Bird Brain: A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery (Polly Parrett Pet Sitter Cozy Murder Mysteries) Read online

  Bird Brain

  A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery

  Book 3

  Liz Dodwell

  Bird Brain: A Polly Parrett Pet-Sitter Cozy Murder Mystery: Book 3

  Copyright © 2016 by Liz Dodwell

  www.lizdodwell.com

  Published by Mix Books, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Liz Dodwell

  One

  “You must be joking!”

  “I assure you, Miss Parrett, I don’t joke.”

  Looking at the impassive countenance of Newton Alden, Esquire, I believed him.

  We were seated across from each other at Alden’s desk. A couple of days earlier I’d received an urgent written request from the firm of Shilito, Draper, Crouch and Alden, Attorneys at Law, to contact them regarding a legal matter. Honestly, my first reaction was that it was a spam letter. I tore it in half, crumpled up the pieces and tossed them in the trash. Of course, Amber immediately pounced, knocking over the trash can with all its contents, and started batting the pieces of paper around the floor as if they were the greatest cat toys ever.

  I didn’t think anything more of it until later in the day when the phone rang. Assuming it might be a client I answered in my perky voice, “Pets and People, Too. This is Polly, can I help a pet or a person today?”

  “My name is Sadie, I’m calling on behalf of Newton Alden, Esquire. Am I speaking with Miss Pauline Parrett?”

  I almost said she must have the wrong number. Pauline is my given name but nobody calls me that. I’ve gone by Polly for as long as I can remember. Then it hit me: Newton Alden, Esquire, the name on the letter I’d shredded earlier.

  “This is Pauline, but please call me Polly.”

  “Miss Parrett,” so much for that, “you should have received a letter from Mr. Alden. I’m calling to see if we can arrange a time for you to meet.”

  “What is this about?” My scam meter was still running.

  “You have been named a beneficiary in an estate and Mr. Alden would like to discuss disbursement of the assets as soon as possible.”

  What? “Who died?”

  “The lady’s name is Naomi Ledbetter.”

  “I don’t know anybody with that name. Why would she leave anything to me? This must be some mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake, Miss Parrett. I’m sure Mr. Alden will explain everything when you come in.”

  Well, I was too curious to ignore the summons, so said I could come in the following week. Sadie would have none of that and insisted it would be too late but, when I asked why, she just gave me the runaround. Finally, I gave up and settled on a time the next day. It was really inconvenient for me as I was preparing to exhibit at a pet show over the weekend. I couldn’t deny, though, I was a little excited about my mystery benefactor, so I crawled around on the floor looking for the letter. I found half of it under the credenza along with a dozen or so hair-covered glitter poms, a plastic pen top and a tampon wrapper. The second half remained elusive until I headed into the kitchen for another cup of coffee and noticed something in the pets’ water dish. Yep! It was the letter, pretty much disintegrated. Sighing, I dumped the water, cleaned out the dish and accepted I’d learn nothing until my meeting.

  Now here I was with Newton Alden, Esquire, wondering what on earth I was getting myself into.

  “Why me?”

  “Miss Ledbetter had you thoroughly vetted and believed you to be the ideal person to take care of this.”

  “I was investigated?” That sucked a lemon. “That’s a bit much.”

  Alden pursed thin, dry lips. “A person could simply read your facebook page and know more about you than they want to, including your opinion that Bugs Bunny is the greatest cartoon character of all time.” He had a point there.

  “What if I refuse to take it, whatever it is?”

  The man tilted his head back and peered down his nose at me. He had a slight gap between his front teeth and when he spoke it was with a faint, and irritating, whistling noise. “Against my advice, Miss Ledbetter refused to include any provisional arrangements, which means it would become a matter for the court.”

  For pity’s sake. “I suppose I could take a look then.”

  With no hesitation, Alden hit the intercom button. “Would you come in please, Sadie?”

  Just as quickly, the assistant entered. “Yes, sir?”

  “Miss Parrett would like to see her bequest now.”

  “Of course, would you come this way, Miss Parrett?”

  “It’s here?” I wasn’t expecting that but I obediently trotted after Sadie ‘til she reached the ladies’ room and walked right in.

  “Um, I’ll just wait for you out here,” I said.

  “No, this is where we’ve been keeping it.” Whaaat?

  I pushed past her and found myself facing a blue and gold macaw sitting atop a stainless steel perch to which one leg was chained. These striking birds have vivid blue plumage with a yellow or butterscotch underside and green on top of the head, but this one was a sorry specimen. Macaws are among the most sociable of birds but the poor animal had its head down and was absorbed in plucking at its pin feathers and had created a large bald patch on its chest. The feathers had none of the usual healthy iridescent sheen you should expect to see and, though I’m no expert, to me the creature looked much too thin.

  Appalled, I looked around. There was no window, the bird had no toys, no distractions of any kind, only food pellets to eat and, obviously, no company. I reached out to stroke the macaw’s head and it promptly bit me, drawing blood.

