Parrots Prove Deadly (10 page)

Chapter Nineteen

If Creighton hadn’t wanted me to get any more involved with the Gaffney clan, he was out of luck. Albert still had that raccoon in a holding pen in the back of the shelter. I’d told him I was dealing with it, and I would. The good news was that the flannel-clad animal control officer’s natural reticence to do just about anything requiring exertion meant I still had more time.

The accusation of theft, however, was another matter entirely. Much as I may dislike the idea, I’m in a service profession. Word gets out that I can’t be trusted, and I’m screwed. And from Tracy Horlick’s reaction this morning—the image of her standing there, arms crossed as if on guard—word already had. I needed to do some damage control, and fast.

As soon as I got through my other morning jobs, I made my way over to LiveWell. The morning’s overcast had turned to a drizzle, and while that set off the foliage nicely it did very little for my mood. It also meant I was going to have to seek people out. On a day like this, nobody was going to be sitting on the benches out front.

The rain, or maybe the hour, also had kept the number of visitors down again. A little after eleven and I had my pick of parking spots. In all fairness, most of the family members who might be visiting would probably be working at that hour. Jane Larkin didn’t have a job, but she had to be the exception. That reminded me to make a note of the prices here. Old Horlick might have had them right. I saw no evidence of a larger conspiracy, but it couldn’t hurt to know what the incentives might be.

The same receptionist was at the front desk when I came in. She seemed young enough to be in school, but out here, this probably passed for a good job. So I introduced myself and was rewarded with her name: Nancy. And when I put on a grin and asked her for a brochure, she was friendly enough.

“Sure,” Nancy smiled back before pulling open a drawer by her feet. “But I thought you were working here. For Miss Larkin?”

“I am.” I waited while she retrieved the slick folder, grateful for a moment to put my thoughts together. Grateful, too, that she didn’t seem to know about Randolph’s removal to the animal hospital. “But I’ve got an aunt who’s getting on, and I figured, while I’m here…” She handed me the folder, and I made my smile wider.

“Thanks.” I meant it. She’d just given me two interesting pieces of information. The first was that, as vapid as she might look, she was taking note of who came in—and who did what. She might not know the details—like that the parrot had gotten sick—but she saw the faces and she knew where they went. The second thing she’d let me know was that the facility was expensive. Too expensive for the people who worked here, anyway. The brochure, I saw as I quickly flipped through it, was too genteel to mention actual prices.

I was dying to ask her about comings and goings, to see if anyone had suddenly showed up the night the old lady had died. I knew there were better ways to flush out prey. “Hey, I was wondering.” I leaned in to make it seem like I had something to share. “Speaking of the Larkins, what’s the story with the brother, Marc?”

Wallis might not have been that proud of me, but the line did its work: Nancy’s eyebrows went up. Good, let her think I found him attractive. Girl talk was likely to get me more than a more specific inquiry.

“He is a cutie, isn’t he?” She leaned forward, a light flush reviving some of the faded freckles on her cheeks. “He was on the football team with my brother, before he went to college.” She shrugged. “He was one of those guys, you think he’ll go to the city and never come back.”

I kept my mouth shut. I was one of those girls, once upon a time.

“But he did. With a wife.” Another shrug, another one lost. “Good place to raise your kids, I guess.”

“Moved back to the old homestead?” I needed to find out when Polly Larkin had been moved out of her house into LiveWell, and by whom. Houses out here can go for a lot, if they’re properly fixed up.

“Oh, no.” A little pout. “They’re in that new development, over by the town line. Her old house wasn’t big enough.”

Funny how time changes things. I didn’t know how many children Marc Larkin had, but Polly had raised two, presumably under one roof. Still, she’d given me an opening.

“So Polly must have already downsized, huh?” I was prying now, there was no getting around it, so I added some sweetener. “I’m trying to get an idea of how she lived before coming here. You know, so I can understand something about the parrot’s training.”

It paid off. “No, she lived in the same house she’d always had.” Another shrug. “At least that’s what Jane says. She says that these days, families want more indoor space. And all that land was just going to waste. It made more sense to sell the place, back when Polly first got sick. Besides, he was already out here by then. He handled the sale and everything, the business side, anyway. I think Jane did all the packing and moving.”

