Parrots Prove Deadly (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-one

“Don’t worry
.”
Wallis greeted me at the front door when I walked in. I’d gotten home as quickly as I could, rushing through my remaining regulars. Still, a few hours had passed.
“I haven’t eaten our guest
.”

Something about the way she said it made me wonder what was going on, but I did my best to clear my suspicions from my mind before the sleek tabby could catch them. As it was, she stalked off after our greeting, her tail cocked in a defiant exclamation mark.

Sure enough, Randolph looked a little ruffled when I got upstairs. “About time,” he barked at me, making me pause in the doorway.

“Are you talking to me, Randolph?” I asked the parrot.

“Some people!” He whistled in reply.

It could have been the new environment. The parrot’s phrases certainly sounded like something he could have picked up from a crotchety old woman. Then again, if Wallis had been sparring with him—and if the bird had, as I suspected, gotten the better of the match, we could be in a new phase of communication.

“That’s mine! Hand’s off,” he yelled as I reached for the cage. Wallis was waiting at the head of the stairs as we came out of the room.

“Told you I could get him to talk
,”
she said, with the beginning of a purr.

***

I was a little earlier than I’d planned, returning to LiveWell, and I was hoping to run into the good doctor. If he was on the board of the condo, that might explain that awful letter. The chances I could talk a doctor out of a rabies test were slight, but it would be worth a try. However, he was nowhere in sight as I crossed through the bright lobby of the oldster’s home, carrying Randolph’s covered cage. It was early enough that I did catch Rose, though, and she explained he rarely was.

“We go see him, dear. He doesn’t come to us,” she said. Her tone conveyed everything I needed to know about the power structure implied by that arrangement.

“And your medications?” I’d seen one of those divided plastic boxes by Rose’s sink, the same kind as Wachtell had checked at Jane’s.

“Oh, the aides handle those.” With Buster silently guiding her, Rose had come over to where I’d set Randolph’s cage. “Now, how’s my old friend?”

“Hands off! Stop that!” As I unwrapped the cage, Randolph started right in. “That’s mine, you! Bugger off!”

Rose chuckled, but Buster’s ears perked up. I knew she was too well trained to go for the bird. Still, I was curious. Under the guise of friendly petting, I crouched down to make contact with the dog.

“That’s mine!” Randolph was loud, I’d give him that. Buster seemed fascinated, and I moved my hand from her black back to her oversize ears.
“What do you hear? ”
I asked the dog silently.
“What is it? ”

“Protect! ”
The response came back as loud as a bark, and I drew back. I’d almost forgotten: I’d reached out with my right hand, my bandaged hand. Could Buster have picked up the trauma of the bite? The scent of raccoon? Growler had. Neither Rose nor Genie had said anything, but just to be sure, I switched hands, using my left to fondle the velvet base of those ears. Buster remained silent, the most uncommunicative creature I’d ever met. Then again, she was a service dog, and every fiber of her was focused on her person. And, I thought, on the parrot.
“Protect! ”
I heard it again, softer, though whether directed to the woman or the bird—or both—I couldn’t tell. I sighed and gave up. At least I didn’t have to worry about Wallis-style harassment here.

“Bugger off!”

Maybe Rose did, though. As the parrot continued his tirade, I saw her reach for Buster’s harness. She had been standing since she came to greet me at the unlocked door, and her jolly face was hanging slack.

“Oh, my, she is on a tear today.” Rose was turning, trying to return to her chair. Buster, however, was now clearly fixated on the bird, to the point of ignoring her mistress.

“Buster?” I reached for the dog again, wondering what could distract her from her duty.

“Oh, she’s just got a crush on that old blabbermouth bird.” With a yank, Rose got the dog’s attention. Buster was too well trained to complain, and even from a foot away I could catch a hint of her self-reproach as she turned to guide the old lady back to her seat. It was curious, though, that something could distract this disciplined guide—an animal whose first response was “protect.” It was also odd, I realized as I took my own seat, that Rose would behave so roughly to the dog. Maybe she had forgotten just how loud the parrot could be.

“Is he going to be too much for you?” I asked as gently as I could. I knew it would hurt Rose’s pride to renege on a deal. “I mean, I could find another place for Randolph.”

