Ginny Aiken - Priced to Move

I draw on all my determination and push myself to the edge of the chair. Everyone stares at me.

“Does it . . .” My voice fails me, and while they all make comforting noises, I’m not willing to play the wilting lily any longer. I suck in a rough breath and square my shoulders. “Is that why you weren’t here when I walked in?”

Julie nods. “Davina called to tell me she saw a stranger walking around the building. She asked me to check it out, since I’m better equipped”—she pats the pistol she’s sheathed again— “to handle an intruder than she is. Now we know he came inside and slipped in here while I was looking out there.”

Miss Mona stands. “Too bad you didn’t find him.”

The bathroom door bangs open. “What is going on here?” Danni asks, her voice shrill.

My feathered friend makes his . . . her . . . its arrival known. “Squawk! Shriek, shriek!”

Everyone jumps. I gulp and a nervous giggle pops out. “Uh-oh.”

Miss Mona, white as a sheet, draws herself up to her full, statuesque height. “ What is that?”

I point to the cage in Danni’s hand. “That’s what I found when I went to my dressing room for my purse. I grabbed my bag and came here to return the diamond Max dropped during the show. I never gave the bird another thought. Anybody ever seen it before? Danni?”

She shakes her head. “I just went to my dressing room— minding my business—the noise was just awful, so I went to see what you were up to. I’ve never seen the bird before. And you know I’d never forget something like”—she lifts the cage for all to see—“ this .”

This time, I’m not the only one with a nervous laugh; everyone seems to welcome the chance to diffuse some of the tension in the room.

I recover first. “Anybody else think our flashy little visitor has something to do with the guy in the vault?”

From somewhere far away, the sound of a siren approaches. “Thank you, Lord,” I whisper. I lace my hands together and hold on tight. Even though I’m glad the police are nearly here, something tells me I’m in for a wild and wooly ride.

Julie heads for the door. “I’ll go get the officer . . . officers. I’m sure they’ll have sent more than one patrol car.”

Again, everyone falls silent. The only sound in the room comes from the bird’s claws skittering across a bar in the cage. When the bathroom door opens again and Julie leads in a middle-aged uniformed man, the bird lets out its now-familiar “Squawk! Shriek, shriek!”

The startled cop shakes his head and narrows his eyes, but doesn’t get a chance to say a word.

“Oh, Donald, dear!” Aunt Weeby hurries to his side as fast as her klutzy cast will let her. “I’m so glad you’re the one who’s come. Something so very, very nasty has happened here. I . . . I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

The officer—Donald—takes Aunt Weeby’s hand, tucks it into his elbow, and with his other hand, gives it a pat. “It’s going to be okay, Miz Weeby. We’ll just get to the bottom of this . . . whatever it is, right quick here.”

He gestures to the two officers in the doorway, and the man and woman enter the bathroom. It’s getting mighty crowded in here all of a sudden. And to think that before today no male had breached the doors of the Shop-Til-U-Drop Network’s headquarters. Now we have three of ’em in the building—four, if you count the dead one—and they’re all in the ladies’ room, no less!

I have to admit, I don’t mind. The more the . . . well, not merrier, considering the circumstances, but it’s much better to have company at a time like this.

Officer Donald—since I don’t know his full name—goes into the vault, followed by the other two cops and Julie. The rest of us wait, the silence again thick and heavy. Until the bird does its thing again.

I shoot it a glare, and realize he—she?—is growing more restless, or maybe frantic’s more like it, by the moment. It crabs along the rough white perch attached to the right side of the cage, then bites one of the slim steel wire bars and, fireman-like, slides down to the floor. There it waddles from wire bar to wire bar until it reaches the back of the enclosure, where with beak and claws it climbs back up high enough to reach the almost empty water bowl. It dips its beak into the water, throws back its colorful head, and swallows. Then it looks to either side, flaps its wings furiously, and lets out another series of screams.

As the little critter does all this, I notice what looks like a piece of paper stuck to the back of the cage. How I didn’t spot it when I first found it in my dressing room, I don’t know.

Well, I do know. I was too busy worrying about how embarrassed I felt, and how little I wanted to accept responsibility for my hot temper. But enough about that for the moment. I’ll deal with that—me—later.

The piece of paper turns out to be a small envelope with a card inside. My midlength nail comes in handy to open it, and from my right side Miss Mona says, “What do you have there?”

“It’s a card—oh! It’s addressed to me. But how could that be?”

“If you read it,” Max says, a hint of humor in his voice, “we might all find out.”

What I read breaks my heart. “I can’t believe this.” A tear rolls down my cheek. “I know who the man in the vault is— was. And he’s nice, the nicest vendor I worked with in New York. I’m so, so sorry . . .”

“A vendor?” Aunt Weeby looks confused.

Can’t say I blame her. I’m pretty confused too. “Mr. Pak deals in the most fabulous rubies, Burmese material, the finest in the world. Roger and I met with him at least four times a year to buy stock.”

Miss Mona steps closer. “Did he come here to see you? Did you know he was coming?”

“I had no idea he’d be here, even though he says in his card that he came to wish me luck in my new job.”

“Squawk! Shriek, shriek!”

“What about the bird?” Sally asks, her eyes big dark pools of questions.

“That’s what’s so crazy.” I shove a bunch of hair that’s come loose from my chic on-screen updo off my forehead. “The bird’s supposed to be a gift for me. What would make Mr. Pak think I’d want a noisy bird?”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk!”

Did I tell you Aunt Weeby tsk-tsks better than anyone else? Do I need this? Now?

“Andrea Autumn Adams! You know better than that, young lady. Why, it’s not one bit polite to question a present. I don’t know what’s come over you since you left for that Sodom and Gomorrah city a’ yours.”

Stunned by my aunt’s outburst, I notice the crease between her brows, the white line around her lips, and the tight grip of one hand on the other. A swell of sympathy rises in me. And then I realize she’s still talking to me.

“. . . I’m so thankful the Lord saw fit to let you get yourself all rusted up while you were out there. I reckon you wouldn’t’ve come home otherwise. And you do need yourself a good dose a’ Great-Grandma Willetta’s wisdom—and maybe some a’ her fish oil too.”

Heaven help me—and my stressed-out aunt. “I’m not questioning a present, and I’m not being ungrateful, Aunt Weeby. But I never said anything to Mr. Pak to make him think I’d want a parrot—”

“A parrot?” she asks. “That bitty thing there’s a parrot? I thought they were big ol’ things with can-opener beaks.”

I hand the card to Aunt Weeby. “See for yourself. According to Mr. Pak, this is a Sun Conure, a small breed of parrot.”

“Hmm . . . ,” Aunt Weeby murmurs.

Sally leans over my aunt’s shoulder. “Oh! Look here. He says the bird’s name is Rio, Rio de Janeiro, like the city in Brazil. How cute!”