Mrs. Murphy volunteered to babysit Napoleon the next day. She said she would be baking lasagna and it would be no trouble to keep him. Mrs. Murphy makes a mean lasagna and always shares a pan with us. It seemed too good to be true: we’d get dinner and wouldn’t have to pick up feathers after the latest barking and screeching fight. The animals clearly didn’t like one another and Napoleon was always calling Baskerville a dirty dog. Needless to say, Baskerville didn’t take the insult lightly.
I was back home after a day of nonstop problems at the movie theater; a new slate of movies started which always complicated our days. Cindy wasn’t home yet so I enjoyed a few quiet moments before taking Baskerville out for his walk. I’d have to pick up the bird and I knew my quiet time would then be over.
The dog sniffed around and did his business, and I walked him up the concrete steps to Mrs. Murphy’s brick home.
“Lucy! How are you?” She was at the door before I could knock with a big smile for me. She really was a sweet lady who tried to take me under her wing. I should be more appreciative—she stepped in after my mother died a few years ago and helped me more than I can say.
“Fine, Mrs. Murphy. How’d your day go?”
She held open the screen door. Baskerville and I walked in with our noses connecting immediately with the great smell. Yum.
“Great, great. Come in.”
“Is that your fabulous lasagna I smell?” I breathed in the enticing aroma of sauce and cheese. “It’s making my stomach rumble.”
She laughed, made her way into the kitchen as I happily followed. Baskerville parked himself in front of Hamlet who was then unable to go anywhere. With lasagna calling, I decided to let them work it out themselves.
“Would you like this one?” She held up a glass pan showing gobs of rich red sauce with gooey mozzarella cheese dripping over several layers of thick
noodles. Man, I nearly swooned. Her lasagna was better than sex. Well, maybe. At least the sex that I’ve had recently…
“Can you spare it?” I was already greedily reaching for the pan.
She laughed again, jiggling her rounded belly. “I have three more pans besides this one. You know I always cook for you and Cindy too.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Mrs. Murphy. I can’t thank you enough.” I glanced back to the living room where poor trembling Hamlet was still outmaneuvered by a menacing toy poodle. “How’d it go with Napoleon today?”
“Fine, fine.” She wrapped the pan of lasagna with aluminum foil and handed it to me. “No problem at all.”
“Really?” I squeaked. “Hamlet and Napoleon got along?”
She walked back into the living room, yards of pink housedress billowing behind her. “Napoleon loves Hamlet. He called him ‘mon amour’.”
I followed her, staring at the bird. He was in his large cage in the middle of the room by her television set. She had it on mute but I could still tell some guy was yelling at us to buy his car wax. With a white crown of feathers high on his head, the parrot walked back and forth on his swing before tucking his beak into a small bowl of nuts for a snack.
“ ‘Mon amour’?”
“Well, I don’t speak French, Lucy but even I know that it means ‘my love’.”
“Sure, that’s right.” My eyes narrowed and I wondered what was up. “So Napoleon loves Hamlet?”
“Oh, my, yes. That bird adores my beloved dog. Hamlet sat by his cage most of the day and they seem to chatter at each other.”
I shook my head not getting this picture at all. “Huh. He doesn’t like Baskerville.”
Mrs. Murphy smiled, creating lots of wrinkles around her laughing eyes. “Your dog can be a bit of a pisser, Lucy. You do know that, right?”
I sat on the couch and watched the bird prance on his perch. “Yes, well, that’s true.”
She sat on the chair beside me and leaned forward. “But you know a strange thing did happen today.”
“What’s that?”
“I was sitting right where you are and Hamlet was drinking from his bowl of water over there on the floor, see?” She waved a hand in the vicinity of the cage.
I nodded, hoping she’d get to the point eventually. I’d been on the receiving end of many of Mrs. Murphy’s discussions and knew it might take her a while. This time was no different.
“Yes, it was cold out so I wasn’t going to walk Hamlet until after I finished baking the lasagnas. That took all morning.” She smoothed her flowing skirt. “At lunch, I fed the animals and made myself a ham sandwich to watch my favorite program.” She nodded. “On Thursdays, I always see ‘Hitler and his Henchmen’ on the Military Channel.”
I guess she needed confirmation so I smiled. “Okay.”
“Well, it’s just the most interesting program with all kinds of facts about World War II. That was such a terrible war. Such a huge cost in human life and….”
“Mrs. Murphy?” I’d sneaked a glance at my watch and Cindy would be home soon. I had places to go, people to see but I didn’t want to be rude either. “So that’s a good program?” I hoped I could get her back on track.
Her smile spread across her face. “It’s my favorite! Why, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“And this episode was particularly good?” I encouraged.
“Oh, yes! You know that Hitler surrounded himself with a small clique of fanatical henchmen. Today was about Rudolf Hoess and he was just awful.” When she drew breath to tell me how awful he was, I jumped into the pause.
“You mentioned a strange thing that happened.”
She sat back. “Right. Right, that was where I was going, isn’t it?” Her eyebrows arched. “I do get a little carried away.”
I patted her hand. “Not a problem at all, but you were saying?”
“This was the strange thing: I’d been watching the program for maybe fifteen or twenty minutes when Napoleon started shrieking. Some of his words were French but clear as day he squawked, ‘Nazi plunder! Nazi plunder! Look out! Look out! Nazi plunder!’” She looked admiringly over at him. “He really has a large vocabulary.”
Nazi plunder? French words? What was going on here? What had the bird seen or heard? Or was he just a Military Channel addict?
Just then Napoleon seemed to awaken to our presence and began repeating Mrs. Murphy. “Nazi plunder! Bawk! Look out! Nazi plunder!” Baskerville’s curly head twisted around and he barked. The parrot saw him at the same time. “Bawk! Dirty dog! Dirty dog!”
Hamlet made his escape while he could and raced over by Mrs. Murphy. A Great Dane takes up a lot of room and his large tail sideswiped me as he hurried by. Baskerville’s barks became frenzied while Napoleon started leaping around his cage. I felt a headache coming on.
Mrs. Murphy cradled the big dog in her arms as well as she could and I rose wearily, picking up the lasagna. “I guess I’d better take them home. Thanks for taking care of Napoleon today.”
She rose to join me. “Not a problem at all. He was quiet as a mouse until that program came on. What do you think it means, Lucy?”
The question of the day. Of course, I had no idea but that tiny spark of curiosity was beginning to burn and I wanted to get to the bottom of this little mystery.
Nazi plunder.
Research time. I needed clay to make those bricks.
* * *