That was a lot to digest. I did, however, have a real job here—and so I followed through. “And the parrot?”

“Oh, he came with her. A really cool-looking bird, don’t you think?” Nancy looked up at me, blue eyes wide. “He didn’t talk so much back then, though. At least, not with such bad language.”

Chapter Twenty

Who had taught Randolph to curse? It wasn’t the key question, but it did grab my imagination as I waited for the elevator. Rose Danziger seemed like the best bet, possibly with the collusion of old Polly herself. Everyone had commented on their friendship, and Marc’s dislike for the blind neighbor could have been sparked by her salty tongue.

I rather liked the idea of the two old women, sitting around on an afternoon, teaching the parrot insults. It seemed so much jollier than my own mother’s last days. Granted, I’d only returned to Beauville after she was sick, but I could guess. She’d been buttoned up so tight when I left that I don’t think the word “fun” was in her vocabulary. Those last few months certainly hadn’t been—her, sick as a dog, tight jawed even when the pain and the meds would have made anyone else giddy. Had there been more? I’d been gone for over ten years, tearing out of here after high school and only returning when I needed a place to hide. As the elevator took me up to Polly’s floor, I tried to imagine her having a romance. A friend. Even a pet. I couldn’t.

I was so caught up in my own memories that I nearly walked into Genie, the aide. Granted, I had the feeling that Genie—like most of the aides here—probably worked hard to make herself invisible. That was no excuse for bumping into her as the corridor turned. It was, however, an opportunity.

“I’m sorry. My head was elsewhere.” I’d backed off, but kept a hand on her upper arm.

“It’s no problem.” She shook her head, and I saw how tired she was “I’m half asleep, too.”

“Coffee?” I needed to talk to that parrot—and get him to talk to me. Any ammunition I could get might help. “Come on, my treat.”

Genie checked her watch, a pretty silver number half hidden under the cuff of her pink sweater, and then nodded. “I could take a few minutes.”

“Great.” I stepped back. “Lead the way.” It occurred to me, then, that the staff probably had its own break room. I had a brief vision of a basement cubicle, with three other aides and a custodian clustered around an old Coffee Master. That would be about as conducive to conversation as a prayer meeting. Luckily, when this complex had gone up, someone had thought to stick an overpriced coffeehouse around the corner. “Starbucks?” I asked.

Her raised eyebrows confirmed my suspicions, but she nodded and we took the elevator back down. As she waved briefly at Nancy, and we headed out, I pondered this. I realized that maybe Genie had her own reasons for wanting time alone with me. Then again, I thought, as I followed her lead, this was her turf. Eschewing the sidewalk, we hugged the building, its decorative edging almost shielding us from the rain that was still misting down, and ducked into the storefront coffee shop with a mutual sigh of relief.

***

“Vente latté, with a shot of almond, please.” She ordered without looking at me. It was also possible that she simply liked Starbucks. I got my own cup—black, large—and by mutual consent we found a table in the farthest corner of the little storefront.

There we sat for a full minute. About halfway into that, she even stopped playing with her coffee. Before long, we were smiling at each other—a collegial game of chicken.

“So, you have questions?” She broke first, albeit in a noncommittal way. “About the bird? It is going to be okay?”

“It is.” I watched her, wondering if that was good or bad news for her. “Something must have…disagreed with it.” I’d get back to that later. “And, yes, I have questions. About the parrot—and about Polly.” I took a sip. Starbucks pretty much burns their beans. I don’t care. I like my coffee bitter. “About her whole family, come to think of it.” Another sip. She was watching me, smiling softly to herself. “After all, they seem to have some questions about me.”

That did it. “Don’t,” she shook her head, a little sad. “Don’t let that get to you.” She paused, and I didn’t think it was just to sip at her milky drink. “It is always difficult when a family loses someone.” When she came back, it was to recite from a script, doubtless passed down to all the aides. “People express sadness in different ways.”

“That’s not it.” I wasn’t buying it. “I understand grief. I’ve lost people, too. There’s something odd going on here. Something with those kids. And I think you have some ideas about it. You’re there; you cared for the old lady. You know that something is very wrong.”

