Never Steal a Cockatiel (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series Book 9) (14 page)

Maura was quiet for a moment. “Koslow, how long has the bird been at your dad’s house?”

“Since yesterday. Why?”

More quiet. The cat purred. Ethan and Warren laughed about something in the kitchen.

“I do sometimes get crazy ideas that don’t pan out to anything,” Maura said. “But you do realize that these two break-ins have something in common? Something that was present at both locations — or was
supposed
to be present — when each occurred?”

Leigh jerked upright. Mao Tse sank in her claws and howled with disapproval.

“The cockatiel?” Leigh sputtered. “But that’s impossible. No one knew it was there!” Her brain reeled.
Was
it possible?

No,
it was not. “Look, Maura,” she reasoned. “No one could know that I had Kyle’s pets unless they saw Mason leaving with them Monday morning and followed him out here. In which case, why break into Kyle’s apartment? Why not break into
this
house? The animals were here alone all afternoon Monday and most of the evening as well!”

“A valid point,” Maura agreed. “It does seem far-fetched. But keep thinking about it. There may be some angle we’re missing.” In the background, Leigh could hear a newborn howl. “Master Eddie requests my presence in the nursery immediately,” Maura quipped. “I’ll make those calls as soon as I can. Let me know if you or Allison come up with anything.”

“But—” The policewoman rang off. Leigh dropped her phone to her side with frustration. She hadn’t even gotten around to mentioning the two envelopes on her table that might or might not be from anonymous tipsters.

The evening crawled by slowly. Leigh enjoyed her taco dinner; it was nice to have all four members of the Harmon family gathered together at mealtime, an increasing rarity in the hustle and bustle of midsummer. And Allison had only sulked a little bit when informed she could
not
open the letters unless they were so instructed. But Leigh’s mind was uneasy. Her conversation with Maura kept swirling in her head, the various pieces of upsetting information refusing to settle into a comfortable pattern.

It
couldn’t
all be about the bird. How could it?

Surely Mason was an innocent bystander in whatever trouble Kyle was in. Mason had seemed sincere, and he would never knowingly involve Leigh and her family in anything truly dangerous. Would he?

Leigh suddenly had doubts. And she hated that she was having them.

The sun set. Leigh’s mind drifted to Avalon park and the yellow bucket that would be placed behind the batting cage in hopes of receiving Ginny Ledbetter’s thick stack of twenty-dollar bills. With any luck at all, the Avalon police would be catching the petnapper with his hand in that bucket any second now. And then all this mess would be over.

Well, part of the mess, anyway.

Leigh resisted her constant urge to call Maura, vowing to try only once an hour until she got through. So far her efforts had taken her straight to voice mail, meaning that the detective was on the phone. Which, in itself, was less than comforting.

Leigh had sent the kids off for their showers and was cuddled on the couch with her husband and a crossword puzzle when a siren tone announced that she had received a text.

“It’s Maura,” she said unnecessarily, picking up her phone.

“There’s more going on than you’ve told me, isn’t there?” Warren asked suspiciously. “You’ve been horribly jumpy tonight. What is it?”

Leigh didn’t answer immediately. She was opening the text.

Stakeout was a bust — not even a yellow bucket showed. Think back — any ideas who could have tipped off our perp, let me know.

Leigh’s hopes fizzled. A tip off? How was that possible? Unless the petnapper had good reason to believe that Ginny Ledbetter had squealed to the police, or knew for sure that the dog got home, why not at least set the bucket out? Had the cops doing the stakeout been so inept that he saw them lying in wait?

Or…
Leigh chilled at the horribly unpleasant thought. Had the petnapper been tipped off by someone who saw Lucky at the clinic? By someone
at
the clinic?

“Leigh,” Warren said heavily, reading the text over her shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry,” she apologized. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Does Mason have something to do with this ‘stakeout’ operation?”

Leigh’s jaws clenched. “I certainly hope not.”

