The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

matter, his whole office, wide open. I have no idea if the county board really did demand some kind of inspection of what he took—”
    “More likely he just wants to cause someone extra work,” the chief said.
    “But just in case, I figure no one would complain if you did the inspection and made sure anything valuable or confidential was secure.”
    “And snoop around while I’m there?”
    “If you don’t want to, tell me who else I should call,” I said. “I suppose your lack of interest means he isn’t on your suspect list.”
    There was a silence. I could hear something. Footsteps on a hard surface. Someone saying, “Hello, chief.” A truck engine roaring by. The chief was outdoors, apparently, and walking somewhere. It was probably a full thirty seconds before he spoke.
    “Unfortunately for Mr. Mann, he doesn’t have an alibi for the night of the murder. His wife was working at the hospital and he claims, not surprisingly, that he was home asleep in his bed.”
    “So he is a suspect.”
    “He hasn’t been ruled out,” the chief said. “As it happens, I’m already on my way to the town hall, so I’ll drop in while I’m there. Are you still in the county manager’s office?”
    “No, I’m right outside the door.”
    “Stay put.”
    With that he hung up.
    What did he mean by “stay put”? Was he merely ordering me to keep guard over the unlocked door? Or warning me not to go back into the office to snoop around?
    Probably both.
    I rolled the plant to the side, so someone getting off the elevator wouldn’t run smack dab into it. I strolled over to the double doors and took a good long look. The first impression was that the office was suddenly empty. It wasn’t, of course—it was still filled with furniture, lamps, drapes, hideous Pruitt oil paintings, and stacks and boxes of paper. The peace lily had only left a small vacancy on the credenza, and there were only a few empty spaces on the bookshelves. There were even files on the desk and papers in the in- and out-boxes. But it contained no personal touches at all, and it was very clear, even to the casual observer, that Terence Mann wasn’t coming back.
    Which probably meant that if he had any secrets, they weren’t here. Or they looked, to the casual observer, like things it would be perfectly normal to pack.
    My fingers itched to rummage through the two moving boxes, sitting so casually on the floor, one beside the desk and one by the bookcase.
    But I didn’t want the chief to catch me doing it. I felt as if I’d earned a measure of trust from him by not doing precisely that sort of thing.
    I deliberately turned my back on the double doors and marched over to a nearby bench that gave me a good view of both the elevator door and the door to Terence Mann’s office. Former office.
    While I was waiting, I could check on Grandfather’s condition. I pulled out my cell phone and hesitated. Should I call the hospital or Dad?
    Probably less red tape if I called Dad. And his cell phone number was already on my speed dial list.
    He answered in the middle of the second ring.
    “Meg! You should see this!” he said.
    “Hello to you, too,” I said. “See what?”
    “Caerphilly’s new police station! Isn’t it wonderful that we weren’t doing anything else with our barn?”
    Mother might not think it was so wonderful, since she had plans to convert the barn to a studio for her fledgling decorating business.
    “Remember, it’s only temporary, Dad,” I said.
    “We’ve got the chief’s office set up in the tack room, and Debbie Anne’s communications console in the first stall, and the fingerprint machine—”
    “I’m looking forward to seeing it,” I said. “Later. I just called to ask how Grandfather was.”
    He sighed.
    “Stable,” he said.
    “Stable isn’t good?”
    “Stable isn’t bad,” he said. “All his signs are very good, actually. I’d just be a lot more comfortable if he regained consciousness. The longer he’s unconscious the more concerned I become.”
    “Should I go over and visit him?” I asked. “On the theory that on some level unconscious patients can still hear what we say to them?”
    “Yes, please do,” Dad said. “I’ve been running in every time I go to town to fetch another load from the police station, but it might help if more of us did that. Reassure him that everything’s going just fine.”
    Just then the elevator dinged.
    “Actually,” I said, “I thought I’d tell him to