Fine-Feathered Death Read Online Free Page A

I’d dreaded. “Ezra? This is Kendra.” I knew I’d phoned the right office since I heard Gigi screeching in the background even louder than I heard her from down the hall. “I’d like to talk to you about the matter you want me to work on in, say, fifteen minutes?”
    “Make that bird be quiet!” he shouted, though his voice sounded muffled, as if he’d covered the telephone receiver with his hand. Who was he talking to? Not me, surely. In a second, he said, “Ah, yes, Kendra,” loudly enough that I knew he was speaking directly into the phone. In fact, I heard his silent yet victorious chortle as he said smugly, “I’ll be ready.”

Chapter Three
    WHEN I ENTERED Ezra’s office a little later, he wasn’t alone. Gigi was there, of course, loose and perched on the pedestal outside her cage. She was squawking rhythmically as usual, this time bobbing her blue-and-white head along with her chosen cadence. Making noise wasn’t all she’d been up to—I noticed some gnawing on the edges of Ezra’s antique desk.
    Uh-oh.
    Ezra sat silently behind that desk, a yellow knit shirt emphasizing his thin, stooped shoulders. Judging by the grumpy grimace on his wrinkly face, he wasn’t happy—which seemed to be his perpetual mood. Next to Gigi stood a short, slightly overweight woman with pale skin, a broad double chin, and unnaturally bright red hair.
    “Kendra, meet Polly Bright,” Ezra said, surprising me with my own perspicacity. I’d already thought of the word “bright” upon noticing her—and that included her clothes. “Polly, this is Kendra Ballantyne, one of the firm’s partners.”
    “Glad to meet you, Kendra.” Polly proffered her hand in greeting, and we shook soundly. Speaking of bright, her nails were tipped in scarlet as vivid as her lipstick, a hue that clashed with the artificial shade of her shiny hair. “I’m a bird psychologist and trainer,” she continued. “I’ve worked with a friend of Ezra’s who owns another member of the parrot family. Macaws are a type of parrot, you know. Isn’t that a hoot—a bird trainer named Polly Bright?” She said it lightly with a laugh, and it sounded like a well-used refrain. “Here’s more information about me.” She slipped a flyer from the pocket of her flowing orange coat and handed it to me. It depicted the covers of half a dozen books on bird psychology—all written by Polly. “I’m known everywhere for my expertise on parrots, you know.” Her eyes lowered in a modicum of modesty before she again met my gaze. “Ezra called and said Gigi needs counseling,” she continued, “so here I am.”
    “Yeah,” Ezra grumbled. “But so far you haven’t even been able to get her to calm down.”
    “Patience!” Polly commanded. “You disrupted this poor creature’s routine by adopting her. Then, before she could even get used to you, you moved her from your home to this office.” Like everything else about her, Polly’s dress beneath her jacket was bright—a long patchwork, peasant-style thing in blues, greens, and yellows. I’d have considered such a getup garish on almost anyone else, but on her it somehow worked.
    “I brought Gigi home with me last night, then here again today,” Ezra said, aiming his habitual scowl at the parrot psychologist. “I figured she’d be better off going back and forth, having company, being wherever I am. Aren’t you, gorgeous girl?” This last was said in a soft and gushy tone. The bird stopped bobbing as if aware she was being sweet-talked. “Did you know she’s a Blue and Gold Macaw, Kendra? They’re smart and trainable, and Gigi already knows a lot. Don’t you, girl?”
    “Gorgeous girl,” Gigi gargled demurely to her aging male owner. Amazingly, his attitude toward Gigi today indicated to me that, despite most appearances, Ezra Cossner had a modicum of humanity. I found myself almost liking the guy.
    “I like having Gigi around,” Ezra said. “But she can’t hang out here if she’s