She tried to picture the scene when she had brought Lucky into the clinic yesterday afternoon. Mrs. Gregg was the only other client in the waiting room, but there were others in the back. And Paige had walked the dog back for Randall to see… pretty much anybody in the clinic at the time could have spotted Lucky. Or heard about it later. There was definitely a lag before she had reached her father to ask him to make a plea for secrecy — and how had he done that, exactly? Couldn’t a client have seen the dog and left before getting the message? But why would an uninterested party blab about seeing Lucky in the first place? And what were the odds against some innocent party blabbing about it to the actual perpetrator by sheer coincidence?

It was one coincidence too many.

“I need to go back to West View,” Leigh mumbled, rising.

“Now?” Warren protested.

Leigh nodded. She dialed Maura’s number again. “I have to get the bird,” she mumbled. Maura’s line went straight to voice mail. “Call me!” Leigh begged onto the recording. Then she hung up.

She started towards the door, and Warren followed her. “Why do you have to get the bird?”

Leigh grabbed her keys. “Because somebody knows it’s there.”

“Who knows it’s there?” Allison inquired from the doorway to the hall. Standing barefoot with wet hair in a short Bambi nightgown, the girl looked far younger than her eleven years. But the sharp glint of understanding in her eyes spoke otherwise.

“Someone who shouldn’t,” Leigh answered.

Chapter 13

Leigh parked the van in the street outside her parents’ house a record sixteen minutes later. She jogged up to the door and tested the knob. It was locked. That was good. She rapped on the door. “Aunt Bess! It’s me!”

A few seconds later Bess appeared, looking rosy cheeked and delighted to see her. “Well, hey, kiddo,” she said, swinging the door open wide and then shutting it behind Leigh. “What’s up?” Bess was wearing a floor-length crimson silk kimono with a bright yellow dragon on the front, which for her was a relatively sedate choice of nightwear.

Leigh walked into the living room to find both her parents already settled in bed. Randall sat on top of the covers of the inflatable mattress with his newly casted food propped up on pillows. He was holding a book, but his complexion was on the gray side and his face was lined with discomfort — no doubt because he was refusing to take his pain medication again. Frances sat next to him under the covers with a bathrobe on, her hair in foam curlers and her dark eyes accusing. “Leigh Eleanor,” she snapped. “You drove all the way down here wearing
that?”

Leigh looked down. At some point she had traded her capris for a pair of fuzzy sleep pants adorned with giant Simpsons characters. Oh well.

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” she said breathlessly.

Randall set down his book. “Yes?”

Leigh cast an uncomfortable look at Frances and Bess, both of whom blinked back at her with no trace of shame. Bess threw out her chest and Frances crossed her arms stubbornly over her midsection. Leigh sighed. The women weren’t going anywhere, and Randall couldn’t. They might as well all know the story.

Where to start?

“I need to know what happened after I brought the dog, Lucky, into the clinic this afternoon,” she began. “I told you we thought that he had escaped from the petnapper. Well, somehow the petnapper found out that he was back. And…” Leigh paused a moment. Her father was not going to like this. He would, in fact, resist the idea strenuously. “And Maura and I have reason to believe he found out that information from someone who saw Lucky at the clinic.”

The wrinkles in Randall’s already furrowed brow deepened. “I asked the staff not to say anything,” he replied. “But anyone could have seen you walking Lucky up the street to Mrs. Ledbetter’s house.”

Leigh sucked in a breath. “That’s true. But we have other reasons to think that someone at the clinic may be involved.”

“Nonsense,” Randall said immediately. “There were clients about, too. Any number of people could have mentioned seeing the dog.”

Leigh noticed that Bess swayed a bit as she sat perched on the arm of the couch. In one hand she held a small glass containing an amber liquid. Periodically, she swished it.

Periodically, Frances turned and scowled at her.

So
that
was how Bess got through the evening!

“Dad,” Leigh tried again. “I know this sounds crazy, but there’s a chance — just a chance — that the reason someone broke in the house last night was to get the cockatiel.”

Frances scoffed. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! I told the police last night, I’m sure they were after my cookware. They did come in the kitchen, and everyone in the neighborhood knows how important an even heating temperature is to—”

“Oh, stifle yourself, Francie!” Bess cut in. “Nobody wants your precious pots and pans!” She looked at Leigh. “Although I can’t imagine why anyone would want the likes of that bird, either. No sooner did the sun set than the little devil started screaming like a banshee!”