“Nonsense.” Seated, Rose seemed to recover a little of her composure. It was after four, close to her dinner hour. I could put down what I’d witnessed as low blood sugar—or the fatigue of an elderly blind woman. “Randolph is family,” she said. “He was with Polly till the end.”

“We should be getting downstairs to dinner, dear.” Genie must have had the same thought I did, as she came over with a thick gray cardigan. “Want to put your sweater on?”

“Give it to me.” Rose snatched it from the aide’s hands and began fussing with it. Ignoring her words, Genie eased the soft weave around the old woman’s shoulders and then began to button it. “Everybody fussing. You’d think I was an invalid.”

Genie didn’t make eye contact with me. That could have been loyalty. I know I wouldn’t take kindly to being upbraided for a simple kindness. Then again, I doubted I’d last a day in her job.

“She’s just trying to help, Rose.” As soon as I’d said it, I regretted it. I liked the old lady. More than that, I needed to keep her sweet on the bird.

The look Rose gave me was as sharp as a hawk’s. Then she relented. “I know,” she grumbled. Putting her hands down, letting Genie push the last few oversized buttons through the soft cloth. “This place. It gets to you. God’s waiting room.” Genie stepped back as Rose leaned forward and then pushed herself upright. Buster, meanwhile, stood, her flag of a tail wagging once. There was a routine at work here that kept the old lady going, and I stepped back. “Have fun with my boyfriend, won’t you?” Rose called over her shoulder. “But not too much fun. I want him back!”

Genie looked up at that, and we smiled at each other over Rose’s head as she made her way to the door. There was life in the old dame yet.

“Sqwah!” Randolph seemed to know he was being talked about. “Ignorant slut!”

“Well, it’s just us now, Randolph.” The moment the door closed behind them, I approached the cage. “I think you’d like to fly free, but I’d like to do some work first.”

I had no idea what the bird was picking up, and after my misadventure with the raccoon I wasn’t going to make any assumptions. This was going to be animal behavior 101. However, if I talked through my plans, I figured it couldn’t hurt. At the very least, maybe Randolph would start picking up on my language. Not that this would necessarily be an improvement.

“Bugger off.” Now that we were alone, Randolph seemed to have calmed down, his volume reduced to nearly conversational levels.

“Hello, Randolph.” I stood close to the cage, so he could see me and feel my breath. “Would you say, ‘hello?’”

“Would you?” That was something. I gave him a treat. He whistled.

“Hello?” I repeated, pitching my voice up. It was possible that he’d picked up so much foul language because of how we talk. When we’re agitated—angry, upset—our voices get louder and, if we’re female, higher pitched. “Hello? Pretty bird? Pretty bird? Hello?”

“Shut up.” He shuffled on his perch to face away from me. I couldn’t say I blamed him. I sounded like an idiot. “Ignorant slut.”

“Hello to you, too.” This bird was pissing me off. “Come on, Randolph, say ‘Hello.’” I held a treat up, moving so he could see it.

“Who’s that? What!” I had agitated him, so I stepped back. “Hand’s off! Stop that! That’s mine!” He craned forward. For the treat or to see, I couldn’t tell. I held up the treat. “Hello,” I said again, as he ate it. “Say ‘hello,’ pretty bird.”

“Stop that! Awk!”

This went on for a while, and I was about to give up. Randolph must have sensed that—or maybe the treats were finally paying off. Because suddenly the parrot gave a loud squawk, flapped his wings, and said, quite clearly, and in a voice eerily like my own, “Hello! Pretty bird. Hello!”

“Hello yourself.” I jumped and turned. That voice had come from the opened door behind me. George Wachtell, still in his white coat, stepped in, smiling.

“You don’t knock?” Being caught off guard makes me grumpy. Randolph was still flapping though, his large wings hitting the bars, so I began to wrap the cover over his cage.

“I thought the unit was empty.” As I closed the bird up, the doctor walked up to the tiny kitchenette area and browsed the shelves. “I saw Rose on her way into dinner.”

“She’s letting me keep Randolph here, for a little while.” He’d barely given the parrot a glance.

“That bird is a nuisance.” He was shaking his head. “We should never have allowed Polly Larkin to keep it here.” As he spoke, he pulled out the plastic pill dispenser, and opened the first of its little containers.

“It’s only for a short while,” I was buying time. I knew it, and worked to change the subject. “I thought the aides dealt with the drug trays?”

