The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

leading up to the injury, some never get any better, and most fall somewhere in between.”
    “Can’t you get some kind of forensic evidence from the room?” Grandfather said. I was relieved to hear his voice. Vivian had said he was conscious, but hearing him for myself made it more real. His voice didn’t sound as bold and resonant as usual, but it wasn’t that far from his normal irascible tone.
    “Forensic evidence,” the chief echoed. “Like what?”
    I stepped closer so I could peer through the curtain. Grandfather was sitting up, looking weak but feisty. Dad and the chief glanced my way. Dad waved. The chief nodded to me and turned back to Grandfather. I took this as permission to enter, so I did.
    “I don’t know,” Grandfather said. “Aren’t you modern cops always picking up an eyelash hair and using it to prove it was Professor Plum in the library with the candlestick?”
    “Only in the movies.” The chief sounded remarkably patient, considering. “In real life, forensic science has its limits. For example, in a case like this, just about everyone in town has been in that room, either to help with the animals or to gape at them. So even if we thought we knew who hit you, finding trace evidence that he’d been in Meg and Michael’s living room wouldn’t prove anything. If we found whatever he hit you over the head with, that might help, but it’s a long shot. Horace is working on it, though, on the admittedly unlikely chance that your attacker dropped his weapon in the house or yard.”
    “And he hasn’t found anything?” Grandfather asked.
    “Couple pounds of dog hair,” the chief said. “Nothing incriminating. So I’m afraid if your memory doesn’t come back, we may never catch your attacker.”
    “What if my memory comes back and all I remember is someone hitting me from behind?”
    “Not likely,” Dad said. “From the shape of the injury, it looks as if someone hit you from the front. Like this, Chief.”
    I stepped fully into the room to see better. Dad glanced around, and picked up an object—I couldn’t see what. Some kind of medical instrument? He slowly raised it up and brought it down until it gently touched the chief’s left temple.
    The chief watched this demonstration, then scribbled in his notebook.
    “So I was facing my attacker?” Grandfather said. He was frowning as if this didn’t sync with what he remembered.
    “Facing him and looking up at him,” Dad said, nodding.
    “Looking up at him?” The chief glanced at Grandfather’s long frame—he was well over six feet.
    “You mean I was attacked by a giant?” Grandfather asked.
    “No, no,” Dad looked at me. “Meg, crouch down as if you were tending a dog or something.”
    I crouched and looked up as Dad brought his demonstration weapon gently down on my left temple. I could see now that he was wielding Rob’s missing little video camera.
    “Very good,” Dad said, beaming at me. I stood up again.
    “Crouching and looking up at his attacker,” the chief said.
    “Crouching or kneeling,” Dad said.
    “And the attacker was right-handed?”
    “Unfortunately,” Dad said, with a sigh. “Like ninety percent of the human population.”
    “I was crouching?” my grandfather muttered, as if he found the thought not only unlikely but vaguely distasteful.
    “Tending the animals, I should think,” Dad said, in his most soothing tones.
    I noticed that he had set Rob’s video camera down on the windowsill. Which was quite possibly where he’d found it, but someone should take it back to Rob. I went over, snagged it, and put it in my purse. I made a mental note to call Rob later to report finding it.
    “That does indicate that your attacker was probably someone you knew and trusted,” Dad said. “After all, if you didn’t trust someone—”
    Grandfather yawned suddenly.
    “Looks like the sedative is finally working,” Dad said. “We should let him sleep.”
    “If you remember anything, have the nurses call me,” the chief said.
    Grandfather nodded, his eyes already closed. Dad and the chief began quietly walking out of the room. I was about to follow them when Grandfather mumbled something.
    I went to the head of his bed and bent closer.
    “What was that?” I kept my voice soft enough that if he’d already fallen asleep it wouldn’t wake him.
    “I hate hospitals,” he said.
    I looked around. The management had made an effort to gussy up the room so it didn’t look quite so much