Page 117 of For the Birds

“I’m trying to keep him from cursin’,” the elderly man said, his hand and voice shaking. “And sayin’ lewd things. He hears my neighbor say . . .” His voice trailed off, and a panicked look stole over hisface.

“Did Squawker hear your neighbor say that line about the blood?” I asked in a soothing voice.

“You have to go.” He jerked to his feet, the sudden movement startling the bird, who clung to his shoulder with his claws and flapped wildly.

“Did someone warn you not to talk about it?” I asked as he shoved myarm.

“No. I’ve just had a long day, and I need to get Squawker settled.” He continued to push me toward the door. I let him, because it was his house and we’d done our job—or I guess Miss Mildred had done a lot of it. I turned to face him. “Mr. Whipple. A man’s been kidnapped, and I have reason to believe Squawker might know something aboutit.”

I also couldn’t help remembering my vision about Jeanne, and what had almost happened to her for talking. It also reminded me that she hadn’t called usyet.

He shook his head. “I don’t know nothin’ about that. You need to go.” Then he pushed me out the door and closed it, the bird nearly escaping again in the process.

Witt and Neely Kate pulled up as I hit the sidewalk. She rolled down the window and rested her elbow in the opening. “You’re done already?” she asked in surprise. “I thought we were gonna ask him questions.”

“That’s just it. Squawker said the line about the blood. Only, he was startin’ to say more and Mr. Whipple cut himoff.”

“What did headd?”

“He said, ‘Shut up, you stupid asshole, and clean up the blood before mer—’ Then Mr. Whipple cut him off. It sounded like it was mid-word.”

“Before mer . . .” Neely Kate said. “What could it be? Mercury?”

“Before ’merica becomes great again?” Witt supplied.

“Before Merlin gets back?” I said as it hit me. “Paul’s brother.”

Neely Kate’s eyes widened.

“Have you heard back from your friend at the courthouse?” I asked.

“No.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I’m gonna check in withher.”

“Maybe we should see if the neighbor on the corner is home. The one who saw Squawker at the park. I’d like to talk to him.” I started walking before either of them said anything.

I cut across the street and headed for the house that was in desperate need of new paint and my landscaping services. I knocked on the front door, and a guy in his early to mid-forties opened the door wearing a sleeveless shirt that looked like he’d used it as a napkin for the chicken wing in his hand. “Whaddayawant?”

“I heard that you spotted Mr. Whipple’s bird at the park last Saturday morning.”

“So?” His eyebrows rose to an exaggerated height. “What ofit?”

“I was wonderin’ if you could tell me what time and where exactly.”

“I see that damn bird there all the time,” he said. “And he was doin’ what he always does—annoying the shit out ofme.”

“Do you know of anyone who’d want to steal Mr. Whipple’s parrot?”

He lifted his hands in a surrender-like gesture, and some of the grease from his wing started to run down his wrist. “I never stole thatbird.”

“We found the bird, Mr. . . . ?”

His shoulders slumped in what looked like relief. “That bird annoys the shit outta everyone. Anyone could have took him, but it wasn’t me. If I’d took him . . .” He held up his chicken wing with a huge grin, then licked the grease off his arm and slammed the doorshut.

I headed back to Witt’s car, which was now parked directly across the street. “I don’t think he was involved,” I said as I climbed in theback.

“Did you have a vision?” Witt asked.

“No,” I said. “He slammed the door in my face before I could even think about havin’ one.”

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