Parrots Prove Deadly by Clea Simon Page B

anger had dissipated, the wan blonde did look exhausted. And so with one more nod, she let me escort her out the door. The moment it closed behind her, I fetched the canister of treats I’d packed for training purposes and hurried back to the cage.
    “Randolph?” I opened the cover tentatively. If the bird had fallen asleep, I’d let him be.
    “What the hell do you want?” It was as clear an answer as any I’d heard, but it wasn’t accompanied by frantic flapping. So I pulled the cover back and found myself once more eye to eye with the big, gray bird.
    “Would you like some fly time?” I had no idea what Polly had called it. Clearly, her daughter didn’t. “Fly time?” I offered a treat. “Fly?” I still had no bond with this bird. Without that, I didn’t stand a chance.
    “Waah,” the bird took the treat, then looked down and pecked at a large scaly claw. “Couldn’t hurt.”
    “Okay, then.” I opened the door and stepped back. Parrots can be aggressive, and this one was large and agitated. Plus, I’d realized, his favorite perch put us at eye level. I didn’t know how much this bird understood. I did know I didn’t need to get into a dominance contest with a client. “Go wild.”
    “Waah! Go wild.”
    “Very good.” Randolph stepped onto the door frame and accepted a second treat with his massive beak. “Go wild,” I tried again.
    “Wild.” He peered around the room. I didn’t think he was looking for Polly. The mess, I figured. Things must seem strange. Still, he spread his wings and took off. I stepped back and still felt the breeze from his wings. He was a big bird, and once again I wondered how old he was. How much he must have seen.
    I walked over to the wall to get out of his way. To lean back, I needed to move some of those boxes. “That’s mine. Stop it!” He squawked, landing on the windowsill. “Get your grimy hands off.”
    “Sorry.” I couldn’t help but smile. Polly must have been a little paranoid at the end. That was a much more logical explanation than an intruder. Than murder.
    “Waah!” Randolph accented his comment by letting loose some droppings. Well, the sill would be easy to clean. “Filthy animal.”
    “She said that to you?” He was perched below my eye level, and I had the uncanny feeling this was intentional. Randolph didn’t want me worrying about dominance, either. “Or are you repeating someone else’s words?”
    Rose, maybe. Or more likely Genie—though from what I’d witnessed, either Jane or her brother might have made comments if they’d visited and found the bird flying free.
    “Waah.” Randolph started to groom, working his thick beak through the feathers on his left wing. It must have felt good to stretch out, I thought. Being cage-bound was almost as bad as being bedridden. I shook the treats canister to get his attention, and then stopped myself. Thinking back over what Jane had said, what the doctors had said, was making me cautious. Parrots bond, and Randolph probably missed Polly. Still, this bird’s stress issues might have dated from long before Polly’s death. I didn’t want to push him.
    “Crap!” The bird stopped grooming and angled his head to stare at me. “Shit on a shingle!”
    “Okay,” I spoke carefully. “Maybe it’s not the same.” Did this bird understand me? My morning with Growler had alerted me to possibilities I wouldn’t have considered only a day or two before.
    “Bullshit.” The bird elongated the first syllable in a manner that would have been comical under other circumstances.
    “What are you trying to tell me, Randolph? If Randolph is indeed your name?” This wasn’t what I’d been planning. Still, both Wallis and Growler had put me on alert.
    “Full of crap, that one. Put that down! What are you doing? What are you doing? That’s mine! Aaah!” And with something that sounded eerily like a human shriek, the gray bird took off again, circling the room one more time before returning to