Part 4 (1/2)

The house I grew up in had never seemed nicer. My parents trended toward comfortable and practical rather than elegant, a house full of places to set a coffee cup and turn on a reading light. My father's sign painting magazines had a dedicated shelf within reach of his recliner. Often a gardening book lay on the kitchen counter, sometimes held open with a muddy hand trowel. Winter was a frustrating time for my mother, the season of not-gardening. In the living room, a handsome toy-box my father had constructed held educational toys guaranteed to produce a genius. My mother worked part-time as an elementary-school math specialist, and she knew her toys.

They both adored Robby, probably seeing him as a second chance to rear a child that would turn out the way they had expected back when I was two. My schedule required working weekends, when the day care center was closed. I was fortunate to have them take him on Sat.u.r.days and Sundays and the rare times, like tonight, when I worked late.

”You look so tired,” my mother said. ”I saved you a lamb chop. How about a gla.s.s of wine?” Gray threaded through her hair and a wrinkle showed here and there, but she still seemed tireless, two women's worth of energy in one short package. Tonight she wore her yellow sweats.h.i.+rt with wildflowers, an old favorite.

My father was immersed in a basketball game, the reason my mother hadn't seen the news and wasn't full of alarm about the Tiptons. That would happen tomorrow.

”I wish I could. We stopped for pizza and I don't dare drink when I'm this beat. Robby's asleep? I'm sorry I'm so late.”

”He was fine. How did the animal rescue go?”

”We had a few setbacks. I have to go back tomorrow. I'll give you the full story when I can think straight.” Telling her about a dead girl and failed CPR would keep me there all night.

”We'll take Robby to the Children's Museum this Sat.u.r.day. That is, if it's all right with you.”

”That would be awesome.”

My mother's focus on toddler enrichment had my full support. Robby benefited and so did I, since that left her with less energy for nudging my life into shape.

My father was the calm center of our small family. He was tall and quiet. I inherited only the tall part, that and his dark hair. His hands were skilled and sure, trained by a lifetime as a sign painter and home handyman.

I climbed the stairs to my old room, where Robby was curled asleep around his stuffed armadillo. Seeing my child did much to set my world to rights again. He was an unlikely gift to my life, conceived by accident just before my husband Rick died. I inhaled his baby scent as I leaned over to pick him up.

I needed this day to come to an end, to go home. To sleep. But Robby woke up cross-wise and pitched a fit. I hugged him and explained and did my best, but he wanted...I couldn't tell what he wanted, but being awakened was not it. Finally I gave up on sweet reason, wrestled him into the car seat, and waved good-bye to my parents, who stood watching my failings with concerned frowns.

Pete and Cheyenne's car was in the driveway, but they were upstairs in their room. I lugged Robby up to his room and tucked him in. Thankfully, he collapsed back into slumber.

My dogs, Winnie and Range, were thrilled to have me back. Range was mostly black Lab, Winnie was part German shepherd. I sat on the floor and stroked the dogs, apologizing for coming home late again. They did their best to heal the day's misery with doggy affection, and their best was quality work.

I was able to buy this house because of Rick's life insurance, but that edge of discomfort had mostly worn off. Like my parents' home, it smelled of good food-Pete's spicy cooking-and the kitchen was neither beige nor worn out. The house still had some of the ”new-on-the-market” glow from when I'd bought it two and a half years ago.

Why had the Tiptons lived in such a barren house? They must have had drug profits to spend.

I pushed away recollections of the Tiptons' kitchen by calling Marcie, my best friend, for a quick check-in. She wanted to talk, but I was too exhausted. We settled for dinner on my next day off. I felt bad about that-she needed me and I'd made her wait. Denny had backed away from their three year relations.h.i.+p and she wasn't taking it well.

A quick shower and I was in bed.

The deep comfort of domestic routine didn't survive the darkness. In the quiet, unsettling images intruded and pushed sleep away-Liana's pale, vacant face, Tipton's collapsing body.

