Never Steal a Cockatiel (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series Book 9) Read online

  Some star witness I am, she thought to herself with disgust.

  Having little to go on, the policemen wrapped up the investigation quickly, and the Koslows settled uneasily back to bed. Leigh double-checked the windows and locked them all, chagrined to know that the kitchen window had in fact been closed, but unlocked, when the intruder arrived.

  You’re a crackerjack babysitter too, she chastised herself.

  “There’s no way he’s coming back tonight,” Leigh assured her parents, turning the living room lights off. The porch and backdoor lights, per Frances, she left on.

  “If it’s drug money he’s after,” Randall said philosophically, lying back on his pillow, “He’ll be trying someplace else before morning. They’ll catch up with him.”

  “Such nonsense,” Frances tutted. “These young people today! Were we the last generation to display any morality whatsoever?”

  Leigh headed for the stairs without comment. As a child, she had fully believed that drugs, alcohol, and fornication did not exist until the seventies. She was disabused of the notion only when eavesdropping revealed that, long before the moon landing, a youthful Aunt Bess had dabbled in the trifecta.

  Leigh climbed the stairs and fell into bed exhausted. Theoretically, she could still catch a couple hours’ sleep before daylight. Realistically, she knew it wouldn’t happen. She was way too wound up.

  Were her parents really the victims of a random break-in? They had lived in the same house for over forty years, and with the exception of the brand new lawn mower someone had lifted from their yard in the eighties, they’d never been stolen from. Why now? She supposed there was always a first time. But still…

  There it is again!

  Leigh’s body stiffened as she heard the same bizarre, hacking cough echoing up from below. It couldn’t be the intruder again! It just couldn’t. Was the man insane?

  She found no comfort in that question.

  She sprang out of bed and hurried across the hall to look out the window above the kitchen. The alley between the houses was clearly illuminated. But there was no one below. She ran to the other upstairs windows and looked down from every angle. She saw no one.

  This is ridiculous, she told herself. It must be her father coughing. She made her way quietly down the steps to check on the couple. Frances had taken a sedative and appeared to be deeply asleep. Randall also appeared to be sleeping, although as Leigh watched, he shifted position restlessly. She knew that no emotional concern short of imminent death would disturb Randall if he chose to ignore it. But if he had bruised his ribs, he could be physically uncomfortable. Maybe turning over in his sleep earlier had given him a pang, and the unusual cough was a reflex.

  Leigh blew out a breath and reversed her steps. There was nothing to worry about. All would be well. She paused at the top of the stairs, then stepped into the other two bedrooms and flipped on the lights. If the intruder did come back, it wouldn’t hurt to make him think they were up and watching.

  But they wouldn’t be. She was too damn tired.

  She fell back into the bottom bunk and closed her eyes, only to see a looping mental image of a gray-hooded figure invading the Koslow kitchen. What could he possibly hope to gain? What would have happened if the phone call and the cough hadn’t awakened her?

  She opened her eyes again and stared at the underside of the top bunk. Ethan had stuck blue chewing gum onto the backside of one of the wooden supports. It had probably been there for years. Once Frances knew about it, it would be gone within seconds.

  Another sound.

  Leigh’s muscles tensed as she listened. What was it? A scratching, flapping noise.

  She relaxed again. It was only the bird. She should be glad he hadn’t started his morning squawking yet. That spectacle was sure to be popular.

  Leigh lay on the bunk another few minutes, straining to listen for the slightest sound, pretending she had a chance in hell of actually falling asleep again. Then she grabbed her pillow and blanket, trudged back down the stairs, and curled up on the uncomfortable couch next to her parents.

  Her eyes closed. If a psychopathic serial killer did show up before morning, at least they’d go down together.

  Chapter 9

  Night turned into morning with no additional sleep and little change to Leigh’s frazzled emotional state. Her parents seemed better rested, despite having been awakened at first light by the squawking cockatiel. The bird’s display of energy had actually pleased Randall, who believed its feather picking to be stress-related and figured the new environment must be agreeable. Frances was less pleased, insisting that Leigh begin her Wednesday morning by wiping imaginary feather dust off the plastic sheeting.

