Detective Gutierrez stood with her hands on her slim hips and studied the lifeless form of Petey the cockatoo.
“A dead bird does not qualify as a murder victim.”
In the middle of my coffee table, Petey lay on the bottom of his cage, feet up, and his head turned to an unnatural angle.
“I’d say that bird had his neck rung. Used to do the chickens myself, when I was a girl.” And with that pronouncement, Auntie handed me a glass of tequila, the strongest liquor in the house. I took a sip and grimaced.
“I don’t understand why you’re here,” I said. “No offense.”
Gutierrez said, “Bowers asked me to cover for him, but I don’t know why he thought you needed the police.” She pointed a slim finger at Petey. “I mean, it’s a bird.”
“Petey was Elvira Jenkins’ bird. That’s the lady who was killed at the Saguaro Studios. Maybe it was just a vindictive act, but maybe there’s a reason why her bird had to go. It talked, you know.”
Gutierrez turned a puzzled expression in my direction. “Talked?”
“Mostly it said Meow, but maybe it was capable of saying more, and the killer didn’t want us to hear it.”
“A trained bird.” She blew out a steady stream of air. “I suppose that’s possible. Did a particular guest show an interest in the animal or have the opportunity to slip into your bedroom?”
“People were in and out of the hallway to use the facilities after the, er, after I fell.”
“Are you saying someone assaulted you?” The detective pressed her lips together to suppress her smile, but she didn’t succeed. When I told her that wasn’t a very professional response, she opened her notebook, the one she’d stuck in her back pocket the minute she’d seen Petey, though she didn’t wipe the grin off her face.
I recalled the feeling that someone had pushed me, but it was an invisible force, not a person, and Detective Gutierrez had no interest in the supernatural. “Nothing like that. I just tipped over.”
She gave a delicate snort, like a cat sneezing. “Klutz. Now, tell me about this party.”
“It was supposed to be a séance to talk to Elvira Jenkins,” Auntie offered, “but things were interrupted before they really got moving.”
“A séance.”
“All the suspects were here.”
“She doesn’t really want to hear about that,” I said, squeezing Auntie’s shoulder.
“Oh, but she does.” The amusement left Detective Gutierrez’ expression. “Who were your guests?” She readied her pen, and Auntie helpfully ticked them off on her fingers.
“Elvira’s family. One of the other Blue-Ribbon bakers. Betty never showed, and Natasha and Bert couldn’t make it. They said they were busy. Is that suspicious?”
“N-o-o-o. I’d say that was a healthy response.” Gutierrez dismissed Auntie for the moment and turned her questions on me.
“Can you tell me how this doesn’t qualify as interfering in a police investigation?”
“It was perfectly legitimate,” Auntie cried. “Detective Bowers supervised.”
I groaned.
Gutierrez’ eyes lit up. “Bowers was here?”
I flinched at the zing that shot through the air, emanating from the lady detective. She obviously thought she’d hit the jackpot and found a way to embarrass Bowers.
“Just long enough to break things up and tell everyone to go home,” I offered in a last-ditch effort to save his reputation.
“He was a spoilsport,” Auntie agreed, and I felt my shoulders relax. “At least we know the murderer was here tonight,” Auntie added.
“And you never left my sight,” I said, “so at least we know you aren’t the murderer. Ha-ha. Not that I really thought you were.”
Gutierrez closed her book. “I’m glad to hear you’ve got it all taped up, because there doesn’t seem to be anything else for me to do here.”
“You’re not going to dust the cage for fingerprints or look for clues?” Auntie offered the use of her face powder, since Gutierrez hadn’t brought a crime scene team with her.
The detective opened her gorgeous brown eyes wide and blinked. “I’ll send over our Animal Crime Scene Unit, Ma’am.”
“I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee.” Auntie scurried to the kitchen.
“Is there any such a thing?” I asked.
Gutierrez snorted. “What do you think?”
I didn’t like the way she held my gaze as she said goodnight. Since Bowers had been to the séance, it would have been better if he had come himself. And I couldn’t believe how he’d opened himself up to ridicule by allowing Gutierrez anywhere near my home. Had he had enough of séances and tarot readers and pet psychics? Was he washing his hands of the whole case?
I hoped this didn’t mean that Gutierrez would be taking over the investigation.