Tangled Souls (19 page)

“Yo, Tinker! Spring me!”

She chuckled and wandered away from the cage, much to Seamus’s annoyance. A faint rustling sound came from the kitchen; followed by the oven door opening and closing, and then the refrigerator. All the while the bird kept up a litany of pleas for clemency.

The apartment was a surprise. She’d expected a typical bachelor pad replete with dirty plates and half-eaten food. This was the opposite; everything seemed to have its place. The previous day’s newspaper was in a box by the front door, ready to recycle. The small dining table was immaculate, and pictures were artfully displayed on one wall.

Her eyes grazed through the photos—this man’s life in retrospect. She recognized his father immediately. The photo of O’Fallon as a baby with his mother reminded her of a Madonna and Child. His mother radiated a benevolent grace. More photos, including that of an older woman, probably a grandmother. A wedding photo of her host, in a tux, with a very pretty young woman. Another wedding photo. This wife was blond and heavier than the first. He seemed more careworn that time around. Gavenia found that intriguing. Most guys wouldn’t have pictures of their exes in plain sight.

Then came the cop photos: O’Fallon in uniform, O’Fallon receiving some sort of award. The series abruptly ended with a framed invitation to Detective Third Grade Douglas O’Fallon’s retirement party, dated nearly two years earlier.

But nothing since.
Another look toward the kitchen where the noises continued.
As if his life ended the day he retired.

Impressive, don’t you think?
Bart said as he appeared next to her.

“Not bad,” she said, unwilling to give an inch.

I wonder what your wall would look like?
Before she could answer, he faded out of view.

“Damn you,” she whispered.

I heard that.

O’Fallon found his guest studying the photographs. “Not many people ever look at those,” he said, placing two glasses of cola on an end table near the couch.

“I like to. They tell me about the person who chose them.”

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked.

She looked back at the wall and pointed toward a photo. “Your mother had a bright heart. That comes through, even in a photo.”

He nodded. “She was a very good woman. She died too young.”

“They always do,” she said in a softer voice.

“I’m sorry, that was tactless. You lost your mom when you were nine,” he said.

A nod. “Breast cancer.”

“And your dad?”

“Gone. He packed up and left Mom when she told him about her illness.” A long inhalation. “If Aunt Lucy hadn’t taken us in . . .”

What kind of man deserts his wife and kids?
“You’ve never seen him since?” O’Fallon asked.

“No. It’s best I never do,” she said, her tone bitter.

“What about the two wives?” he asked, gesturing toward the photos in an effort to change the subject.

“The first looks like she was sure of what she was doing.”

“That would be right. Martha and I married young. My work tore us apart.”

“And the second one?”

“Shirley . . .” He sighed. “She decided to go all New Age on me.”

“Oops.”

“Yeah. That’s a mistake I won’t make again.” In some perverse way, he hoped she’d argue with him.

“I see,” she said, not offering anything more.

“Hey, dying here!” the parrot called.

Gavenia turned toward the cage, a wide smile brightening her face. “Parrots and two-year-olds have a lot in common,” she observed.

“Tell me about it,” O’Fallon replied. He opened the cage and removed the bird, apprehensive. This could end up with his guest requiring stitches. He set the parrot on the sofa and motioned for Gavenia to have a seat.

Seamus made a beeline for the Gavenia, his usual way of vetting newcomers. If the visitor freaked, he’d retreat to his cage and sulk. If it looked like he was going to be tolerated, he’d test the newcomer. He was relentless when it came to doing his duty.

After his guest and the bird settled on the couch, O’Fallon fussed around the room, trying not to telegraph his nervousness. Maybe if they were lucky, Seamus would give this one a pass.

He heard the rustle of a plastic sack. “You’re a very fine parrot, Seamus. I suspect your reputation has been a bit overblown.” A second later, O’Fallon heard, “Hey! Ouch!”

Seamus had latched on to her left index finger with his powerful beak. With a bit more pressure he could snap the bone.

The parrot waited as if to judge Gavenia’s reaction.

O’Fallon started across the room, aggravated. “Don’t move, I’ll get him to—,” he began.

Gavenia shook her head and waved him off with her free hand. “No problem. We just need to come to an understanding.” He could tell the beak was inflicting pain, but blood wasn’t dripping, at least not yet.

She leaned over and addressed the bird directly. “Seamus, if you crunch down on my finger, I will have to go to the ER, and you will not be able to eat these blueberries.” She rustled the sack that sat next to her and fished out a single blue orb, holding it in such a way that the bird could see it. “You let go, I’ll feed you the berries. So what’s it going to be?” O’Fallon saw her bit her inside lip after she spoke, evidence that the bird’s bite was increasing in pressure.

Seamus kept his beak in place for a time as if thinking through his options.

“Well, gee, I wonder if there are any
nice
parrots around that might like these,” she said. She popped a berry into her mouth and then cooed, “Oh, boy, was that good.”

Seamus unclamped his beak and called, “Yo! Berries!”

