Free The Money Bird (An Animals in Focus Mystery) by Sheila Webster Boneham Page A

Shadetree’s assistant manager, adopted him. Now he came to work with her every day and, judging by the sparkle in his dark eyes, I knew he’d found his calling. The residents loved him.
    Jade waved at me from her office, so I veered away from the door to the garden, landed in a chair, sucked up a complaint from my wounded cheek, and pushed the large envelope I was carrying across the desk. “Here you go! And may I say that you look gorgeous. Love your hair. It’s really grown out.” I was trying desperately to remember when I last saw her. She had been on vacation, but that was only for a couple of weeks, wasn’t it? Jade had worn her hair cropped close to her skull in a not-too-flattering style for as long as I’d known her, and now it was done in teensy little braids with teensy little beads at the ends. “Must grow fast! Or have I just not seen you in that long?”
    When Jade Templeton laughs, her whole large self laughs, and I defy you to keep a straight face when that happens. “Right, it grows real fast.”
    I had no idea why that tickled her so, but I was happy to play. “You must have been in the stylist’s chair for hours to get those braids done.”
    That hilarious repartee nearly knocked her on the floor, and I just about lost my own seat when she reached up and pulled her hair off to reveal the familiar close-cropped curls. Her burnt-umber eyes sparkled with mischief. She twirled the wig on her fist, making the beads clack, and said, “Dontcha love it?”
    “Oh my God, Jade! I think you’ve been here too long. You’ve flipped your lid.”
    “Girl, that’s so bad!” She slapped the top of her desk, then got up and went to a tiny decorative mirror on the wall and pulled the wig back on. “So really, what do you think? Is it me?”
    “Completely you. Makes me rethink this mess.” I grabbed a handful of my unruly brown mop that always goes berserk in the humidity of August in Indiana. “Anyway,” I sucked in a deep post-hilarity breath, “some of the photos are really nice. I think they’ll like them.”
    Jade sat back down and opened the envelope. A couple of weeks earlier I had spent a full afternoon taking photos of Shadetree residents and staff, both posed portraits and candids, and the envelope held prints of the best shots, all five by sevens.
    “I have all the digital files, of course, so if anyone wants reprints or a different size, let me know. I’ll need the number on the back of the photo.”
    “Oh, baby, these are good.” She drew out the last word. “Aww, look at Myrtle. And Jim Beard.” The staff had given the three resident Jims fictitious last names to keep them straight—Jim Beard looked a bit like Santa and would never be confused with Jim Curly or Jim Tall.
    Jade called her assistant to help sort the photos for distribution, so I excused myself and walked down the hall to the garden. I was almost there when my phone vibrated in my pocket, telling me I had a message. I pulled it out and signed into voice mail, half hoping it was Neil calling to cancel.
    “Janet, it’s Anderson. Anderson Billings. Hey, I’m out at Twisted Lake.” I wondered for a moment whether this was an old message that had been delayed for some reason since Tom had seen Anderson at the lake the previous Friday. “Great place, as you said. In fact, I was here a few days ago, too.” That answered that question. “Saw a friend of yours. So, anyway, I heard a screech owl and came back with my canoe to get to the island, you know, the little island off shore? Pretty sure that’s where the bird is. That was Friday night. Well, you know, evening.”
    I was starting to wonder whether Anderson had a point beyond bird-nerd excitement. Maybe he got a great shot of the screech owl? Maybe he just wanted to thank me for telling him about the place? Then he said, “Janet, something funny is going on out here. On the little island, I mean. I went over there, spent maybe twenty minutes and I saw, well,