Tomorrow was a work day-insomnia was not an option.

Better to think about the birds I wanted for the new walk-through aviary featured in the zoo's master plan. Lady Amherst pheasants with their green and blue backs and long barred tails. Temminck's tragopan, a gorgeous red and orange pheasant. My hands on the warm bodies of parrots with broken feathers, the stab of blackberry thorns pulled aside to show a slender muzzle pressed to a b.l.o.o.d.y sweater.

I concentrated harder. Laughing thrushes in the bushes. Maybe Asian Fairy bluebirds, gorgeous. Green magpies, if Neal could find any. A wisp of detail intruded: My palms on Jerome Tipton's chest had shoved on an expensive Filson jacket like the one my mother gave my father for Christmas. His sons' jackets were cheap denim.

Demoiselle cranes. He'd worn a fancy watch, the kind with many b.u.t.tons and functions. Red-breasted geese...sleep.

Chapter Six.

Under thin wintery sunlight, the farm looked less desolate, transformed from squalid to merely rural. Clear sky equals cold in the Northwest in January. Frost outlined tall gra.s.s stalks along the road and rimmed the hog-wire around the vegetable garden.

I ran the van up to the house and shut it off. Denny and I emerged blinking in the unaccustomed light, grateful for air that wasn't tainted with disinfectant fumes from decontaminating the van. The Tipton place and toxic air would be forever linked in my mind. We had a solemn agreement to get in and get out-load the macaws and split.

Mud crunched underfoot, icy on top and gooey underneath. Creme brulee of muck. I grumbled to Denny, ”If I had to live here, I'd order a truckload of fir bark on Day Two and make some decent paths.”

My arms ached from the night before. The black Boxer mix that had been so aggressive circled in a live trap under the eaves, barking dutifully at us. The Chow, still loose, loitered next to him and raised his nose to emit a woof now and then. No half-grown Doberman.

As the first order of business, we checked that The Law was on duty. We found Deputy Gettler amid a group standing in the dining room giving each other instructions about wrapping up the crime scene. When he confirmed that the Tipton brothers weren't back in custody, I said, ”We are not facing those guys again without serious firepower on our side. I left my nets in the parrot barn, so we need someone to go with us.”

Gettler seemed insulted that we asked for security he'd a.s.sumed he would provide. He led us outside. ”You're not supposed to park here. That's why everyone else is parked by the gate.”

”We're going to load the macaws,” I said. I pointed to the VW van. ”You guys checked that out? The Tiptons might have left a gas receipt or something from where they picked up the parrots and tortoises.”

”We checked it.”

”What did you find?”

A shrug. ”I wasn't there.”

He led us across ice slicks to the closer barn, clouds of our breath drifting ahead, and removed the padlock from the hasp on the door. It was dark and cold inside. He flicked on a flashlight.

”Did a huge electric bill give them away?” I asked.

”Nope. Tom Tipton sold meth to the wrong guy. That's what we came out for. The gra.s.s was a surprise.”

”Like the animals,” said Denny.

The deputy looked defensive. ”We knew about the dogs, just not the rest. Not until we had a chance to look around.”

I'd left the nets leaning against the wall in the back room. Now they lay on the floor. The night before, Denny and I had been the last ones out of the building. ”Did you dump them here?”

Denny shook his head.

”Who's been in here? I thought this was locked up at night.”

Gettler said, ”Only one entry and you saw it was padlocked.”

I looked around the back room. ”That bag of parrot food was moved. I didn't leave it there.”

Denny s.h.i.+fted from foot to foot. ”Who cares? Grab the nets and let's go.”

I was just as eager to leave this place behind, but he wasn't in charge, and I ignored him. Something had been bothering me for two days. ”Only one exit,” I said to myself.

”Yeah. Maybe not the brightest plan,” the deputy agreed.