“That’s better,” Gavenia said, pulling a couple more out of the bag and placing them on her palm. Seamus dove in. Her index finger sported a red mark, but there didn’t seem to be any permanent damage.

O’Fallon’s jaw fell slack. Gavenia hadn’t screamed and tried to fling the parrot away like a Frisbee. Instead she’d bribed the rascal with fruit.
I’ll be damned.

The answer was obvious. “You’ve been around parrots before,” he said.

She nodded, watching the bird gnaw on a berry while balancing on one foot. “I worked in an animal lab during college. We had a macaw named Tommy, a monkey named Bill, a very shy hedgehog called Hermione, and a bunch of snakes.”

“More, Tinker!” Seamus commanded. “Berries.”

“Tinker?” O’Fallon asked, grinning. “How’d you get that nickname?”

“It’s Tinker Bell, courtesy of my sister.” She grinned. “I call her Pooh, so it’s only fair.”

He chortled. In truth, she did look a bit like a fairy.

“Hey, you had to have a nickname with hair like that,” she countered.

He ignored her, not about to share that bit of personal information. “Seamus will get bored here pretty soon and stop plaguing you.”

“Not going to tell me, huh?”

He gave a quick shake of his head.

“I’ll just have to figure it out.” She fed the bird another berry. “He’s a kick. How long has he been with you?”

O’Fallon’s smile widened even more. She’d not asked how long he’d
owned
Seamus. She understood.

“Twelve years, two marriages, and a number of girlfriends.”

“Hard on women, is he?” she joked.

“Both of us are, I think. You, however, seem to be a hit.”

“It’s the berries, not me,” she said wistfully.

Don’t be so sure.
What had Avery said?
Find a woman who passes muster with Seamus, and you got it made.

It was just his luck the woman was a card-carrying witch.

“Why would that help?”

“I could call the dispatcher to see where she was dropped. That would narrow the field to something a bit smaller than metropolitan LA.”

“You can do that?” Gavenia asked.

“I can.” O’Fallon gave a knowing smile. “See, having a PI on your side isn’t a bad thing.”

“I’ll withhold judgment on that,” she said.

“Not going to give me an inch, are you?” he asked. She had warmed considerably since entering his apartment, and he wanted to keep the good vibes coming.

“Nope. You’re still on that line between ‘total nuisance’ and ‘might be a good guy.’”

“What will it take to push me over to the ‘good guy’ side?”

“Finding Merlin.” She returned to her task of paging through the animal shelters’ websites. Scores of black dogs appeared in front of her. Rosco, Bert, Blackie . . . but no wizard.

“I never had any idea of how many black dogs there are in LA,” she mused.

“Start with the shelters at the far end of the circle,” he said, pointing to the map.

“Why not near Bel Air?”

“Because if she really wanted the dog to be lost, she’d not let it loose anywhere near her house. It might find its way back home like in one of those movies.”

“What if she wasn’t trying to lose it?”

He only shrugged.

“Great, just great,” she muttered.

Bart faded back in view and cleared his throat. Gavenia looked over at him.
Rather domestic scene, don’t you think?
he asked.
A man, a woman, a bird. All you need is a couple of kids and—

“Stop it,” she said, and then realized O’Fallon had heard her. “Sorry; some issues with the mouse,” she said, pointing at the object.

Fortunately he didn’t question her and instead picked up his portable phone and headed for the living room, dialing as he walked. She thought she heard the words
DMV
and
license plate number
.

Tabbing down through the pictures reminded Gavenia of playing the slots in Vegas; one hit and they had the jackpot, providing Lady Luck sat at her elbow.

“Boring,” Seamus observed from his perch on the chair, and dug under a wing with his beak.

Gavenia gave him a knowing nod. “You got that right, Seamus me lad.”

They called it a night at about seven after letting Ari know Gavenia would be late for her shift at the shelter’s bottomless sink.

“Eight in the morning at Red’s?” he repeated.

“I heard you the first two times,” she said. “So what are we going to do?”

“I’ll come up with a plan by then.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Is this kind of thing always so frustrating? Investigations, I mean?”

“Usually,” he admitted. “Lots of blind alleys until you find the right one. Sometimes you never do.”

“When you talked to Janet, did she say why she took the dog in the first place?” Gavenia asked, leaning on her cane near the open door.

“She claims she wanted company. I don’t buy it.”

Gavenia shifted her weight to the doorjamb. “You know, that actually might be the truth. Animals love you no matter your vices,” she said softly. “Unlike her mother. I think all Janet wants is someone who loves her for who she is.”

“Isn’t that what all of us want?” he said softly.

Gavenia gazed upward into his brown eyes and saw the sadness within.

“Yes,” she said. She hesitated at the door for a moment and then looked over at the parrot, resting inside his cage.

“Bye, Seamus.”

“Tinker,” was the reply.

“Gavenia?”

She jarred out of her stupor, surprised at the use of her first name. “Yes?”

O’Fallon held out a piece of paper. “Directions to Red’s Diner.”

“Thanks.” An insulated mug appeared in her field of vision.