  They spoke little as Leigh served an uninspiring breakfast of microwaved bacon and granola. Over coffee, her parents turned to the morning paper while Leigh perused her phone. None of her email was interesting, but she did notice that her late-night spammer had left a voicemail. Expecting a robo-message in need of deleting, she absently pressed the speaker button while spooning cereal into her mouth.

  “Hey, Leigh. It’s Mason. Sorry not to get back to you sooner, but I’m not checking my phone too often. It’s expensive. Listen, I can’t get in touch with Kyle. His phone’s out of service and that’s the only number I have for him.”

  Frances’s paper lowered. Her dark eyes narrowed at Leigh from behind her glasses.

  Crap.

  Leigh considered stopping the recording, but knew it would only make the exchange seem more suspicious.

  “Don’t worry about the bird,” Mason continued. “When I get back I promise I’ll take both of them off your hands, no matter what’s going on with Kyle. Just do the best you can until then, if you don’t mind. Sorry if it’s a pain. You’re the best, kid. See you in a few days!”

  The message ended.

  Randall lowered his own newspaper. He removed his reading glasses and looked at Leigh. “You got the bird from Mason?”

  Leigh nodded. There was hardly any point in denying it. “He was supposed to be taking care of them for a friend, but there was some confusion about the timing, and Mason had to leave town himself.”

  Frances harrumphed. “I’ll just bet he did. Running from the law again, no doubt. I wouldn’t trust that man to watch a potato.”

  Randall turned to his wife with a frown. “It’s been forty years, Frances. Mason has changed.”

  “Poppycock!” Frances replied, snapping her newspaper back into place. “We should have nothing to do with him.”

  Leigh and Randall exchanged a look and a sigh. Mason had expended considerable effort when he first returned to town to earn his way into Frances’s good graces. But that battle wasn’t merely uphill, it was straight vertical. Frances had never liked Mason. From the day he showed up on the Morton family’s front porch — a handsome, fresh-faced, smooth-talking youth peddling expensive steak knives — she had declared him a fraud and a menace. Her attitude had not improved when Lydie fell head over heels in love with him, nor when the couple eloped. The chaos that unfolded over the next few years proved to be one of Frances’s greatest “I told you so” triumphs, and it was clear that she intended to savor that glory indefinitely.

  Leigh said nothing. She was surprised that her father had bothered. Frances would never accept Mason as a member of the family. Never mind that the younger generations already did. Frances’s confidence in her own judgment was unshakable: She would be proven right in the end. Again.

  Leigh suffered a moment of indecision. Should she tell her parents specifically not to mention the source of the pets to anyone else? Surely doing so would only make the arrangement sound shady. Despite her derisive comment just now, Frances didn’t appear to be overly troubled by the matter. But it would take little encouragement to make her suspect the worst.

  Leigh decided to let it go. She could explain to her father later.

  Her parents became absorbed in their newspapers again, and Leigh stared down at her phone. W
hy had Mason’s name not shown up on her caller ID? If it had, she would have taken the call last night, and she would have been able to explain to him about Maura’s request. But the messages Leigh left hadn’t been specific. She had only asked him to call her. She could leave him another voicemail. But what had he meant about it being expensive?

  She studied the number on his message. Then she opened her web browser and searched on the area code.

  Miami-Dade County, Florida.

  What the hell was Mason doing in Miami? And why was he not using his own phone to call her? He must still have his cell with him, or he wouldn’t have gotten her message.

  “Hello!” Cara’s cheerful voice called from outside the front door. “We’re here!”

  Leigh rose. Ordinarily she would call for her cousin to come in, but this morning she had left the door deadbolted. She admitted Cara and the Pack, all of whom looked happy to be there except Lenna. Cara’s daughter’s face was sullen, her large blue eyes practically teary.

  “Something wrong?” Leigh asked her “niece” as the girl filed by, last in line through the door.

  Lenna dipped her chin. “I miss my Peeper-Do,” she mumbled, her eyes beginning to water.

