The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

cleaned out her desk before the spies arrived.
    What if she hadn’t cleaned out her desk at all? What if the mayor had done away with her and cleaned out her desk to make it look as if she’d fled?
    Okay, probably too melodramatic. But maybe I should ask the chief to find Louise and make sure she was safe.
    “She’s probably asked the cleaning crew to give it an extra polish or something,” the mayor was saying.
    I pulled open the top drawer. It contained a stapler and a few pencils.
    “I don’t think so.” I tried the next drawer. A few papers. “If she wanted the cleaners to polish it, she could just have put all her personal things in the drawers. She’s cleared out.”
    “Damnation,” he said. “She is in on it!”
    He turned as if to go back to his office.
    I squatted down and gave the ficus an experimental tug. Yes, it was going to be a bear to lift. A gentleman would have seen me fumbling at the plant and asked if I needed help. I wasn’t expecting such an offer from the mayor.
    “What are you doing with that tree?” he asked.
    “County board’s recalling all the county-owned plants.” I wiggled the ficus a little closer to the luggage carrier. No sense carrying it any farther than I had to.
    The mayor responded with a burst of foul language.
    I fixed him with my frostiest stare and, in what Rob called my Mother voice, said, “I beg your pardon. If you’re trying to talk to me, please do so in a civil manner.”
    He responded with another torrent of obscenity. I turned my back on him and prepared to hoist the plant.
    But wait. Was it really wise to turn your back on someone so angry—someone whose office floor was littered with broken crockery? Someone I suspected of being involved in Parker’s death and the attack on Grandfather?
    I turned back just in time to dodge a flying vase. It smashed against the wall beside the ficus.
    “Assault,” I said, in the most annoyingly cheerful tone I could manage. “It will count as battery if you hit me, so I’d put that bookend down if I were you.”
    Instead, he lobbed it at me. I caught it, easily.
    My temper flared.
    “And your aim’s pretty bad, too.” I tossed the bookend in my hand a couple of times, getting a sense of its weight and balance. “Mine, on the other hand, is pretty good. Doorknob,” I added, and threw the bookend at it, using my best fastball. Wonder of wonders, I hit the doorknob squarely.
    He paled, backed a few steps away, and reached into his pocket for something.
    Should I run? What if he pulled out a gun? Was this the time to mention that the garden club ladies knew I was up here and would call the police if I didn’t return soon?
    His hands were shaking—whether from fear or anger I couldn’t tell. And it didn’t matter. Either way, I could almost certainly tackle him before he could get a shot off.
    I relaxed a little when I saw that he was fumbling with his cell phone. Of course he could be calling whatever thug he’d used to attack Grandfather. Time for me to make tracks.
    I returned to the ficus, though without turning my back on him.
    “Get someone up here right now, dammit!” he shouted into the phone. “There’s another one of them here trying to steal things from my office!”
    I hoisted the ficus and plopped it down on the luggage carrier.
    “Unhand my plant!” He raced over and grabbed the pot.
    “It’s not your plant!” I shouted back, grabbing the other side of the pot.
    Just then, the chief strolled in, trailed by Sammy Wendell. They both blinked when they saw me and the mayor struggling over the ficus plant. Sammy stood frozen. The chief recovered a lot more quickly.
    “You called 911,” he said. “What’s the nature of the emergency?”
    The mayor let go of the ficus so suddenly that I staggered back and ricocheted off the empty desk. I landed in a heap on top of the luggage carrier, with the plant on top of me.
    “Arrest her!” The mayor pointed at me and glared triumphantly.
    “On what charges?” the chief said.
    “She’s stealing town property!” the mayor shouted.
    “The plants are county property.” I shoved the ficus aside and stood up. “Bought with county funds, and maintained under a contract signed by the county. And I’m assisting the Caerphilly Garden Club, which has been authorized by the county to remove the plants for safekeeping.”
    “Trespassing on town property!” the mayor shrieked.
    “These premises are actually county property,” the chief said.