Page 3 of In Her Sights

“Jake Hawkins and his riddles,” she mused, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. She pushed her chair back and stood, ready to engage with whatever challenge awaited them. The room appeared normal, the files on her desk remained stacked in orderly chaos, but the air seemed charged with an undercurrent of expectancy.

“Remember Mrs. Rigby’s parrot, the African Gray?” Jake asked. “The one with a vocabulary colorful enough to make a sailor blush?”

“Vaguely,” Jenna replied, recalling the local eccentric and her pet parrot.

“Well, it’s escaped. And it’s causing quite the ruckus downtown. It seems to have developed a new talent for mimicking car alarms.”

For a moment, Jenna simply stared at him, processing the absurdity of the scenario. Then she laughed out loud, and the sensation felt good. “Lead the way, Deputy Hawkins.”

They stepped outside and walked along Main Street to the area where the bird was said to be at large. Residents were standing outside their homes and businesses, their expressions ranging from annoyance to amusement. The noise of what reallydid sound like a car alarm echoed down the street. Dogs barked in response, adding to the bedlam.

“It woke me right up,” one man complained. “Somebody should shoot the thing down.”

“Don’t talk that way,” another admonished him. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“No gunfire will be necessary,” Jake spoke seriously. “The sheriff and I are here to bring the bird in.”

As they headed toward the source of the noise, they encountered Arnold Henley, the owner of the Feathers and Fur pet store, pacing frantically. Apparently he too had been summoned to help track down the fugitive. His usually ruddy cheeks were now flushed a deeper shade of red, his hands animated as he described the size and color of the parrot to a group of onlookers. “It’s just about a foot high,” he said. “All gray except for bright red tail feathers. I always told Thelma she should never let that creature outside …”

“Mr. Henley,” Jenna called out, her voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re here to help.”

“Thank goodness, Sheriff Graves.” Arnold wrung his hands. “Cyril could be in danger from hawks and such, and even some people. I told Thelma when she bought him that African Grays had to be both entertained and protected. Now he’s out there flying all over the place, all alone.”

“So she hasn’t clipped his wing feathers?” Jake asked.

“Of course not.” Arnold huffed indignantly. “These birds need exercise just like we do. But they have to be kept safe. They can live as long as people do, that is if folks don’t get careless with them.”

“Any tips on where he might go or how we can catch him?” Jenna asked.

“Never took him outside when I had him in my store,” Arnold said, his eyes darting about. “But he’s partial to music—used to sing along to my radio.”

“Music, you say?” Jenna mused. “That could be helpful.”

“And talk to him. African Grays have big vocabularies. Oh, and another thing …”

He rushed to his nearby parked car and fetched a bag filled with mixed seeds and a net on a long handle.

“These seeds are his favorite,” Arnold said, handing the seeds and the net to Jake. “If you can get close enough for him to see what you’re offering him, then you can …” He nodded toward the net.

Jake gave Arnold a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’ll find Cyril, Mr. Henley. This town may have its quirks, but it looks after its own—feathered or otherwise.”

With that, he and Jenna set off toward the town square, Jenna’s mind already sifting through possible hideouts for a musically inclined parrot among the quaint homes of Trentville. When the raucous sound of a car alarm rang out over their heads, they knew they had found the right tree.

Jenna brought up a tune on her cell phone, turning the volume up loud. The blaring sound overhead came to a halt.

“You’ve got his attention,” Jake said, peering up into the branches. “See anything?”

“Right there,” she pointed, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. “Alright, Cyril,” she continued, “we’re here to take you home.”

Cyril seemed to consider her words, tilting his head and meeting her eyes. For a moment, Jenna felt a flicker of connection, an unspoken understanding between them. But then, with a squawk and a flutter, Cyril leaped to another branch, far out of reach.

“He’s going to make us work for it,” Jenna muttered, a smirk playing at her lips despite the frustration.

“Wouldn’t be fun otherwise,” Jake quipped. “But those branches aren’t strong enough to hold either of us. We’ve got to get him to come down here.”

“We need a distraction and a catcher,” she said, keeping her voice low as if the parrot might overhear their strategy. “So you’re on distraction duty. I’ll handle the net.”

Jake pulled out the bag of seed. “Here, Cyril,” he coaxed, sprinkling some seeds into his hand.

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