Chapter Twenty-Five

Place ain’t for sale.” Kate was still walking up to the house when the front door swung inward, and Artie, dressed in clean blue-and-white-striped overalls—much like the ones he had loaned Dud—and a brown plaid shirt stood in the doorway. With his eyes squinted down hard at Kate, he concluded gruffly, “So, no use you standin’ out there looking it over like you’re plottin’ where to hang a porch swing.”

Kate didn’t quite know what to say to that until a slight hint of amusement flickered across his face.

“I was just admiring the view, Mr. Best.” She confidently strode the rest of the way up the walk and onto the porch. “You really have put a lot of effort into keeping up your home.”

Any trace of humor in his expression evaporated instantly. He stepped back from the door as she crossed the threshold, and when she came inside, he gave the door a push.

It shut with a wham that made Kate jump.

He didn’t acknowledge her comment. “Be right back. Got to take care of my parrots.” He turned and started up the narrow stairway behind a door just off to the side of the gleaming hardwood-floored foyer. “Won’t take long. Got some taxidermied specimens ’long with some scrapbooks and such there in the parlor if you want to take a look at ’em.”

“Actually, I’d love to see the parrots.” Kate stepped forward and placed her hand on the roughly varnished rail. “If you don’t mind my tagging along.”

“May have to do your talkin’ over the squawkin’.” He gave her a look over his shoulder, sort of sizing her up from the tips of her white tennis shoes to the top of her clipped-back hair. She must have passed muster because he gave a lopsided shrug and concluded, “No reason why you can’t come along.”

He gave a jerk of his head and started up the steps again.

Kate followed. She wondered if she’d been too optimistic thinking she’d ever get anything out of him, much less find actual answers to her questions. At the landing halfway up, she paused to give her arthritic knee a rest.

Artie kept on trudging upward one creaking wooden step at a time.

She raised her head to watch him and found herself squinting into the glare of sunlight through an octagonal pane of plain glass. “That would be the perfect spot for a stained-glass window.”

That made Artie stop in his tracks. He looked down at her, then up at the source of the hot, bright shaft of sunlight. “I reckon. This staircase used to lead up to the old attic, back before...”

His hand flexed on the handrail, and his jaw tightened. He took a deep breath, then fixed his gaze on the few remaining steps ahead of him. “Back before I converted the attic to a proper place to house the parrots. Had that window put in to provide some natural light on the stairwell. Don’t really need no stained glass.”

“Sometimes we do things not because a house needs it but because we need to do things to make that house feel like home.” She really could envision a stained-glass piece in that window and hoped he might say he’d like one so that she could make one for him.

“Only ones that need to feel at home ’round here these days are me and my parrots. I don’t see no use for fancy stained glass.” Artie started up the steps again and without looking back, added, “But maybe the parrots might like it.”

Kate smiled and made a mental note to work up some sketches for a possible stained-glass project.

Artie waited at the door at the top of the stairs, his hand on the shiny new brass doorknob.

“Is there anything I need to know about the birds before we go in?” Kate asked as she joined him in the small area at the top of the stairs.

He scrunched his face, then glanced back and said, “The green one bites.”

“The green one?” Kate held back.

“The Nanday conure.” He stepped into the upper room.

Kate followed, then stopped to take it all in. It was a huge, airy space with three walls the color of butter and a third one wallpapered with tropical plants. There were two dormer windows on the wall that looked out over the front of the house and a single window on the north wall. Three large bird cages sat in their own designated spaces with birds in them. There were also large perches hanging from the ceiling, leading her to believe that Artie sometimes let the birds have the run of the room.

“I don’t usually keep them cooped up if I’m in the house.” He began attending to the cages one by one. “But if I know someone is coming or I’m going out to...be out awhile, I cage them.”

Kate noted the hesitation before he settled on the noncommittal “going to be out awhile.” If he had recently begun going out more during the day and didn’t want people upsetting his parrots, that would explain his change of policy requiring visitors to make appointments to come by.

Kate contemplated that possibility as Artie went to the first and largest of the three cages and peered in at a large red parrot, the kind Kate could picture sitting on a pirate’s shoulder eating crackers. “Is that a macaw?”

“Scarlet macaw.” He took a moment to speak to the large bird, which reacted as though it had just seen a long-lost friend. “An Ara macao.”

“That’s his Latin name, but based on his appearance, I’m guessing this is Captain Crackers.” She came closer, but not too close.

“How’d you know that?” he asked, his shoulders tense and his eyes squinty.

Kate shrugged. “You told me their names on the phone once.”

“And you remembered?” He leaned in and gave the parrot something that looked suspiciously like a nuzzle. The bird grabbed the strap of Artie’s overalls as if needing confirmation that it was really him. When Artie withdrew his hand from the cage, he eyed her again. “That was nice of you. I hope you don’t expect me to be nice in return. Ain’t my nature.”

They moved to the next cage, and a loud shriek greeted him. He didn’t flinch, but neither did he lean in to interact with the bird.

“The green one,” Kate said softly.

“The Nanday conure. Sometimes called the black-hooded parakeet because of that black cap of feathers on its head. I call him Bebe.” Artie stepped aside so that Kate could get a better view of the green bird. “He’s the reason I ended up with these parrots.”

“He is the reason?” Kate cocked her head. She wouldn’t ask about Joanie, but if Artie wanted to volunteer some information, she would be ready to listen.

Artie didn’t go into detail. “They’re illegal to own in some states. I was the closest person with a captive bird wildlife permit.”

The bird screeched again.

“I see. Is he full grown?” She peered at the bird, which she judged to be about eleven inches long.

“He’s about twelve years old. He’d better be.” Artie chuckled and started toward the third cage. “I’ve had him most of those years.”

“It’s been that long since you and—” Kate broke off, realizing she almost brought up his relationship with Joanie.

Artie paused halfway to the next cage and turned to study her. “What’s been that long?”

Kate couldn’t lie or even fabricate a creative rendition of the truth that might smooth over her faux pas. She took a deep breath and put her hands out, palms up in resignation. “I went by Joanie’s Ark today to talk to them about something that happened to Bonnie. The girl working the desk told me about you and Joan Capshaw.”