  “Oh, it does that,” Sadie said. “It’s not very nice.”

  “Nice!” I seethed. “If I’d been shoved in here like this I’d be ready to claw your eyes out. How long has she been in here?”

  When Sadie didn’t respond I spun round and marched back to Alden’s office, flinging open the door. “I’ll take it, you miserable, mean man. You should be ashamed of what you’ve done to that poor bird. And that goes for you, too,” I said, glaring at the assistant who’d been dogging my footsteps.

  “We did the best we could,” she snapped. “This isn’t a zoo.”

  “Really? Then how come I’m in a room with an ass and an ape?”

  “That’s enough.” Alden, eternally impassive, whistled through his teeth. “Sadie, put the bird in its cage and get it ready for Miss Parrett to take.”

  “Me? But it will bite. I can’t…”

  “Just find a way, Sadie.” Then to me he said, “And we have some other business to conclude before you leave, Miss Parrett.”

  I gave him my most contemptuous look. “I have nothing more to say.”

  “There is more to the bequest, wh
ich I think you will find quite agreeable.”

  Oh, lord. Not more birds. I sat.

  “Miss Ledbetter added a clause to her will. It is conditional on your acceptance of her pet’s welfare for the rest of its life. You will receive the balance of Miss Ledbetter’s estate, after legal fees and expenses have been satisfied, of course.”

  Well, I wasn’t expecting that. “Um…uh, I…I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Having agreed to care for Polly, you will receive…”

  “Whoa, hold up just a minute. Polly? The parrot’s name is Polly?”

  For the first time, Alden looked a little uncomfortable. “I believe your name was part of the reason Miss Ledbetter chose you as her beneficiary.”

  “This just gets better and better.” I flung my hands up. “Polly Parrett and Polly Parrot. What a farce. Miss L must have had quite the sense of humor.”

  Alden cleared his throat. “As I was saying, you are also the recipient of a residential home with all contents, valued at $94,000. There is a certificate of deposit and a bank account with a combined total of $4,058. Fees will be in the region of $3,000 to $4,000. Probate should be quite straightforward. The estate is small and I’ve handled Miss Ledbetter’s affairs for many years, so I anticipate we will be able to wrap this up within no more than ninety days.”

  I couldn’t speak. I’d pretty much stopped listening at $94,000. To me that was a fortune. Alden rattled on about probates and appraisals and such, then handed me forms that I signed in a daze. He had Sadie make copies and the next thing I was really aware of was standing outside the offices of Messrs. Shilito, Draper, Crouch and Alden with a bird in a cage in one hand, a wad of papers in the other and a bunch of bird paraphernalia beside me.

  My van was parked on the street so I shuttled everything to it. Moving any bird is incredibly stressful for them and this one was already a mess. Thankfully, I always keep a spare cat carrier or five with me and, using a towel, I carefully extricated Polly from her cage and secured her in the carrier. By now, she was so traumatized, she didn’t even object.

  It was an easy decision to head to my mother’s rather than my own home. There were people there who could help and Polly Parrot desperately needed help. “Hang in there, pretty girl,” I crooned. “Everything will be alright.” But would it?

  Two

  The weekend

  The poodle, a standard white, was wearing a princess costume with a tiara on her head. By her side, a little toy poodle, black, was dressed up to look like a frog prince. At their owner’s command, both dogs stood on their hind legs and paraded across the field. The crowd roared approval.

  “It’s amazing the lengths people will go to for a fancy dress dog contest,” Tina said.

  We were both standing on our chairs watching the action. It was the second annual state pet-sitters’ association jamboree. Vendors’ booths were arranged in a circle facing each other across the open field where all the activities took place – agility contests, demonstrations, fancy dress contest – and attendees milled around, browsing the merchandise and watching the shows.

  The little town of Mallowapple, where I live, had been chosen as the site for the event, mostly because it was fairly central in the state. Proceeds went to charity. This year, a group had been chosen that rescued shelter dogs and trained them as service dogs for military veterans. It was something dear to my heart because my mother and I had conceived and were running our own 501c for homeless vets and their pets. Well, actually Mom did pretty much everything.

  I probably should back up a bit and explain.

  A couple of Christmases ago I got involved in a murder where a homeless Vietnam veteran and his dog were wrongly accused of murder. Happily, they were exonerated and when my mom met Rooster, the ex-army guy, and his pit bull, Elaine, she came up with the idea to turn her big old farmhouse into a sort of half-way house for homeless vets and their pets.

  Rooster had moved in and between the three of us – and any other volunteers we could find – we’d fixed up the place and waded through mountains of paperwork to apply for non-tax status, which I can tell you is a major headache. We’d decided on a simple name: Welcome Home. Members of the local VFW (Veterans of Foreign Wars) had provided legal and accounting assistance free of charge and my brother, Seb, who was the techie of the family, set up a website.