  Cara circled back around and gave her daughter a hug around the shoulders. “She’s become quite attached to that cat,” she explained. “She wasn’t happy to be leaving for most of the day, but I didn’t want her all alone at the farm.”

  “Don’t worry about Peep,” Leigh assured Lenna. “As much as cats sleep, she probably dropped off the moment you left and won’t wake up until you’re home again.”

  Lenna’s perfect rosebud lips smiled a little. She scooted off inside.

  “So,” Cara asked Leigh. “How did everything go last night?”

  Leigh closed the door and deadbolted it. “Peachy,” she replied.

  Cara eyed her suspiciously.

  “Ask my mother after we’re gone,” Leigh suggested in a whisper. “The Pack doesn’t need to hear it.” On a whim, she looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, there was Allison. Standing quiet as a ghost.

  “How’s the cockatiel, Mom?” the girl asked innocently.

  “Better, I think,” Leigh answered. “He ate all his egg this morning and some of the veggies, too. And he’s been moving around a lot more.”

  Allison smiled and headed off towards the cage.

  “Cara,” Leigh asked in a whisper. “Does your father have any friends in Miami?”

  Cara’s brow furrowed. “Miami? Not that I know of. But he doesn’t talk much about his acquaintances from the past, for obvious reasons. Why?”

  “Just wondering,” Leigh said vaguely.

  After assuring Cara that they would talk more when they had some privacy, Leigh collected the boys, Allison, and her father and loaded them into the van to go back to the clinic. Her mind was reeling. To everyone else in the car, today was a new day. But to her, the last twenty-four hours had been a continuous blur. Irritating, unresolved questions buzzed around in her brain like gnats, but she couldn’t concentrate well enough to address them. She needed to drop off her charges, go home, and get some sleep. Maybe then she could make some sense of the nonsense.

  When they arrived at the clinic, the boys went straight to the basement for their next assignment from Jared, while Allison stuck with Leigh and helped walk Randall through the staff entrance. No sooner had they settled the veterinarian on his stool than a gorgeous mane of honey-colored hair appeared in the doorway.

  “Good morning, Dr. Koslow!” the teenaged wannabe vet, Kirsten, said cheerfully. “Good morning, Leigh! Good morning, Allison!”

  Leigh and her father greeted the girl back. Allison mumbled something under her breath and left the room. Through the doorway, Leigh could see Mathias strutting toward them, fluffing his strawberry blond hair with a comb. Allison rolled her eyes as she passed him and mumbled something else, but Mathias seemed aware of nothing but Kirsten.

  “I hope your foot is feeling better today,” Kirsten inquired politely of the veterinarian.

  “I’ll survive, I think,” Randall responded. Given the frequency of his poorly hidden winces, Leigh was pretty sure the man actually had broken his ankle, but he was still waiting to see the orthopod to confirm it.

  “If you need me to get anything for you, I’ll be happy to,” Kirsten effused. “Everything I do here helps me learn!”

  Leigh proffered a fake smile. Allison was right. Kirsten was a suck-up.

  “Grandpa Randall?” Matthias said importantly, shouldering his way into the room in unnecessarily close proximity to Kirsten. “Jared says we should move the freezer away from the wall, but we’ll have to unplug it for about half an hour. Is that all right with you?”

  Randall looked up at him with an odd expression. “Just keep the lid closed. Jared knows what he’s doing.”

  Leigh stifled a chuckle. No one any less socially oblivious than her father could possibly be puzzled by Mathias’s sudden interest in the sanctity of the freezer contents. Kirsten certainly was not.

  The girl turned toward Mathias, who was more than a year younger than her but at least three inches taller, with a radiant, yet simpering smile. “That freezer must be so heavy!”

  Mathias puffed out his chest.

  Leigh resisted the urge to roll her own eyes.

  The connecting door to the reception room opened and Morgan poked her head in. “Dr. Koslow? Olan Martin is here. Are you ready for him?”

