What a waste of time! The stakeout last night ended in acute boredom mixed with a string of asinine jokes from Mark and absolutely no action from the cheating husband. I shivered the whole night because Mark wouldn’t turn on the heater and I played endless games on my cell phone to fill the time vacuum. I didn’t get home until after midnight and here I was this morning, bright and bushy-tailed, at the movie theater sprinting to the utility closet for the mop. Some moviegoer had thrown up in a bathroom and suddenly everyone but me was too busy to do the job. Such was the glamorous life of the assistant manager.
Lugging the mop and pail, I met Kevin sauntering towards theater two. He was pudgy with thinning hair, but we’d known each other since middle school and I knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Today he looked positively glowing…the marital counseling must be paying off.
“Lucy, how goes it?”
“Just get here?”
“Yeah, my wife dropped me off because her car’s in the repair shop.”
He gave me a lop-sided smile and continued on his way. “Things going okay?” he called out over a shoulder.
“Yes, and I’m taking off for lunch after I clean up the mess in the bathroom. Be back in an hour.”
He waved me off. “Sure, sure. See you later.”
I watched him swagger down the carpeted hallway and heard a strange sound. Was he whistling? I didn’t bother to bite back my smirk as I walked away. He was happy and that meant my day would be happy too. When Kevin was irritated, he spread it around so there were little pockets of discontent everywhere.
Forty-five minutes later, I’d ordered a chicken Panini at the tiny bistro around the corner from the theater. Cindy had ordered a bowl of clam chowder and we sat in the busy place eagerly awaiting our food.
“How’s your day, Sherlock?”
I laughed, buttered a warm roll. “Better than yesterday, Watson.”
“You got in late last night and missed The Hound of the Baskervilles on TCM.”
“Really?” My taste buds did a happy dance when I munched a bite of my roll.
“Yes,” she chuckled, “but our Baskerville didn’t. He curled up on the sofa with me and barked every time the ghostly hound showed up on the screen.”
“You mean ghastly and spectral?” An eyebrow rose. “I bet he liked that. Wish I could have been there. It sure sounds more fun than that crummy stakeout.”
“The internship isn’t going well, is it?” Brushing back a few strands of her blonde hair, Cindy leveled those cool baby blues at me. “Tell me.”
Wearily, I set down my butter knife. “No, it’s not going well at all. Bret won’t give me anything else to do but this one worthless case and I’m job shadowing Yosemite Sam. He even picks his teeth with a matchbook cover!”
Cindy laughed, glanced around the noisy café. Her return look was penetrating. “You knew you’d get shit jobs to start.”
“Yes, yes, I knew I’d have to pay my dues but it’s just all so…”
“…So?”
“In a word—boring.”
“You’re bored?” Her eyes widened. “On a case?”
I shrugged. “Probably never thought you’d hear me say that. It’s just too much down time with no results.”
“It’s money in Bret’s pockets for all the hours you guys work.”
“And I get that… It just seems so pointless. We’re not…discovering anything. Is this all detective agencies do?”
We were quiet for a minute and then the food arrived. I was glad to have the silence while I considered what I’d said. Maybe detective work wasn’t for me after all. Nothing’s easy in this world, is it?
After finishing a good part of my excellent Panini, I told her about Joe Warner’s visit and his request. Cindy looked surprised.
“Has he ever visited you at work before?”
“Nope, never.”
“It must be important about all these dogs disappearing.”
“Well, his disappeared too.”
The spoon headed towards her mouth stopped abruptly. Clam chowder slopped over the sides.
“His dog?”
“Right. Remember that golden lab he has…had? It disappeared last week. I’m meeting with him and a few neighbors tonight.”
She plunked the spoon back in the bowl. “You’ve got to find his dog, Lucy. This sounds serious. Why, they could be poisoned or shot…”
“There are several possible scenarios for what has happened.”
We talked more about those scenarios while I polished off my food. Cindy’s appetite faded and she moved the bowl away. The waiter came over to see if we needed anything else, refilled our water glasses and left the bill by the breadbasket. I frowned as I scanned it. Iced tea cost three bucks? Yikes. When did that happen? Cindy took out a mirror to smooth on a coat of pink lipstick.
“I forgot to tell you about last night.”
“What?”
“Before the movie started, I was practicing some French phrases out loud.”
“How’s the French class going?”
She picked up her purse, got out her wallet. “Pretty well, I think. Je besoin une verre du vin.”
I laughed, put some money on the table. “What does that mean?”
“I need a glass of wine.”
“Me too.”
“Anyway,” she grinned, selected a ten to add to the tab. “I was reciting my lesson and Napoleon started screeching French phrases back at me.”
I turned to stare at her. “You’re kidding. The parrot spoke in French?”
She nodded. “It’s not so surprising actually since Eddie’s mother and grandfather were French and the bird lived with them both for years. I’m sure they spoke in French to him.”
We left the café and started walking towards the movie theater.
“Do you know what he said?”
Snickering, she put a hand on my arm. “You probably won’t find this too hard to believe but Napoleon called Baskerville, ‘une connard’.”
“Which means…”
“An asshole.”
I snorted. “Great. Now we have a foul-mouthed, French speaking parrot on our hands. What’s worse than that?”
She mock shuddered. “Never say that, Lucy, because it always gets worse. You just condemned us.”
I rolled my eyes and we went our separate ways. She went back to her tony job at the casino, and I returned to my grind at the theater. But my mind strayed all afternoon to the thought of a French-speaking parrot. A French-speaking parrot who was alive at the end of World War II. A tiny spark of curiosity flickered that I couldn’t tamp down. I bet there was more to the story.
* * *