  Our attorney, an ex-navy man named Orvil Gilroy, instructed we should have an advisory board even though we intended to keep our charity local, and preferably, someone with fund-raising experience. Callisto Padovano, known as Cal, a retired CPA, recommended we develop a five-year budget and operating plan and begin the fund-raising efforts immediately.

  So, here I was at the jamboree with a booth to promote my pet-care business and raise awareness for Welcome Home. In a wave of optimism, I’d printed a bunch of flyers explaining what Welcome Home was about, and had set a big glass fishbowl on the table hoping for a few donations. Surprisingly, people had been quite generous and I was happily anticipating the look on Mom’s face when I handed her the loot.

  “Polly, look at this one.” Tina, who is part of my pet-sitting crew, yanked my sleeve. I turned as the announcer’s voice came over the speakers. “And here is Yogi.”

  Yogi, a cute little bichon frise, was masquerading as a racehorse with a stuffed jockey on his back, while his guardian, Sherry, who also happened to be a client, paraded him in front of the crowd. I waved at her and cheered for Yogi when a blur of movement right in front of me drew my attention. Stunned, I realized someone had snatched up my donation jar and was racing off behind the booth.

  “Stop thief,” I shrieked, thrusting myself from the folding chair, which promptly collapsed, dumping me face first onto the ground that was still muddy from an early morning shower. Helplessly, I watched as my precious funds were carried away. Fudge!

  Then from the line of vendor booths a dog appeared, running toward the thief with long, effortless strides. In seconds he closed the gap and as he reached the thief, lunged at him, grabbing hold of the man’s arm. The thief howled and jerked to a halt but managed to maintain his footing, at the same time swinging his other arm back with the jar in hand. He’s going to smash the dog’s head.

  I think I stopped breathing, then I heard a forceful voice. “Aus!” Instantly the dog released his hold and backed away, which caused the guy to lose his footing and his hold on my money. Down they went. The thief stayed in one piece but the jar shattered and a light breeze began to gently carry the bills away.

  I thought I heard someone yell “giblets,” though what chicken parts had to do with anything was beyond me, and by now I was more focused on the fact that a horde of people had realized what was happening and converged on the area, snatching at the loose money. Hauling myself to my feet I hobbled toward the activity trying to snag a stray dollar or two along the way.

  My knee was throbbing like crazy, which was really a pity because I wanted to kick the scumbag thief in the you-know-whats. How could anyone steal from people in need?

  The dog was standing over the thief, barking like crazy. He was a powerful-looking German shepherd, black and tan with dark muzzle and dark ears. As I got close, he broke away and heeled beautifully next to a muscular-looking guy with a high and tight haircut. Someone caught hold of my arm; it was one of the event organizers, Tom, I think. “Security is on the way,” he said, and I watched as they arrived, seized the robber and marched him away.

  In moments, the whole thing was over. The crowd had dispersed along with the money; even the dog and his master were nowhere in sight. I wanted to cry but that would make me look like a wuss and I still had a little pride, so instead, I limped back to my booth.

  Three

  How quickly moods can change. The day had begun with so much promise. For a May day in Maine it was expected to be sunny and in the 60s. I’d splurged and bought one of those pop-up canopies and had a banner made with my company name, Pets and People, Too, which was strung above the table where my
information and give-a-ways were displayed. To make the set-up even more appealing I’d had the brilliant idea to create a backdrop using a photo of all my own “fur-kids.” OK, it really wasn’t such a brilliant idea; the using my kids part, anyway. After two hours of trying to get my three dogs and six cats to pose prettily together, I gave up and bought a stock picture where all the animals looked perfect.

  Now, all I could focus on was the empty space where my jar had been.

  “Here,” Tina said, “sit down.”

  She drew me towards a chair but I glared at it suspiciously. “Is that the one that tossed me?”

  “It’s fine.” She shook it to prove the point and it seemed reasonably stable, so I sat, wincing as my knee bent.

  “You need to get that iced,” Tina said. “I’m going over to the medical tent to see if they can help. Will you be OK for a few minutes?”

  “I think I’d feel much better if you would stop at the ice-cream van and bring me a double dip of pistachio.” I gave my best “pitiful me” impression and Tina headed off, shaking her head.

  “Polly!” It was Tom, or whatever his name was. I really should try harder to remember people’s names. Pets are easy; people – not so much.

  “Hey, uh, you.” Well, what else was I going to say?

  “I think we rounded up most of it, and we’re going to make an announcement before the next event begins.”

  “Huh?” Not the most astute comment, I grant you, but I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “I didn’t have another jar to put it in, so I had to make do with a bag.” He held out a white plastic bag with the words, “Thank You” printed in red on the side. “Well go on. Take it!”

  Uncertainly, I took the bag and sat it on my lap then peered inside. Holy cow. For once I didn’t know what to say. The bag was full of money. Mostly one dollar bills, some fives, and here and there a ten and even twenty. “But, I….”