CHAPTER TWO

“An emergency?” Jenna echoed, her tone measured. Her mind sifted through the possibilities, each more improbable than the last. “As in urgent?” she asked.

“Depends on your definition of ‘urgent,’” Jake said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. Then she noted the sly grin, the hint of mischief in his blue eyes. It was a look Jenna had come to recognize and appreciate for its rarity in their usually mundane line of work.

“Jake Hawkins and his riddles,” she mused, feeling a smile tugging at her lips. She pushed her chair back and stood, ready to engage with whatever challenge awaited them. The room appeared normal, the files on her desk remained stacked in orderly chaos, but the air seemed charged with an undercurrent of expectancy.

“Remember Mrs. Rigby’s parrot, the African Gray?” Jake asked. “The one with a vocabulary colorful enough to make a sailor blush?”

“Vaguely,” Jenna replied, recalling the local eccentric and her pet parrot.

“Well, it’s escaped. And it’s causing quite the ruckus downtown. It seems to have developed a new talent for mimicking car alarms.”

For a moment, Jenna simply stared at him, processing the absurdity of the scenario. Then she laughed out loud, and the sensation felt good. “Lead the way, Deputy Hawkins.”

They stepped outside and walked along Main Street to the area where the bird was said to be at large. Residents were standing outside their homes and businesses, their expressions ranging from annoyance to amusement. The noise of what really did sound like a car alarm echoed down the street. Dogs barked in response, adding to the bedlam.

“It woke me right up,” one man complained. “Somebody should shoot the thing down.”

“Don’t talk that way,” another admonished him. “He doesn’t mean any harm.”

“No gunfire will be necessary,” Jake spoke seriously. “The sheriff and I are here to bring the bird in.”

As they headed toward the source of the noise, they encountered Arnold Henley, the owner of the Feathers and Fur pet store, pacing frantically. Apparently he too had been summoned to help track down the fugitive. His usually ruddy cheeks were now flushed a deeper shade of red, his hands animated as he described the size and color of the parrot to a group of onlookers. “It’s just about a foot high,” he said. “All gray except for bright red tail feathers. I always told Thelma she should never let that creature outside …”

“Mr. Henley,” Jenna called out, her voice cutting through the chatter. “We’re here to help.”

“Thank goodness, Sheriff Graves.” Arnold wrung his hands. “Cyril could be in danger from hawks and such, and even some people. I told Thelma when she bought him that African Grays had to be both entertained and protected. Now he’s out there flying all over the place, all alone.”

“So she hasn’t clipped his wing feathers?” Jake asked.

“Of course not.” Arnold huffed indignantly. “These birds need exercise just like we do. But they have to be kept safe. They can live as long as people do, that is if folks don’t get careless with them.”

“Any tips on where he might go or how we can catch him?” Jenna asked.

“Never took him outside when I had him in my store,” Arnold said, his eyes darting about. “But he’s partial to music—used to sing along to my radio.”

“Music, you say?” Jenna mused. “That could be helpful.”

“And talk to him. African Grays have big vocabularies. Oh, and another thing …”

He rushed to his nearby parked car and fetched a bag filled with mixed seeds and a net on a long handle.

“These seeds are his favorite,” Arnold said, handing the seeds and the net to Jake. “If you can get close enough for him to see what you’re offering him, then you can …” He nodded toward the net.

Jake gave Arnold a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We’ll find Cyril, Mr. Henley. This town may have its quirks, but it looks after its own—feathered or otherwise.”

With that, he and Jenna set off toward the town square, Jenna’s mind already sifting through possible hideouts for a musically inclined parrot among the quaint homes of Trentville. When the raucous sound of a car alarm rang out over their heads, they knew they had found the right tree.

Jenna brought up a tune on her cell phone, turning the volume up loud. The blaring sound overhead came to a halt.

“You’ve got his attention,” Jake said, peering up into the branches. “See anything?”

“Right there,” she pointed, shielding her eyes from the bright morning sun. “Alright, Cyril,” she continued, “we’re here to take you home.”

