toward moving the animals to the barn.
    Why wasn’t Dad racing to the scene of the crime? He was an avid mystery buff with a two-book-a-day crime novel habit. Normally he’d be driving the chief crazy, trying to get involved in the investigation, instead of peacefully tending animals.
    Maybe having someone he knew and liked as the victim made it more real and a lot less fun.
    “How’s it going?” I was leaning against the archway to the front hall, hoping to signal that I wasn’t staying long enough to help.
    “The chief should be finished questioning Rob soon,” Dad said. “Come on, Tinkerbell.” Tinkerbell? He was attaching a leash to the largest of the dogs. An Irish wolfhound, from the look of it. Was Dad taking it out for a walk or going for a ride? Both seemed possible. I winced as Tinkerbell’s unclipped nails clicked on the oak floor on their way down the hallway to the kitchen. I loved the redecorating Mother had done for us, especially the living room and hall, which were filled with Arts and Crafts–style oak furniture, oriental rugs on the newly polished oak floors, and upholstery in a beautiful shade of turquoise that Mother insisted on calling cerulean. But if I was going to flinch every time a child or an animal threatened to mar the perfection of our decor, maybe we should have waited.
    Or maybe having the animals here—briefly—would be a good thing. Maybe we’d feel better when we got the first nicks and stains over with. Like getting past the first scratch on a new car.
    Of course, there was a difference between getting a scratch on your new car and driving it through a barbed-wire fence into a bramble bush.
    “I’ve checked out all the