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The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery

Titel: The Real Macaw: A Meg Langslow Mystery Kostenlos Bücher Online Lesen
Autoren: Donna Andrews
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while? Just until the chief gives mine back?”
    “Fine with me,” I said. “Michael’s the one who uses it, and he can probably settle for still photography for a few days.”
    I’d make sure I saved all the videos from it before I gave it to him. And if he lost it, I’d buy a new one and send him the bill.
    But it was worth the potential hassle to get rid of the macaw.
    And perhaps, if we worked hard, we could get the rest of the animals adopted while Rob was gone—including Tinkerbell, the wolfhound.
    “Rob, pancakes?” Dad asked. “And what about you, Clarence?”
    Clarence took a seat, and Dad began working on another batch of pancakes, along with reinforcements for the bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Normally I’d be helping, but between my leg injury and the fact that I’d only had about two hours of sleep on a bed in the ER, Dad had put me on injured reserve and was cooking solo.
    And as soon as Michael arrived to pick me up, I could go home and start catching up on my sleep. Or at least returning to my normal level of sleep deprivation. Meanwhile, it satisfied the orderly part of my mind to see so many loose ends being tied up.
    I thought of another one.
    “What about the blue-and-yellow macaw Francine left behind when she stole the hyacinth macaw?”
    “Technically, she belongs to Francine,” Clarence said with a sigh. “So I suppose she gets to decide the blue-and-yellow’s fate.”
    “Technically, she’s evidence.” We looked up to see the chief standing in the kitchen doorway. “And as such she will remain in our custody for the time being.”
    “Great,” I said. “If you like, I can drop that particular item of evidence by your new office this afternoon.”
    The chief winced and nodded.
    “Francine will probably need all the money she can get for her legal defense,” Clarence said. “I’ll talk to the pet store where she got the macaw. They’d probably be willing to buy the bird back once the chief says it’s okay. And if not, maybe I can convince the Caerphilly Inn to buy her. We’ll work something out.”
    Knowing that the macaws were not only safe but destined for a cushy life at a five-star hotel raised everyone’s spirits even higher.
    “Pancakes, Chief?” Dad asked.
    The chief hesitated, then sat down.
    “Thank you, I believe I will,” he said. “It’s been an unusual morning.”
    I interpreted this as a hint that under normal circumstances he did not plan to be having breakfast with Mother and Dad while his police station was in their barn. But Dad beamed with delight, and poured more batter into a skillet. He was in seventh heaven, between having the chance to cosset his father for a few more days and the prospect of hosting the police station indefinitely.
    “How’s the case coming?” I asked.
    “Very well, thank you,” the chief said. “A search of Mrs. Mann’s home has turned up several bits of useful evidence, including printouts of e-mails between her and the victim and a charge slip that establishes her presence in the vicinity of the pet store where she purchased the substitute macaw.”
    “She was stupid enough to buy the macaw with her charge card?” Rob exclaimed.
    “No, she paid cash for that,” the chief said. “But she used her charge card to buy gas six blocks away. I have every confidence that the pet store owner will be able to identify her. And Horace is optimistic that the ballistics on the gun will be useful.”
    “Good morning, everyone!” Mother sailed into the kitchen. Although it wasn’t even seven yet, she was already dressed in what I recognized as working clothes—the dress a little darker and more tailored than her usual wear, and her normal high heels replaced with elegant ballet flats.
    “Pancakes?” Dad asked.
    “Just a little fruit salad, I think.” And then, seeing how his face fell, she added, “Well, perhaps a very tiny stack of pancakes.”
    Dad returned to pouring and flipping with renewed vigor.
    “I gather the garden club has more to do today?” I asked.
    “Yes, dear,” Mother said, as she took her seat. “We’re going to relocate the plants to their temporary homes today. I’ve put you down for a dozen. They’ll fill in the empty spaces in your living room nicely. And don’t worry,” she added, seeing the look of dismay on my face, “they’ll all be neatly labeled so the plant care service will know which ones to tend and water when they come.”
    “The county’s going to keep the plant

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