Cyril seemed to consider her words, tilting his head and meeting her eyes. For a moment, Jenna felt a flicker of connection, an unspoken understanding between them. But then, with a squawk and a flutter, Cyril leaped to another branch, far out of reach.

“He’s going to make us work for it,” Jenna muttered, a smirk playing at her lips despite the frustration.

“Wouldn’t be fun otherwise,” Jake quipped. “But those branches aren’t strong enough to hold either of us. We’ve got to get him to come down here.”

“We need a distraction and a catcher,” she said, keeping her voice low as if the parrot might overhear their strategy. “So you’re on distraction duty. I’ll handle the net.”

Jake pulled out the bag of seed. “Here, Cyril,” he coaxed, sprinkling some seeds into his hand.

Cyril let out a squawk that sounded suspiciously like laughter, but to Jenna’s and Jake’s relief, the bird fluttered down a few branches, inching closer to investigate.

“Easy does it,” Jenna whispered, watching Jake crouch and extend his arm, offering seeds up to the parrot like an olive branch.

“Come on, buddy,” Jake murmured, his voice surprisingly soothing. “Just a little bit closer.”

Cyril hopped along the branch, descending farther, drawn by the promise of food. Jenna tensed, preparing to swoop in with the net at the right moment.

“Anytime now,” Jake muttered under his breath, glancing toward Jenna with a raised eyebrow, trying to suppress a grin.

“Patience,” Jenna replied, though she too fought back a smirk. The absurdity of the situation wasn’t lost on her—the sheriff and her deputy engaging in a contest with a parrot.

Then Cyril descended to the lowest branch, tilting his head at Jake, who held perfectly still, save for the gentle rustling of seeds in his palm.

“Now, Jenna!” Jake hissed as Cyril took the bait, hopping down onto his outstretched arm.

With reflexes honed by years on the force, Jenna lunged forward, net sweeping through the air. Cyril, sensing the trap, took off—but Jenna ensnared him mid-flight.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed, securing the net around the flustered parrot as he flapped wildly, a blur of gray and red. Cyril squawked a torrent of expletives in protest.

“Good catch,” Jake said, joining her side.

“Easy there, Cyril,” Jenna coaxed in her most soothing tone, which seemed to have an effect even through the din. “You’re okay.”

Jake edged closer, his hands ready to assist. Together, they gently bundled the net, ensuring the parrot couldn’t hurt himself in a panic. It was not unlike defusing a ticking bomb, where precision and calm were crucial.

“Well done!” Arnold Henley called out, having followed them from some distance.

“Let’s get him home,” Jenna said. They walked toward Thelma Rigby’s cottage, just a few blocks away.

As they walked, Jenna cradled the netted bundle in her arms. Cyril had quieted down, sensing that his escapade had come to an end. Townsfolk peered from their windows, their earlier agitation replaced by smiles and waves. The sheriff and her deputy had once again ensured tranquility in their small corner of Genesius County.

They arrived at the quaint little house, where Mrs. Thelma Rigby was pacing the porch. Her anxious face broke into relief as she saw them approach. Her hands fluttered to her heart when she spotted her beloved pet, safe within the confines of the net.

“Oh, bless your hearts!” Thelma exclaimed, rushing to meet them at her front porch. “My Cyril, my sweet boy!”

“Safe and sound, Mrs. Rigby,” Jenna assured her, handing over the net carefully.

Once they were indoors, Thelma’s fingers worked quickly to release Cyril, who immediately perched on her shoulder and nuzzled against her cheek. Overcome with gratitude, Thelma enveloped Jenna and Jake in a warm embrace.

“Thank you both so much,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I would have come out looking with you, but I wanted to be at home in case he decided to come back on his own. I don’t know what I would have done without you two. Such a splendid thing you did!”

“It’s all part of the job, ma’am,” Jenna replied, feeling a hint of embarrassment at the praise.

“Please, let me at least offer you some lemonade. You must be parched after all that excitement,” Thelma insisted.