Genie looked from me down into her cup. She’d already added sugar and stirred, which left her nothing more to do than stare at the foam while she thought. I didn’t push her. She worked at LiveWell. It couldn’t be an easy job, and I didn’t know what alternatives she had.

When she looked back up, some of the fatigue was gone. Replaced by curiosity, I thought. Or suspicion. “You are not just asking because of what happened to the bird are you?”

Her gentle accent gave her words a clipped, almost formal tone. Even if I hadn’t wanted to share some of my suspicions with her, that tone—with its edge of schoolmarm—might have urged me on.

“I have some questions.” I wasn’t going to be a fool, though. If anything amiss had happened, Genie might be aware of it, whether or not she played a role—either with the parrot or Polly Larkin. “Are you fulltime at LiveWell?”

It wasn’t the question either of us had expected. Once I asked it, though, I realized how important it was: An aide who relied on one facility, its staff and its clients, for her livelihood would be in a very different position from one who freelanced at various hospitals around the county.

“I am a contract worker.” She smiled; she got it. “I am on the roster of LiveWell as one of their senior aides, so I am assigned to several of the residents. The contract entitles them to an hour of assistance daily. Because of my seniority, I am also recommended for those seeking additional, private care.” She looked to see if I understood. “It is a good living. Better than when I worked for Berkshire General.”

I nodded. The county medical center had a reputation as a warehouse. Working there, especially in the lower-status jobs, would not be fun.

“Then I’m glad you have it. And I’m glad you’re working with Rose now.” I was. The old lady was a firecracker, at least compared to my mother.

Genie looked up. I’d missed something. “You’re not working with Rose?”

“No, I am, but…” She paused. Of course, I was asking her to break confidentiality.

“She’s not a private client.” I filled in the blank. Genie smiled and gave me a half-nod of confirmation, and I filed the information away. Genie wasn’t making anything extra from Rose, though I was willing to bet she gave her more than the mandated hour of her time. “But you spent more time with Polly, because she was a private client?”

A shrug. Rose was lucky. I still had questions: “Let’s put it this way: to help me with the parrot, to understand what Polly’s pet has gone through, I think it might be useful to know about her last days. How was she, at the end?”

Genie took a long pull from her paper cup and then looked out the window. She might have been savoring her drink, but I didn’t think so. She was weighing something, considering the costs of talking or not. All in all, it was promising, and I tried to contain my impatience by sipping at my own cup.

“She was bad, you know?” said the aide. I looked up into those dark eyes and waited to hear the worst. “But she wasn’t that bad.”

I waited to hear about whining or complaining, but Genie clarified. “The pain, I mean. Polly, she was a funny one. She liked to complain. It was fun for her, but she was jolly, too. And she would not have been cracking the jokes like she did if it had been that bad.”

I nodded, wondering where this was leading.

“He was wrong, you know.” Genie wasn’t done. “About her.”

It took me a moment. There were quite a few “he’s” around. Then it hit me. “You mean, the doctor?” Something Jane had said surfaced. “Giving her all those pain medications?”

Those dark eyes latched onto mine, and she nodded. “I’m not saying Polly was tough. She was strong enough, sure, but she didn’t have to be an iron lady. I’m saying she didn’t need those drugs. They want Rose to take them. They push them on everyone now, but Polly? She didn’t need them.”

I nodded, trying to understand what she was saying. Yes, I could well believe that an overworked gerontologist would overmedicate his charges. It could be Medicare fraud. It could also be simple laziness. More pain meds would make the inmates at LiveWell more docile, and, really, if it hastened the end of a few, who would complain? Besides, most of them probably were in pain. My mother had been more stoic than most, and I still remembered her whimpering in the night.

Then again, “need” was a funny word. That doctor had said the drugs had gone missing. Did that mean someone else did “need” them?

***

“She didn’t need them,” Genie repeated. “She didn’t want them, and she didn’t take them.”

Someone did
. I didn’t need Wallis by my side to point out the obvious. Nor that repeating something can be a way to prove it to yourself. For example, if you can tell yourself that an old lady didn’t really require medication, you might feel better about stealing it.

“There seem to be some differences of opinion going around.” I tried to smile. I didn’t want to suspect this woman. She was a working stiff, just like me. Then again, I also didn’t want to miss anything.

