Free Cornwall and Redfern Mysteries 2-Book Bundle by Gloria Ferris

curved beak enticingly.
    â€œHe wants you to give him one of those jujubes. He likes the black ones.”
    â€œNot happening,” I replied and reached out to touch the ribbed exterior of the spathe. But before my fingers made contact, Dougal squeezed my hand.
    â€œDon’t touch it! Any stress at all could make the whole structure collapse. Do you know how much energy it takes for this Titan to grow tall enough to bloom?”
    â€œActually, no,” I said, wiggling my fingers. “We’re due at Glory’s soon. Is there anything to eat in the fridge?”
    â€œI think there’s a Thai stir-fry. Mrs. Boudreau made it earlier in the week, and I took it out of the freezer this afternoon. As usual, there’s enough for an army. Help yourself, but leave some for me.”
    I took my army-sized appetite to the kitchen, where I ate precisely half the stir-fry and drank a bottle of water. Dougal declared he was too nervous about the upcoming meeting with his ex-wife to eat a bite, but he kept me company at the table and nattered about harvesting his pot crop. I tried not to listen, figuring the less I knew, the less I could testify about, but the odd fact crept in about processing the buds and hanging the plants upside down to dry, and yada yada.
    â€œSo, how are Sandy and Randy?” he asked while I was cleaning my plate for the dishwasher. My parents’ names are Sandra and Randall, but Dougal seemed to think it was funny to use rhyming nicknames for his aunt and uncle.
    â€œFine. I’ve been thinking seriously about taking the money I’ve saved and buying myself an airline ticket to visit them. Maybe stay for a year or so.” Nothing was farther from my mind, but I wanted to see Dougal’s reaction to losing his slave.
    â€œOh. Good idea. I’ve been telling you to move on and forget about Mike. I’m sure Randy and Sandy will be glad to have you.”
    I felt mean when I saw Dougal’s fingers shaking. He lit up one of his joints, and I felt even worse.
    â€œI was just kidding. You know I’m not going anywhere, at least until I force Mike to his knees, and that might take a while.”
    He smiled faintly and blew smoke in my face. I got up from the table, coughing.
    â€œLet’s get ready,” I said to him. “Get your jacket and Simon and we’ll saddle up.”
    Naturally, it wasn’t that simple. I had to hold Dougal’s joint while he struggled into his jacket and tried to force Simon inside. Simon had never been inside a jacket before, and wasn’t going there now without a fuss. Dougal told him he would have a nice ride and a wonderful adventure. For a bird that hadn’t been outdoors in years, this was not a tempting offer.
    â€œBad boy, bad boy,” he screeched in Melanie’s voice, making me wonder anew exactly what kind of relationship Dougal shared with his therapist.
    â€œHelp! Don’t hurt me,” the poor bird cried, this time sounding like Dougal. I forced the images of whips and black leather restraints out of my brain.
    Finally, the parrot was inserted head first into the jacket. The fabric bulged and strained against the metal zipper. Dougal already wore a pained expression, likely due to the bird poop Simon was depositing inside his cotton cage.
    I handed Dougal his joint and smelled my hand. Nasty. God help us if we got pulled over by the police. It was my understanding that police officers were trained to smell pot. Or maybe they just learned to recognize the smell from experience. With my exaggerated olfactory aptitude, I should hire myself out as a pot-finder. The police would save money — I ate less than a sniffer-
dog and didn’t need an annual rabies shot.
    Things got dicey when I put my spare helmet on Dougal. He realized this was it, he was really going out there, and panicked. I pried his fingers away from the knob and pulled him by the arm to the curb, where I had to lift his