“Basically, they do,” he said, closing the first section and popping open the one marked “Tuesday.” “Our medications are delivered already sorted by the pharmacy, and the aides do an admirable job of dispensing them to the residents. The aides are, after all, an integral part of many residents’ lives, and I couldn’t function without their help. And for the most part, they are honest and valued partners in our healthcare system.” He paused to close the compartment, and maybe to give his insinuation a moment to sink in. I didn’t do him the honor of responding.

“However,” he picked up, “I do believe in spot checking. I am ultimately responsible for the medical well-being of the LiveWell residents, after all.”

“And that’s what you’re doing now? Spot checking?” He seemed to be counting, poking at the pills with his fingertip. I wondered how many pills there were supposed to be, and if any were missing. I leaned in to look.

“Exactly.” He snapped the compartment shut. “Some of these pills do appear similar, and I wouldn’t want to have a mishap.”

“So what’s Rose on, anyway?” I had seen enough to note that there were several different pills or capsules in each compartment. And I remembered the old lady’s complaint.

He looked over at me, dark eyebrows arching above his glasses. It was a flirtatious move, as well as questioning, but I was in no mood.

“I am working with her.” It didn’t mean I had access to privileged information. Then again, LiveWell didn’t seem big on privacy.

He nodded and turned back to the task at hand, opening another compartment. “Rose had a little cerebral vascular incident, a stroke, a year ago. So that means blood thinners, medications to keep her pressure in check. The usual.”

“The usual?” Looking over his shoulder, I counted at least three pills for that day.

“Our Rose doesn’t like to admit it.” He had moved on to the last compartment. “But age is catching up with her. Surely, you’ve noticed how she moves? The trouble she has getting out of a chair?”

“Arthritis?” My mother had had it in her hands.

“Exactly.” He replaced the container. “Complicated by cartilage and bone density issues. The combination can be a cause of considerable pain.”

I thought of the old woman’s newly sour mood, of how slowly she had moved. “She doesn’t want pain meds,” I recalled out loud. “She said something to me about that.”

“Rose talks tough.” That look again, the one over the glasses. “Late at night and when she comes to see me, I hear a different story.” He closed the cabinet and reached for the door. “Are you done in here?”

“What? No.” I turned back to Randolph’s cage. “I closed it to calm him down, but I’m hoping to work with the bird until Rose gets back from dinner.”

He nodded. “Do me a favor, will you? Don’t tell her I was here.” He opened the door. “If any of the residents hears I’m willing to make housecalls, I won’t have any peace.”

I nodded. Let him think I’d agreed. “Hey, Doc?” I had my own questions, and figured using his title might help me get some answers. He turned in the doorway, waiting. “Are you on the board of Evergreen Hills? I was over there the other day, and I had some questions.”

“I’m afraid I’m not the best person to answer any questions.” He was smiling and shaking his head. “That’s purely a sideline, an investment I’d made. Maybe not the wisest one. As you can see, I’m keeping my day job.” With that, he stepped out.

“So much for caring professionals,” I said as much to myself as to Randolph, as I uncovered his cage. The whole visit bothered me. He clearly didn’t trust the aides. Nor did it seem he liked the residents much. Then again, I thought of Doc Sharpe, he might simply be overwhelmed—and I had had my own questions about Genie. “What do you think, Randolph?”

“Stop that!” The bird whistled softly, almost as punctuation. “Ka-da-KLUMP!”

***

“Randolph—” I paused. Now that I was attuned to it, I heard the door to the little suite open. Genie was holding it open as Buster led Rose in. “Hello,” I tried to sound cheerful, wondering what they had heard. “I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“Rose got tired, didn’t you?” This time, the old lady didn’t complain as Genie took her hand and placed it on her own firm forearm. “We left before dessert.”

“Is she okay?” I didn’t like the way Rose was shuffling. She hadn’t said anything—hadn’t even looked up at me—since she had entered the apartment. “Should I go for the doctor?”

The look on Genie’s face said it all, but before I could respond—could say that the doctor was indeed still around and making the equivalent of housecalls at the ripe hour of five-thirty—Rose interrupted.

“I’m fine,” she snapped. “We don’t need that doctor.”

I looked from Rose to Genie, waiting for her to argue. Instead, she got Rose settled on her chair. “Rest here while I get your nightgown, Rose,” Genie said, and went to the far side of the room, where a wardrobe stood against the wall.