“I told you,” Randall said calmly. “The vocalization is a good sign. It means he’s getting more comfortable with the environment.”

“Well, he can get comfortable with another one,” Frances protested. She turned to Bess. “That reminds me, when I was in the powder room I checked the slats on the air vent. And there
has too
been a significant amount of dust accumulation since—”

“Dad!” Leigh interrupted desperately. “I’m serious, here. Maybe it’s not the cockatiel that the burglar wanted and maybe it wasn’t anybody at the clinic who tipped off the petnapper about Lucky. But if the burglar
was
after the cockatiel, how else could he have known it was here?
I
didn’t even know you were going to take the bird home yesterday! But practically anyone at the clinic could have found that out.”

Randall frowned. “Or anyone could have seen Allison carry the cage out to Cara’s van. Or from the van into this house.”

Leigh sighed. It would take a whole lot more evidence than one flimsy hunch to convince her father that anyone or any part of his veterinary clinic was involved in such a drama. Randall Koslow, VMD didn’t believe in drama.

“It can’t hurt for me to move the bird someplace else, just in case,” Leigh insisted. “I was thinking maybe Skippy would take him in. She doesn’t have any animals other than birds, he’d be well cared for, and no one in their right mind would break into her place after she practically shot that jogger the other night. What do you think?”

Randall considered. “Well, I suppose. But I still think you should leave the bird here. He’s been doing really well, and the change to another environment could set him back again.”

Leigh stood her ground. “The bird’s temporary psychological state is not my first priority. His safety — and the safety of everyone in this house — is. I’m moving him elsewhere. Tonight.”

She found an unexpected ally.

“It’s for the best, Randall,” Frances said firmly. “You have enough to deal with getting that ankle healed without worrying about a patient in the house. And you shouldn’t trust your staff so blindly. How many times have we been burned by sticky fingers at the cash box? You can’t possibly vouch for everyone down there; some of them are quite new, are they not?”

Randall did not reply. Ordinarily this was the part of the conversation where he would walk out of the room. Instead he picked up his book and started reading again.

Bess waved a hand toward the front door. “Off the little guy goes, then!” she said, a bit too merrily. “Let me know if you get a look inside Skippy’s house, would you? Ten dollars says she’ll take the cage out of your hands before you can get a foot in the door!”

Leigh felt a pang of discomfort. Something was wrong. She took a step toward the dining room. The bird cage was no longer there. “Where did you put him?”

“Out on the front porch, of course,” Bess chirped. “You must have walked right by him. He was making such a racket I had to move him somewhere, and Francie absolutely
forbade
me from putting him anywhere else in the house without hermetically sealing it up first. The fresh air helped, though. He calmed down right away. Hasn’t uttered a peep since!”

Leigh paled. She swung around, opened the front door, and stepped out onto the porch. She looked at the small table that sat to the right of the door. Its surface and the floor of the porch around it were lightly littered with seed husks.

The cockatiel cage was gone.

“Oh, merciful heavens,” Bess murmured behind her. “I can’t believe it!”

“What’s happened?” Frances called out.

Leigh and Bess returned to the living room.

“He’s gone,” Bess said weakly. “Cage and all.”

“From right off the porch?” Randall asked with disbelief, swinging his feet off the bed and reaching for his crutches.

Leigh waved him back down. “It’s too late, Dad,” she said sadly. “The bird’s gone. He was gone before I got here.”

Randall sank back onto the mattress. “But
why?”

Leigh pulled out her phone. “I wish I knew,” she said heavily.

“How utterly ridiculous,” Frances said scornfully. “My cookware has a far higher resale value.”

All three of them stared at her.

“Well, it does!” she protested hotly, fluffing her covers. “Such nonsense, I tell you…”

“What’s up, Koslow?”

Leigh startled at the voice coming from her phone. She hadn’t expected Maura to answer. “I’m at my parents’ house,” she reported. “Somebody snatched the cockatiel from off their front porch. Cage and all.”

Maura was silent for a beat. “Holy crap,” she muttered. “I didn’t really think… hang on. I’m coming over there. Gerry?” she called to the side. “Can you finish burp duty, here? I’ve got—”