  “Yep,” Randall replied, swiveling on his stool and opening a drawer. Matthias directed one last brazen smile at Kirsten, then retreated from the room. Morgan carried in a kennel bearing a large cockatoo and placed it on the exam table. Behind the veterinary assistant walked a short, heavyset man with a wire travel cage containing a pair of yellow-naped Amazons. Allison reappeared and elbowed Kirsten out of the way to take her usual place at Randall’s side.

  Olan set the cage gently on the floor in the corner. “Hello, Dr. Koslow,” he said in a nervous manner. Olan was always nervous. His gaze passed over the younger girls without interest, but stopped on Leigh with a spark of recognition. “Well, hello, Leigh,” he said in his pleasant, yet nasally voice. “Haven’t seen you in a while! I thought your daughter here had taken over your spot.”

  Leigh nodded a return greeting. “Hello, Olan. And yes, she has. I’m pretty much useless now.”

  Like Skippy, Olan had been one of the clinic’s most active bird clients for decades. He was an unusual figure of a man, being barely five feet tall and pudgy, with a slightly oversized head, large luminous blue eyes, and a thick crop of forever-mussed hair that had once been blond but was now snow white. He was a soft-spoken man and generally meek, but Leigh knew from personal experience that if Olan feared for his birds, Jekyll could turn into Hyde in a heartbeat.

  Olan turned his attention back to the vet. “I couldn’t let Zeus go another day without getting those wings clipped!” he bemoaned, wringing his hands. “Last night he made it all the way up to the stovetop! I tell you I nearly had a heart attack! I was cooking pasta, you know. Anything could have happened to him!”

  “Are all three just here for wing clips?” Randall asked patiently. “Anything else you’re concerned about?”

  “Patsy needs her beak trimmed again,” Olan said quickly. “She just doesn’t chew on things like Potsy does. Everyone else just needs their wings done.” He opened the kennel door and coaxed out the magnificent cockatoo, which immediately assumed an aggressive posture towards Randall.

  “No, no, baby boy!” Olan crooned, taking quick hold of the bird before its beak could reach the vet’s knuckles where they rested on the tabletop. Morgan swooped in from behind and placed her own hands around the bird’s neck and feet, securing it as Olan himself let go. Leigh looked on, impressed. All of the techs knew how to hold birds if they had to, but few took to the task as effortlessly as Morgan, who had been a volunteer at the National Aviary. Her skill with birds was fortunate, as it was probably the
only thing keeping her employed.

  “So, I’ve been meaning to ask,” she chirped to Olan as Randall stretched out one of the cockatoo’s giant white wings. “Are you straight or gay?”

  Randall emitted a loud sound somewhere between a throat clearing and a strangled choke. “Morgan!” he said sternly.

  “What?” she asked lightly, blinking her pretty dark eyes.

  Allison and Kirsten suppressed giggles.

  Olan chuckled himself, albeit awkwardly, then turned to Leigh. “I know that some people in this town don’t approve of wing clipping,” he began, changing the subject. “But my first priority is the safety of my birds. It’s fine to say that birds need to fly, but what good does that do them if they fly right outside and die of starvation or cold?” His voice gained strength as he launched into the familiar argument. “I know a Quaker that broke its neck flying into a window, and it had lived in that same apartment for years! And don’t even get me started about the toilets. The one time someone leaves the lid up will be the one time disaster strikes!”

  Leigh nodded patiently. Olan had preached the same sermon with every wing clip since the nineties, when his beloved blue and gold macaw, Ollie, had escaped through a flimsy patio door, never to be seen again.

  “I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of these guys,” Olan continued. He pulled a handkerchief from a back pocket and mopped his brow, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I saw the sign out front asking for anonymous tips. That’s a good idea. I do hope somebody cooperates with the police! We’re all scared to death, you know. Even Skippy!”

  Randall continued his work. “Yes, that seems apparent.”

  “I don’t think my birds are in any danger,” Olan declared, the tremor in his voice belying his words. “I never leave them outside, you know. Except Zeus here. He gets to be in the patio cage in nice weather. But it’s bolted down tight, and no one could snatch him out of it without losing a finger, that’s for sure!”