“It’s that son of hers.” She nodded. Something had been confirmed. “He thinks I stole from her. From
them.
”

I waited. The fact that I shared her low opinion of Marc Larkin didn’t mean there wasn’t some truth on both sides.

“He thinks I took those candlesticks.” She looked up at me. “You do, too. That’s what this is about.” She raised her cup, and I felt myself begin to color.

“My job is to take care of the parrot. To retrain the bird so it can go to a new home.” It wasn’t a denial exactly. It was a clarification. It was also the truth.

“That bird.” The acid was apparent now. “Flying around. Cursing. Messing everywhere. Not like Buster.”

Of course, Genie worked with Rose, too. “You like dogs?”

“A dog serves a purpose.” She paused, and I tried to keep my face blank. “That dog, anyway. I hope—”

She stopped so quickly, I looked over my shoulder to see who had come in. Nobody. The only sound was the rain on the front windows. Even the barrista seemed to have taken off.

“What?” It wasn’t good policy, but my backward glance had already been awkward. “Is Rose going to lose Buster?” It seemed to me that a service dog would be allowed under any circumstance. And the dog was healthy and in her prime. Then again, if someone had it out for the parrot…“Do you know something, Genie?”

She shook her head, a look of pain crossing her face. “The dog is permitted, by law. It is all the little things. The food, the vet. Her contract covers my visits, up to an hour a day. As if that…” Another shake of the head. I was right: the aide spent more than that with the blind woman.

“So Rose is going broke.” A guilty glance and a confirming nod. “Does she have any family?”

“I don’t think so.” Genie pushed back from the table. “And I should be getting back. On days like this, I take the dog out while she’s at lunch.”

I nodded and rose to walk back with her. “Would Rose want the parrot? If, well, if neither of the Larkin kids want him?” I was already planning on how we could do it. I bet I could get Doc Sharpe to help subsidize the bird’s supplies.

“Lord, no.” Genie waved me off and was out the door. “But good luck with all that.”

She seemed intent on getting away, so I let her go, watching as she raced, hunched over, by the building. Anxious to get to work? Or to get away from me?

***

I was pushing my luck with Nancy. That was apparent from the moment I stepped back into the lobby, a little soggy and with a latté to go for her.

“Coffee?” I held out the cup. “We were just over at Starbucks.”

“Thanks.” She took it, but she wasn’t smiling. “Are you going up to Polly Larkin’s unit?”

“No, not now.” I would have to talk to Jane and to her brother, but I wanted to gather more information first. “Though I was wondering if you could help me with some things.”

The blonde paused, about to take a sip, and I could tell she was weighing the cost of the coffee.

“Nothing major.” I smiled and leaned in.

Any hope I had of recapturing that girly-girl sympathy was gone, however. She drank, but she looked up at me as she did. “What do you want to know?”

“I’m trying to get a bead on Polly Larkin’s parrot.” It was true, more or less. “Trying to iron out its behavioral issues. And I thought it would help to know who else spent time with him. Who else might have been involved in the bird’s care.”

“I thought Genie would have been able to tell you that.” The receptionist did notice who walked by.

“She did, but there are things she doesn’t know.” I was winging it, about as well as a caged bird. “About the finances, basically. And whether, well, whether Polly left anything to her friend, Rose Danziger.”

Nancy looked a little surprised at that. “I wouldn’t think so,” she said after a brief pause. “I don’t think she had anything—that is, I believe her estate was tied up in her care.”

I nodded. “And her estate was administered by?”

“You’ll really have to talk to the family about that.” Nancy shut me off. It didn’t matter. She’d already answered several of my questions. One, that Polly had money, at least enough so that a few extra—and unnecessary—prescriptions wouldn’t raise the alarm. And, two, that her children, which meant Marc, Jane had said, had control over it. And that anything that Rose would have to remember her friend by—or to help her out—would only be whatever Polly had given her before she died.

I took the elevator up to the second floor, wondering what, if anything, all this meant. Rose had my sympathy. She seemed to be managing in her little studio, and I couldn’t see anyone letting her dog starve, but it couldn’t be easy. No money for luxuries like the occasional field trip—and nothing extra for a private aide, not beyond what the facility provided. Still, that didn’t mean she would steal, either the candlesticks that Marc had all but accused her of or the drugs that had gone missing.