“Maybe just for a minute,” Jenna conceded, aware that the real work of the day was still ahead, but recognizing the value of these small moments of connection in the fabric of Trentville.

A few moments later, they stood on the front porch, chilled glasses frosted in the warmth of the late June sun. Thelma thanked them again and disappeared back inside to take care of her pet.

“Parrot wrangling,” Jenna mused aloud, watching Jake finish his own drink with an amused smirk. “Didn’t see that in the job description when I signed up.”

Jake chuckled, leaning beside her, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You know, for a sleepy town, Trentville sure keeps us on our toes.”

“Maybe we should add ‘exotic bird expertise’ to our resumes,” Jenna said.

“Let’s hope the rest of today’s emergencies are more… terrestrial,” said Jake, leaving his empty glass on the porch table. “Ya know, Jenna,” he mused with a grin, “hunting down Cyril was fun and all, but it’s not quite the same thrill as the Shannon Mine case this spring, huh?”

Jenna nodded. She remembered all too well—the cold walls of the cavernous tunnels, the damp earthy smell that clung to the air, the darkness that seemed to press in from all sides.

“Definitely one for the books,” she agreed, but her mind whirred with the memory that she had never shared with Jake. A lucid dream had been the key—a vivid, otherworldly experience where clues had unveiled themselves in sleep, guiding her steps when she was awake.

In Jake’s eyes, it had been her uncanny “sixth sense” that led them to the abandoned Shannon Mine, following leads that seemed to come out of thin air. But Jenna knew better. It was the visitation in her dreams, an ephemeral voice from beyond, which had shown her the secret location where a local burglar was hiding all his loot. Afterward, she was careful never to reveal too much of how her insight had come about, but with someone as observant as Jake, it was only a matter of time before he figured it out—if he didn’t half-realize the truth already.

In the stillness of night, a miner had visited her in that dream—a specter from a century past. His face was etched with the brutal history of the mines, scars crisscrossing his skin like a map of sorrow. He wore the heavy canvas of his trade, stained with the earth’s blood. With each step he took in her dreamscape, his lantern swung, casting erratic shapes on the rough-hewn walls of the tunnels that stretched out like veins near Trentville.

The miner never spoke; words were as spent as the air in his lungs. Instead, he beckoned, gesturing with a hand gnarled and twisted from toil and tragedy. Forward, ever forward, he led her through the labyrinthine passages, always pointing toward a specific direction.

Awake, Jenna knew exactly where she had been in her slumber. As sheriff, she’d seen old maps documenting every inch of Genesius County—maps that included the abandoned veins of the Shannon Mine. Her intuition insisted that this was more than just a dream—it was guidance. And so it was. The discovery of the stolen goods had been almost anticlimactic after the spectral visitation she received, but she was glad about the outcome.

She shook off the memory and returned to the present. “Let’s head back in,” she said. “We’ve still got paperwork to deal with.”

“Ah, the true calling of law enforcement,” Jake joked, falling into step beside her.

They retraced their steps toward the station, each lost in their thoughts. Jenna’s gaze lingered on Jake for a moment longer than necessary, taking in his easy confidence and the way his uniform emphasized his athletic build. Her heart fluttered, a reminder of her unspoken feelings, but she quickly stifled it. Then she noticed that he was staring at their destination.

“Something up?” Jenna asked, following his gaze. There, on the steps leading up to the station, sat a young woman, her shoulders shaking with sobs, her hands clasping what appeared to be a crumpled tissue.

“Looks like our break is over,” Jake muttered, and Jenna nodded, feeling the shift in atmosphere as the weight of duty settled back onto her shoulders. The distressed figure before them was familiar—Bea Carter, who worked at Trentville’s busiest diner. Bea’s usually bright eyes were now red-rimmed and desperate. Her tear-streaked face stood out starkly against the weathered brickwork of the old sheriff’s office. A silent plea in her gaze struck a chord deep within Jenna.

Something really bad must have happened.