14. Mina

Iwoke up the next morning in Quoth's arms. Heathcliff and Morrie were in the corner of our room, whispering to each other. My ears pricked when I heard the words ‘Mrs. Ellis' and ‘laid the trap.'

"What's going on?" I sat up.

"Secret wedding stuff," Heathcliff said.

"How is there still wedding stuff that needs doing?" I asked. "We have outfits, food, a brilliant celebrant, and cake. You're going to wear a shirt that's ironed. Morrie's agreed to wear trousers. We're good."

"We're almost good," he agreed. "I just need Morrie and Quoth to come to Lachlan Hall with me for a 10AM appointment?—"

I made a face. "I was hoping Morrie could help me with a little breaking and entering this morning."

Morrie squeezed my shoulder in approval. "Why, gorgeous, you're speaking my love language."

"I need Morrie's unique talents today." I could hear Heathcliff tapping angrily at his phone, which was very odd. Heathcliff didn't like to use his phone at all if it were possible.

Morrie glanced between us. His face softened. "I'm sure that you and Quoth could handle today's project. I've shown you how to use the app."

I raise an eyebrow. What wedding project could possibly require Heathcliff to use an app?

Heathcliff made a growling noise, like he was going to argue. "Fine," he sighed. "But if I sound the alarm, you need to come."

"What do you see?"I hissed at Morrie as I shuffled my weight from foot to foot.

The shrubbery rustled.

Morrie said, "I can see him through the kitchen window. He's sitting at a table, sipping on a cup of tea. Oh, looks as if he's taken a bite of toast. That man takes so long to eat breakfast that I fear the tectonic plates may shift and drop us into the ocean."

I slumped down into a pile of damp, dead leaves and rubbed my aching calves. I'd been hunched in a squat position for what felt like hours, and my body rebelled. Oscar licked my face.

"Surely he has to go somewhere? At some point?"

"He's an old man with what you delightfully referred to as ‘resting grump face.' Do you think he has important business meetings to attend? His daily personal training session?"

‘Maybe you could stand outside and yell ‘fire'?" I suggested.

"Or maybe we should talk about your book launch."

I gritted my teeth. "Quoth already tried that. I don't want to talk about it."

"You have to talk about it. Gorgeous, why did you cancel it? If you'd really wanted those book people to come, I'd have found cruel and creative ways to make that happen—oh, he's moving."

I bolted upright, straining to hear. The door to Stanley's house creaked open, and then I heard him muttering under his breath. A few moments later, a car sped off, the engine backfiring all the way down the road.

Morrie squeezed my hand. "The coast is clear. Let's go."

We crept across the street and strolled up Stanley's well-swept front walk. Morrie rang the bell, whistling a little tune as we waited to see if anyone would answer. When no one did, Morrie positioned himself in front of the door, whistling as he fiddled with the lock.

"I feel like the whole neighborhood is watching me," I said.

"That's because you didn't want to take the time to come up with a convincing disguise. A shame, because the Girl Scout uniform I'd have put you in would look rather fetching…ah." There was a click, and Morrie whispered with an aura of satisfaction, "We have entry."

He walked me and Oscar inside and shut the door softly behind us. The interior of the house was surprisingly light and vibrant. My eyes were drawn to the large windows on the far side of the living room. I instructed Oscar to walk me towards them as Morrie clattered around in Stanley's shoe rack.

"No shoes with a matching tread here, although I suppose he could be wearing them?—"

Morrie's voice was drowned out by a chorus of musical notes. I stepped closer to the windows, and the melodious sound filled my ears. My heart lightened as the notes danced in the air, growing louder as?—

"Oh, gorgeous, they're absolutely beautiful," Morrie breathed. "There are birds of every color and shape in a huge aviary in front of the windows. It takes up basically the whole living room."

"Wow!" As I stepped closer, I realized I could make out the outline of some of the birds as they flew between their perches and bunched up with their friends. Their voices rose in pitch, some dropping off as others picked up their song. In one corner, I heard a parakeet say, "Crackers n' cheese at 3PM!"

"I can't believe he keeps all these birds inside," I said. "The house doesn't smell at all. He must keep this aviary immaculate."

"It is, and this cage has been custom-built. I remember when we spoke to him at the fence, Stanley said that he liked birds. He wasn't lying."

"But why keep them inside? He could build an aviary in the back yard, and they could be out in the fresh air."

"I'm no bird fancier, but I'm going to guess that an aviary this size might have planning issues." Morrie moved away. "I'm going to check the closets for more shoes. Have a look around in here."

Oscar was so enamoured by the birds that it took me a couple of tries to get him to follow my commands and lead me on a circuit of the room. I found a feeding station and neat boxes filled with bird food, and a set of binoculars resting on the chair beneath the window that faced Maisie's house – the ones Maisie said that she saw him using.

From her house, Maisie wouldn't be able to see the aviary, because it faces the other side of the garden. That's why Morrie didn't notice it when he looked over the fence. She doesn't even know that he has these birds.

I nudged Oscar onward, and he led me to a desk against the wall. I felt around on top. Stanley didn't have a laptop, but there was a pad of paper and pen. When I ran my fingers over the paper, I could feel the indents of the pen. Whatever Stanley was writing, he did it with passion.

"Morrie, can you read this for me?"

Morrie appeared in a flash. He whisked up the letter and read it out in a dramatic tone. "It's a half-finished letter addressed to the parish council from Stanley Clarke. It says, ‘I'm writing to you out of concern for the welfare of my neighbor's pet duck, James Pond. I've attempted to bring this matter to the attention of the council on three previous occasions, but in this case, I think the animal inspectors have bird brains if they can't see the issue. I'm not being a crotchety old man. I love birds, and I keep several of my own. My issue is that a drake shouldn't be housed in a residential area, especially not roaming freely the way Ms. Collins does with James in the evenings. It's fair to say that they're not as bad as geese, but a drake can become quite aggressive, and it doesn't look as though Ms. Collins plans to?—'"

"Plans to what?"

"I don't know." Morrie flips the paper over. "The letter cuts off. He didn't finish writing it."

"Maybe he didn't feel that he needed to, now that James has gone missing," I said. "We can leave now."

"Leave? But we haven't even started snooping in the bedroom. I bet this guy has a full-sized parrot suit hiding in his closet."

"Stanley Clarke didn't bird-nap James. Look around." I gestured in the direction of the aviary. "Stanley loved birds. He wouldn't hurt a creature. He may have disagreed with how Maisie was raising James Pond, but he's no bird killer?—"

Oscar barked.

"Oscar?" He barked again. I raced back to the living room where I'd left him. As a guide dog, Oscar was trained not to bark unless he needed to alert me about something. So I raced to his side. "What is it, buddy?"

Oscar scratched at the window with his paw. He made a whining noise that I'd come to recognise as meaning, ‘danger.'

My heart thudded in my chest. "What is it, boy?"

Behind me, Morrie started laughing.

"What? What is it?"

"There's a very large, very round cat strolling across the yard like it owns the place, and it has a huge bird in its mouth."