The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

pairs. Which is annoying for people who only wear one, I suppose, but at least if you lose one you’ve still got a spare.”
    “He wasn’t wearing both of them the night he was murdered,” the chief said. “He only has a hole in one ear.”
    “The earring that was ripped from Parker’s ear should show traces of blood,” Horace said. “And we can probably run DNA and prove that the blood is Parker’s. Might even get some DNA from whoever ripped it out.”
    “And a fat lot of good that’s going to do,” the chief said. “Since it’s been rattling around in these women’s purses for heaven knows how long. And we won’t even know if the earring that was ripped out was the one Ms. Dietz put into Ms. Forrest’s purse or the one that was already there.”
    “She put both of them in,” Vivian said.
    “Did not! I only had the one!” Louise countered.
    The chief looked at me. I shook my head.
    “One earring, two,” I said. “All I know is that I saw something sparkly fall into Vivian’s purse. And who knows if this is their first round of earring planting or their twenty-first. It’s hopeless.”
    The chief sighed and rubbed his forehead.
    “Not hopeless,” he said. “Just tedious. I’m betting one of them stole the spare earring from Mr. Blair’s house—and locked you in the attic—as part of a plan to frame her rival, not knowing that her rival was already in possession of the real earring. We’ll be checking their alibis, examining their clothes for blood spatter, looking for witnesses who might have seen them at your house or Mr. Blair’s house, checking for their DNA in the truck cab, trying to prove that one or the other had access to a gun that could have fired the bullet. It’ll be legwork and forensics that solves this. Tedious, but effective.”
    The elevator dinged. The deputies started to herd their charges in, and then had to step back as Francine Mann stepped off and then looked around in surprise.
    “What is going on here?” She sounded startled and maybe a little scared. She was wearing a light, loose jacket at least two sizes too large for her slender frame, and with her shoulders hunched and her fists jammed in the oversized pockets, she looked curiously like a frightened young girl.
    “Can we help you?” the chief asked.
    “I think I’m supposed to be helping you.” She straightened her shoulders and some of her usual quiet, competent manner returned. “I’m the night administrative supervisor—that means the duty staff call me if there’s a problem.”
    She looked around and pursed her lips as if suggesting that the duty staff’s call was more than a little overdue.
    “I didn’t call you,” Vivian said. There was just a hint of insolence in her tone, as if Francine were the one person in the hallway she could talk back to with impunity. I remembered Francine saying that the medical staff resented her and undercut her at every chance. I’d thought she was being oversensitive, but judging from Vivian’s manner, maybe she was right.
    “No, you didn’t.” Francine studied Vivian for a few seconds before turning back to the chief. “I was driving home when Debbie Anne reached me on my cell phone to say that you needed a replacement for Vivian—I thought she’d been hurt. What is she being arrested for—is this about the murder?”
    The chief frowned. He hated being interrogated.
    “They’re in handcuffs because they tried to scratch each other’s eyes out,” I said. “Long story—I can fill you in later if you like.”
    “At the moment, we need your help,” the chief said. “We don’t want to leave the floor unstaffed. I suppose Dr. Langslow can stay here until you can get a replacement for Ms. Forrest.”
    “There’s no need to inconvenience Dr. Langslow,” Francine said. “As soon as Debbie Anne reached me I called the first nurse on our roster. She should be here within half an hour if not sooner. And in the meantime, I’ll go down and ask the ER to send someone up here to fill in.”
    “Please do,” Dad said.
    The elevator had disappeared during the confusion of Francine’s arrival. The deputies had punched the button and were watching the floor indicator impatiently. Louise and Vivian were glaring at each other.
    The elevator dinged again.
    “You might want to take them down one at a time,” I said. “Unless you fancy refereeing a cat fight in the elevator.”
    “Good suggestion,” the chief said. “And Fred, call Debbie